Dance in the Dark

by Megan Derr

  "Thank you," Johnnie said, accepting the mug. "You are clearly Bergrin's father. I am sorry to have intruded upon your home like this."

  The man laughed. "My son is right, you do have a very pretty way of speaking." He snickered when Bergrin scowled. "You're no bother, my boy. I'm glad you seem all right. How is your head?"

  "It is fine," Johnnie said, then hid a grimace of pain by sipping what proved to be chamomile tea.

  "You are awake and functioning, that is a good sign. My name is Alec; it is quite the honor to meet the son of Dracula Desrosiers. Your father is a very good man."

  "Thank you," Johnnie said, pleased to hear his father given such praise. "I really hope I am not putting you out." He glanced at Bergrin, then said. "I am sorry, too, that your son has taken such injury on my behalf."

  Alec snorted in amusement, casting his son a dry, fond look. "He's done worse all on his own, and no doubt will again." He reached out suddenly and ruffled Bergrin's hair, laughing when Bergrin glared at him. Turning back to Johnnie, he asked, "Do you feel up to food? I've some vegetable broth on, maybe with some crackers?"

  "Stop mothering—" Bergrin started to grouse.

  "That sounds wonderful," Johnnie cut in, drowning Bergrin out, smiling. "Thank you, again."

  "Of course," Alec said, and left to get the food.

  Bergrin sighed and raked a hand through his hair, making the curls wilder than ever. "I need to apologize, sir, for failing you. I should have been there, and you never should have been hurt." He reached out and lightly touched fingers to Johnnie's face, and only then did Johnnie realize he had a bruise on his cheek.

  "First Highness and Prince, now sir?" Johnnie snapped, jerking away from the touch, immediately regretting it when the world tilted. He held his head gingerly in one hand, closing his eyes. "If you are just going to say stupid things like that, I prefer you keep your mouth shut."

  Laughing softly, Bergrin said, "Yes, Johnnie."

  "Better," Johnnie said. "It seems strange to call you Bergrin, and your father Alec."

  "No one uses my first name on pain of death," Bergrin said, then added, "Except my mom, because she gave it to me. Don't bother asking, Highness, because I'm not telling. Nor is it somewhere you can sniff it out."

  Johnnie made a face at that, and said nothing. He looked around the living room again, because otherwise he would just stare openly at Bergrin's smooth, bare chest. He really wished Bergrin would go put on real clothes.

  It was only then he noticed he was not wearing his proper clothes. Had it really taken him this long to notice? Like Bergrin, he wore sweatpants. He also wore a long-sleeved gray t-shirt. Both were far too big for him. "Where are my clothes?"

  "We were soaked through when I got you out of there," Bergrin said. "Your clothes are packed away to be properly cleaned later, since I like living too much to even attempt to clean your threads. Your father said he would see that fresh clothes were brought to you. He also said he sent word to Brennus you were here in his territory."

  "Good," Johnnie replied, because in addition to everything else, he really did not need to inadvertently offend a demon lord. "The journals," he said, suddenly reminded of why he had wanted to come here in the first place. "The letters."

  "All here," Bergrin said. "I even grabbed your sword stick."

  Johnnie relaxed slightly. "Good. Thank you."

  Bergrin grunted in reply, and leaned back into the couch, looking suddenly exhausted.

  "Are you certain you are all right?" Johnnie asked.

  "I'm fine," Bergrin said. "My dad is right—I've survived way worse than this. But when this case is over and we're back at the Bremen, you'd better let me have a real nap in my corner."

  Johnnie nodded, but could not for whatever reason form a reply. They lapsed into silence, and Johnnie leaned back into the couch himself. His eyes grew heavy, try as he might to keep them open, and eventually he gave up resisting. The last thing he remembered was his head resting against something firm and warm.

  *~*~*

  When he woke, it was to the crackle and pop of flames, and the feel of something shifting and rubbing against him. Jerking completely awake at that, Johnnie fell off the couch and onto the floor with a hard thud, barely avoiding knocking his head on the floor. He scowled furiously, first at the hard floor, then up at the reason he had fallen in the first place.

  Bergrin, fast asleep and snoring softly, his back against the couch, and Johnnie had obviously been pressed against him. His face was … softer, when he was asleep, but until that moment Johnnie had never thought Bergrin's face hard.

  Somebody, probably Alec, had covered them in an afghan and lit a fire. Face hot, Johnnie turned away from the sight of a bare-chested, dead-asleep Bergrin, and sat with his back against the couch, facing the fireplace.

  Ugh. What was wrong with him? He did not even know, anymore. He shivered slightly, and pulled down an extra afghan at one end of the couch, wrapping up in it as he continued to brood. This was by far the strangest case he had taken yet. It should have been a simple matter of finding who had raised the draugr and why. He was not supposed to have wound up with the world's worst headache, more people dead because they had tried to come after him, and the knowledge that his babysitter had a damned fine chest.

  Johnnie pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if he could simply finish the job his assailants had started when they had slammed his head into the stairs. He should be back in the Bremen right now, drinking vodka and reading or shooting pool, not sitting on the floor in Bergrin's father's living room because he had tumbled there after realizing he had fallen asleep on the couch with Bergrin.

  His gust twisted, sharp and sudden, painful. Johnnie did not know why. He frowned, staring at the rug, wishing his head would stop hurting so damned much so he could think.

  "You look as though you've lost your whole world," Alec said, startling him.

  Johnnie looked up, then looked away again and shrugged. "I have the oddest sense I am missing something, or have lost something, but I have no idea why." He sighed. "I am sorry, that makes no sense."

  "No," Alec said softly, moving into the room. He stood at the arm of the couch, and reached out to brush strands of hair from Bergrin's face. "I know the feeling, believe me. But, I did not realize it was there until I saw Bergrin's mother." He smiled faintly. "A man came by while you were both asleep. He brought you clothes; they are in my bedroom, down the hall. You can use my bathroom to clean up, as I am sure you would like to. Once you are set to rights, we can discuss the things you've brought me. They and the letters certainly make for interesting reading."

  Nodding, Johnnie stood, grateful that at least things seemed to have stopped tilting every time he moved. "How long were we asleep?"

  Alec laughed. "You've been asleep for some time. It is Friday, just after ten in the morning."

  "I see," Johnnie said, grimacing. They had left the Bremen almost fifteen hours ago. "You said down the hall?"

  "Yes, all the way at the end, on your left," Alec said with a smile. He slapped Bergrin's cheek lightly, snickering when Bergrin groaned in his sleep. "I'll rouse the bear while you clean up."

  Smothering a smile that was wholly inappropriate, Johnnie ducked from the room and went down the hall to the indicated bedroom.

  An hour later, he felt much more like himself. Whoever had delivered the clothes had dropped off one of his favorite outfits—black pants with violet pinstripes, a black silk shirt, and a violet vest with gold and silver dragons. The same someone had even brought the proper tie, and all the matching jewelry. Even the correct shoes. It must have been Lila, she was the only one who ever got everything correct the first time.

  Refreshed and restored, he ventured back down the hall to the living room, but his steps slowed as he heard voices that were trying hard to stay low, but were too heated to do that well.

  "—I swear to god, you need to be knocked upside the head! Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

 
; "No, I don't," Bergrin said bitterly. "But I'm telling you right fucking now to leave it alone."

  "You need to tell the—"

  "This discussion is over, Pop."

  "It's a long way from over."

  Johnnie hovered in the doorway, reluctant to break in when he saw that Alec and Bergrin were practically toe to toe and all put poised to start swinging. At some point, he saw, Bergrin had showered and dressed as well. He wore stonewashed jeans, now, and a light green shirt that did startling things to his hair and eyes—and really, Johnnie thought tiredly, did he need to notice such things? Did he not have enough problems?

  Alec started to say more, but then saw Johnnie. "My, my, boy. No wonder Ber calls you 'Prince'. If I didn't know better, I'd bet my life savings you were a vampire."

  "Thank you," Johnnie said, unwilling to be rude to Alec, though normally such comments irritated him because he would never truly be anything like a vampire. "Am I interrupting? I apologize."

  "No," Bergrin said, shooting his father a look. "We're done."

  Alec looked as though he strongly disagreed, but let Bergrin have his way. He smiled at Johnnie instead. "I reheated the broth from last night, and today I actually had time to make fresh bread. It's in the kitchen, we can eat there while we talk. It's much warmer than the dining room."

  Johnnie nodded and followed them into the kitchen, taking the seat Alec indicated at a large oak table that was as worn but well cared for as everything else in the house. Alec set a bowl of blue and yellow porcelain in front of him, and a matching plate piled with slices of fresh, warm bread.

  Directly across from Johnnie, Bergrin was making short work of his own food. He smirked at his father. "If you weren't such a good cook, Pop, you'd be a much better alchemist."

  Alec rolled his eyes. "I think that, in the long run, it is better for the world that I am a better cook." He laid a hand on the journals and letters he had set nearby on the table. "Now, as to your mystery, Johnnie."

  "Yes?" Johnnie asked. "What do the journals say?"

  Sighing softly, Alec said, "This will actually take quite a bit of explaining, and some background. I have lived in this city my entire life. When this house was first built, it was the only one for miles around. Now, it is the oldest in the little neighborhood it inhabits. Ber tells me that he told you I was an oddity in my family; minus my unfortunate ancestor, I am the only abnormal. But, I grew up aware of my abnormal neighbors. My two best friends growing up were of alchemist-caliber, and as they got older that is what they became. Their names were Mike and Tommy."

  He smiled wryly. "I confess, I mainly became one because that was all I knew, growing up alongside them. While I am passable, my friends were much better. Anyway, we drifted apart as we finished school and moved on, though for awhile we kept in touch.

  "Almost thirty years ago now, I learned that a woman had entered Tommy's life. He had never mentioned a word about it before, but suddenly I received a letter from him telling me he was married. I wrote to Mike, asking him about it, but he didn't know where she'd come from either. A few months later, I received another letter. It was several pages long, but explained one very simple thing—Tommy and his wife were going to live as normals for the safety of their child. They didn't want their son or daughter growing up facing all the dangers and peculiarities that came with being abnormal.

  "After that, I never heard from him again. Figured he dropped off the face of the earth exactly as he'd wanted. I should have looked into it more closely, but by that point my own life was in upheaval." He smiled warmly at Bergrin, as his thumb rubbed across his wedding ring in such a familiar way, Johnnie doubted Alec knew he was doing it.

  "The point of this story, however," Alec continued, "is that Tommy did not quit his alchemical studies the way he had said he was going to, and he might have lost touch with me, but he kept in touch with Mike. The letters, unfortunately, are nothing but reports that Mike later transcribed into the journals. I had hoped they would offer up more information, but it looks like Mike kept them only because he was still working to transcribe the ones in the bundle.

  "It's all frustratingly vague, but my understanding is that Tommy accidentally made something he should not have made, and he and Mike were trying to figure out what the hell to do about it. What he made, I wish I knew, but they very carefully do not say. The information they left was for me to figure it out eventually, I suppose, but never explicit enough for anyone else to piece it together. However, one of the letters does seem to indicate he destroyed it. I hope he did. Accidents in alchemy almost never have a happy ending." His face softened briefly, and Johnnie rather thought that Alec had made a mistake, and it had ended happily.

  But, he was far more concerned with all that Alec had just told him. His chest felt tight, made it hard to breathe. It felt like he was freezing and on fire all at once. "You said the one who tried to give it up—his name was Tommy?"

  "Yes," Alec replied, frowning in confusion. "Tommy Fitz."

  "What—what was his wife's name?"

  "I don't remember," Alec said. "It was a bit unusual, I remember that. I think it began with a 'C'."

  "Cordula," Johnnie said, closing his eyes briefly. "Her name was Cordula. They—they must have changed their surname when they moved to Desrosiers territory. Excuse me." He stood up and fled the kitchen, fled the house, finally stopping when he reached the large, wrap-around porch, falling into a porch swing around the side of the house.

  He stared blindly at the rain, thinking numbly that it was strange the rain was falling as hard here as it had been back home. Except, he recalled, Brennus was a storm demon, so such weather was the norm here.

  Secrets, he thought bitterly. He hated secrets. His own parents had started the tangle of lies when they had tried to be something they were not. Ontoniel was obviously keeping their secrets still.

  Then there was Eros.

  Something flickered in his mind, a voice he loved and loathed, speaking to him, but then it slipped away like quicksilver and Johnnie was left with only a headache.

  His parents. They had fled Brennus territory, changed their surname, and started a new, normal life. Except it would seem his father had kept secrets of his own, and not given up his alchemy after all. But what had he made, and why were men only now trying to obtain it? Johnnie frowned in thought, clinging almost eagerly to the mystery, gratefully shunting other problems to the side.

  Something had changed, he surmised. Something new had come to light, that provoked the seekers into action. Or perhaps it had taken them this long to figure out that his father had spoken to someone, and who that someone was. He could not be sure, though, Johnnie thought irritably. He simply did not have enough information to paint a clear picture. He was stumbling around in the dark, and what good had that ever done him?

  His body tightened with memories of all the good that had been done to him in the dark, but Johnnie forced those thoughts aside. Frustrated, he cradled his head in his hands and tried to think. Normally, he was good at that. Why did it seem like he was falling apart now?

  Just the facts.

  Someone had raised a draugr, provoking it to go after its 'treasures.' But the draugr had not in fact led them to the real gems—the journals and letters hidden in the secret compartment. Johnnie had found them, and subsequently been attacked.

  The journals were written in a code that only Alec would be able to easily read—and apparently only Alec ever stood a real chance of figuring out what Tommy had accidentally created. The two dead friends had known whatever Tommy had made was dangerous, or at least problematic, but important enough they had left clues for a friend. Yet Mike had hidden them away, or maybe he had simply died before he had been able to send them off.

  What had Tommy created? Why was it all only coming to light now? Because Mike had died only recently? Had he managed to repel all attention in the matter while he lived? Johnnie's head throbbed, and he grimaced in pain.

  Why had no one ever told him
about all this? Had his father really done or made something that important? What? Damn it. They were his parents, damn it, he had a right to know what they had really been.

  The door opened, but Johnnie ignored whoever had come to talk to him. "So you are Tommy's son," Alec said. "I feel I should have figured that out. All G—Ber told me about you was that your parents were killed and Dracula Desrosiers adopted you."

  Johnnie nodded.

  "Your father was a good man, for what it is worth. Quiet, I believe he took up teaching. He was a good alchemist, better than me. He had a knack for creating magic-infused items."

  Latching on to that, Johnnie asked, "So he probably created a relic of some sort? Do you have any clue as to what it was?"

  "No," Alec said. "I was nothing like them, not even close. My greatest moment in alchemy was a fluke, a one in a billion chance that could only ever be done by mistake. It brought me something I never thought I would have, but after that I swore off real alchemy for good. Your father, however … I was truly surprised to hear that he was giving it all up. I am not at all surprised to learn he went right back to it."