Red is further confronted by the realities of romancing a vampire, but becomes more comfortable all the same.

Chapter Text



"Jasminum grandiflorum" (CC BY 2.0) by jccsvq

Ajaccio, Corsica, France

June, 1944

By the time they arrived in Ajaccio, the largest town on the mediterranean island of Corsica, Red had no doubt that William was a vampire, as impossible as it had seemed before.

First, there was the fact that the ‘driver’ who was waiting for them in front of the hotel in a small truck had been none other than Paola Di Pietro, the young hotel manager who had offered Red his job. She greeted William with a reverent bow and loaded everything into the back of the truck. Red had tried to help, but she refused, bluntly informing him he’d only get in the way. With how she lifted each of William’s trunks with the same ease she lifted a pencil, Red knew she was right. As he watched her, he played through every interaction they had ever had.

And the thought of what she might be made him shiver.

Second, there was the way William had managed to satisfy one of the American guards that questioned them as they drove out of the city.

Red hid his face beneath his hat, pretending to be asleep as they had planned. He could hear the guard speaking to Paola in Italian better than Red’s, but still rough around the edges. He heard Paola wind her window closed, but the truck didn’t edge forward as it normally did at such traffic stops. Instead, he heard William unroll his window. Red’s pulse thudded in his ears against the blanket he’d placed under his head, desperately trying not to move, not a muscle, lest he give it all away.

“Can I be of assistance?” William asked through the window, his accent subtly different; to Red’s ear, he sounded more British. William stared at the guard.

The guard stared back, his eyes locked into William’s gaze. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you can’t just up and leave the city, not today. Have your driver take you back to where you came from.” He spoke in a long southern drawl; Red was glad he didn’t recognise the voice. He was afraid he might have recognised him if he opened his eyes.

William smiled. “You will let us through immediately.”

The soldier nodded. “Right, yes, of course, sir,” he stammered. “Go right ahead.” He gestured. William rolled the window back up, and the truck went back into motion. Red breathed a sigh of relief, placing his hat back into his lap. William held Red’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Red smiled, feeling William's steadiness ease his own shaking.

They travelled mostly in silence, which suited Red fine. He didn’t want Paola to hear their private conversations any more than he guessed William did. What was Paola, that she was in charge of a vampire hotel, that her slim form could heft those trunks, that she could speak with enough authority to satisfy most of the soldiers that stopped them? Whoever—whatever—she was, Red sensed that she and William were not friends. The way he spoke with her, even chided her driving on occasion, it reminded Red of the way most hotel guests treated him—providing the bare minimum number of syllables to bring their point across. He’d always assumed it was because of his awful Italian, but maybe vampires just had bad manners.

The few short conversations Red and William had in the car were about their next steps: after this long drive, they would take a boat, and then another car to get to a cottage in Corsica where they would stay for as long as it suited them. Red felt a dry apprehension fill his throat when he found out that people mostly spoke French in Corsica, and that he was going to have to start from scratch again, just as he was beginning to get the hang of Italian. Then he remembered that his travel companion was a creature of the night that drank blood, and he wondered if learning a new language should really register as a concern at this point.

They discussed how William would need to be put safely to bed, so he could be secure during the daytime parts of their journey. This was what eliminated the last of Red’s doubt about William’s nature: there was no way a human could subject themself to what William and Paola were planning.

It was almost dawn by the time their truck reached Civitavecchia, a port town that had been the subject of heavy Allied bombardament in the previous weeks. A boat was waiting for them. Its three person crew loaded William’s trunks and suitcases onto what looked like it had been a merchant ship, once, but now flew the red cross of a hospital ship. The boat trip would go well into the afternoon; something definitely needed to be done to keep William out of the sun.

And so William was subjected to a bizarre process in one of the darkest holds of the ship, lit only by an oil lamp that was behind a thick glass panel in the far corner. Red helped Paola wrap William tightly in layer upon layer of thick, white bandages: he looked like a mummy, Red reflected, not able to stifle his grin. A creature from a horror movie. They piled on still more bandages, until the human form was invisible and the mass of bandages made a smooth cigar shape.

The bandaged body was lowered—carefully—into a coffin made of thick, heavy wood.

“Is this… his coffin?” Red asked Paola: even if William could hear him through all those bandages, any response he made would be muffled beneath so much fabric. Red would have to try to make small talk.

The coffin itself was lined with thick, dark fabric which was draped around the bandaged form inside, covering it from all directions.

“No.” Paola was as miserly with her words as most vampires were.

They closed the lid and ran several layers of thick, sturdy tape along the seal.

“Oh. I saw in a movie… that vampires need to go back to their coffins at night.” Despite everything, Red didn’t want her to think he was stupid.

“They don’t.” She ripped the tape with her teeth, and pressed down the last of it.

They placed another sheet of thick, dark cloth over the sealed coffin and taped it in place. And the whole lot was put into a heavy, metal box, the seal taped shut and a huge padlock placed onto the clasp.

When all that was done, Paola retrieved some weapons from the truck, slinging a BAR over her shoulder and holding a Thompson at her chest more naturally than Red had ever managed to in Basic, back when the war hadn’t been real to him, when he only had to worry about laps and pushups and not German soldiers hiding behind every corner.

Neither weapon’s weight seemed to bother her in the slightest.

After landing in a town called Porto-Vecchio, carefully extracting William from his bandages once the sun set and climbing into a second truck, and enduring another long and mostly silent drive, they reached Ajaccio at the end of the next evening. Red was no longer worried about being in another country, going to a strange town where he wouldn’t know anyone and, again, wouldn’t know how to speak the language. He was just glad the running might finally be over.

Paola dropped them off at a small cottage that William had stated belonged to a friend of his. Red didn’t doubt it; the house was as strange as all of William’s friends were. For starters, there were no windows; to give the appearance of normalcy, window shutters were placed on the outside wall and stuck closed.

The ground floor seemed almost normal: a sitting room, study, kitchen, dining room and bathroom. But there was a door on the ground floor that William hadn’t opened, that he’d passed without acknowledging before they walked up the stairs together. Red wondered what secret things must be hidden in there: he knew that at least half of the house must have been behind it.

On the top floor, there was a small hallway that led to three rooms: one was completely empty but for some bare shelves and one contained six beds that were crammed so tightly together it would be hard to walk between them. The beds had thin mattresses and simple, scratchy-looking blankets.

Most interesting was the third room, which had a comfortable-looking bed, a bedside table, an electric lamp and a writing desk. The bed was made with nice linens, the bedside table had a small mirror on it and a few well-thumbed books, and the writing desk had a small basket of thread, yarn, and cloth neatly placed on one corner. There were no paintings or photographs on the wall, and no wallpaper to cover the whitewashed stone. The room looked a strange combination of bare and impersonal like a hotel room and personally stocked, as though someone had lived in it once and planned to return. It smelled dank and dusty, since it had no window. Still, given the circumstances, it seemed welcoming enough.

“And this,” William declared. “Shall be your room.”

“Aww, I’m not sharing with you?” Red replied, only half-teasing. He had been having thoughts of… more at the back of his mind, lately. At least, before his whole mind, whole brain had been taken over by the thoughts of vampires and running from the Americans and hiding from the Germans and taking ships to Mediterranean islands and how Paola Di Pietro got so comfortable with a Thompson. Quite frankly, the thought of sharing a bed with William was one of the more pleasant things to think about, even if it did make him nervous.

“You can have your pick of any of these upstairs rooms , so that won’t be necessary.”

Red hesitated. “You wouldn’t want to?” He tried to sound light and carefree about it, but William not acknowledging the subtext made him curious.

“You know I would,” he admitted. “But I respect your privacy.”

“Such a gentleman.” Red grinned, and fiddled with the straps of his rucksack. “Well, where’s your room, then?”

“Downstairs,” William said, gesturing for Red to follow him as he climbed down the stairs. The sitting room was at the base of the stairs, where it led off to hallways and to the entryway. But there was also the door William hadn’t opened: the heavy-looking metal door that led towards the centre of the cottage.

“It’s like a fortress in here,” Red mumbled under his breath as William unlocked it and pulled it open. The shape of the door flared around the doorframe, making what must have been a light-proof seal. There was another short hallway, tiled with cold grey slate like the rest of the house. There was a door to the right and a door straight ahead.

“It pays to be prudent,” William replied, stepping forward to unlock the second door. He pulled it inward, revealing a third door which opened outwards after William unlocked it. Red was expecting another door, or an antechamber, or even a pit with spikes at the bottom, but was relieved to be greeted with what looked like a normal enough bedroom: apart from the musty smell, it reminded him of the rooms in the hotel.

The bed was large, covered in pale green pillows and blankets that were embroidered all over with dark green leaves. The wallpaper was striped in rich greens and silver. The far wall was dominated by a series of wardrobes and full-length mirrors. Another wall had a deep bookshelf against it, though the shelves were bare. Next to the bookshelf hung a map in an ornate frame. The map looked to Red as though someone had drawn it from memory: the countries were the right shape, but in the wrong proportions, or parts of them were missing. The other wall had three tapestries hanging from it, decorated in what looked like scenes from renaissance paintings: seas of people cavorting over green countryside, captured in the middle of fluid and lively movements.

Red looked at William: his shoulders had slumped imperceptibly and his face was contorted into the barest hint of a scowl.

“You don’t like it?” Red asked. He couldn’t help but smile. It reminded him of one of his first shopping trips, where he had bought a bracelet he thought was close enough to what William had asked for because he had been looking for hours and he was tired and surely William wouldn’t care about having a diamond-studded banglethat was made of gold instead of brass, especially when Red had gotten the gold bangle for cheaper than William had budgeted for a brass one. But William had frowned at the bangle, rejected it, placed it on the floor, and Red’s next job had been to get rid of it and find a brass one. He’d learned to be more careful after that.

“It’ll have to do,” William replied. “Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say.”

Remembering how funny William looked when he was annoyed and seeing the big bed had brought those thoughts back into the forefront of Red’s mind. Those thoughts of… more. He hitched the strap of his rucksack. “It’s a big bed.”

“I suppose so.” William stepped towards one of the tapestries, scrutinising it.

Red shook his head, smiling at the tiny grimace on William’s face. He dropped his rucksack at the foot of the bed and sat down, leaning backwards with his hands behind his head to stare up at the canopy. The mattress was soft—too soft for a man to rest his back after a hard day’s work, but he supposed it would do nicely for a vampire. He looked at heavy green fabric of the canopy, which had birds embroidered into it with light thread. The birds were tall and skinny and had long, scythe-shaped beaks.

“Someone sewed little birds on the underside, here,” Red remarked, wondering if he could draw William’s attention away from the tapestries.

“I am glad somebody appreciates such a gaudy display.”

“Oh no, did they put fake gold thread in the tapestry?” Red asked with his good-natured sarcasm as he gave up on the bed, standing up to hug William from behind and see what he was staring at. It didn’t help: the tapestries didn’t look any different up close, and although they weren’t to Red’s taste, he couldn’t find it in himself to hate them as it seemed William did.

William sighed, covering Red’s hands with his own. “Some of us weave tapestries for one another in recognition of great achievements. She weaved these herself.”

“How can you tell?”

“A compliment from another is far more nuanced than the words one crows about one’s own greatness.”

“Oh, of course,” Red said, ever so slightly patronising. He placed a little peck on the back of William’s neck. “How humiliating for her.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” William smiled.

“I’m not making fun,” Red said, his face serious. “I am embarrassed for her. Look at the shoddy work on the… horse. That horse.” He let go of William, moving to stand beside him, to point at a brown animal standing off to the side of one of the scenes. “Look at that terrible horse.”

“That’s a dog.” William broke into a grin.

“It’s the worst tapestry-ed dog I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen at least three tapestries.” Red was grinning too, now.

“There are three tapestries in this room.”

“Yes. And I’ve seen them. All three of them. With their terrible dogs.”

“To be fair, the one on the left doesn’t have a dog on it. Just a misshapen wine barrel.” He turned slightly to stand facing Red.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s a terrible dog. All tapestries about dogs, right?” Red grabbed William’s hands. “I’ve seen three tapestries.”

William shook his head. “Your first lesson on tapestries is that they do not always concern dogs.” He moved his left hand to cup the side of Red’s head for a moment, before placing that arm around Red’s shoulders.

“So only most of them are about dogs?” Red pulled William closer, his arms encircling his waist.

“I would say the minority of them feature dogs.”

“I’m going to get you a tapestry that’s all dogs.” Red brushed a bit of William’s hair like it was out of place. It wasn’t.

“I doubt you’d be able to find such a thing,” William murmured, now acutely aware of how little he wanted to discuss tapestries. He was finally growing aware it had been several days since they had spent time together, since the business of travelling and his revealing his nature to Red had kept them distracted from one another.

“I’ll weave you one.” Red grinned, his face now very close to William’s. “And it’s going to have terrible technique. And you would have to keep it because I made it for you.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” He moved his other arm around Red’s waist. There was no gap between their bodies at all, now. There only remained the half-inch that separated their faces.

“There’s a lot of things I’d do to you.” Red bridged that last gap to kiss him.

Red didn’t realise how much he’d missed this level of closeness, of privacy, even though it had been only a couple of days. How he’d missed being so close and so warm and so wanted and so appreciated as William’s lips found his lips and face and Red’s responded in kind. The closeness, the flirting, the buildup and the longing had brought the other feelings back, stronger than they’d been in a while, and even though Red had built up a sort of dam over the past few weeks, built it up with thoughts of what his family would think, with worries about the future, with panic about what would actually happen, if he’d like it, if William would like it, if William would still like him, if he’d know what to do, if—if—if—

—all of those thoughts were still there, still mattered, but they’d been dwarfed.

His first dam had been built by beavers, made of mud and sticks and a few logs. The dam from the past few days was different: dozens of men had poured it out of concrete, thick and strong with the fears that this man was not just his boss, not a spy or a cultist or even a nazi, but a demon. An actual living demon who drank his blood. Who probably had a dozen secrets worse than that—what did Paola know, that had put her in the hotel, had taught her to drive and shoot and bluff soldiers? What could happen to him if he stayed? Some primitive protective instinct should surely stop Red from doing anything more, would have him make the prudent decision, to run the first chance he got, to take that room upstairs for now and then start planning his escape, to tell the newspaper, the president, the—

“Did you have something particular in mind?” William asked, his hand moving from Red’s hip to touch the base of his rib cage under his shirt.

—and yet, here he was, embracing with William, wanting nothing more than to take him to that bed and contend with whatever the small dam of sticks and mud had for him. The concrete monstrosity was too big, too abstract, too smooth and unreal for him to focus on, now. This, on the other hand, it felt normal—maybe not normal, but desirable, logical, satisfying. It was what Red wanted now, what some part of him had wanted for weeks—

“I thought I’d figure it out as I go.” Red’s trembling hands pulled at William’s shirt, started on the buttons. He’d done it before, but there was more force to it now, more finality.

“You want to go to bed?” William slowly stepped backwards towards the bed, Red moving in step with him, keeping his hands on their singular focus of removing William’s shirt.

“I really do.” All other thoughts had left Red’s mind. They’d be there afterwards, but this is what he wanted now. It’s what he’d be doing if William hadn’t bitten him, if they hadn’t run, if they were still in the hotel. William’s calves were pressed against the foot of the bed, and Red pushed him down onto the soft comforter, ready to climb on top of him.

William lay there, staring at the canopy, and the pale green scythe-beaked birds that were embroidered into it. “Ibises,” he muttered. “Those are ibises.” It made him uncomfortable, the symbolism was wrong for this, wrong for something like—

Red had climbed on top of him, now, and had started unfastening his belt.

“And ibises are bad?”

“They are not the bird one pictures oneself consummating one’s—” William paused. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I would hope not.”

After his time in Rome and the surrounding countryside, Red had become adept at finding his way around new European towns, and felt as though he’d gained a decent overview of Ajaccio after his first day there. He and William had a stroll on that second evening, and it was with no small sense of pride that Red showed William the places he had found: the bakery, the market, the school, the old library. They’d stopped at a restaurant, ordered two meals and wine. Red ate both of them: his pasta, and the stew that had been ostensibly ordered for William. The excitement of travelling had left him hungry and unnourished, and he’d grown very used to being watched as he ate.

They talked and laughed, with Red sharing stories of his childhood and explaining the American education system and William responding to personal questions with a never ending supply of only vaguely related anecdotes. Red didn’t mind this; they were different and interesting as William had all of time and space to draw from now he didn’t need to keep any fiction for Red.



Red felt himself relaxing in a strange way, a little at ease but uncomfortable in a way like being in a too warm and stuffy room. Comfortable, technically, but agitated, antsy, waiting for something to happen, to reveal itself. The thick concrete dam of anxiety was still there, the worry of being seen as less than an equal, of less than even the less than he expected a man of high birth to see him as. It might always be there, he reasoned. He wasn’t going to let it dampen his mood.



The wine from dinner was crawling up Red’s neck, loosening his shoulders, and making him giddy all through the walk back to the cottage. William’s feather light touches at his throat and arms did the same. Red was letting the giddiness get the better of him, catching himself talking to William the same way he spoke to girls back in high school, flirting and enjoying the way it made them feel. William seemed to like it, with tiny twitches of smiles at the edges of his mouth and replying to his teasing with his own flirtations that made Red’s hair stand on end.



Finally, as they walked up the path to the front door, William grabbed him by the hand, pulled him close, and kissed him hard. After a few moments, Red pushed him away, grinning.



William pulled Red’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it and smiling. “You don’t like me kissing you?” He murmured against Red’s knuckles.

“Oh no, the kissing suits me.”

“Good, because I have wanted to do this for hours.” He pulled Red towards him, hard. Red gripped him back firmly, Red’s short fingernails digging into the flesh on either side of William’s spine through the thick fabric of his shirt. They kissed, Red feeling every tiny movement in William’s body as he pulled his arms around Red’s neck. Red only pulled away from William to breathe, and then only for a few moments at a time. The fears had all left him, all put themselves aside for later as they had the previous night. He idly wondered if that was a problem, if one day he’d need to force himself to think it through. But now wasn’t the time; William didn’t scare him, had never scared him. What did it matter whether Red should be afraid or not? He kneaded at the muscles of William’s lower back, wanting more.

William ran his fingertips down the smooth skin of Red’s neck, the faint touch bringing a cascade of wonderful goosebumps over Red’s body. “You smell amazing.”

Red’s hands relaxed, and he took a small step backwards. William’s grip loosened comfortably, giving Red the space he had created. The serenity and desire left Red, and he raised an eyebrow and gave a small frown. “In a… good way and not a food way, right?” He asked, pulling William’s arms away from him and taking another step back.

“Both, to be honest.” William held his arms by his side.

Red considered that. “That’s… unsettling.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, being thought of as food is… new.”

“Does that scare you?”

“Scared isn’t the right word, exactly.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “It’s… an adjustment. It’s new. I mean, you’re not going to kill me, right?” His tone was light, but his face showed his genuine concern.

“I certainly don’t intend to. It would be such a waste.” William grinned, offering Red his hand. Red grabbed it, returning the grin, but then the actual words sunk in and he frowned. He pulled away.

“But you’re not going to kill me by accident either, right?”

“Of course not. Why would you think something like that?” William looked a tiny bit horrified.

“Felt like I might need to check.” Red could feel his shoulders relax, his breathing slow down. “This is all new to me, you know.”

“I know. Shall we go inside?”

“Great idea.”

William took a few steps forward, taking his key out of his pocket to open the front door. He returned the key to his pocket, pulling the door open. He gestured for Red to go inside. Red grinned and grabbed William’s hand. William didn’t follow; Red playfully tried to pull him in. William stood stiff as a stone; not so much as one of his fingers moved. Red let go of his hand, wondering what he was playing at.

“Are you coming in?” Red asked, chuckling.

“If you are lucky, I may.”

“What does that mean?” His smile faded. “You seemed pretty keen a minute ago.”

“I’m very keen.”

Red paused, it slowly dawning on him. He remembered stories about creatures, not about vampires exactly, but—no, it was silly. It was impossible. “You…” He paused, knowing he had to be careful with his phrasing. “Can, can’t you?”

“Can what?”

Red licked his lower lip, thinking over each word before he said it. “Do I need to invite you? Is that what’s happening?” He grinned. He liked the idea; perhaps he wouldn’t be completely helpless, after all.

“You believe such myths?” William grinned.

“Are they true?” Red leaned on the doorframe.

William frowned, crossing his arms. “This one is, yes. May I come in?”

Red grabbed William’s hands. “I invite you in.” He grinned, pulling William through the front door.

Ajaccio, Corsica, France

July, 1944

William had told Red to keep an eye out for letters and packages, but it still came as a surprise when the first one arrived in the midday post: an ordinary-looking large beige envelope with William’s name and their address in Corsica written on it in clear cursive. It was as thick as a newspaper and the rich, solid paper smelled faintly of cinnamon. Red placed the envelope on a table in the sitting room for William to find, not thinking much of it.

When the sun started to set, Red climbed into the bed beside the insensible vampire, waiting for him to wake up. William’s… difference was most obvious when was asleep: he didn’t move—didn’t even breathe—and his body gradually grew cold as the day wore on. Red could’ve gotten used to the coldness, given time. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way William’s whole body gradually grew stiff as a log before freezing in place several hours after sunrise, and how it remained so until William woke up.

Red snuggled close to William’s naked body and pulled the heavy covers over the pair of them. It brought a small amount of warmth to William’s rigid corpse, but if Red shifted, any skin that he hadn’t been in contact with was still unpleasantly cool to the touch. He let himself lay still for a few minutes, as he always did, enjoying the feeling of the soft bed supporting his side and the warmth from the blanket. Gingerly, he stroked William’s hair; it felt dry and lifeless. He was pretty sure that’s how it must always feel, regardless of whether he was awake or asleep—but at that moment it felt more like the hair of his sister’s dolls, after it had been taken by the dog and buried in the garden. Dull and stringy and lifeless, lacking the tiny movements of the scalp that would make it seem otherwise. Red took his hand away. He was sure he’d get used to it. Eventually.

He felt a muscle in William’s right shoulder relax. The somnolent curse was lifting. Red eagerly rubbed the shoulder, the only animate part of William’s body. The softening spread to the whole right arm, which Red pulled around his back, encouraging it to hold him tightly. Finally, the eyes fluttered open, the mouth contorting into the barest imitation of a smile as more and more facial muscles became engaged in the task and the smile grew softer and genuine.

“Hi.” Red smiled, moving his hand back up to the hair, the hair that now felt soft and smooth and animate as the minute twitches in William’s face and head made it make the tiniest lively movements.

“Hello.” William moved his right hand from Red’s waist to his face, cupping Red’s jaw, pulling Red closer to kiss him. Red enjoyed the moment of closeness; the coldness of William’s lips at the beginning of the evening was growing familiar, now, rather than shocking as it had been at first. “I trust you had a good day?”

Red nodded. “Yes, I spoke to the headmaster of the school. He said I could help with gardening and things like that, since they don’t have a groundskeeper anymore.”

“Ah, the war?”

“Yeah.” Red tried not to dwell on it; it would put him in a mood. “So I did some pruning, and some raking. It was good. Hard, but good.” He paused. “A letter came for you, by the way.”

“Really?” William pulled away from Red, throwing the heavy blanket aside. “Do you know who it’s from?”

“Um…” Red tried to remember the name on the back of the envelope. “Cassius... something.”

“Excellent. I have been expecting to hear from him.” William climbed out of bed. Red sighed; he had hoped the letter could wait a few minutes, even though he knew better. His experience in Rome left little doubt that, for William, the arrival of a letter was about the most important thing that there was.

“Well, I’m sure he had a lot to say,” Red said, climbing out of bed and putting his slippers on. He watched as William got dressed, moving with speed beyond human capabilities. William carefully selected a pair of heavy black trousers, a long-sleeved pale red shirt, a navy blue striped tie, and a pair of black suspenders.

William smiled. “Yes, Cassius is rather talkative.” He pulled on a pair of white socks, along with some shiny black shoes, which he relaced quickly. After this flurry of sartorial activity, the smell of laundry soap hung faintly in the still air. “Can you bring me the letter?”

Red nodded. “Sure, I’ll go get it.” He went into the sitting room—opening the two doors out of the bedroom to do so—picked up the envelope, and brought it to the bedroom. William had combed his hair neatly in the short time Red was gone, but stood admiring his reflection and making small adjustments to his hair. As Red held out the envelope, William turned to him and frowned.

“Ah, I should have mentioned. When my friends send me letters, there will be two envelopes.” He almost seemed self-conscious about the next part. “The outer envelope gets dirty, so I would like for you to remove it and present me only with the inner one.”

Red nodded. “Sure, I can do that.” William was obsessed with cleanliness, insisting his clothes were laundered after each time they were worn, wearing gloves whenever he left the house, and outright refusing to touch many things. It stood to reason that an envelope with even the barest smudge would be unacceptable to him.

Red gently tore at the envelope; William cringed. “Next time, use a letter opener. I will show you where they are.”

Red nodded. “Oh, right. Sorry.” He kept tearing, breaking the wax seal, revealing a second envelope, identical to, though slightly smaller than, the first. It, too, was sealed with wax, though the symbol was larger and more detailed than the one stamped into the outer envelope. The back of the envelope was written in a language that looked a bit like Italian (Red thought he understood a few words). He turned the letter over and examined the front of the envelope; it was covered in symbols he didn’t recognise: arrows, wavy lines, and a backwards ‘R’, to name a few. He was glad he knew William was a vampire, because otherwise all of this foreign script would have convinced him that William was a spy. Not that his silent debates about whether it would be better for William to be from Germany or the United Nations seemed like they mattered at all, anymore.

William must have seen the expression on Red’s face, because he grinned. “My friends and I write in a sort of code,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Of course,” Red murmured, staring at the back of the envelope. “What does it say?”

William took the envelope from Red, examining the back. “It is Cassius’ name, written in full.”

“In full?”

“We have titles, to recognise our accomplishments. Look, let me show you.” He read from the back of the envelope, “It says here… God-king Cassius of the Eternal City, respected advisor of Magnus, long-awaited child of Tibillus, he who listens with a patient ear, the...” William paused for a moment, to think of the best translation. “...the one who pranked the third council, the wolf, the one with the iron toe, thief of dignity, keeper of the text.”

“Wow,” Red murmured. “There’s… a lot.”

“Cassius is old and proud.” William replied. “I am afraid I must take some time to read this. Will you be able to prepare your own dinner?”

Red nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

When William returned just over an hour later, Red was sitting on the settee, reading a well-thumbed detective novel. Red swung his feet off the couch to make room for William to sit next to him. He grinned.

“Any exciting news?”

William sat down, placing a hand on Red’s knee. “What would count as exciting?” he asked, smiling.

Red closed the book, considering the question. “Honestly, your definition of exciting is probably a lot more exciting than mine.”

“Really? I would have thought the opposite.”

“Well, your letters are written in foreign languages, so that’s already more exciting than…” Red trailed off, suddenly reminded that he would never get any letters, since his friends and family must have all thought him dead by now. He placed his book on the table, and changed the subject. “Was it good news? Is your… friend doing well?”

“He is quite fond of the book you delivered before we left, so I suppose so.” He took his hand off Red’s knee to clasp his hands in his lap.

“Oh, good, I’m glad.” He tried not to think about how the letter was thicker than the last newspaper he read so that couldn’t have possibly been all that it was. “Is there anything you’d like me to help with?”

“Now that I have begun to receive mail, I expect to have a few more letters next week. I will also need you to post a reply to today’s letter, once I’ve written it.” He paused. “But no, nothing too taxing for you, my dear. Fortunately, when one is travelling, one’s social obligations are lessened somewhat.” He smiled. “How do you like Corsica?”

Red shrugged. “It’s beautiful here. And I think I’m getting used to the French. I mean, the woman at the bakery only giggles a little when I come in now, which is an improvement.”

“It must have been disrupting, moving here so suddenly.”

Red picked up one of William’s hands to kiss the back of it. “It’s okay. Hey, it took me three months to have a conversation in Italian, and we’ve only been here, what? Two weeks?”

“About that, yes.” William nodded.

“And I can have at least part of a, well, somewhat stilted conversation. So that’s good.”

“The villagers should be honoured to have that much, my dear. I know I would be.” William squeezed Red’s hand.

Red hesitated. “You would be? Talking to me in my awful French?”

“If I didn’t speak English, I would have gladly endured your Italian.” William let go of Red’s hand, moving to stroke his cheek.

“Hm.” Red smiled, and shifted so he was sitting right next to William, their bodies touching, and he turned to lean his back against William’s arm. William stopped touching Red’s cheek, moving instead to rub his back as they sat silently for a few moments. Red considered everything, deep in thought, before speaking again. “Can I ask why?”

“Is it not enough that I wanted the newspaper?”

“You didn’t, though, did you?”

William smiled, kissing Red’s temple. “No. I just wanted to meet you. You seemed… interesting.”

Red grinned. “And why did you think I was interesting?” There was a curiosity to his question, though it was mostly flirting.

William paused, as though he had never thought this through before. “You were… different to other people. It seemed as though you might be…” He tried to think of a way to word it so that Red could understand. “More interesting than other humans.”

“Hm. Really?” Red was surprised at that answer.

“What were you expecting? That I smelled your blood and decided that I had to eat you?” He grinned, his hand stroking eagerly at Red’s neck.

Red smiled back. “Oh, well, that too.” He put an arm around William’s back to hug him, briefly. There was a pause as William’s arm moved back to Red’s waist and Red’s smile faded into a look of contentment. “I don’t know. I never really understood why you wanted me around. Even now.”

“Is it not enough that I like to spend time with you?”

“I don’t know.” Red considered it, looking away. “You’re more worldly than me. Smarter. I’m just a person. Maybe you would be better off with another vampire.”

William laughed, a hearty chuckle. “Oh, goodness, no! We cannot be trusted. There is only one vampire in the world who I count as a true friend, and even shewould dispatch me—or I her—if the reward was great enough.”

Red felt revulsion rise in the pit of his stomach. The thought of someone coming after William, someone that William considered a true friend...

“So, I appreciate that you do not yet have reason to betray me.” He smiled, tightening his arm around Red’s shoulders.

“Yet?” Red moved closer to William, placing his head in the hollow of his neck. “What do you think I would betray you for? I wasn’t planning on it.”

“You have pure morals, Red. Would you have betrayed your sister, if the police asked after her?”

Red pulled away to stare at him, or at the very least to be sure William saw his look of disapproval. “God no. I would never.”

“And that is one of the admirable things about you, my dear.” He smiled, kissing Red’s forehead. “But a man of good moral character like you… you can be manipulated by threats as easily as an impure man can be manipulated by bribes. You might be willing to betray me, one day, with the appropriate pressure placed.”

“...do you think about this a lot?”

He laughed. “It may be the only reason I’m still alive.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Red said. “If other vampires are like you say.”

“And, see, you are very perceptive,” William continued. “You respond well to education. You have lived an interesting life, in a land I have never been to.”

“You think it’s interesting?” Red straightened up a little, flattered.



“You think Australia is interesting, why wouldn’t I think the same of Ohio?”

“True.” Red didn’t quite believe him.

“And I enjoy being around you. You are always surprising me. Nobody has ever made me laugh the way you can.”

Red smiled, unsure of what to say. He had never thought of himself as funny or interesting before.

“So, I am perfectly content to spend my time with you,” William continued. “You are… connected to the pulse of the earth in a way that is no longer possible for me.”

Red considered this for a moment, and then smiled. “And I’m charming.”

“Extremely.” William kissed his forehead, thinking about Red, and all his obligations large and small, the possibility of all his family and friends and wives and children and occupations. He realised, really realised, not merely contemplated, how isolated he must be. “Are you content?”

Red didn’t answer straight away. That was another thing William liked. He never spoke without thinking it through first. They had that in common. “Yeah. Yeah I am.” He craned his neck to kiss William’s temple. “I miss home sometimes, but I’m happy here. With you.”

“I could send you back, if you would rather be there.” There was a note of hesitation in William’s voice: he knew cowards had been reviled all through history, and that Red’s home might not be a welcoming place any longer.

“...No. I can’t. Not now.”

“Why?”

“Virtually everyone in my battalion died, William,” he gave a heavy sigh, the warm feeling of contentment leaving his body like so much stale breath. “Men I knew. Some men whose families I knew, or heard about, or read letters from. I couldn’t just turn up, safe and sound, after deserting them.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have offered.”

Red smiled. “No, it’s nice that you’d do that for me.”

“I could give you a new name and new papers easily enough, but people would recognise you, wouldn’t they?”

“Yeah.” Red shifted a little more, wrapping both his arms around William and squeezing him tightly. William held him tightly, and kissed the top of Red’s head.

“Don’t worry. When the war is over, I will take you to Australia. Nobody will recognise you there.”

Red paused, considering this. “Okay,” he said, not sure whether to be sad or relieved.