BVQA: Alright, first of all, I would like to apologize. You, dear readers– if there are any of you left after that long wait– did not deserve for me to vanish of the face of the earth like that, especially after that unfair cliffy. God, it feels like I say that way too much. . .

Anyway. I'm sorry, guys, I really didn't mean to let this thing slip. But I'm here now, and hopefully so are you, so let's make the best of things. I should also mention that, if you ever feel like an update is taking too long, you have my full permission to message me and cuss me the frick out. Be a jerk. I won't blame you. Or you could message my lovely editor, who will beat me and cuss me out in person.

And now, review replies. Many thanks to those who put up with me.

Panakeias: Ragamuffin's not caught yet! He could still totally manage to get out of this situation, using his cunning wit and. . . oh, who am I kidding, the guy's doomed.

A thanks to the guest: for both stopping by and for bothering to write in with your support. I know how few do.

Allana Morgan: Again, he's not caught yet. But I can't really argue with discovered. I honestly have no idea how he and Lenore have flown under the radar for this long anyway. Dead bodies all over the place.

Isis Lied: Thank you for jumping on the holy-crap-they're-dysfunctional Taxidermy-Raganore family bandwagon. I cannot guarantee Raggy won't bite the cops, then again, I cannot guarantee he won't bite me for writing this in the first place. Life is funny like that. Thanks for saying it was okay to take my time– although I really shouldn't have taken that much of it. But as always, thanks for the support.

Wow. Holy crap this thing got long. I swear there's a chapter buried under this block of text.


Chapter 8

Sick

Ragamuffin was sick.

He was sick of sneaking out all the time. He was sick of leaving Lenore at home and going out to try to bite someone– anyone– before she noticed he was gone. He was sick of running out on his friends, all two of them, and he was sick of failing in his position of self-appointed dead-girl-babysitter. He was sick of dodging Taxidermy because he felt guilty. He was even kind of sick of killing people, and if he wasn't so goddamned hungry maybe he'd have been sick enough to stop.

But mostly, he was just sick in the corner of an alley about five or six feet from a freshly dead body, wracked with dry heaves over a puddle of blood that had tasted much better and burned much less going down than up.

It was Ragamuffin who was curled up on the asphalt, shaking and feeling horrible and hungry and sick and just wanting it all to stop. And it was Ragamuffin who made repeat appearances that night, Ragamuffin who did the encores after the Eternal Vampire Scourge had exited stage left. But he was the star of the performance, the one who lived again that night and killed again that night, again and again until faces and names were blurring in his mind and he did not stop, not until dawn started to touch the sky, and it was Ragamuffin who stumbled home at last, weary and bloodstained and just wanting to tumble into a shower and fall asleep there, letting the water wash the red from his skin.

But when he opened the front door, he knew at once there was no way that was going to be happening.

Not with the sound of turning pages in the sitting room.

He tried to walk by, tried to escape, tried to pad silently down the hallway, past the doorway to the sitting room and up the stairs, but he couldn't stop himself from glancing through the open door as he went by, and that was a mistake. The first thing he saw was Taxidermy, and it wasn't a distracted Taxidermy deep in a book, or staring out the window, it was a Taxidermy who was looking right back at him. Ragamuffin saw the tight, drawn expression on Taxidermy's face, and realized that he was so screwed.

"Sit down," Taxidermy said, and Ragamuffin obeyed the order with hardly a thought. There was anger in Taxidermy's voice, real anger, and even though Ragamuffin knew it probably stemmed mostly from disappointment and frustration, it didn't take away the fact that it was the first time he'd ever seen Taxidermy like this. The lack of a mouth or facial features had never hindered Ragamuffin's ability to read his friend's expression, but tonight Taxidermy was closed-off, as blank as his cold black eyes.

Ragamuffin sat still, not daring to move, to speak, to breathe. He could feel the itchy sensation of drying blood, feel it on his mouth, his chin, his clothes, and he knew that Taxidermy could see it too, could see the physical evidence of his night out, red neon smears that flashed guilty, guilty, over and over again. He felt so vulnerable, like Taxidermy was reaching inside him with his eyes and holding up all his dirty little secrets to the light, examining them and dusting them off before putting them back inside him to fester.

When Taxidermy finally broke the silence, his voice was almost shaking, the tone of a man barely keeping himself in check. "I got a call from Lenore this evening. I thought after you got arrested yesterday you'd have enough sense to stay here and try to keep yourself out of trouble, but she calls and asks if I've seen you because you weren't there when she woke up. And I come over, because you left her alone in the house, and we both know why that isn't a good idea, and I waited for you to come back."

Ragamuffin swallowed, his fingernails digging harshly into the palms of his hands, and he wanted to drop his gaze but he couldn't seem to break eye contact with Taxidermy. He knew where this was going, knew what was going to happen, but in the same horrible way you can't stop a car accident he couldn't halt this lecture, couldn't delay it from reaching its inevitable destination.

The corners of Taxidermy's eyes crinkled up, not in mirth as Ragamuffin was used to, but in a scowling sort of anger that made its way through his frosty exterior. "And I waited, and waited, and kept right on waiting, and then I turned on the news. Do you want to know what I saw?"

No, Ragamuffin thought, but he didn't say it. He knew the answer anyway.

"The nevermore vampire strikes again. Strikes over and over, causing so much bloodshed that the entire town is in a state of emergency!" Taxidermy's voice had started to get louder, and Ragamuffin nearly flinched, because he'd never heard him raise his voice, not ever, no matter what he or Lenore had done. Nearly, because while part of him was hurt and scared and knew he deserved this, on the outside he was cold. Unmoving. Unable to react.

His voice was rusty when he spoke, soft and worn around the edges, and he realized belatedly that he hadn't spoken to anyone all night. His words were dull and unused, and his throat raw from throwing up, but he still managed to get out a sentence in a steady, unwavering tone.

"I thought you said it was up to me when we had this conversation."

Taxidermy exploded. Not literally, not in the oh-so-convenient glad-we-could-skip-out-on-that-lecture way that was so common around Lenore, but in the raised-voice, clenched-fists standing-up-abruptly way that was so much worse. "That was before there was a twenty person killing spree tonight!"

Ragamuffin felt that locked-away part of him wince, and this time he really did drop his gaze. He'd killed more than that, way more, although it was all a bit blurry. They probably just hadn't found the bodies yet.

There hadn't been much left of some of them.

Ragamuffin was expecting more shouting. He was expecting yelling, insults, expletives, and just general rage, because that was what he deserved. By all rights, that was what Taxidermy should be allowed to do now.

But instead his voice just went soft, sort of broken, and Ragamuffin wondered if maybe he was about to cry. "I just need to know why. I know we all do bad things sometimes, and I know that the bad things the undead tend to do are pretty damn horrible. I know that. And I know that you're used to just being able to do whatever you want to, whenever you want to, just because you want to. But you're a good kid, I know that too, and I just. . . I thought Lenore had been a better influence on you than this."

Ouch.

"So. . . why?"

Something inside Ragamuffin broke, some sort of dam that had been keeping back everything he'd had bottled up, all his frustration, all his panicked terror, all his sickness, and now it was his turn to explode, to stand up and throw his hands up and yell.

"You think I'm a good kid? Are you serious? Do you really think you know anything about me? You know Ragamuffin, the vampire who looks after Lenore and babysits her and has stupid tea parties with her, but do you even know what I was like before this? Did you even bother to find out everything I did? There's a reason I was cursed, you know, and it's because I am not a nice person. What I did tonight? That was nothing compared to what I got up to four hundred years ago, nothing. But you didn't know that, did you, didn't even bother to try to find out what I'm really like underneath the 'good kid' fa?ade."

Ragamuffin was all fire and smoldering eyes, clashing heat and harsh spat-out words, but while he was exploding Taxidermy was cooling down, and his eyes were softening back into that concerned expression that Ragamuffin had grown painfully used to.

Then he spoke, and Ragamuffin realized it wasn't even concern anymore. It was just. . . caring. Worn-out and worn thin, but caring nonetheless. "I never dug through your past because I already know what you're really like, Ragamuffin. You're the kind of person who gets dream catchers for people when they can't sleep. You go to the stupid tea parties and you grumble about them but you wind up enjoying them anyway, just like the rest of us. And it doesn't matter what you did four hundred years ago because today, you're not the kind of person who'd kill that many people for no reason." Taxidermy took a deep breath, and made sure his eyes met Ragamuffin's before he spoke again. "But I can't help you if I don't know why. Okay?"

Ragamuffin felt vaguely like someone had punched him in the stomach. All the fight rushed out of him as he collapsed back into the armchair, suddenly just. . . completely losing the will to stay upright. Nothing like calm, patient caring to take all the fun out of being mad.

"Well, you were wrong about one thing," he said at length, chuckling humorlessly. He'd used up whatever anger there was, and now he just felt. . . numb. "I don't have a good reason. I was just hungry."

Taxidermy took a deep breath, ready to speak, and Ragamuffin cut him off because he already knew what was coming. They both knew how much he'd eaten in the past week alone, he didn't need to be reminded.

"I. . . haven't been eating." Wait, no, that wasn't quite right. Ragamuffin took a deep breath, tried again. "I mean, I have been, but. . . every time I do I throw up. I don't know why. I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't keep anything down and I can't stop trying to, because even though I know it's not going to work I'm. . . losing it. I'm seriously starting to lose it. I don't want to hurt people anymore but I don't want to hurt anyone I care about more than that and I'm just. . . I'm done. I give up. I don't know what to do and I'm. . . scared."

Well. Way to spill every pathetic thought you've had since this whole thing started, Ragamuffin. Real nice work there. But he was being honest, he just didn't care anymore, he was fed up and sick and he just wanted to get everything out there, the bad things and the good things and the anger and the pathetic self-pity, because once he'd handed them to someone else he didn't have to deal with them anymore. So yeah, it was selfish of him to be dumping all this on Taxidermy, but he was selfish.

He wasn't a nice person.

Not even when he was trying to be.

Taxidermy was silent for a moment, and Ragamuffin wondered if he was thinking things through or searching for words or what, but eventually he did speak and his voice sounded almost as rusty as Ragamuffin's had been. "And you didn't think to mention this before?"

Ragamuffin laughed quietly, running a hand back through his thick hair, staring down at his feet. "It wasn't your problem."

The silence lasted even longer this time, and Ragamuffin realized he was close to crying. Something about voicing his situation had made it different, more real somehow, because before he'd tucked it away in the back of his mind and only really glanced at it when he had to. But now he'd put words to it, and he'd had to really scrutinize it for the first time in order to do so, and he couldn't pretend it wasn't real anymore because someone else knew.

Taxidermy crouched down in front of him, trying to meet his gaze, but Ragamuffin deliberately avoided it. His emotions had ripped through him and now he felt hollow, felt like there was a wind blowing through his rib cage, felt exhausted, and he really just wanted to take a shower and go to sleep.

"Ragamuffin," Taxidermy said softly, and the vampire gritted his teeth. "It is my problem. Anything bad that happens to you and Lenore is my problem. I care about you two, and I haven't been around as long as I have just to sit back and watch you run yourself into the ground."

Ragamuffin swallowed. His mouth still tasted like bile and sour blood. "There's nothing you can do."

"You don't know that." There was exasperation mixed in with Taxidermy's tone now, not much, but still some annoyance at his fatalistic attitude. "For all you know–"

"It was the witch, okay? I think it was, anyway, it's the only thing that makes any sense. She put in a failsafe that would royally fuck me up if I managed to break the first spell, and unless you've got her on speed dial there's nothing you can do about it."

Another pause, the span of maybe a couple seconds, and this time Ragamuffin's head jerked up when he caught a note of humor in Taxidermy's tone.

"I don't think magic is as unbeatable as you seem to think."

"I–"

"Listen. If that witch was as powerful as you seem to think– and as powerful as I think, because anyone who can turn someone into a living doll is a force to be reckoned with– then it's very possible that she threw in a failsafe. But curses like that? They've got to be pretty precise about their parameters. We might be able to cheat it." Taxidermy paused, letting that sink in, then continued. "Have you thought about hitting up a blood bank?"

Ragamuffin blinked. He was pretty sure his expression was completely blank right now, and his voice was completely devoid of anger or even sarcasm when he managed to use it. Because a solution was the last thing he'd been expecting. He was. . . shocked. "That's pretty much the lowest a vampire can sink to, y'know? So. . . yeah. I've been considering it a lot." The last sentence was accompanied by a sigh. Drinking bagged blood was right up there with the concept of 'vegetarian' vampires– stupid and embarrassing to any self-respecting nightstalker with a pair of fangs. Drinking animal blood wasn't even possible, actually, it just wasn't compatible with a vampire's system and wasn't anywhere even close to what human blood was like.

See also: things Ragamuffin had been seriously considering at three AM.

"I think that may work. If you're not actually hurting anybody. . ." Taxidermy let the end of the sentence hang in the air, open, and for the first time in what felt like forever Ragamuffin realized there might be a way out of this after all.

"Lemmie guess, your cousin owns the red cross."

Taxidermy 'smiled,' and Ragamuffin felt something inside him click back into place. "Even I'm not that good. But I could get you something first thing tomorrow evening, at the very least. I know some people. For now, I think it might be a good idea for you to get some sleep, alright? And. . . you should probably wash up."

Right, because he was still covered in blood, wasn't he? "Probably a smart plan, yeah." He stood, turned to leave, hesitated by the door. . . "Um. Thanks," Ragamuffin said, turning to glance back over his shoulder. . . but Taxidermy was already gone.

Ragamuffin fell asleep in a guest bedroom, feeling hopeful and optimistic for the first time since Rebecca.

LINE BREAK

It wasn't Ragamuffin who woke up, though.

What woke up was something different, something primal and base, something hungry. The vampire sat up and glanced through the slanting evening light, smelling rather than seeing that someone had entered the room with it. The door had been shut the night before, to keep others out, just in case. But it was open now, someone had opened it, and it was that soft creak that had woken the vampire up.

"Raggy?"

Something was making noises. Sounds, maybe words, but the vampire didn't really care. It wasn't interested in anything its prey could say to it.

Because that's all the something was.

Prey.

"Taxidermy said not to bother you, but I missed you, Raggy. Where were you yesterday?"

The sounds were drawing closer, and so was the speaker, and the vampire's back was to her as it stayed perfectly still. Unmoving. The only sign that it was even awake was the fact that it was sitting up. Its hair hung in its eyes, cloaking its expression.

Maybe it didn't have one.

"Raggy, why did Taxidermy tell me not to come in here? What's going on? Why aren't you on the couch like normal?"

The vampire's fingers tightened on the covers. The girl was drawing closer now, almost within arm's reach, and in just a few more steps. . .

"Stop ignoring me, stupid-head, I know you're awake! Quit being such a jerk!"

The girl reached out, maybe to smack him, maybe to try to give him a noogie, but it didn't matter because the vampire caught at her wrist and yanked, pulling her forwards onto the bed. She yelped, and there, that was better, that was normal, people were supposed to scream when they saw it, not try to talk.

God, it was hungry. . .

"Raggy, knock it off! Raggy! Raggy! Ragamuffin, stop it!" The girl's voice rose in pitch, panic starting to infect her tone, and it didn't stop, not as it grabbed her shoulders, pinned her down, and she was fighting it, struggling to get away and she was still screaming that word, that nonsensical pattern of sounds that it ignored as easily as it ignored her attempts to free herself.

"Ragamuffin!"

The vampire bit down harshly, tightening his jaw, and then there was blood spilling out over its teeth, its tongue, down its throat, and it was cold and there wasn't a pulse behind it but it still tasted amazing. There was something there, something off from how blood was supposed to taste, something like herbs and thick spices, but the vampire couldn't quite place–

Someone was yanking it off. Someone was pulling it backwards, away from its prey, and it hissed, lashed out with its hands, but whatever was holding it was strong, very strong, and it couldn't break the grip. It was tossed down onto the bed, away from the girl, and now she was quickly being carried out of the room. The vampire growled, tried to follow, but then the same someone was standing in the doorway, blocking its path. The someone wasn't human, it could smell that much, wasn't even close, and some part of the vampire's instincts suddenly realized it might be a good idea to run like hell.

It didn't get the chance– suddenly it was being held down, away from the door, and something was being forced into its mouth. The vampire bit down, trying to keep from gagging on the slick plastic, and then there was blood spilling onto its mouth again as his fangs popped through. It swallowed, straining forwards towards the source, and in a second it was all gone. The empty plastic was ripped away and another bag produced, pressed against the vampire's lips, and Taxidermy was talking in a low voice to him as he struggled to get free, to keep up, to keep drinking or to get his mouth free or something, and finally Ragamuffin managed to splutter some words out through what must have been the fifth bag of blood, trying not to spill it all down his face as he tried to swallow and speak at the same time.

"Tax– Taxidermy, stop it, I'm– I'm back, I'm okay, you can– gackstop now."

The pressure on his mouth dropped away and Ragamuffin could breathe again, struggling for air as Taxidermy released him. He opened his eyes, gasping, and he could feel a shudder ripping down his spine as he worked his way back in control.

"That. . . that was. . ." Ragamuffin said, voice shaking, and he wrapped his arms around himself, drawing his knees to his chest. He'd lost control. He'd lost control and he'd hurt Lenore. "Is she. . . okay?" He asked weakly, and he could still taste spices and dead blood.

Taxidermy, to his credit, didn't even attempt to guilt-trip him. He knew Ragamuffin would be feeling bad enough already. Instead, he tried to patch things up. "Lenore will be fine. She's had far worse. I think she was more worried than scared. I'm sorry, I should have told her what was going on."

Ragamuffin swallowed, shook his head, because that would have been worse. "No, I should've had some fucking self-control. I. . . I can't believe I just did that."

"Ragamuffin," Taxidermy said, and it managed to cut through Ragamuffin's outer layer of absolute panic. He looked up at him, and while Taxidermy looked serious, he didn't look. . . disappointed. Just concerned. "It's alright. I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did, actually. I should've been quicker getting blood up here. Now, I have to go check on Lenore, alright? I'll be right back, and then we can sort this whole mess out."

Ragamuffin nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and watched as Taxidermy slipped out of the room.

He'd hurt Lenore.

After everything that had happened, after all the work he'd put into not hurting her, he'd gone and done it anyway. He felt sick, actually, and he couldn't imagine having to face her after this–

Ragamuffin's eyes widened.

He felt sick.

LINE BREAK

It had been even worse, that time. Ragamuffin wasn't sure if it was because it had actually been worse, or if it had been because he'd thought– or, okay, he'd hoped– that the whole 'bagged blood' thing was actually going to work, and this was just the shocked disappointment making it more horrible than usual. It was possible, maybe, that biting Lenore was what had triggered it, but deep down he knew otherwise. Whatever it was that was wrong with him, it wasn't going to get better.

He'd already hurt Lenore. Next time, he might kill her, for real this time. He could already feel himself slipping, could feel Ragamuffin going away and the Scourge coming back, and he closed his eyes against the cold night air and made his choice.

He'd opened the window afterwards, trying to get rid of the smell of blood. It was choking the room, and rather than smelling good to him it just smelled strong. Metal and herbs and guilt. What a combination.

He jumped.

It was just a second-story window– a fall from that hight wouldn't have killed him, immortality or no. He landed on his feet, absorbing the impact by falling into a crouch, and started off down the road. He was going to die, he could tell that already, and the least he could do was make sure he didn't take his friends with him. Leaving was the only way he knew how to do that.

It hurt, leaving his home behind him, and rather than let himself hurt he just. . . shut down. He stopped thinking, trudging down the street and just watching his shoes. Focused on breathing. Focused on not thinking about Lenore.

She'd been fine before he'd entered her life. She'd be fine after he was gone. He'd miss her, for whatever time he had left, and she'd miss him. He hoped she would. But she'd get over it, she had other friends, and he wouldn't have to get over it. Which was good, because. . . there was only one Lenore.

A car drove by, headlights lighting up the tar, and Ragamuffin stepped to the side of the road, not lifting his gaze. He had to keep his head down, there was blood all down his chin, but he hoped the car would go by too fast to notice.

It slowed, then stopped, and he cursed under his breath, sneaking a sideways glance at the driver's seat. Fat-cop stared back at him, smiling in a way that was more unfriendly than a frown.

"Hey, Scourge," he said. "Hop in."