Meeting New Friends…

The next section of Quinten’s story.  We meet Charity, a little werewolf, and he get permission to get some “breakfast”.  The word prompt from WriYe DreamWidth was “arch” and I’ve snuck it in there a couple times.


Quinten woke at sunset to find a little girl staring at him.  He scowled at the child.  “What are you supposed to be?” he asked, sitting upright.  “You’re not herself’s daughter.  Are you?”

An impish smile touched the girl’s lips.  “He’s awake, Mistress,” she called, not taking her eyes off of him.  “I’m Charity McLaine,” she said, before she spun away from him and bolted out of the room.  A moment later, she reappeared and pointed at a wardrobe.  “Clothes there, vampire.”

“I’ve a name, you imp,” he snapped.

Charity laughed.  “I’m no imp,” she said, shaking her head.  “I’m a werewolf.”  Then, she had bolted out of the room once again.

“Werewolf, eh?” he called, as he slipped off the bed.  “That explains the rude behavior well enough.”  Then, he began rummaging through the wardrobe, searching for something to wear that suited his style.  What he found was woefully somber.

He released a long-suffering sigh and then changed out of his clothing from the night before.  Once he was dressed properly, if drably, he brushed his hair and headed out of his bedroom.  He inclined his head politely at Prudence.  “So,” he said, after she returned the gesture, “now you’ve got a pet vampire to go with your were-pup?  Can I ask why you’re collecting supernaturals the way some women collect suitors?”

“She’s a peacekeeper, of course,” Charity said, rolling her eyes.  Her eyes twinkled as she waved her finger at him.  “You were a naughty boy, Mr. Terror of Dublin… very naughty indeed.”

Quinten had the grace to duck his head.  He had no excuse for his actions.  His late sire would never have approved of him feeding on schoolboys the way he had been.  “I suppose you were bound because you were such a perfect, innocent little angel,” he said, leveling a glare at Charity.

“Oh, she was worse,” Prudence said.  She waved them both over to the table in the kitchen.  “Sit down and we’ll break our fasts.”

Sighing, Quinten joined them at the table.  It was a fairly normal breakfast: eggs, toast and kippers, along with tea.  Of course, he didn’t need to eat the way Prudence and Charity did.  He needed blood to sustain him and, just then, he was powerfully thirsty.  What had the witch done to him?

“I’m thirsty,” he said.  He gave an exasperated sigh when Prudence poured him a cup of tea.  The implied order to drink it made him lift the cup for a sip.  “This is not what I’m thirsty for, and I expect I’m not telling you something you don’t already know.”

Prudence arched her brows at him until he ducked his head once again.  “Mind your tone, dear one,” she said, as she looked away to pour tea for Charity.

Shaking his head, Quinten said, “Please, Mistress… I need blood.”  He looked at her, meeting her gaze once again.  “I’m of no use to you the way I am just now.  I’m too weak.”

“He is looking rather peaky, Mistress,” Charity said, frowning.

For a moment, Prudence simply stared at him.  Then, finally, she nodded.  Her eyebrows arched impressively as she spoke her next words.  Her tone was firm, not the sort Quinten would have ever thought to argue with.  “You will find someone of age and willing to feed from and then you will return here.  Is that understood?”

Quinten nodded once and pushed away from the table.  “Yes, Mistress,” he said, his voice soft.  He hurried out of the kitchen and had opened the door before he heard Prudence remind him to wear a hat.  He heaved a sigh as he snatched a top hat off the shelf by the door.  Then, he set it on his head and hurried off into the night.


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