Chapter 4

Orlando stood in the shadows behind an imposing marker and watched Viggo. He expected the wizard the leave quickly. A graveyard at one in the morning was not the most reassuring place to be, but instead, Viggo just stood there, looking bemused, maybe even a little stunned. Orlando understood the feeling. He was feeling it, too.  In his more than two hundred years as a vampire, he had never felt anything like what he had experienced when he tasted Viggo’s blood. Feeding on the life force of others had been a permanent part of his existence since his creator had turned him, all those years ago, but it had always been a functional part of his existence, despite what he had implied to Viggo. Orlando fed because he had to, not because it gave him any great pleasure. Until now. Tasting even those few swallows of Viggo’s blood had been exhilarating. Like sex, only better. From a few mouthfuls. Not even enough to be considered a snack.

Orlando’s eyes narrowed when he saw the other wizard arrive. So Viggo had not come completely alone. Orlando did not blame him. Yet Viggo had come to the cemetery alone. Orlando watched the two wizards, wondering what they meant to each other. They spoke with such familiarity that Orlando felt a spike of jealousy. He felt his fangs elongating. He wanted to snarl at the other wizard, to pull up the sleeve of Viggo’s sweater and show the other that Viggo belonged to him. But he forced himself to stay in the shadows, despite his desire to be the one sharing that easy familiarity with Viggo.  ‘You’re a vampire,’ he reminded himself. ‘No one wants you.’

When the two wizards were gone, Orlando left as well, returning to Johnny’s house where he knew the senior vampire waited for his report. He pondered the power of the wizard’s blood as he walked.  Orlando had not fed that day, but he had fed well the day before. It should have lasted him for at least another day, but Orlando hungered as he walked toward Johnny’s house.  Not in general.  He was not at all tempted by the ordinary folk he passed in the street. He hungered in the specific. For the blond wizard who had not backed away from him in disgust. Who had listened to his innermost desire and had not scoffed. Who was willing to add his voice to the vampires’ cause. Who had offered Orlando his blood as proof of his word. He hungered for Viggo.

He would have to ask Johnny what he knew about wizard’s blood. After he explained the rest.

Johnny met him at the door. “Et alors?” he asked.

“À mon avis?” Orlando replied.  “Make the alliance.”

“Just like that,” Johnny said.  “Why?”

“He accepted the terms without negotiation. His only proviso is that the laws must be changed through channels. But we already knew that,” Orlando replied.

“And you believe him?”

“I do,” Orlando said emphatically. “He let me taste his blood. He is a white wizard, and his word is his bond.”

“How much did you drink?” Johnny asked urgently.

“A few swallows. Why?”

“Wizard’s blood is poison,” Johnny said.

“Poison?” Orlando asked, surprised.  “It certainly doesn’t feel like poison. If anything, it was more fulfilling than natural blood.”

Johnny pondered this news for a few moments. “More fulfilling how?” he asked finally.

“From the little that I drank, I felt as satisfied as if I had drunk a normal man dry.  I could feel him all through me, feel his magic pulsing in my veins.  The feeling of the magic has faded, but the satiation remains.”

Johnny was silent again.  “We need to find out the truth about wizards.  Your experience is contrary to all I thought I knew.  Come, we have work to do before we seal the pact.”

“We have a day,” Orlando warned. “I agreed to meet him again at midnight.”

“You what?” Johnny exclaimed.

“He came alone; he disarmed himself willingly; he let me taste his blood. He is not going to change his behavior, even if McKellan rejects our terms.  I will be safe enough.”

“Very well,” Johnny said, though he decided he would send another vampire to keep an eye on Orlando the following night. He was not sure why Orlando was so trusting, even with the proof of the wizard’s blood. After all, he was a wizard. Perhaps he had ways of fooling even a vampire’s tastes.  “Let’s get to work.  We have some research to do. I want to know what other effects his blood is going to have on you.”

Orlando agreed and followed Johnny to his library. 

****************
On the other side of Paris, Viggo tossed and turned in his lonely bed.  He had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but his sleep was not restful. Visions haunted his dreams. At first, it was just the image of Orlando bending over his wrist that Viggo saw, a memory relived in the safety of dreams. Then the images changed, becoming fantasy rather than memory. Sweaty, erotic fantasies, of fangs and flesh, of blood given and received, of chocolate curls and sinful, dark eyes.

In his dreams, Viggo did not stop Orlando after a few sips. He let the vampire feast on his blood, drawing from him until Orlando fairly glowed with power. The giving, which should have drained Viggo, left him refreshed instead, as if in sharing his power it grew.  Orlando raised his head from Viggo’s wrist, bloody fangs glistening as they had done in the cemetery, but instead of staying where he was or drawing away, Viggo stepped closer, bending his head to taste his own blood on Orlando’s lips.  Orlando’s fangs grazed his tongue, a reminder to Viggo that this was no ordinary kiss with no ordinary man, but it was not enough to stop him.  He had to have more, to get closer. He was drawn to Orlando like a moth to a flame, and knowing the fate of the moth in the flame could not lessen the lure. Viggo reached out to touch the silky curls, the smooth skin, cool as marble to his touch but warming with every second that passed as Viggo’s blood burned through his veins, giving him life, giving him warmth.  Orlando ended the kiss, tilting Viggo’s head back and touching his mouth to Viggo’s neck. 

Viggo jerked awake, hands trembling as he considered his dream.  That he desired Orlando did not surprise him. He had come to terms with his own sexuality years ago. What bothered him in the whole equation was that Orlando’s nature was not repulsing him.  It should have bothered him, he was quite sure, that the current object of his interest was a vampire, a creature of the night who subsisted on the blood of others. Viggo had no illusions that all the blood Orlando needed to survive was as freely given as his own had been that night. Orlando had said it himself when he called them his prey and spoke of sparing their lives. Knowing that should have sent Viggo running as far away as possible from anything related to the dark-haired vampire. It should have had his stomach turning in disgust, at what Orlando did to survive and at the fact that he had offered himself to the vampire.  But, running his fingers lightly over the tiny marks on his wrist, Viggo knew that if Orlando asked again, he would offer just as freely as he had the first time.  Something about the feeling of being connected with Orlando had intrigued Viggo, as had the vampire’s attitude toward his state. 

He shivered at this new side to himself. Other than his preference for men, he had always had fairly normal tastes. He had never gotten into kink. Just simple sex had always been enough to fulfill his desires. Nothing with Orlando would be simple, because anything involving him would almost invariably involve blood. Viggo’s blood. And that was something Viggo was still having trouble contemplating. Could he really make a habit of offering his wrist, or more, to sustain Orlando?  Was he actually considering making the offer, not just once, but regularly?  Orlando’s words had suggested that he used sex as a ploy to lure his victims, the physical proximity of the act allowing Orlando to use his fangs, perhaps without his victims even being aware of it, at least at first.  Viggo had never been one to share his lovers with others. If he asked that of Orlando, he had to be willing to provide what Orlando needed in exchange.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” he told himself aloud. “What makes you think he’d want you even if you offered?”  There was no denying his own reaction to the vampire’s bite, but he had no indication that Orlando had felt anything more than what he felt for anyone from whom he fed. Was he even interested in men? Viggo had given him the perfect opportunity to get close in the cemetery, but Orlando had declined. Did that mean he was only interested in women? Or simply that he was not interested in Viggo?

Viggo had no way to answer any of his questions, and they clearly were not going to let him sleep.  He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, hoping the hot water would wash some of the cobwebs away. Maybe then he could think clearly enough to frame his report to Ian.

An hour later, dressed and as coherent as he was likely to get, Viggo left his apartment for Ian’s place. When he arrived, Ian was just sitting down to breakfast.

“You’re here early,” the older man commented.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Viggo said. “I figured, at least this way, we could start planning our strategy.”

“Do we have strategy to plan?” Ian asked dryly.

“The vampires are willing to be our allies. Their only condition is that we work to give them a fair and equal place in our world.  I guess I’d never thought about their lives, Ian, but they have no protection if those around them decide to run them off because of what they are.  We don’t allow the non-magical to face discrimination for anything, yet we allow discrimination against the vampires at will. It is not fair.”

“And so those are their terms?” Ian asked.

“It is little enough to ask for, if they help us win this war.  A few laws to protect them, to treat them with the dignity that all deserve.”

“I have always thought that was true,” Ian said. “Perhaps their role in this war will be enough to convince others to make the changes a reality.”

“Then you do not think they are evil?” Viggo asked.

“I am sure there are evil vampires just as there are evil wizards,” Ian commented, “but they were once ordinary men and women, with individual personalities. I do not think that becoming vampires changed who they are, only how they live.  You are asking for a reason,” Ian said. It was not a question. Viggo’s questions had been too pointed, too specific. He had something on his mind.

Not sure if it was wise or not, Viggo pulled up his sleeve, showing Ian his wrist.  “The vampire I met said that he could read into my heart by tasting my blood.  He only took a little, but Sean seems to think that he can influence me from the bite.”

Ian spent several minutes in silent consideration before he replied, “I do not know. I have heard stories for years about vampires, but they are stories only. I have never seen anything to prove them true.  I think we must discover the truth about our new allies.”

Viggo tried to decide how much he wanted to tell Ian. Should he tell the older man about his dreams? Perhaps ask his advice?  Before he could decide, Ian laid a hand on his shoulder.  “You are pensive, my friend. Tell me what is bothering you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” Viggo said.

“Him?”

“Orlando. The vampire. I dreamed of him last night. I have never felt this way before.”

“And you wonder if it’s because he’s a vampire,” Ian said.  “Perhaps it is, but it is not some magic of the vampires. It is the thrill of the unknown. This, at least, I know.  If vampires could control people through the exchange of blood, do you really think they would stand for the situation they are in?”

Viggo had to admit the logic of that argument. 
 
“I have no doubt he was a fascinating individual. Vampires usually are, but he has not commandeered your mind or heart through any power other than his own charms,” Ian assured Viggo.  “Now, if I have put your mind to rest on that matter, we need to decide when and where next to meet them and exactly what we want to say.”

“I will say whatever you want me to, but you will have to decide by tonight.  Orlando agreed to meet me again at midnight to settle the pact,” Viggo said.

Ian raised one eyebrow in surprise, but he only said, “Then we must decide quickly what exactly we want to ask from our new allies.”

***************
Orlando and Johnny spent the day searching for facts they could use, the heavy curtains keeping out the deadly sunlight. As the sun set, they put away the last of the books.  “What did you find?” Orlando asked.

“Legends and old wives’ tales,” Johnny said in frustration.

“I found the same,” Orlando said.  “Where do we look now?”

“There is one person we could ask.  I lead the vampires because the one senior to me chooses not to be involved in the world. Still, if anyone knows, it will be Lee.  We will have to pay him a visit and hope that he is willing to talk with us,” Johnny said.

“Christopher Lee?” Orlando asked. “I didn’t know he was still alive.  They say…”

“They say many things.  You are still young, Orlando, in the way that vampires measure time.  Lee was an old man when he became a vampire, and he has been a vampire for millennia.  He leaves his house only to feed, and even then, only when necessary.  The last I heard, he had two trusted servants who even hunt for him most of the time.  We will see if he is willing to tell us what he knows. If not, we will have to experiment on our own,” Johnny said.

 Orlando nodded, more than a little nervous about going to meet such an ancient vampire.  Still, if Johnny said that was the only way to get the information they needed, he would go and hope that Lee did not sense his nerves.

As soon as it was fully dark, the two vampires left Johnny’s lair. They had five hours until Orlando was supposed to meet Viggo again. Five hours in which to beard the most redoubtable vampire alive in his den.  

They knocked at the door to Lee’s sanctuary and were greeted by a vampire Orlando did not know.  Johnny, however, greeted the woman by name. “How are you this evening, Miranda?” he asked as she showed them inside.

“I am well enough, though monsieur has been… grumpy of late.  Perhaps you can cheer him up?” Miranda replied.

“We will certainly try,” Johnny promised, entering the indicated room.  Orlando followed him inside.  The room was deserted, only a couch and a few chairs to fill the cavernous space, a fire burning in the fireplace.  Johnny took a seat on one of the chairs, motioning for Orlando to do likewise.  “Now we wait,” Johnny said when Orlando was seated.  “When he is ready, if he is ready, he will join us.”

“I hope we do not have to wait too long,” Orlando said. “I have an appointment to keep and I do not want to be late.”

“And what appointment is so important that it would drag you away from my company?” a deep voice resonated from the darkness.

Johnny sprang to his feet, a young soldier caught out of line by a superior.  Orlando rose as well, but more slowly.  He was sure it was Lee who had spoken, but Orlando had never been inclined to give in blindly to authority. It was one of the reasons he was a vampire now. 

“Why is it your business what appointment I have made?” Orlando challenged.  Johnny hissed at him, but Orlando refused to back down.

“You have spirit, little one,” Lee said, stepping from the shadows, and Orlando began to understand why Johnny gave this one so much respect. Lee towered over both of them, standing easily six feet tall, his demeanor commanding in the dim light.  None would stand against this one for long.

“Forgive me, ancient one,” Orlando said.  “I spoke in haste.”

“Do not abandon your resistance so quickly,” Lee said. “It has been years since anyone dared to challenge me.  It grows tedious, at times, to be feared by everyone.  Now, what brings you to see me, Johnny,” he asked, “and with a mere child in tow?”

“We have spent the day searching for information about the effects of wizard’s blood on vampires, but all we have found is tales of how a wizard’s blood will burn a vampire, or poison him.  None of the stories can be substantiated. It is important that we find out the truth,” Johnny explained.

“The truth about wizard’s blood,” Lee repeated gravely.  “I have read the same tales as you found in my library,” he said slowly, “never having known any vampire who drank the blood of a wizard. The tales that say the their blood is poison, that it will burn us from the inside out if we drink it and from the outside in if it spills on our skin.  The tales that say it will steal our will and bend us to their power. But I imagine I have heard one story that you have not. I was newly made when this happened, still struggling to understand what had happened to me, when my creator brought me to a cemetery, and so perhaps I misunderstood what he meant by the things he told me. There, by a stone, was a pile of ash.  My creator pointed to it and told me that this was what happened to vampires who fed too deeply on a wizard’s blood.  I asked what he meant, but he said only that the vampire had forgotten that he could not face the sun alone.  At the time, I thought that the blood had destroyed the vampire, burned him from the inside out or stolen his mind so that he forgot his limitations.  But I have wondered often since then what the vampire would even have been doing at the tomb of his prey and why he would continue to feed if he felt the blood destroying him. I have also wondered why a wizard of such power as that one would allow a vampire to bleed him to death.”

Orlando wanted to ask about the wizard’s identity, sensing that it was important, but he said nothing, letting Johnny speak instead.  “How would you explain it then?”

“These are just guesses, you understand, but I wonder if there was more to the story than I was told, if in fact the vampire had not bled the wizard to death but stood instead at the grave of his lover, so grieved at the loss that he chose to face the sun rather than go on alone.”

“And the comment that he had forgotten he could not face the sun alone?” Orlando asked. “How could he have faced the sun even with the wizard?”

“I do not know,” Lee replied. “Unless the wizard’s magic transmits with the blood and lingers for a time in the vampire.”

“Orlando?” Johnny prompted. 

“I felt the magic when I tasted his blood,” Orlando said. “I knew it was white magic, and the feeling of it lingered for a time, though not for more than ten minutes.”

“How much blood did you take?” Lee asked.

“Only a few drops,” Orlando replied.

“And yet the magic lingered that long.  How much longer might it linger if you had drawn more?” Lee suggested.

“Long enough to see a sunrise and survive?” Johnny said skeptically.  “I find it hard to believe that this would be possible and we would not know of it.”

“If the price of the exchange is the end of the vampire when the wizard dies, the knowledge could have been suppressed to keep our kind from dying out. I do not know if it is true, only that it is another explanation that would fit what I saw and was told,” Lee said.  “You had one small taste,” he added, turning to Orlando. “What would you give for more, little one?”

“Almost anything,” Orlando admitted, earning him a surprised look from Johnny.

“After just one taste?” Johnny exclaimed.

Orlando nodded. “A friend of his arrived after the meeting ended. I was hiding behind a monument so they would not see me.  They did not even touch, but just the way they were talking made me want to attack the other man, to show him where I had fed, to prove my claim.  I will not take it by force, but I would do anything to persuade him to let me taste him again.”

“You see,” Lee said to Johnny, “why this might have been seen as dangerous.  Now, tell me why a vampire took only a taste of so obviously delicious a mortal.”

Johnny explained about the message from McKellan and the alliance with the wizards.

“So, we meddle again in the affairs of men,” Lee said softly.

“Again?” Orlando asked.

“Once before, they asked for our help, in a similar struggle. We gave it and were decimated in the process. But then, we did not try drinking their blood.  Perhaps that will provide some protection.  Perhaps, too, they have forgotten as much about us as we have forgotten about them,” Lee said.  “I grow weary. Leave me, now.”  He rose and started back into the shadows. 

“Tell me one more thing before you go,” Orlando dared, still sure that the identity of the wizard was too important to let pass.

“Yes?” Lee’s voice came from the darkness.

“Who was the wizard?”

“Merlin.”

Then Lee was gone, disappearing into the shadows from which he had come.  Orlando and Johnny took the cue and departed.  The church bells nearby tolled ten times. 

Johnny could tell that Orlando was impatient with the slow passing of time, but there was nothing either of them could do to speed it up.  “Find someone and feed,” Johnny advised.  “Do not go to this meeting hungry. You do not need the temptation.”

Orlando did not reply, but he knew he would not take Johnny’s advice, as sound as it was.  There was only one flavor that interested him now, and that was Viggo’s.  It was suicide, perhaps, but Orlando would wait for Viggo to refuse him before seeking other prey.


Chapter 5

Orlando waited impatiently for midnight to come. He forced himself to sit in a café and drink an espresso that he did not want and could not taste so that he looked, at least, like an ordinary Parisian out for the evening.  As he sat there, he pondered everything he had learned from Lee and what it might mean for their current situation.  Orlando’s mind boggled as he considered the implications of Lee’s story.  Able to face the sun.  Those were the old vampire’s words.  Was it true? Could it be possible that the magic in a wizard’s blood could protect a vampire from the harmful effects of sunlight? And if it could, what other effects might it have?  Would he be able to taste his coffee again rather than drinking it for the memory?  Would he be able to feel the rush of a cigarette again rather than just inhaling the smoke?  Could the wizard’s blood give him back a fraction of a natural life?  Longing welled in Orlando’s heart. Becoming a vampire had not been his choice; if, in some small way, he could return to the life he had known before, he would take that risk. If Viggo would let him.  Orlando turned over the idea of finding a different wizard if Viggo refused, but every fiber of his being rejected that idea, though he could not have explained why.  He would just have to approach the matter tactfully, present it in terms of strategy. A vampire who could fight in daylight as well as at night was a better ally than one limited by the rhythm of the sun.

Orlando glanced at the clock.  Eleven thirty.  Time to go. He dropped a couple of euros on the table and left his cup half-full.  The coffee no longer held any interest for him. All he could think about was the upcoming meeting.

*********
Viggo expected Sean to insist on going at least as far as the cemetery with him again, as he had the night before, but Sean said nothing about it during the day and did not show up on Viggo’s doorstep that night.  Viggo was surprised by his absence, but assumed Ian had given Sean some assignment to keep him busy for the night.  Viggo had spent the afternoon at Ian’s side, trying to find every scrap of lore or legend related to vampires, but they had found nothing reliable beyond the vampires’ sensitivity to light and their need for blood to survive.  Everything else was just fairy tales and horror stories written by superstitious people with an agenda.  Viggo had never noticed the agenda before, but his conversations with Orlando and with Ian had knocked the scales from his eyes. Orlando had been telling the truth when he spoke of persecution and discrimination. It seemed nobody liked a vampire. ‘Except you,’ his inner voice reminded him.

That was the other great revelation of the day, although Viggo had even less idea what it meant than the first.  He was attracted to a vampire.  Seriously, sexually, attracted to a member of the undead. It was still a disquieting thought, but Viggo had learned to listen to his heart. The hard way.

He had no idea if vampires even felt attraction or desire beyond the desire for blood, but, as he rode the métro on his way to meet Orlando, he knew he would offer his wrist again if Orlando asked.  Even if that meant letting Orlando taste his desire in his blood.

Viggo walked into the cemetery much less on his guard than he had been the previous night.  Even if Orlando was bringing bad news, Viggo did not believe Orlando would attack. And so he walked with his wand pointed casually at the ground. When he caught sight of Orlando lounging on one of the headstones, he dropped the wand immediately.

“Hello,” he said softly, suddenly unsure of himself.

“Hello,” Orlando replied, coming slowly down from his perch. “Did you get an answer?”

“I did. And you? Did Depp agree?”

“Oui. And McKellan?”

“Oui,” Viggo said awkwardly. The conversation felt so stilted, and it seemed that, in five minutes, they had said what needed to be said.  Viggo reached for his sleeve.  “I suppose you’ll want to taste my blood again, to know I’m telling the truth. So you can convince Depp.”  With reluctant eagerness, he offered his upturned wrist for Orlando’s fangs.

Orlando just stared for a moment in amazement at the proffered wrist. He could see the marks that remained from the first kiss. Viggo knew what would happen; he had been bitten already, yet he trusted Orlando enough to bare his wrist to the vampire’s fangs again, without Orlando even asking. No one had trusted him that way since he was made.  He took a step forward.  “Yes, of course, you’re right,” he agreed, raising Viggo’s wrist to his lips.  He did not even think about his hunger as he lingered over Viggo’s skin.  His hunger was irrelevant. Viggo had made this offer and Orlando absolutely refused to abuse it.  As gently as he knew how, he punctured Viggo’s skin and let two drops of blood fall on his tongue before he withdrew, laving the wounds with this tongue to heal them.

As he had done the night before, Viggo prepared himself for the feeling of Orlando’s fangs penetrating his skin. As on the night before, he felt Orlando’s lips moving across his skin before his fangs touched. Then the fangs were there, sliding over his skin and easing into him almost tenderly. They barely penetrated, sending the heady mix of pain and passion down Viggo’s back, promising him delights untold if he would give in and let Orlando have his way. Viggo gave in to the sensation, willing to let Orlando take whatever he wanted.  Then, Orlando’s tongue was sealing the wounds.  Viggo wanted to reach out and push Orlando’s head back against his wrist, to encourage him to take more, to prolong the connection. He had to remind himself that what was an incredibly erotic experience for him was a simple, ordinary function for Orlando.

Orlando savored the blood on his tongue as he raised his head, the way he had seen others savor a fine wine. He let Viggo’s magic sing through his veins, wrapping him for a few moments in Viggo’s feelings.  As before, he knew the truth of Viggo’s words, of McKellan’s agreement. As before, he knew the solid purity of Viggo’s soul, but he also noticed a new twist in the flavor.  He almost did not recognize it. Then it dawned on him. Desire. Viggo’s desire. For him.

In those meager drops of blood, Orlando tasted acceptance for the first time outside the world of vampires.  Viggo did not look at him and see a vampire. Viggo looked at him and saw Orlando Bloom.  Orlando wondered if he should be scared. The last time someone had looked at him that way, that person had forcibly turned him into a vampire. Orlando shook his head to dislodge those thoughts. The desire was similar, but Viggo was not the kind to force an innocent boy to his bed and then change him into a vampire to keep him there. Viggo did not have that kind of spite in him, Orlando knew.

“I met someone today,” Orlando said, trying to find a way to keep the conversation going, to keep Viggo there, “someone I did not believe was still alive.”

Deep in the shadows near the cemetery gate, Sean rolled his eyes.  It had taken all his will power not to stop Viggo when he offered his wrist to the vampire, but the vampire had barely touched Viggo’s wrist before releasing him, and so Sean had stayed where he was. He could see why Viggo might find the vampire attractive, but the thought of fangs anywhere near his skin was enough to make his flesh prickle. And not in a good way.  He was endlessly grateful that Ian had decided to assign this task to Viggo. 

The sound of a cell phone ringing stopped Viggo and Orlando before they could continue their conversation.  With a flick of his wrist, Viggo’s wand was in his hand again and he was searching for the source of the sound, ready to defend himself and Orlando from the intruder.

“Bloody hell!” he heard a voice say from the darkness.

Viggo sighed and lowered his wand. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here, Sean?” he asked in the general direction of the sound.

Sean revealed himself and answered, “I sure as hell know what I’m not doing. I’m not fighting this war that we’re supposed to be trying to win.  I’m not defending innocents or even our friends. While you two are exchanging gossip about your day, wizards are dying!”

“Where?” Viggo asked without needing to hear more. The only thing that upset Sean to this degree was a losing battle with Smith and his minions.

“Versailles,” Sean said emotionlessly.

“Abby?” Viggo asked.

“Dead,” Sean replied. “I’ll never know if we could have worked things out. While we’re here fucking around, my wife was out there fighting and dying. I thought this alliance,” and he spat out the word, “was supposed to help? Instead, it’s pulled me away from the front lines.” He turned to Orlando.  “How the hell are you going to make this better?”

Before Orlando could reply, another voice spoke from the darkness. “Even we cannot undo death, but Orlando was not gossiping. He was about to tell your friend what we learned today. It might prove quite useful.”

All three men turned to face the latest arrival, but only Orlando recognized him. “What are you doing here, Johnny?” he asked.

“Much the same as that one,” Johnny said, pointing to Sean. “Keeping an eye on the situation.”

Orlando sighed.  “Johnny Depp, this is Viggo, the wizard I told you about.”

“Viggo Mortensen,” Viggo said with a nod. He did not offer his hand. He could not, not to another vampire so soon after offering his wrist to Orlando.

“And this is Sean Bean,” Viggo added, “a friend and fellow soldier.” Sean grunted at the introduction. “Now, what have you learned?” Viggo asked.

Orlando looked at Johnny who motioned for him to continue.  “Maybe nothing,” Orlando admitted, “but we went to see the oldest vampire still in Paris, probably in the world. I didn’t even know he was still around until today. He told us a story of something that happened so long ago that it is unknown to all but him. And in one interpretation of that story, a vampire who drinks a wizard’s blood is immune to sunlight.”

“That’s a lot of qualifiers,” Sean observed.

“It is,” Orlando agreed, “but there is no way to check it out except to try it. The vampire who drank the wizard’s blood is dead, as is the one who told Lee the story.”

“This vampire,” Viggo asked, “did he drink any wizard’s blood?”

“We don’t know,” Johnny said. “All we know is that he drank one wizard’s blood.”

“Do you know who?” Viggo asked.

Orlando and Johnny exchanged a glance.  “Merlin,” Orlando said.

Viggo shook his head. “The most powerful wizard ever. You do realize that even if Merlin’s blood made it possible, none of the rest of us even begin to compare to his power. There might be no effect with our blood.”

“I could feel your magic lingering in me when I tasted your blood last night and moreso tonight.  That gives me hope that it will work.  Now we just have to try it,” Orlando said.

“That’s suicide if it doesn’t work!” Viggo exclaimed, unable to bear the thought of losing Orlando so soon.

“I don’t plan on walking straight into the sunlight,” Orlando retorted. “I know my own limits. If I can push those limits after drinking your blood, then I’ll push a little more until we see what the new limits are.”

“And what makes you think you can just drink Viggo’s blood?” Sean asked protectively.

“Are you offering to take his place?” Orlando countered. “Because you’re the only two wizards here.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Viggo interrupted. He did not want Sean’s wrist anywhere near Orlando’s mouth. “I’ll do it. But we can’t do it here.”

“No, we can’t,” Orlando agreed. “The safest place would be my apartment. I know exactly where the sun comes through the windows. I learned to avoid it long ago.”

“I’m coming along,” Sean insisted.

“I think that’s only fair,” Johnny agreed. “I will watch as well, from the shadows. That way, each side will have an unbiased witness to what happens.”

“I hardly think either of you qualify as objective,” Orlando observed.

“Perhaps not,” Johnny conceded, “but we will at least be uninvolved.”

“Shall we go then?” Orlando suggested. “We can talk more when we get inside.”

Viggo immediately moved to Orlando’s side, ready to follow him but also wanting to talk to him. He bent his head near Orlando’s as they began the short walk out of the cemetery to Orlando’s apartment, not wanting to share his thoughts with Sean or Johnny. “You said you could feel my magic. What did it feel like?” he asked.

“Tingly at first,” Orlando said, “like the bubbles in mineral water, as it moved through me. Then it wrapped itself around me, like a blanket.” He paused for a long second before adding, “Or a lover.”

Viggo shivered the words. A lover. That was what he wanted to be to Orlando. If his magic could move that along, he would share all that he could spare.

“How long did it last?” Viggo wanted to know.

“Ten minutes or so,” Orlando replied.

“That’s not very long,” Viggo said, disappointed.

“No,” Orlando agreed, “but I did not take very much blood either. The first time was a few swallows only. This time was not even that, and yet the effect persisted. If I were to take more – not enough to hurt you, just enough to strengthen me – the effect might last longer. We will have to experiment with the limits. I know that time is of the essence. The sooner we have the answers, the sooner we can start turning the tide in this war.  We will help however we can, regardless of the outcome of the experiments, but battles do not follow the rhythm of the sun. We will be much better allies if we are not limited.”

“There will be wizards who will resist sharing their blood,” Viggo commented.

“And there will be vampires who will refuse to drink it,” Orlando replied. “We will deal with that when we have something concrete to tell them.  Let’s start by convincing your friend Sean that the plan has some merit.”

As they talked, they walked down avenue Gambetta to rue Desirée. Orlando unlocked the door to the courtyard and led the other three inside and up the three flights of narrow stairs to his apartment.  It was a bachelor’s flat: a bedroom, a bath, a tiny kitchen and a living room, nothing spectacular, but a place to live. Only the living room had windows, and they were covered in thick velvet curtains. Orlando opened the curtains to reveal the closed volets. He opened them, then drew the curtains closed again. “We will open them when dawn comes and we are ready to do our tests,” he said, “but until then, I prefer them closed. We would not want the neighbors wondering what we are doing in the middle of the night.”

Sean took a seat on one of the chairs, preferring to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the vampires. Johnny took the other chair, leaving the couch for Viggo and Orlando. Neither seemed to care about the proximity, sitting easily side by side.

“How exactly do you envision this working?” Johnny asked.

“The experiment?” Orlando asked.

“The alliance,” Johnny replied.

“There are no drawn lines,” Sean said, “no clearly demarcated battle fields. We meet the dark wizards when we can, trying to stop their attacks and thwart their plans. Those we can capture, we imprison for using dark magic. The others we kill in battle. The more people we can put on the field of battle, the more of them we can stop. What we really need is to find their headquarters and to take out Smith, but he has so far eluded us.”

“So we are to be cannon fodder,” Orlando said bitterly.

“Not necessarily,” Viggo said.  “We try not to engage them in full-scale war. There is too much collateral damage. We try to lay traps for them, and then take them out when they take the bait.  You know how to subdue your prey. You can subdue a wizard the same way.”

“And the wizard’s spells?” Johnny asked.

“There are counterspells that we can use to protect ourselves and you.  We are not asking you to fight them alone, but at our side, your gifts and ours working together,” Viggo said.

“Gifts?” Orlando spat.  “We have no gifts. Only curses.”

“Then use those,” Sean said.  “Use whatever you have because God knows they will.”

They talked and argued through the night. When dawn neared, Johnny and Orlando began to grow visibly uneasy, even with the dark curtains in place.

“What’s wrong?” Viggo asked.

“It’s an instinctive reaction to the sunrise,” Orlando explained. “Even knowing that the curtains are closed and protecting us, our bodies urge us to seek shelter from the sun.”

“Is it time to begin, then?” Viggo asked.

“Soon,” Orlando replied.  “We need to let the sun rise enough that it will shine in the window when you open the curtain.  Although it is painful, I can endure indirect light for several minutes without it doing any damage.”

They sat in tense silence until Orlando judged that enough time had passed.  He looked at Viggo, not quite sure how to ask for what he needed.  Sensing the vampire’s unease, Viggo held his hand out to Orlando as he had two times before.  “Here,” he said softly. “Take what you need.”

Orlando stared at Viggo for a moment before closing his hands around Viggo’s arm and lifting the wizard’s wrist to his mouth.  He was acutely conscious of Johnny and Sean nearby.  He was about to feed from Viggo, about to take the wizard’s magic into his body, the most intimate thing a vampire could do. Having an audience made him incredibly self-conscious. 

Johnny rose from his seat and started toward the kitchen. When Sean did not do the same, Johnny’s hand clamped on the man’s shoulder and pulled him up.  “What?” Sean asked.  Johnny did not answer until they were in the other room.

“Do you have a voyeuristic streak?” Johnny asked.

“What are you talking about?” Sean replied defensively.

“You don’t watch a vampire feed. It’s rude. It would be like watching two people have sex,” Johnny said, “so unless you get off on that, we’ll just stay in here for a few minutes.”

“But…” Sean started to protest.

“But nothing. Orlando is not going to hurt your friend. He has too much to lose to do that. Just give them a few minutes alone and then you can hover all you want.”

Sean set his arms across his chest, clearly wanting to protest more, but Johnny ignored him.

In the other room, Orlando stared down at the smooth skin of Viggo wrist. The wizard had given him the unmarked wrist rather than the one Orlando had bitten before. He took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself to feed.  He could feel Viggo’s eyes on him, not pleading as his victims so often did, not clouded with fear or anger.  Viggo’s eyes were hot with the desire that Orlando had tasted earlier.