Evening


Camden Town Hookers didn't look as busy as you might expect, on its first night of legal[1] feeding.

The usual Saturday crowd was about - a sprinkling of less than half a dozen mortals, the only ones reflected in the great mirror behind the bar. They occupied shadowy leather booth seats with their respective companions, although Terry spied one of his coven leading a wizard to the back; that was where patrons were brought for more privacy or intimate feedings.

He had a good view of the place tonight, from where he sat at the end of the bar talking to Poole. The new moon[2] was not far off and Terrence was considering a meal. His first on-the-books taste.

        "Are you goin' to be picky about it?" Anaïs teased as she poured a drink for nobody in particular.
"It's momentous, innit?" he mused, unserious, eyeing the movements of a young wizard at a corner table. "Written down in ink and all that."

The bartender snorted and glanced across the establishment as the doors opened. She laughed. "Oooh, now take a look at that," Poole tossed back her own drink. "There's a couple of fine years if I ever saw 'em."

Terry followed her amused look, acknowledging the couple who had just entered.

They were, he conceded, not the precocious vintage that usually waltzed in. This was a whole new kind of customer.

1.	12th Oct - Wizengamot Passes Vampire Feeding Law
2.	15th October

It had been a lovely dinner at a small muggle restaurant in London with her husband of almost 2 years. Miranda had chosen the carbonara (no garlic) followed by a small portion of tiramisu. They’d shared a bottle of red wine and spent a good couple of hours just enjoying one another’s company. Miranda was dressed as she always would for an evening out. She wore a long halter neck black dress and heels. Her long dark hair was down, left to fall over her back and shoulders in neatly combed waves. Hanging in the air between them through dinner was their next destination. Ignan clearly didn’t want his wife to offer herself up to this, but the closer she got to the actual event, the more she found herself wondering exactly how she would feel.

Throughout most of her life, Miranda hadn’t considered herself to be much of a risk taker. When one looked at her behaviour with Lawrence Musgrave or her choice in husbands, one might strongly disagree with her self assessment. This seemed about the most wild she might be in her current situation. She was happily married, had the job she’d aimed for her entire career and she would be turning 50 in a few months. Perhaps it was a midlife crisis, but goodness knew how long she would live considering the way the Storms inadvertently attracted danger.

It was fairly late by the time they stood arm in arm outside Hookers. It was an old building, looking a little unloved, as if time had forgotten about it. While they may have frequented the Hogshead years ago, this certainly wasn’t the standard of establishment Miranda would usually choose to venture into. She bit the inside of her cheek with a frown before glancing up at her much taller husband. Nothing really needed to be said at this moment.

So Ignan pulled open the door and held it for the witch who stepped through. Her wand was secreted in the pocket of her fur coat and she imagined Ignan’s was within easy reach. Despite his age, he was quick. There really was no other witch or wizard that she’d rather have by her side for this.

Instantly, Miranda felt eyes on them. Her grip on Ignan’s arm tightened ever so slightly, but her expression betrayed nothing. Instead, dark eyes roamed the dim room. Booths lined the walls. They were upholstered in red leather, she noted. Red to perhaps hide the stubborn blood stains.

“I feel like I’ve stepped into a seedy novella,” muttered the healer, glancing back up at her husband. How eager, she wondered, was he feeling to just drag her out of there right now?

Ignan had tried to steer his wife to dishes that contained garlic, but to no avail. She was absolutely dead set on this venture. Instead they found themselves the length of the country south in Camden, London, stepping into Hooker’s, which had a really unfortunate name in his opinion.

Perhaps she would be convinced when she saw the fangs. They really were something to stare at. He’d tried to leave books open on the bed for her to see diagrams of before they left. Over dinner he’d relayed stories of bites gone terribly wrong… But once Miranda had set her mind on something, it was damned near impossible to stop her.

“I feel like I’ve stepped into a seedy novella.”

“You’re getting that now?” He uttered back, already counting the figures in the room and those in the mirror behind the bar. “Not too late to walk out.”

He had enough stakes. Just.

Whether they knew it or not, the couple's words carried through clearly to vampiric ears.

       "I like them!" Anaïs sighed - she had a soft spot for older humans, including her own pet. "Work your magic, won't you please, Terry?"
"What my bartender commands..." he tapped the counter and winked.

Of course he preferred to keep new customers than frighten them away; and older wixes were worth the effort, unlikely to jump and dash like the young ones who dared one another to cross their threshold.

Terry rose - stepping lightly towards the man and woman. He was doing his usual thing, barely levitating to keep his movements soundless. It added a bit of flair, he thought, the kind that people come for and the kind that let him show off his abilities as an older vampire.

"Walking out so soon, luv?" he directed this at the witch, hand on heart in mock offense. "You don't look like you scare so easy."

His dark gaze flicked over to her older companion, taking him in with a little more alertness. Here was someone who had maybe better reason than most not to be scared, instinct told him.

"Let us pour you two darlings a drink," Terry smiled with his teeth, head tilted to the side. "The night's young. For us, anyway."

Many undead eyes were on them, she felt it. The hairs on the back of her neck had stood to attention, but Miranda didn’t outwardly show any concern. She turned towards her husband and laid her spare hand on his chest, dark eyes looking up to his blue.
“You’d like that, hm?”

Movement in her periphery drew her attention away from the wizard who’d rather be anywhere else. A man was practically gliding over to them, closing the distance too smoothly to be natural. She tried to search her mind as to whether she’d known vampires could do that. Miranda knew more than most, or at least what she’d needed to to heal bites and try to encourage people from not returning. The irony of finding herself in a vampire coven didn’t escape her at this moment.

The London accent somewhat took her aback, half expecting something silky and stereotypically eastern european. Count Dracula style. It was a ridiculous thought to have right now, but there it was.

Throughout everything he said, little was readable on the healer’s expression as she watched him. That was until he smiled. Her lips did part, now, and her eyes widened marginally. The sharpness of those fangs caused her heart to beat just a tiny bit faster. Maybe it wasn’t too late to walk out? Igan had surely packed a few stakes in his jacket pocket for the occasion.

“We’re not walking out. Mine’s a rioja, please.” Miranda finally said, her Devonshire accent just a little stronger than usual. The Head Healer of St Mungo’s so rarely said ‘please’. It was a strange word for her mouth to form. She glanced back up to Ignan, eyebrows raised. The vampire had called them ‘darlings’. That would have amused her in any other circumstances.

Ignan and Miranda had walked into a dangerous room before, and it had ended with Mihai Zamperia defenestrating, and the couple leaving swiftly by a door. There was at least one door here, and a couple of windows. Between them, his wand and the stakes, Ignan felt prepared.

They were addressed smoothly by a slim, black male vampire, and Miranda ordered Rioja, looking up at her husband. Ignan paused momentarily and then somewhat mutely nodded his consent. He could make a glass of wine last a very long time if he needed to.

The couple were invited towards the bar where the girl behind it was probably thrice or more the age she appeared, not that she appeared in the mirror behind it at all. She had a strong jawline and undoubtedly fangs of similar strength behind that smile.

“Storm,” he introduced himself to the first vampire, “Ignan Storm, and my wife, Miranda.” Manners had been delayed by his rapid inspection of the scene, but now he entered into the social parlance, sticking close to his wife. 

His approach did not turn them off, and Terry knew then that it was very likely these two would stay. With every passing second he noticed more and more about them - their mannerisms, the way they regarded one another. And these indicated to him wixes of a nature not so mercurial.

Poole poured wine but hardly took her eyes off the pair as she did so, with a look gentle and curious.

"Storm?" Hooker tasted the name, perching on a stool with legs crossed and elbows against the counter. "Now there's a ring to that isn't there? One we recognise eh, Anaïs?"
        "'Course, boss," his bartender answered casually and shot Miranda a sweet look. "Patron saint of our stomachs, 'till recent."

Keeper of the hospital in which they sourced their monthly repast. Legal, like. Terry watched as Poole slid the glasses across to the couple. The man's name was not unknown to him either. Ignan Storm. Oh yes, he might have no interest in witch children, either as food or subject, but even Hooker was once a wizard child who attended lessons at that ancient school.

Sometimes, skimming the papers, he would read its name and feel the call of a memory as distant as sunshine.

"Terrence Hooker, at your service," he introduced himself plainly. "And may I ask to which of you two such service might be rendered?" Terry suspected from their muttering that it was the wife.

You never knew, though, what a woman could talk a man into doing. "If not both...?"

It surprised Miranda when Ignan offered up their names to the vampire in question. She hadn’t expected it. Due to him seemingly not recognising her, perhaps in her mind she’d considered it would be like some clandestine interaction where she might be Molly and he could be Ernie. She wasn’t prepared for their names to be out there, everyone knew who Ignan and Miranda Storm were, even if they didn’t recognise faces.

At the bar, Miranda finally looked in the mirror. She could see herself with Ignan right beside her. But no reflections were cast of the female behind the bar or the male who’d approached them. She’d spent some time earlier considering if she’d had any real encounters with vampires before and had recalled none.

This one, her first vampire, seemed elegant and comfortable in his own skin. Her keen dark eyes lingered perhaps a little too long on his face as he sat perched on the stool. He had black skin but there was a pallor to it, as if he’d been drained of blood or a lifesource. Not dead. The dead took on a completely different look. His skin was closer to dark grey, but his eyes still looked very much alive.

Terrance Hooker. This was the owner. “Service.” Miranda’s mouth formed the word as her hand reached out for the wine. Despite the hairs on the back of her neck and the chill through her spine, she was suddenly feeling rather warm in the fur coat.

“My husband would drive a stake through your heart before you got close enough to pierce his skin, Mr Hooker.” The witch calmly said as she raised her wine glass to her lips for a sip. The similarity of colour that the wine had to blood didn’t escape her attention. “He’s here to make sure that you don’t bleed me dry while you render your service.”

At the mention of a stake, Terry's eyebrows went up and there was a light scattering of laughs around them - from tables and the shadows of booths, where some of his coven had their ears cocked to him. Poole leaned forward on the counter with crossed arms. Grinning.

"Easy now," he snorted softly, eyes still very much on the Head Healer. "You've nothing to worry about. Ol' Hooker doesn't drink what don't want to be drunk."

Which was a blatant lie. They were simply playing at it all being above board: black and white. Nonetheless Terry sensed this was not an empty threat. A whole coven against one man was low odds but he didn't fancy making enemies or losing even one of his kind, much less his own self.

"Your husband," Terrence shifted his dark gaze to the white-haired wizard now, "can keep his wood to himself."

       "Terry!" cackled Anaïs but the coven leader did not turn away from Ignan Storm.

Yes. He would not underestimate this one. "Not your first time watching, watchman?"

“Wouldn’t be my first stake,” Ignan confirmed, absolutely on his guard, even though he had yet to draw wand or one of the spikes from his cloak. Their weight was reassuring against his torso.

This vampire exchanging pleasantries was the one the place was named after. How fitting he should greet them and offer his services. From what Ignan could tell of the wixes reflected in the mirror, they were all younger sorts. Chasing highs and experimentation had always been a young man’s game. Anyone still alive to chase it at their age had stopped before their life had prematurely been cut short, in Ignan’s opinion.

“My wife,” the wizard spoke carefully, unusually possessive in his references, “is professionally curious as to the draw of your establishment since your services were legalised.” He levelled his gaze for just enough time to meet the vampire’s eyes before continuing his pattern of surveillance of current threats, including the one chuckling behind the bar.

If blood flowed through his veins as it did in humans, it would have crackled at the wizard's confirmation. Terry had encountered hunters before - some who gloated and some who threatened.

Ignan Storm was neither; this threat was also a caution. He was protecting something that mattered to him. All the same, Anaïs' laugh lowered into an abrupt, halting hiss. Terry gestured for her to cool it, and felt her glower over his shoulder. She was young, not even a century old. Not as accustomed to being spoken of as prey.

Terry, on the other hand, could smell fear better than most. Possibly because he liked it so much. There was always fear behind such words.

"Curiousity is curiousity, innit?" he shrugged.

What difference did it make, how you dressed it up? She wanted to know and the reasons she wanted to know were no better or worse than anyone else's. "I can offer Madam Healer the privacy of a room..." Terrence glanced at a glossy black door at the end of the counter.

"Not all bloodbags take to it decent-like," the coven leader explained casually. "She may wish to preserve her modesty."

Around them, many of the undead began to laugh or chuckle at what they perhaps thought was an empty threat regarding the stake. Miranda knew too well what her husband was packing tonight. She was suddenly overly aware of the fact that almost all eyes in this seedy little bar were now on them. Did she regret her curiosity and asking Ignan to join her? Not yet.

"Your husband…can keep his wood to himself." said the vampire. Miranda couldn’t help but smirk and glance up to her husband. The smirk quickly vanished the second the vampire across the bar suddenly started to hiss at them, bearing those sharp fangs. Subconsciously, Miranda moved a touch closer to Ignan, their arms now touching. It was a strange thing, to not be one of the most intimidating in a room.

Ignan began to explain her reasoning for coming here, and for the second time, Miranda heard how the reason for her curiosity hardly mattered. It was the fact she was curious in the first place. Both Yavin and this vampire sharing a similar wavelength.

“Blood bags.” The words were repeated quietly with an unexpected calm. It was quite the reminder that these beings here thought of herself and Ignan as food. They were quite literally fresh blood bags, much like the ones St Mungos donated to the vampires. She was a fresh source about to offer herself up.

“A room sounds sensible.” She flashed a glance at Ignan before looking back to Terrance Hooker.

And so they headed to the room, Ignan coming up the rear like a bodyguard. When they stepped inside, Miranda allowed her gaze to drift, taking her time in analysing the room. “You’ve clearly had this set up for some time.” Evidently before the legalisation had come in. That didn’t surprise her, having dealt with many vampire feedings throughout her career.

He led the couple through the black door, leaving the night to go on as it was before the couple had entered Hookers.

The establishment was bigger than it looked; here on the ground floor, a long passage branched off into other smaller corridors. Closed doors lined the walls, although one or two were left ajar - voices and gasps and guttural moans escaped. Some of his coven, and certainly many customers, enjoyed mixing food with other pleasures.

But Terry continued on until they reached the end of the dimly passage lit passage, where he let the Storms into his lounge.

The room was round and looked much like the rest of the place. Dusky damask wallpaper, thick curtains, a medley of rugs in different styles and dark wooden floors. Decor was Victorian, with an odd touch of 1950s chintz.

"If you say so luv," he raised his eyebrows at the Healer's conjecture, and gestured at them to sit. "Make yourselves at home."

Framed sketches took up wall space: each coven member had one, in various mediums. Terry's own was in charcoal - it was propped up on the mantle over a fireplace, in front of which was an armchair and a divan sofa.

On the other side of the room was a table with a large copper basin filled with water. Next to it, a small open chest full of clean towels and various potions.

Terry leaned against the fireplace, hands behind his back. He yawned - no, not yawned, he unhinged his jaw in a series of minute snaps and crackles. Until his mouth seemed wider, teeth more numerous, a grin that did not fit his narrow face.

"Has the madam," the vampire spoke in his two-voice, distinctly not human, and addressed Ignan, "chosen her pleasure yet?"

There were half a dozen ways he could dispose of the vampire behind the bar as she hissed at the wixes. Ignan held his nerve. They had something the vampires wanted, Miranda’s blood, and the freedom to drink it whenever she was inclined to give it. To make a wrong move and these oversized bats would be the ones with their teeth knocked out in Azkaban or staked in the sunlight.

Miranda confirmed the option of a room and they were led from the main bar. It was her decision ultimately, and it was easier to stake a vampire without witnesses of its kin.

“She has,” Ignan confirmed, barely blinking. Remembering the last time he had seen so many teeth, and what he had done to ensure they bit nobody else. His left hand fingers closed around one of the stakes on his person. He kept both vampire and wife in his view, and the exit in his periphery. If felt as if the white hairs on the back of his neck were trying to stand on the ends of their ends.

Home. Miranda pressed her lips together in mild disapproval. Homely certainly wasn’t where a vampire would suck your blood, unless you were a masochist. Was Miranda a masochist for wanting to try it, she wondered. Ignan had certainly thought it ridiculous. Now, standing here surrounded by Hooker, Miranda was suddenly considering that she may in fact agree with her husband.

When the vampire’s jaw suddenly…expanded, Miranda watched carefully. She didn’t shrink away, only watched. It was certainly an awe inspiring sight. The fangs, the darkness to his eyes, the hunger. But she was very quickly finding that she would rather be anywhere else than here. Literally anywhere else. Yavin and other crazies could enjoy their vampire creepiness, but she wasn’t allowing this giant jawed, fanged nonhuman sink its teeth into her. Not willingly, and not through fear either. She was suddenly aware that she wasn’t actually curious enough.

The decision cemented itself in the healer’s mind when Hooker addressed her husband about her. The only matter in question was if they would be walking out of this room without issue. Blood had been promised, and Miranda wasn’t so sure that she knew enough about vampire lore to know if they would let her just go after offering herself. She glanced sideways to her husband. He was already on guard, but would no doubt be relieved yet curious about her change of heart.

“I’m not as interested as I anticipated.” The witch said to Ignan, frowning. Dark eyes jumped to Hooker. “My apologies for wasting your time, Mr Hooker. It would appear my professional curiosity doesn’t stretch far enough.”