Vincent Heartwood's Arc

Chapter 7 of 9

The question hung in the firelit room. The man waited by the open door, wanting the truth about his own death. Vincent could soften it. He could say the elixir made it safe. But one false word now would cost him everything he had earned tonight. So he did not answer yet. "Give me until dawn," he said. "You deserve the whole truth, not half of it." The man nodded and slid the bolt again. Vincent went down to find the two who knew turning best. His grandfather sat in the great hall, cloak pooled around his boots, red eyes fixed on the cold grate. Dracula had turned his own love once, without asking. She woke hating him. Since then the old vampire measured every word about the change like poison. "You want to lie to the boy," Dracula said. Not a question. "No." Vincent gripped a chairback. "I want to know the odds. Real odds. If I tell him he'll live and he doesn't, I damn him and myself." Morwen stood at the hearth, staff in hand, grinding herbs she did not need to grind. The witch had given Vincent the stabilizing elixir despite Dracula's warnings. She turned, green eyes sharp. "Then stop guessing." She set a bottle on the table. Red and gold curled inside the glass, bright even in the dim hall. "This holds the body while the heart stops and starts over. Most who take it live. Not all." "How many?" Vincent asked. "Two in three," Morwen said. "I won't pretty it up. The rest I've buried myself." Dracula rose. "Tell him that number," he said. "Every part of it. The two who wake. The one who doesn't." His jaw tightened. "I hid the risk from mine. She never forgave the theft. Give this man the choice I stole." Vincent took the bottle. Its weight felt like a verdict. He climbed the tower stairs and knocked. The bolt drew back. The man stood waiting, calmer now, but pale. "I have your answer," Vincent said. He held up the glass. "This keeps most bodies alive through the change. Two of every three wake. One does not." He made himself hold the man's eyes. "I can't promise you'll live. I won't pretend. If you drink and it kills you, I'll have killed you. That's the truth I owe you." The man stared at the swirling potion. His hands shook. Then they steadied. "You could have lied," he said. "You didn't." He took a slow breath. "I won't decide tonight. But I trust you now. Come back tomorrow, and I'll drink or I won't." Vincent set the bottle on the sill beside the flowering vine. He had not won the yes. But he had kept the trust, and the choice was truly the man's. Tomorrow the man would drink, or he would walk away. Either way, Vincent had not lied him into it.