Liminal

Maggie leaves shortly after, telling Delfina to do whatever she likes to set him up a room. There would only be one option if they were still in their suburban home, but the Imperial Den has enough rooms to house ten packs. It seems a bad idea to put him in his own wing, away from supervision, but she doesn’t want him uncomfortable, either.

There’s a suite inside the pack’s wing, second counter-clockwise to Maggie’s, directly after her own. By rights, it should belong to Jayden, but it only has the one bedroom and Hadley had refused her own suite. Instead, Jayden and Gust had taken the three-bedroom suite two doors further down the hall.

It’s already furnished, so Delfina leaves Desmond inside it with instructions to rest and think about anything that would make it more comfortable for him and make her a list for when she gets back.

Desmond had quietly trailed after her through the halls, ignoring her attempts at sparking a conversation. That was fine; she’s sure she wouldn’t be in the mood to talk to anyone in his position, either. She thinks nothing of leaving him alone in the suite. If he tries to flee, that’s work off their plate. If he stays, well. She has a scientific approach toward hedonism. She wouldn’t mind cataloging the difference in sensations between lycanthrope teeth and vampire fangs.

The thought makes her giddy, actually, and pondering it on her way to the blood bank gives her an airy energy that surpasses her usual cheer. It’s only half a mile from the Imperial Den, and Delfina practically bounces through the door, beaming at the racks of bag warmers and sipping glasses that are nearest to the front.

The first floor of the blood bank sells various supplies, like the aforementioned warmers and glasses. She forgets her mission, for a bit, exploring the aisles and picking up this and that. One set of shelves has small contraptions of varying materials that claim to, “Bedazzle your fangs!”

Towards the back, there’s a section of dummies that draw her attention and carry her like a moth to a flame. They lack arms or anything beneath the torso, but they’re available in a variety of skin tones with shading that makes them look realistic. Their faces are slack, with staring glass eyes, and she thinks she now understands what uncanny valley is supposed to feel like. It’s pleasantly uncomfortable. Her arm extends, almost without volition, and she strokes the synthetic skin. The cool almost-flesh makes her shiver.

“Some vampires have difficulty manually unsheathing,” someone says from beside her. Delfina looks over to see an employee with a red badge—identifying him as a vampire named ‘Joe’. Next to his name, there’s a scribbled-out section she thinks might say, ‘the Blood Ho.’ “If they don’t have access to, or prefer not to consume from, volunteers, then medical dummies can usually activate the feeding response. Available over-the-counter for cash, but insurance only covers prescription dummies. Are you buying for someone, or are you just in here to look?”

“A vampire just joined my girlfriend’s Pack.” Delfina grins at Joe. “He didn’t bring anything with him, so I’m picking up the groceries!”

“Cool, cool,” Joe says. “Does he have an existing membership with the Banks?”

Delfina shrugs.

“Well, non-sanguivorous species are only allowed to purchase organic sapient bags if they’re registered as a pick-up under a membership.” Joe pauses, frowning at her. “You’re not baobhan sith, right?”

“Nope! Just plain human, unless you ask my Abuela. Any other options?”

“There’s currently a global shortage of porcine-nucifera, so that’s restricted at the moment. Your only options are plasma nucifera or synthetic, unless you bring in the vampire or a different sanguivore to participate in the purchase process.”

Delfina hums in contemplation. It probably isn’t a great idea to bring Desmond in public yet, Hadley’s on a break from Cleo, and Reggie is… doing whatever Reggie does. He’s off-grid.

She purchases a “month’s supply” of both the synthetic and the plasma nucifera. Joe assures her that the number of bags is appropriate for any vampire, and also “refuses to upsell unnecessary items” when she asks what else in the store might be useful for a vampire who had brought nothing from their coven. He begrudgingly shows her a pamphlet titled, “New Vampire? Sink Your Teeth Into This Set of Checklists!”, which includes a shopping list, when she presses.

Despite his protests about it being “as useful as a baby shop’s baby registry, you know, the sort that insists you need ten pairs of brand-name shoes in newborn size?”, Delfina gets everything on the list. She even grabs one of the medical dummies, which brings Joe to the point of exasperated, exaggerated sighs.

“This is not worth the commission,” he mutters when she’s finally done, waving her out the door. She just grins at him and pulls her new utility cart full of exciting things behind her.

Her good mood lasts until she pushes open the door to Desmond’s new suite, finding it absolutely wrecked. Cheer dissipates and turns to confused concern as she surveys the space. There had been framed paintings on the walls, which now lay in splinters and shreds on the remains of the table and chairs. The legs to the table are cracked next to the legs of the chairs, the backs and seats of the chairs are in pieces next to the walls. The surface of the table is the only part of any of the furniture left unblemished; it’s sturdy hardwood, and apparently too sturdy for Desmond to have broken in his fit. It lays haphazardly across the curtains, which have been torn from the window and strewn across the floor.

Desmond himself is not among the disaster of the parlor, and she abandons her shopping haul in the entryway to look for him. The kitchen and bedroom are similarly wrecked, and similarly empty of Desmond.

Delfina finds him, instead, in the bathroom, clutching an empty bottle of HMB-strength fortified Marsala wine and, apparently, attempting to drown himself. He’s still fully clothed, with one leg splayed over the side of the tub and the shower pointed directly at his face. The shower curtain is as the window curtains had been and the floor is soaked. The edges of his suit collar are tinged pink—not from spilled wine, but from diluted tears. He doesn’t even bother looking at her until she turns the water off.

“Leave me,” he commands. The effect is dampened by the rawness of his voice and by the sniffle that immediately follows his words. Delfina tilts her head at him.

“No, thanks. You should get out of there. You’re going to catch a chill.”

Desmond gives her an incredulous look, then gestures at his mouth with an oddly-graceful drunken clumsiness. “Vampires don’t catch chills, girl.”

“Huh. They don’t?” Delfina crinkles her nose in thought. “Werewolves do. They’re miserable sick. Still. That must be uncomfortable, and we need to talk about the state of the place. I’d rather you changed into something dry, but if you want to sit in the tub in wet clothes, I guess it makes no real difference to me.”

With that said, she plops on the ground, sitting cross-legged right beyond the door frame. The carpet there is dry, the splashed water only pooling on the tile inside the bathroom. Desmond continues to stare at her.

“Magdalene couldn’t have been serious about giving me to you,” he says, tone an odd mix of decisive and confused. “You’re a prime example of why humans are unfit to lead.”

“How so?” Delfina asks. There’s no challenge in her voice, no offense. She’s just curious. People fascinate her. Desmond is on his way to being more fascinating than most.

“I called you girl and you didn’t do anything.”

“I am a girl,” Delfina replies. She tilts her head at him again. “I suppose Maggie did say you should call me Master, but I don’t really care if you do.”

“Nobody does,” Desmond mutters, almost imperceptibly quiet, before continuing. “I tore the place apart and you don’t seem to care very much about that.”

“I think it’s normal to try to exert control over your surroundings after losing control of your situation,” Delfina says. “It’s your suite that you wrecked and you’re the one who will have to clean it up, or live in it if you don’t want to clean it up. It doesn’t really hurt me.”

“It’s—disrespectful, to damage your property,” Desmond insists.

“Meh.” It’s her natural response, but it seems to make him even more frenzied. He pushes himself into a more upright position, sitting up and waving the wine bottle at her.

“I’ve insulted you several times today.”

“Were you actually trying to insult me or did you just say something genuine despite knowing it would be considered offensive, conventionally?”

“That shouldn’t matter! I’m currently arguing with you after having deliberately, defiantly disobeyed you,” Desmond raises his voice to a shout, emphasizing his point with a wild gesticulation of the wine bottle. It smashes against the wall, less empty than she’d previously thought, and she notices a minute flinch in his shoulders. “And you didn’t even punish me for any of that!”

“Oh.” Delfina squints at him, appraises his behavior and body language, hums, and nods. “Is that what this is about? I thought you were having a meltdown.” She stands up, and something in her posture shifts. “Come along, then, Desmond. Let’s give you some boundaries and keep you away from the cliff.”

“That’s—what?”

“You heard me,” she says. “From this point on, I don’t want to have to repeat myself. If you’re actually confused about how to follow an order, you can request clarification, but otherwise just do as I say. You’re mine now, so I would rather not have to bring in someone to force you, but I bet Jay is home by now. Will you walk, or should I go ask him to come carry you and hold you down for me?”

The threat gets him to his feet, although he nearly slips in his haste and barely avoids the wine glass shards as he scrambles to her.

“That won’t be necessary,” he promises.

“That won’t be necessary, Master,” she says. He looks at her, eyes widening again.

“I thought you said—”

“I did, and I changed my mind. Like I said, you’re mine now.” She hesitates, as though about to explain further, then shakes her head and steps back. “I’m going to retrieve a few things. I want you stripped down and waiting for me in the entryway when I get back.” After a brief pause, she raises her eyebrow at him. “Verbal acknowledgment, please.”

“... Yes, Master,” Desmond says. His shoulders curl in even as the corner of one lip twitches, ever-so-slightly, upright.