Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 65: With a Great Sorrow Sorrowing

"Beautiful," Will complimented as Abigail showed him how she'd tied off her lure. "A perfect blood knot."

"I've been practicing," she said with a little smirk. "Are you proud of my progress?"

"Yes." A cosy warmth flickered through his chest, like the beginnings of a fire caught from slumbering embers. It'd been too long since they'd been like this, away from the structure of London society, out in the fresh air. For a moment, he was able to grasp the slippery ribbon of nostalgia and tie it around himself, falling into the happiness of Transyvlania, the carefree times they'd spent surrounded by nature.

Carfax's grounds were vast, and any sections outside the orderly formal gardens remained in a glorious state of wildness due to their long neglect. Will hoped Hannibal would keep it that way.

"All right, let's see you cast," Will challenged, lifting a late-harvest apple to his mouth. Abigail wore a sporting dress today with flexible, manageable sleeves, her hair tied back. It was cold when the clouds covered the sun, but when freed, the golden October rays warmed them enough to make it more than pleasant.

"I have to name my bait first," Abigail reminded him, looking at the little writhing worm on her palm.

"Charles?" Will suggested with a knowing chuckle.

"Oh, not him," she groaned.

"What's wrong with Charles Brauner?" Will demanded, though there was an obvious edge of play to his protestation. "He seems like a nice boy."

"That's the word. Boy," Abigail said, wrinkling her nose. "If I marry, it'll be someone older than me." She winked at him, tossing her auburn braid over her shoulder. "I think you understand."

"Yeah, all right," Will admitted, baiting his own hook. "There's a... sophistication about... an older man."

"Much older," she teased.

It made him wonder exactly how much she knew about Hannibal's physiology, his supernature. Did she know more than he did?

"I'll just call this one what I called all the others." Abigail raised the worm between two fingers and made a kissing noise at it between two pursed lips. "Will."

The embers in his heart ignited. The subtle sounds of the water against the boat. Watching her cast perfectly, and the little smile of triumph that came across her features at demonstrating her skill. A skill he'd taught her.

"Abigail," he said to his worm, and cast it into the water.

After a time, Abigail spoke again, reeling in her line with slow circles of the lever. "I don't think I'll marry. Not for a while. Hannibal says some of my suitors are more interested in his title." She smiled, a soft, pleased curve. "Though I never in my life thought I'd be... in danger of being married for my money."

Will thought of her in her simple brown dresses, sitting at the rustic table next to the medieval fireplace in Castle Lecter's kitchen, peeling potatoes, hair plaited in a single braid. "Do you ever miss it? Back at the castle?" Even as he said it, Will was visited by a series of tumultuous, bloody images. Avigeya's red-stained hands. The gutted boy on the forest floor. How surprised he'd looked. Who could have imagined how dangerous she was?

Is, he corrected himself, then pushed away the monumental two-letter word. She'd been defending herself. If she was dangerous, then so was he. Just as Abel Gideon.

And Mary Kelley.

We are her fathers now.

Will reached out and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. Abigail turned to him, brows raised in question.