Rabbit Blood

Chapter 30 - Vomit, Blood and Other Fluids

She passed a horrible evening, curled up on his couch. Alastor said he couldn't stay: it was important to make appearances downstairs, so as not to connect them. The eye of his cane continued to watch her from the door, though, burning red in her haloed periphery. Alone with her thoughts, she wondered when her organs were supposed to heal from this. Could they heal? The magnets clung so tightly that they must be cutting off the blood supply to something. Leslie imagined her digestive system turning necrotic, dying off... and still, the pain grew.

Alastor returned in time to see her throw up into a vase she'd plucked from his desk.

"Dear, oh dear," he said, voice bristling with static. "Poor Leslie."

"Help me," she groaned.

"Just one moment," he bargained, picking her up again. She was sweating through her clothes, though barely conscious of it, and shaking gently. For a long time, Alastor held her against him, drinking her pain.

"Please."

"I could demagnetize them," he mused, "if the heat was high enough! But it would involve scorching you from the ins-"

"No, no no no! Not that!"

Alastor walked her back to the couch, and took the vase, examining the bloody contents before setting it down. "Or," he said, "I can try to remove them. That could be tricky. Taking your clothing off you is one thing, but the gastrointestinal tract... quite another."

Leslie nodded her head and sat, permitting him to try. So Alastor cracked his knuckles and knelt beside her, holding a gloved hand over her lower abdomen. A moment passed, and Leslie gave a sob. The internal pressures were slowly, slowly easing off, as Alastor pried the magnets apart sight unseen. A moment later, she felt them leave her, and the wall which concealed the fireplace scraped open across the room. A soft phwumph as the flames ignited, then a metallic clinking; he'd thrown the magnets in the fire. The mortification was over.

"There!" he said.

Forgetting the details of their deal - including the fact he'd poked the magnets down her neck to begin with - she fell against him, covering Alastor with kisses. "Oh, thank you, thank you."

He resisted her affections, like a normal person resisted the friendly licks of a puppy. "Alright, settle down!"

Alastor got his cane and returned to the desk, seemingly to replay the recording of her struggle. As suggested, Leslie lay and recuperated. The vase remained atop the side table at her feet, and it reeked of stomach acid and copper. When she felt sufficiently recovered, Leslie asked: "What now?"

"Now? You're free to go."

She sighed, pushing down the first traces of migraine. "Why don't you come back here and keep me company?"

A pause as Alastor considered it. "Well, you have put yourself through some ordeal," he said. "I could be sweeter to you!"

Yes, yes, you could!

"But you didn't do it for sweetness," he countered. "This was a deal made for Angel's sake! My part in this is foiling Valentino, is it not?"

Damn it, he was right. Fuck. She sagged in place, and finally got to her feet. When she glanced over, he looked at her through steepled fingers.

"I wish you could've seen yourself," he said.

"Huh?"

"That first cry of yours." Alastor stayed seated, a malevolent smile playing over his lips. It was distasteful, but she had no argument. The fire from the hearth warmed the left side of her face and ear.