General Carol's lesson dragged on into the early hours of the morning. Lawrence didn't learn anything new; he already knew what times of day and night to be in the castle, and he knew the rules of Myrefall and the woods. If Carol were teaching him to dematerialize or shift into a bat, then maybe he wouldn't feel like the lesson was a waste of time. When would he learn that stuff? After he'd taken Abbot down.

He followed the other Fledgelings down the spiralling staircase and through the castle halls. Once they got back to the ballroom, instead of joining them in their miserable corner, he scoured the place for Abbot's best friend, Master Percival. Black hair, shimmering red eyes, and a suit worth more than Lawrence had earned in his entire life—there he was...standing by the large entrance with General Bronson, and Adherents Rose, Fay, and Ruben. Abbot's closest friends.

Lawrence made his way over, grasping onto what confidence he could find, but he was nervous. He'd never spoken to any of them other than Bronson and a brief interaction with Adherent Fay, but he wouldn't say that he knew her well. Bronson, on the other hand, might give him the ticket he needed to get into their circle.

When he reached them, Lawrence locked eyes with the General, who looked a little hesitant. "General Bronson," he greeted.

The group stopped chatting and shifted their gazes to him.

"Hey, Lawrence," the General said. "How'd your first lesson with Carol go?"

"Great," he lied. "Though I can't lie, I'm kinda eager to learn how to shift and stuff."

Adherent Ruben laughed a little. "You'll learn all the good stuff eventually, kid. It's not exactly protocol, but Count Abbot likes to make sure that everyone's ready at the same time."

Lawrence didn't even have to try to get that information. So, there were two things that Abbot was doing wrong: turning humans and teaching Fledgelings.

"His methods work," Adherent Fay said and sipped from her glass of blood. "Who are we to question them?"

Master Percival cleared his throat loudly.

The group went silent, all adorning cautious stares.

"Shouldn't you be with the rest of the Fledgelings?" Percival asked Lawrence.

Lawrence couldn't be snarky anymore—at least not to his superiors. "They're all kind of...depressed," he said. "And General Bronson and I are friends, so I thought I'd come and hang out with him for a bit."

Adherent Rose scoffed into her glass. "They're all miserable, heartbroken little things."

"Wouldn't you be if you thought you'd be spending forever with someone only to get dumped hours after getting turned?" Ruben muttered.

Percival cleared his throat loudly once more, silencing them.

"They'll cheer up," Fay said confidently. "You did." She looked at Ruben.

"That's because I had over a hundred years to do so, and I didn't have to watch him move on to the next guy," Ruben muttered.

Lawrence didn't know that Adherent Ruben was one of Abbot's exes. He still seemed resentful, and he wondered...could he get some useful information out of him? Ruben was one of Abbot's oldest coven members, so he had to know if he'd done any other shady shit, right?

"Head's up," Bronson announced.

They all turned their heads towards the main doors, so Lawrence did, too...and that was when he saw Count Abbot. He stood in the doorway wearing that same smug smile he always did; the black velvet choker around his neck—which Lawrence knew he wore to hide an old scar—had a sapphire-encrusted, gold-trimmed broach attached to it, and it really brought out the blue in his irises and the golden rim around them.

Lawrence's heart broke all over again. He'd thought that his anger was enough to help him get over him, but it clearly wasn't. All it took was seeing him again for all the pain to come pouring back in. The dismay buried his anger, leaving Lawrence feeling empty, useless, and discarded again. He hoped that Abbot's gaze would meet and lock with his, but instead, the Count looked right past him and instead set his sights on Percival.

Master Percival handed his drink off to Bronson and left the group. He headed over to Abbot, and then they left the hall together...and Abbot didn't spare Lawrence so much as a glance.

"Forget about him, kid," Ruben muttered. "Once he's done with you, he's done with you. Trust me."

General Bronson sighed deeply. "Focus on your lessons, Lawrence. That's all that should matter right now."

Fay finished her drink and handed her glass to a passing Acolyte. "Okay, I have somewhere to be. Rose?"

Rose handed her glass to the same Acolyte, who looked a little aggravated but obviously didn't dare protest. Then, both Adherents left the hall, leaving Lawrence with Bronson, and Ruben.

"You know, it's been however many hundreds of years and I still haven't been able to figure out what those two are up to," Ruben muttered.

"It's probably better that way," Bronson replied. "I've got to patrol the grounds. Lawrence, do you want to come?"

Lawrence looked at him and shook his head. "I'm just gonna hang out here. Thanks, though."

Bronson nodded and finished his drink. "Keep an eye on them," he said to Ruben, nodding at the Fledgelings moping in the corner.

"You got it," Ruben replied, sounding a little sarcastic.

The General then left the hall.

Lawrence's heart was still aching, and the dismay was trying to engulf him, but he couldn't let it. Abbot wasn't in his sights anymore, so his presence couldn't force him to feel the pain that he had buried.

"So, Count Abbot used you, too, huh?" he asked Ruben.

The Adherent rolled his crimson eyes. "Lured me in, chewed me up, and spat me out," he said and downed his glass of blood. "I've lost count of how many other poor fuckers he's done it to, but he's a lot different nowadays."

"Different how?"

Ruben hesitated. He glanced around the room, looked at his empty glass, and then shifted his sights to the door that led through to the bar. "I need something real, man."

Lawrence frowned. "Like...a human?"

He scoffed and started walking towards the bar. "No."

Eager to keep him talking, Lawrence followed Ruben through the door, leaving the ballroom. The bar was empty—there wasn't even a bartender. It was dusty, only one lightbulb worked in the chandelier, and there were spiderwebs clinging to every corner.

"They really ought to get someone in here to clean this shit," Ruben muttered as he wiped down the bar with an old, crusty rag and then patted one of the stools. Dust flew up into the air, making the Adherent grunt irritably; he took his seat, reached over the bar, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. "Yeah, that'll do," he mumbled to himself.

Lawrence moved closer.

"Take a seat, kid," Ruben said as he grabbed two glasses.

He sat beside him and watched as he poured them both a drink.

"The Count never used to be so...bitter if you believe it or not," the Adherent said, sliding Lawrence's drink along the bar to him.

"I'm not sure I do," he muttered, glancing down at his drink.

"It was around..." he paused and pondered. "Three hundred years ago now. Count Abbot wasn't as old or experienced, and he made a mistake. He fucked up big time. The first world war between Caeleste and humans started, and Lord Alucard had the Count leading the coven into a fight to assist a pack of demons. But Count Abbot made the wrong call when the humans flooded the battlefield with silver dust. He ordered a retreat and failed to notice the humans closing in from behind. The Count lost the entire coven—other than those who were working elsewhere, of course. That's where he got that ugly scar on his neck—from all that silver. He sought out specialist surgeons to try and fix it, but we're not like demons; we can't just take an anti-healant and get all our silver burns covered up. They're permanent."

Lawrence always wondered where Abbot's scar came from. He took a sip of his drink, which burned his throat a little, and then crossed his arms on the bar. "What happened? Did Lord Alucard punish him?"

"He never sent the Count into battle again. Now, he's just out here ensuring that the treaty with Myrefall remains intact. Of course, that left Count Abbot feeling pretty bitter. I mean...wouldn't you be? Stuck out here on the outskirts of a human city on permanent dog watch. He got bored, so he started his little game of hunt, fuck, turn, abandon. I was the first one. It lasted a while...a good decade, actually...until I found out that he was sleeping with like twenty other people behind my back. I was already a vampire, so I wasn't abandoned like you—no offence."

"None taken," he said with a shrug. It was true. He'd been abandoned.

Ruben downed his drink and poured himself another. "Lord Alucard sends someone annually to check on him—we call it The Grilling," he said with an amused smile. "Whoever he sends asks us all what he's been up to and whether he's sticking to the rules. This person is higher-ranking than Abbot, so they can override his orders, such as his order that keeps us from warning humans of what he does. But...no one tattles on him."

Lawrence frowned. "Why?"

"I don't know. I think it's because he has a lot of friends—like Percival, for example—who would die for him, and the rest of us just follow suit. And let's face it, if you grass, that's branded into you forever. No new Count or Countess is going to trust you after that."

His frown thickened as he realized that his plan probably wasn't a good one. Gathering everything he could on Abbot and sharing it with Lord Alucard would mark him as a grass, and he didn't need to be known as Lawrence the Grass for the rest of eternity. He needed a new strategy.

With a quiet sigh, he took another sip of his drink and looked at Ruben. "When does this inspector come to grill you?"

"At the start of the new year, just after Yule," Ruben answered, refilling his glass again. "One of your Fledgeling lessons will no doubt include a very thorough session of what you should say to each of the investigator's questions."

Lawrence pondered for a moment. It was Undecim right now; the new year wasn't for another two months, which meant he had some time to make sure that he had a plan that worked—a plan that would ensure the inspector witnessed first-hand what Abbot was up to. But how would he make that happen?

"There's a few of us that want him gone, to be honest," Ruben continued. "He's not exactly your model coven leader. But he's got too many loyalists."

"So why don't you just...tell Lord Alucard directly?" Lawrence questioned.

Ruben scoffed. "Me? See Lord Alucard?" He laughed and shook his head. "First of all, kid, I don't want to be branded as a tattletale forever, and two, a lowly little Adherent like me doesn't get to see Lord Alucard, especially not nowadays; there's so much going on in the world—he's always busy. But my money's on one of those Fledgelings snitching; they're all too depressed to defend a man who broke their hearts. Then, we might finally get a leader who gives a shit about us and doesn't spend all his time either drinking and whatever with Master Percival or fucking and manipulating his next human."

"Who do you think will take his place if someone does grass?" Lawrence asked curiously.

"Either Master Eddy or Percival. Though some of us think Lord Alucard might send Maleki."

"Who?"

"Maleki. He's this vampire-elf that Lord Alucard turned a long time ago but hasn't assigned a coven to. He's a sort of...free agent. He's got a lot of fans," he explained—he sounded like he was a fan himself.

Lawrence finished his drink and pondered a little more. Abbot had fucked up in the past, and he was paying for it by more or less being put on desk duty. If he screwed up again somehow, then Lord Alucard would have to replace him, right? All Lawrence had to do was get the Count to fuck up again. But how? With what? He needed more information about the coven and Myrefall. There had to be something so important that stripping Abbot of his title was the deserved punishment.

But...he wanted more than that. After learning more about Abbot, he wanted to do more than strip him of his title. He'd broken so many hearts and left so many people feeling empty, used, and unwanted. He wanted Abbot to feel that pain.

And he knew exactly where to start.