Chapter Text
Credence expects a lot of things from the captive wizard in the chair - hostility, fear, rage, condescension. His hands are tied behind his back, his suitcase confiscated, and his clothes in disarray, which are all things that generally agitate people. But when Mr. Graves pulls the hood off his head, he blinks and looks around with a mildly perplexed expression, like someone only just realizing they got on the wrong train.
“My case,” he says.
The room is bare and windowless, white paint on the walls chipping to reveal the gray plaster underneath. It’s what Credence thinks prison interrogation rooms probably look like, all lifeless and empty and dim. There’s no blood on the walls or the floor, because Mr. Graves never kills anyone in here - or at least if he does, he scrubs the evidence well enough it can’t be detected.
Mr. Graves looks the part of a police interrogator, all snappy clothes and postured intimidation - which is to be expected, both because he’s been at this for five hundred years and because that’s his wizard job. He’s not playing the wizard part now, though. Now he’s all vampire, his fangs out and poking over his bottom lip to make a point. He leans over the wizard and says, “Your case.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s been confiscated.”
Something that’s almost panic flashes across the wizard’s face. “Not damaged, though?”
“Not yet.”
“Ah.” He swallows, and Credence tries not to focus on the motion of his throat or think about the blood pulsing under his skin. It’s hard. The scent hangs heavy in the air despite the fact that the wizard has no open wounds, and the pull toward him is a tightening string. Credence turns away and breathes through his mouth, his shoulders hunched, trying not to be obvious about how hungry he is.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” the wizard says, with an air of patience that would be more convincing if his heart wasn’t thudding so fast. “I’m only passing through New York on my way to Arizona, you see-”
“There’s no misunderstanding,” Mr. Graves interrupts. “We’re vampires.”
“Well, yes, I assumed that part was obvious.” The wizard sighs. “I meant no harm when I pursued you” - and Credence suddenly realizes he’s the one being addressed. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. You looked ill - I thought maybe I could help. I should have realized that would come off as hostile, especially considering… I am sorry.”
He sounds genuine about it, too, which makes things worse. Credence isn’t always the best at reading people’s intentions, but he is tuned to their emotions. The slightest catches of irritation, fear, anger; they all make shivers run down his spine. This doesn’t sound like begging (which he also knows well, if for different reasons). It sounds like the earnestness of someone trying to right a wrong for no reason except their own guilt.
Credence’s hands curl into loose fists, but he doesn’t look up.
“You are ill, aren’t you?” the wizard presses, softer. “Please - I might be able to help, I’ve come across a fair few vampires during my travels. And then you can let me go. Nothing more than a misunderstanding, and really, I hate tangling with law enforcement, if that's what you're worried about. I’ll be out of the city before tomorrow.”
Credence's stomach hurts, partially from hunger and partially from the squirming discomfort he doesn’t want to name. He’d known the wizard was following him, and he had assumed malicious intent, but that wasn’t what got the man into this predicament. It’s nothing more than a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mr. Graves is never going to let him go. With what Credence has learned about wizards, he wasn’t expecting an apology; he wasn’t even expecting to be spoken to, and he wishes they could have taken someone easier to hate.
The smell of blood is so strong. He’s so hungry.
At least Mr. Graves also seems nonplussed. “I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation you’re in,” he says, with the air of someone explaining arithmetic to a particularly slow child.
“Well, I’ve been kidnapped by vampires. My case is missing. It might be offensive to assume you intend to feed on me - would that be offensive? It’s probably offensive. Either way, the whole thing is less than ideal. It cuts something awful into my travel schedule. Hence why I’d appreciate it if we could just… handwave this whole excursion.”
“That,” Mr. Graves says, “is not going to happen.”
The wizard sighs. “It was worth a try. I really do need my case, though.”
“What’s so important about your case?”
“It has my work in it.”
“You’ve been kidnapped by vampires, and you’re worried about your work,” Mr. Graves says. Credence thinks he sounds faintly impressed, if exasperated.
“Ah - I’m a Magizoologist, you see. I travel the world learning about magical creatures. I’m writing a book about the ones I’ve met. And there are more than a few that I’ve rescued from poachers or unhappy life circumstances, and I do my best to relocate them to safer places, or to give them a home should they want it. My research is in my case.”
“Your research,” Mr. Graves repeats.
“Yes. I’m afraid there’s enchantments on it to keep anyone who hasn’t been invited from seeing the contents - anyone, not just vampires,” he adds hastily, like they’re going to bristle. “But, ah. My research involves some live specimens, and they’ll need to be fed. So if you intend to keep me here, I’d appreciate it if you could give me the case. And if you intend to kill me - well, I’d prefer you didn’t kill me, but at least let me make arrangements before you do.”
“Live specimens.” Mr. Graves is doing a lot of repeating, which makes Credence feel better about the fact that he can barely understand a word the wizard is saying. “In a suitcase.”
“It’s more convenient to carry than a trunk.”
“What sort of live specimens?”
“Oh, you know. Small ones. Since it’s a suitcase.” The wizard is an atrocious liar, and he seems to know it, because he sidles away from this conversation tack and addresses Credence. “How long has it been since you last fed?”
Credence finally sneaks another glance up, and his stomach hurts again. The man is so normal looking, reddish hair and freckles and an openly earnest face. He reminds Credence of the stray puppies he used to pet when he was meant to be handing out flyers.
“He’s fine,” Mr. Graves says, sparing Credence the burden of answering.
The wizard looks deeply offended. For a moment, Credence thinks it’s because of Mr. Graves questioning his judgment, but then he says, “Are you two family? Anyone with eyes can see he’s starving. What’s your diet like? Have you been drinking from the vein, or have you been feeding on packaged blood? Human or animal? I mean, I’m theorizing human since you’ve kidnapped me, but I may be being offensive again. Have you been eating any human food as a supplement? What about vitamins? How often do you-”
That’s a lot of questions in the space of maybe two breaths. Credence is pretty sure he shouldn’t talk to the wizard, but he sorts through them in his mind regardless, only jolted out of the ponderings by the sound of a sharp smack. Mr. Graves has slapped the wizard across the cheek to shut him up, once, methodical, businesslike. Despite knowing it was necessary, Credence flinches back, pressing himself into the corner of the room and screwing his eyes shut. Now is an inconvenient time to panic. He shouldn't show weakness in front of a sworn enemy, regardless of whether it's a puppy-like sworn enemy. But he’s not great at watching violence, especially when it comes from Mr. Graves, who always promises never to lay a hand on him but could if he really wanted to. He doesn’t want to be in this room, watching this happen; he doesn’t want to be part of this at all.
Mr. Graves doesn’t acknowledge his distress, too focused on the wizard. “You are not in a position to ask questions,” he says. His razor-edged voice makes Credence cringe all over again, muscles knotting. “He is fine.”
The wizard is quiet for a few moments. “My mistake,” he says finally. “May I have my case?”
“No,” Mr. Graves says.
Credence is not sure what possesses him to speak up. Maybe the pain in his body echoing empathy. He doesn’t know what sorts of animals the wizard has, and they must be small to fit in a suitcase, probably not even sentient. They might be half-dead from being dragged around in such a cramped space. They might be miserable. It would be just like a wizard not to consider the needs of the creatures he’s researching - but Credence knows the pain of starving in the dark, and he doesn’t wish it on anything.
“Maybe he could have it if someone watches,” he offers, his head ducked, not looking at either of them. “Then he can’t - can’t do anything magic, but if he’s telling the truth, the animals won’t die.”
Silence. Credence can’t read past his own panicked tension, so he raises his head just enough to study Mr. Graves’ face. The expression he finds is not the anger he expects; it’s a strange mix of bewilderment and what Credence thinks - hopes - is tenderness.
“Fine,” Mr. Graves finally says with a dismissive wave. “What do I care?”
The wizard slumps with relief, uncannily like someone who’s just been spared a beating (another image Credence knows well, wishes he didn’t). “Thank you."
“I’m a busy man.” Mr. Graves sighs. “I won’t put up with your doddering around. And if you do try anything, I’ll kill you. Without hesitation.”
“That seems fair.” The wizard nods. “It wouldn’t have to be you, you know, watching me. Since you’re a busy man. It could just as easily be done by your… assistant? Son?”
Mr. Graves doesn’t confirm or deny their familial relationship, which is both relieving and curious, since Credence has no idea how he mentally defines their bond. His face softens, and he’s not looking at the wizard when he says, “Would you like that, Credence?”
Some of the coiled-up tension in Credence’s body eases. Slap aside, Mr. Graves is the same as he’s always been, gentle and kind and caring. It's fine. It'll be fine. There's a reason for all of this, and he's always been able to survive unpleasantness. He's survived much worse than this.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Credence mumbles softly. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I won’t let you down.”
Mr. Graves is still halfway across the room, but Credence feels like he’s wrapped up in his warm embrace as he says, “I know you won’t. I know.”