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Chapter Text

The sky was an even shade of pale grey; small dark clouds occasionally roaming overhead to give London its regular dose of  rain and send all inhabitants of the world below indoors. And with her morning riding session ruined by this weather, Sir Integra Hellsing was already quickly regretting her decision to let Alucard assist her with her studies in sorcery.

“No, your pronunciation is all wrong.” He was telling her, sitting opposite the young director in her dark office. She rarely used more than her small desk lamp, even in weather as gloomy as this, preferring the natural light to electricity.

“You’re holding the sound too far back in your throat.” he went on, “It’s a Romantic language, not a guttural one. “

Her gloved hand curled itself into a fist on the polished wood of her desk. She wanted very much to snap back at him, but she knew he was right. After all, he had been speaking Romanian for over five hundred years now. Leaning over the ancient stack of parchment in front of her, still wearing her riding garb and slightly damp from her involuntary shower, she gave a very controlled sigh before responding:

“Perhaps I could afford to be more focused on my pronunciation if I wasn’t so distracted by horrible penmanship.” She lifted the page slightly to let the pale grey light from the window behind her illuminate it. She did have a point; the writing on this particular set of works was much less finessed than most of her other documents. Splotches and streaks betrayed the work of an amateur calligrapher, and made it increasingly difficult to distinguish accented letters from stray blobs of ink. “Pray tell, how DOES one pronounce this rubbish?”

He chuckled softly at her frustration, materializing behind her to reach one of his long arms around her towards the page.

“Well, for one, you’re pronouncing the ‘Ț’ as an anglicized ‘T.’” he offered, pointing out the character, “It should sound more like a combination of your letters… a sort of “tss” sound. And you’re confusing  ‘Ă’ with ‘Â.’”

“It would help if your people didn’t insist on having three variations of their letters,” she growled.

“If I recall correctly, your great-uncle did have a slightly edited dictionary that he found extremely helpful for these sorts of matters,” he offered, and was silent for a moment as she glared bullets at the antiqued spell.

“You know, you really should wear your riding breeches around the house more often…”

“Out! Get out. Now.” She didn’t even have to look behind her to know he was grinning as broadly as possible, even as she ordered him away.

“As you command.” he purred, withdrawing from her side, “If you decide you should need any more assistance—“ he picked up her discarded riding crop from her empty chair, toying with it like a baton as he made his way towards the door, still grinning back at her,“—I eagerly await the chance to be of service. Until then, I’m going back to bed.”

She was seething, but made the decision not to dignify him with a response as his shadow pulled the door shut behind him. With him gone, she tossed the parchment to the side, silently admitting defeat against its illegible execution. 

The decision to begin her research on the ancient practices of Transylvanian magicians was hardly something she had come to on her own—Ever since her forefather Abraham had captured the formidable Count, her family had striven to familiarize themselves with the occult practices of his homeland. It had started as an attempt to use the sources of his own power against him, but Integra had found another use for their extensive research.

Though she had only tested her theories a couple of times, she had already noticed a substantial difference in Alucard’s field missions when she utilized rituals from their archives. It was nothing earth-shattering, of course…A small luck spell that sent a battleaxe flying past his head rather than into it, a protection charm that kept the child hiding in the closet out of a ghoul’s sight. All minor things, but they already seemed to be making all the difference.

But those had all been from her great-grandfather’s notebooks. Translated from their antiquated Transylvanian dialects into Dutch, or even more comprehensively, English. Anything else from his personal studies was designed to repress Alucard’s abilities in the open air, not reinforce them.

She sank down into her chair with an irritated huff. Finally removing her leather riding gloves, she ran her fingers through her still-damp hair as she flipped through the scavenged documents that lay before her. Eventually she found one that seemed to be of decent enough quality to study without fumbling over ink spots. Integra scooped the remaining pieces into a stack and set them aside.

It’s a romantic language…  she repeated mentally, pulling her hair over her shoulder and separating it to braid it out of the way,  think of it more like Spanish…or Italian…  she had vigorously crammed on the latter shortly after first experiencing Enrico Maxwell in person. She decided early on that she wasn’t going to give him the advantage of a language barrier, especially considering his tendency towards complete pettiness…

It was nearly noon by the time she located the dictionary Alucard had mentioned, tucked away on one of the shelves only accessible by ladder in the adjoining library.

“A perfectly logical spot for something so vital to any research…” she muttered to herself as she made her way back to the floor. Nonetheless, she finally had what she needed to start learning the incantations phonetically, and situated herself in front of the library’s large fireplace. The sizable hearth had been her preferred spot since she started her studies, offering a blazing fire and plenty of flagstone space for any necessary ritual inscriptions. With the promise of productivity calming her slightly, she set to work, copying the exact text on the left of her notepad, and slowly marking down the phonetics on the right. It did get easier as she went, and in little more than three hours she had managed to transcribe the entirety of the piece. 

At some point Walter must have come in to bring her lunch, as she quite abruptly noticed the small plate of food (She rarely ate much of anything during the day, preferring to take any substantial meals in the evening) and the cup of tea that had been placed strategically close to the fire to ensure it stayed warm. She took it, sipping on it absently as she reviewed her work. It was only a short piece, most of which she assumed was mere explanation of the spell itself, with most of the page taken up by a large and complex sigil drawing.

The text itself was of a much older dialect than she had been studying, but there were enough similarities for her to pick out keywords, such as “secure” and “passage.” A traveler’s protection spell. She set down her work and reached into her jacket for her cigars, which had been mercifully kept dry by their silver case.

There is that haunting in Norway that we need to look into…  She thought to herself, using a fireplace match to light her cigar,  Considering my luck so far this week, it couldn’t hurt.

The sigil took the most time; Each section of the circle had its own array of smaller inscriptions that needed to be placed just so in relation to the others. She could pick out several spots where empty spaces had been left for burning herbs. Those she wasn’t so sure about; even in the cases where she could make out partial names of the ingredients, they seemed to be completely antiquated phrases that hadn’t transferred to modern guides.

“Anything can be replaced by a substitute,”  She remembered Alucard telling her during one of their earlier sessions,  “As long as your resolve is strong enough, you can work with what you have. Never let your supplies hold you back from your work.”

“Rosemary for herbs.” She repeated quietly to herself, pulling a small bunch down from the drying rack in the kitchen. She turned next to the tea cabinet, shuffling several jars to the side before pulling one out, “Rose for flowering plants.”

It only took a few short minutes to arrange her ingredients on the library hearth. She heard the click of the door handle behind her, and a moment later Walter appeared at the hearth’s edge with a fully furnished tea tray.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” He said, perhaps a bit dryly. She knew he wasn’t overly fond of her dabblings, even less so now that she had allowed Alucard to have a part in them.

“No,” She murmured absently, crouched at the sigil’s edge as she double checked her work. She had long since discarded her jacket and ascot, her collar button now undone to let her silver cross hang a bit more loosely around her neck. She stood with a slight sigh and stretched as the butler set the tray down on one of the small end-tables.

“Please tell me you’re not attempting anything too rash,” He said, offering her cup as she finished rolling her sleeves to her elbows, “I suspect those spells were kept separate for a reason.”

“Mm, that reason being that they were largely illegible,” She said flatly over her tea. His mouth tightened a bit, and he seemed to be choosing his words very carefully when he next spoke:

“Sir Integra, you know that I’m not one to doubt your abilities,” He hesitated slightly as she finished off her tea, “I just…don’t want to see you getting into something you may deeply regret.”

Integra had no doubts of his concern. Even before the day she killed her uncle, he had been protective of her. She set down her used china, giving him her characteristically small smile. “I’m being careful,” she said gently, “I promise. It’s just a small protection spell.” He didn’t respond, still frowning ever so slightly at her handiwork. 

“If anything goes wrong, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

He wasn’t sure whether that was a comfort or not. 

“I suppose I’ll get out of your way, then.” He finally said, taking up the tray and heading back for the door, “Do be careful.” He said gently, and was gone. 

Integra ran a hand through her hair, which was already coming free of her braid. It never did like to stay put for very long. Using the brass spade from the rack of tools beside the fireplace, she took up a small pile of coals. With more than a mere twinge of nerves, she set the work in motion.

“ Fac apel la sufletul creației,

Dă-mi această solicitare:,” 

The rosemary crackled slightly as she tipped coals onto the sprigs, still slightly too green to burn quickly. 

“Cărări pentru mine prin probleme din trecut,

Iar soarta va pas deoparte.”

She made her way around the sigil, until only the bundle of herbs in the very center was left untouched.

“Secure pentru mine acest pasaj,

Aceasta este dorința mea”

She paused a moment, wondering if perhaps it would be better to consult with Alucard before going forward. According to the mantle clock, it was barely half past four; the sun wouldn’t set for another three and a half hours at least, and if she had learned anything in the seven years she’d been living with the ancient vampire, it was that he was best left alone once he was in his coffin. 

Besides,  she reasoned mentally as she dropped the last of the coals into the sigil,  If my diction is as bad as he claims, the worst possible outcome is that noth--

Before she could even finish her thought the room itself seemed to explode, momentarily robbing her of any sensory perception. She felt herself hit the floor as if through a sedative fog, her ears ringing so severely that the entire world seemed to have tilted on its side. When feeling did return to her, it was less than pleasant; the air had been almost entirely knocked from her lungs, making it hard to focus as she lay gasping on the ground. 

This wasn’t the first time a spell had blown up in her face. Already she had knocked all the glass from the parlor windows while attempting a productivity charm. Alucard claimed it was because she bottled herself up too much, it ruined the flow of the spell.

She rolled onto her side, her lungs still searing from the effort it was taking to get her breath back. There was dust and rubble all around her, and she could no longer tell if that was the sound of rain on the windows, or her own pulse rushing in her ears. But as her eyes slowly adjusted from the light of the blast, she began to notice things were not quite right. 

There was no library. No mansion. No buildings anywhere in sight; only trees. The rushing sound in her ears seemed to grow stronger, rather than fading away. A river. She groaned slightly as she sat up and looked around. 

Not a traveler’s spell,  She thought to herself, now furious at her own blunders,  a TRAVELING spell.

Sunlight was shining at an angle through the trees, a hazy orange tone telling her it had to be late afternoon. Just about...

“Half-past four,” She said to herself, still slightly hoarse, “I can’t have gone too far, then, at least.” Slowly she stood, still trying to find any other identifying traits around her. The ground was ever so slightly sloped, with large rock formations jutting from the ground. 

If I can just find a town in here…

She decided that he river would provide a more clear path; the last thing she needed at this point was to start running in circles. Her clothes seemed to have been just slightly singed in places, most likely from the coals that had been sent flying.  And Walter is just going to have a fit over the carpet, I’m sure.

Still a bit disoriented, it was several minutes before she realized that she could hear something over the noise of the river. She stopped, and there was what sounded like a high pitched squeal somewhere not far away. Then something else, perhaps yelling, but she couldn’t make out what. As she got closer, she recognized the sounds better: Kids. 

And where there were kids, there had to be parents. 

Integra finally caught sight of them as she came to a short drop that provided them with a waterfall--two boys, both dark-haired, shirtless, and soaking wet. Judging by their size they couldn’t have been much older than eleven or twelve years old, and they both froze as they saw her.

“It’s all right,” She tried to sound as gentle as possible while still shouting over the sound of the water. She slowed her pace slightly, doing her best not to seem like a threat, “I’m not going to hurt you I just need--” She barely got the words out before they turned and started to take off, making for the opposite bank, where she could see the rest of their discarded clothes piled on the ground. If nothing else, she decided she could follow them, but as she made the jump down towards them, the second boy fell with a scream. Integra could swear that even over the river’s noise she heard his head smack against one of the larger stones he had been scrambling to climb, and he seemed to black out for a moment before weakly trying to escape again. 

“Shit!” She hissed, quickening her pace. The second boy, who had turned back to help his friend, stopped dead once more as she got closer. She grabbed the fallen boy under the arms, pulling him up slightly to keep his head above the water. He was still trying to get away, but there was blood spreading down his chin and neck from where he had busted his lip, and his eyes were unfocused and hazy, despite his frantic breathing. 

Being taller than they were, the rocks proved less of a challenge to Integra, and so she put her arm around his torso and used her free hand to pull herself up onto the bank. She was just dragging him up onto the grass when she caught a glint of metal behind her. 

The other boy had returned, now with a knife brandished towards her. He shouted something, obviously doing his best to threaten her life, but he was so clearly scared. 

That wasn’t English, though. It almost sounded like--

“Pleacă de lângă el!”  He yelled again, much more urgently.

“Fantastic,” Integra said, “And I’m guessing you don’t speak a word of English.” He took a step closer, still holding the knife out in front of him. 

“Vrea ajutorul,” She tried, doing her best to remember the few words she had picked up from her spellworks, “Du… Du-te acasă.” He didn’t budge. 

She did not have time for this. 

Making a quick step towards him, she was able to grab his wrist and pull the knife away with an ease that told her he had never really been given any instruction on how to use one. While he was still dumbfounded by this, she tucked it firmly into her belt and picked up the injured boy, silently giving thanks that he was still childhood-skinny. 

“Casa ta.” She said, firmly this time.

Although it was clear that she was not trusted, fear for his friend seemed to outweigh his fear of her. He lead her through several narrow trails until they finally came to a clear path that served as the main road. A riding trail, judging by the state and smell of the soil.

It must have been some sort of homing spell,  she thought, still turning the past hour over in her mind,  It spat me out back in the spellmaker’s native country.

Her young guide was trying his best to expedite her, but she could only move so fast with her passenger. It didn’t help that they seemed to be walking entirely uphill. The light had turned from a golden-orange to a vibrant red by the time he took off running, leaving her behind. 

“I can’t follow you that quickly!” She shouted after him, not even bothering to attempt to translate. The child in her arms had stopped struggling, but still occasionally looked around as if trying to discern what was happening. He murmured something she couldn’t make out, trying to sit up in her arms. Between the uphill climb and his movement, she started to worry that she would drop him, and stepped over to the side of the road to set him down. 

The bleeding from his lip had stopped, but he still looked somewhat nightmarish from the dried blood stretching down to his chest. His eyes were still unfocused, but he seemed able to keep them open, at least. Hopefully it was just a concussion…

As she made at least a small attempt to clear some of the blood from his face, she became aware of a distant thudding coming down from up the hill. It was the distinct sound of horse hooves, but there had to be more than just one. She stepped back up to the road, putting her hand up in the hopes of flagging down one of the riders, but as they came closer into view, she quickly became distracted. 

They were all wearing a uniform of some sort, and as they passed through a dappling of sunlight she could see the gleam of plated metal across their breasts.

They can’t honestly be wearing…

They were. Four of them, all fitted with armor, each with a sword to match. They came to a stop so that she was almost completely surrounded, and she preemptively put up her hands before nodding towards the child. 

“Vrea ajutorul,” she repeated, hoping the riders might understand her better than the boy had. The presumed leader gave an order to one of the others, and he dismounted to pick up the child and pull him up into the saddle. Before she could say any more, he had started off back up the road. Left with no leverage, Integra did her best to try and remember the few conversational phrases Alucard had taught her.

Although somehow I don’t think asking for the train station is going to be of much help.

The commander spoke at her, though his speech was too fast for her to catch much of anything. He watched her expectantly, waiting for a reply. She stared back for a good moment or two, still trying to grasp the sight of them all.

“Eu vorbesc românește... prost,” she finally managed. One of them snorted, exchanging a glance with his fellow subordinate that were quite obviously mocking. The leader himself almost cracked a smile. He sighed slightly, and pointed to her side, where the boy’s knife still fit in her belt. 
“Da-mi.” He said shortly, holding out his hand. She slowly lowered her own to pull it free, and he unsheathed his sword as she did so, pointing the tip towards her throat. 

“Unnecessary.” She said coldly, neither flinching nor blinking as she handed the smaller blade over. He squinted for a moment, using his blade to push her collar ever so slightly to the side. Her silver cross still hung around her neck, peeking out just above the closing of her shirt.

“Catolic.” he stated to the others, and they murmured something in response, but seemed to soften ever so slightly. 

“I will pretend not to be insulted.” Integra sighed, more to herself than anyone else, still combing her mind for anything that could be of use. 

“Pierdut,” She finally said, “Eu foarte pierdut.” They chuckled again at that, one of them making an undoubtedly snide comment before she cleared her throat pointedly. The leader sheathed his sword once more and pointed up the hill, motioning for her to start walking. 

As they escorted her up the path, she once again started trying to make sense of what was happening. 

You know exactly what this looks like,  a voice in the back of her head told her.

Yes , she said back,  But I am at least allowed to hope that I’m wrong.

By the time they broke the treeline, however, there was no more denying it. Settled at the very crest of the slope was a massive stone structure, and around it, a small commune of private homes and servant’s quarters that were the picture of 15th century living. The buildings decreased in size and quality as they spread lower down the mountainside, and in the few open field areas she could see there was a good amount of livestock. She noticed other riders in uniform had been apparently stationed around the forest’s edge.

“Well, that explains how they got here so quickly at least.” 

She had noticed by now that the two subordinates had rather deliberately fallen back, keeping their horses just behind her rather than beside, and giving telling grins whenever she looked back at them. 

“I swear to god I am never wearing breeches again…” She growled, very much wishing she had her gun with her. Or maybe better that she didn’t. Wouldn’t it start some sort of domino chain? Or perhaps she already had. Had she changed something in the future? 

As she was trying to fully wrap her mind around the full implications of her predicament, she suddenly noticed that her escorts had stopped short. A dark-haired woman was practically sprinting towards them down a long set of stone steps, calling something out to them. She was older than Integra, but not terribly so, perhaps seven or eight years at most. She seemed to be speaking very quickly to Integra as she finally reached them, somewhat breathless. One of her guards interrupted her, slightly apologetic and presumably to explain that Integra had no idea what she was saying. She turned her attention to them instead.

As they spoke, undoubtedly discussing what was to be done with her, Integra noticed another shape crouching on the stairs. Much smaller, and now with a shirt seemingly thrown on haphazardly, was the uninjured boy. So then, this was the mother. 

She seemed to be growing cross with the leader of Integra’s escort, and he was only hesitantly answering her, with statements that seemed more like suggestions than law. Finally, he fell silent and backed down, seemingly defeated. The woman approached Integra and wordlessly took her arm with a gesture towards the stairs. 

“I suppose I’ll have a better chance with you than in a jail cell, won’t I?” The woman didn’t answer, but smiled slightly and nodded once more towards the stairs. The commander turned his horse back down the slope of the hill, waving his two subordinates away. They somewhat grudgingly obeyed, one of them irritably growling something as he did so. 

Unfortunately, one of the many side effects of living with Alucard was that she now recognized translations for “nice piece of ass” in multiple languages. 

In the span of a single second she had whirled to face their retreating backs, seized a stone from the ground, and hurled it at him. It struck hard against his horse’s flank and the animal spooked, nearly throwing him before taking off full speed down the mountainside. 

“He had it coming,” She said shortly. The mother seemed to need no translation and merely nodded solemnly before once again putting an arm around her guest. Her son straightened up as they approached his step on the stairway and gave some sort of indignant protest. His mother shushed him, but he continued to glare at Integra with narrowed eyes. Now exhausted and seemingly out of options, she stared grimly back at him. He started to say something directly to her, but his mother cut him off, ordering him towards the large estate at the end of the stairway. 

After suffering an explosion, carrying the boy, and the hike uphill from the forest, Integra’s legs were noticeably starting to protest to the climb. They were nearing the top when her hostess started insisting they stop for a rest. She didn’t argue, although part of her did feel that she would not be able to stand up again once she sat down on the cold stone. 

“Esti bine?” The mother asked gently as she sat down beside her. Integra nodded, still panting slightly. From their perch, they had a decent view of the surrounding village and landscape. The sun had almost completely gone, and was lighting the entire sky on fire before it vanished. 

“It really is beautiful up here,” She said quietly, studying everything in detail. It almost didn’t look real, and part of her was still in disbelief that it was. 

They sat for several minutes while Integra caught her breath. When the mother finally urged her up, it took her a moment to force herself to do it. Her hostess said something that was probably meant to be encouraging, pointing upwards. 

We’re almost there. Almost there and then you can actually rest, you can do…

Integra suddenly felt very ill. With the massive stone estate now looming over them, she could finally make out the crest and inscriptions emblazoned on the banners and now shining bright red in the setting sun. 

“No,” She said quietly through her teeth, frozen mid-step and seemingly paralyzed,“No no no no  NO ” 

Chapter Text

The Dark-haired woman squeezed Integra’s arm slightly, once again trying to offer support as the lady knight stood frozen on the stairs.

“No,” She finally said, trying to turn back, “No, I can’t go in there. I need to go, I can’t…” The woman held her firm, keeping her from making her move down the staircase.

“Nu este timp,” She said, soothing but firm. She pointed to the setting sun, which was now only a tiny sliver of light along the horizon. Darkness was creeping up the mountainside from the valley below, and there had to be only mere minutes of daylight left.

“Există fiare în noapte.”

“There are beasts in the night.”

Yes, I’m sure there are…

Feeling numb, she let her hostess guide her up the remaining steps, still never taking her eyes off of that all-too-familiar seal. She no longer felt the aches in her legs or the aftershocks of her entry to this world. Adrenaline had taken over, and for the first time in many years she found herself almost completely at a loss.

The creature your great-grandfather tortured for five years and which has been living in your basement for a century is inside those walls and you are about to greet him while wearing skin-tight pants and covered in his son’s blood.

“...cer numele tău ?”

Integra shook herself slightly, blinking at the woman. Her mind had gone into such a panic that she hadn’t heard a word she’d said as they made their way into the courtyard of the massive structure.

“Numele,” She repeated, more slowly this time, “Numele dumneavoastră?”

My name...I can’t tell them my name.

“Dornez,” She said quickly, “Numele meu...Dornez.”

Sorry, Walter.

“Doamna Dornez,” She repeated, as if checking her pronunciation. She placed a hand on her own chest, “Ilona.”

Yes. I know that much, at least.

She patted Integra’s hand gently and said something a bit too quickly for her to comprehend, but a slight gesture told her it had to do with her clothes.

Oh, please, give me something else to wear before that smug bastard sees me.

The inside of the castle was not what she expected. In hindsight, she supposed it was rather stupid to assume the Count had always lived in gloom and cobwebs. All the same, she was slightly thrown by the warm fires and the assortment of wall coverings that they passed as Ilona guided her through the halls. Even despite their charm, Integra found herself almost literally jumping at shadows, half expecting to see that face each time they passed a corner or open doorway. Ilona continued to speak to her gently as they went, though she wasn’t even thinking about translating.

She was somewhat relieved when her hostess finally stopped in front of a door well away from the main halls, but only until it opened to show what must have been the Master Bedroom.

There comes a moment in any stressful situation wherein a person stops fighting, and instead accepts their fate as what they envision to be pure and unbridled chaos unfurls around them. For Integra, that moment came as she was sitting on the edge of a bed five hundred years before she was even supposed to be born, wearing a borrowed dress and feeling half-naked without her glasses while her future pet vampire’s wife did her best to clean dirt, ash, and blood off of her face and hair.

“I know you think you’re being helpful,” She said evenly, “And I’m sure you are an absolutely wonderful woman, but this is quite literally the worst thing I could possibly be doing at this moment.” She wasn’t expecting it to change anything, of course, but saying it out loud at least gave some illusion of progress. The thought of him walking through that door at any moment was still bearing down on her nerves, even if she was fully covered now.

“Why are you even doing this?”

Ilona set down her comb, saying something that Integra assumed meant she was finished. They both stared at each other for a moment, neither one sure how to proceed through their language barrier.

I might not speak it, she thought to herself, but I can write it...mostly at least.

“Eu vorbesc românește prost,” Integra offered once more, which made Ilona bite her lip slightly to stifle a smile, “dar, eu scrie?”

“Scriu,” Ilona corrected, but nodded slightly. She stood, taking a small candelabra from the mantle, and offered her hand once more. The candles were not lit, but Already Integra was questioning why they would need it; all of the halls, even the smaller corridors they had passed through, had seemed brightly lit already. Odd for his house, she thought, but then again he supposedly wasn’t as light-sensitive as he would later become. But when Ilona finally stopped in front of their supposed destination, she found herself having to blink several times to make her eyes adjust. Inside the room, the low-burning fire was the only source of light save for the still-faint moon outside. Ilona crouched by the hearth to light her candles, and Integra squinted for a moment in the darkness. There was something covering the walls, creating even more shadows in the space.

“Books,” she finally realized, “you have a library.” She supposed it was a silly thing to be surprised about, but somehow she had only ever thought of Alucard’s former home as an extension of the crypt he haunted back at the mansion. Of course they wouldn’t light torches in here, with books being as valuable as they were in this time, they couldn’t afford to risk them catching fire. There were a good number of loose documents rolled into scrolls resting in the shelves as well. Perhaps maps, or maybe even...

“Veni,” Ilona’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She had set down her candles on one of the tables that furnished the room, and was holding something in her hands. Integra took the seat opposite her as she slid the object towards her. It looked almost like a slate that a child might have used in a schoolhouse, but the center surface area was made of wood, with a thick coating of what seemed to be wax brushed over it. It took her a moment to discern what she was meant to do with it, until Ilona slid a second object towards her-- A stylus. With the implement now in her hand, she strained for a moment trying to find the right words in her limited vocabulary.

“I cannot stay,” she wrote, scratching the words into the wax, “I am very lost, I need to go.” She slid the tablet back to her hostess, whose brow creased slightly as she read it.

“Unde te duci?” She asked, speaking slowly. Where are you going?

Integra ran a hand through her hair, staring back down at the tablet again and trying her best to think of an answer that would neither offend nor land her in a deeper pit than she was in already.

“I don’t know,” she finally answered, “I must go home.”

“Where is home?”

“Very far away,” it wasn’t technically a lie. She hesitated a moment, not wanting to seem overly brusque, “Why are you helping?”

Ilona blinked for a moment, seeming almost confused by the question.

“You brought me my son.”

Well, yes, after scaring him into hurting himself in the first place.

“What about your husband?” She wrote, finally finding the words and the nerve to voice the fear that still nagged at the back of her mind. Ilona gave a faint smile as she read the words, and reached across the table to place a gentle hand on Integra’s wrist. Her response came a bit too quickly for her guest to fully comprehend, but she could make out the gist of it:

“I don’t need his approval.”

Integra was silent, unsure of how to proceed. She couldn’t stay here. She certainly couldn’t stay here if she was going to be hidden right under his nose. But Ilona was right; she knew all too well just what sort of creatures might be lurking in the Romanian darkness. With her usual assets, she might have taken the chance. But here she was both unarmed and unfamiliar; her language barrier and lack of local knowledge meant that she was in as much danger from the humans of this time as she was from the monsters.

“Do you know of him?”

The question sent a jolt through her, and she had to collect her thoughts for a moment before replying.

“Some,” She wrote after a bit of deliberation, “Not much.”

“Ah…” Ilona murmured, sounding perhaps slightly disappointed, “So you do not know where he is.”

What?

“Is he not here?”

Ilona shook her head before repeating back one of Integra’s own answers: “Very far away.”

Integra stared at her, her mind already racing with this information. Was she safe, then? Could she perhaps find a way back to her time before he returned? Would this still alter history too much to risk it?

“You must stay,” Ilona said, sounding more firm as the mother in her made itself known in her voice, “Let me help you.” Integra finally nodded slowly, her mind still reeling. Ilona returned the gesture, seeming satisfied. The tablet was almost full by this point, and so she stood and placed it down on the hearth near the low-burning coals. Even in the dim light, Integra could see the words she had scratched being slowly melted away, leaving only a smooth coating of liquid wax behind.

“Tomorrow,” Ilona said, giving the tablet’s wooden frame a pointed tap as she moved it away from the fire to cool. She looked about to say something else when the room darkened slightly with the presence of a figure in the door. Even knowing her future servant was nowhere near the town, Integra jumped slightly. It was the boy that had watched them from the stairs. He said something, presumably to his mother, though he never broke eye contact with their foreign guest. Ilona sighed, passing a hand over her face and closing her eyes for a moment. Finally she nodded and stood, once more offering her hand to leave the dark library behind for the evening. The boy trailed behind them, and Integra couldn’t help but stare at him now out of morbid curiosity. He had the same coloration to his hair as Ilona, that was for certain, but it had a certain degree of curl that hers lacked.

And he’s certainly got his father’s death glare, at least…

She was pulled from her thoughts as Ilona guided her into a much smaller hallway and stopped in front of a door that was already partially open. She pushed it the rest of the way and Gestured Integra inside. It looked to have been only recently made up, though there was already a bed waiting and a washbasin prepared for the morning. A small table and chair set was arranged in the corner, and there was a basket covered with a cloth that she could only presume contained food.

The boy once again voiced an irritable opinion, though this time Integra did manage to recognize enough to catch his meaning before his mother shooed him away.

“Father would never let her stay here.”

Something about those words seemed to bring her fully back to her senses. She turned to try and re-negotiate, but Ilona was already out the door, and pulling it closed behind her. She heard the quiet click of a lock, and she was alone. She looked around the room again, still trying to process everything that had happened in the past afternoon.

What am I doing?? She thought frantically, What was I thinking? I can’t stay here.

Yes, but obviously you are, The rational part of her answered, And there’s nothing you can do about it while you’re locked in a room in a castle you couldn’t find your way around if your life depended on it.

Slowly she let herself sink down onto the bed, dimly noted that it didn’t seem quite as uncomfortable as she’d imagined it would.

You’ll just have to wait until morning , She told herself, She’s locked you into your room. She can’t trust you enough to keep you here long. Tomorrow you can set out for somewhere else until you find your way back.

“Although,” She said quietly as a thought struck her, “if there was anywhere around here that I was going to find a spell for that…” She hesitated slightly, thinking, “And if he’s not going to be back any time soon, then it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”

She sighed, putting her head in her hands. Of all the otherworldly phenomenon she had been schooled in during her life, somehow time travel had avoided the radar.

“I suppose... I’ll just have to find something before he comes home.”

Almost numbly, she slipped off her boots and set them to the side. The stone floor was cold beneath her feet, but her hostess seemed to have supplied her with several layers of bedclothes. A part of her knew she should eat something, but she still felt too ill to even make an effort.

Lying down in the quiet of her small room, the candles on the bedside table extinguished, she suddenly felt fully aware of how alone she was. Ever since the day she’d sat huddled in the dungeons below the mansion, she’d never noticed a time when she was completely and totally alone. There was always someone, Walter, Alucard, her tutors, Sir Penwood... Even when she lay awake in bed on the nights when her dreams kept her from sleeping, she’d been aware of a dim haze of Alucard’s presence in the back of her mind, waiting for her to call to him.

Now there was only silence. And darkness.

“You idiot,” She whispered to herself, “Why couldn’t you listen to that butler for once in your life?”