Chapter Text
Several hours before the Queen Mary 2 docks in Southampton, Rashid and Sam reach out to Arion using the Mind Gift to communicate with their maker. Petronia blows a gasket when they hear who’s onboard the ship, blows even more of one when they learn about what the team plans to attempt in Amsterdam, and then warms to the notion when they hear about the proposal for what’s to become of London motherhouse.
Now that’s a proper coup. We could run the West Croft cartel out of town for good, yeah? Petronia says aloud, audible as processed through Arion’s mind. You might be a gang of reckless fledglings, but you’d fit the bill. Effectively form a third coven, join forces with us, help push ’em out. They hum, thoughtfully sly. If that Raglan clown is dead, then who’s running the show? Who’s your leader—that prissy git, Armand?
Don’t be daft, Sam cuts in before Rashid can respond. It would be more of a collective-type situation. Doris, Rashid, and I have the soundest institutional knowledge, so… He pauses, adorable with his cheek smashed against Rashid’s shoulder, huffing in frustration. Well, even Burton’s been inside the Order for just long enough to know the ropes. And Guy’s had some training even if he’s rather shite at his job.
Jasper knows more about how the Order works than Guy, Rashid adds, rubbing Sam’s back. That makes Sam wiggle and throw one leg over Rashid’s lap. Lounging around naked for another week has spoiled them. His maverick ideas will perhaps have been tempered somewhat by his experiences in Amsterdam, and might be beneficial if he can be convinced to apply them with more structure than he’d first imagined.
Fine. I’ll greenlight you to run your plan on my turf even though it’s barking mad, Petronia agrees, resigned. What do you need from me and mine right now? Arion, as long as you’re playing the role of speakerphone, you’d better also be taking notes. I don’t trust these indolent honeymooners to do it. You can practically smell blood on the sheets. No need to flaunt that they’ve had out the DO NOT DISTURB sign.
Settle down, Pet, Arion replies dryly. Of course I am.
Settle down! Petronia scoffs. I’ll decide who needs to—
Send anybody you can spare to secure and occupy London motherhouse, Sam tells them, snuggling even closer to Rashid in their nest of covers as the ship approaches port. Rashid can tell he’s not looking forward to the PA announcement with instructions on how to proceed for disembarkation. Unless Amsterdam has sent in security, the premises have been empty since Rashid and I vacated them a couple of weeks ago.
We ought to do it ourselves, Pet, Arion suggests. Amsterdam could abduct our bar staff as easily as they did this Jasper the kids are rescuing.
Rashid kisses the top of Sam’s head, massaging the layer of muscle and tendon just beneath the freckled skin of his shoulder blades. What they’re about to do is dangerous, none of them have any illusions about that. If the two of you are willing to temporarily occupy the motherhouse, then we appreciate it. It means that the seven of us can transfer to Southampton Airport, board Armand’s jet, and leave for Amsterdam rather than trying to figure out which few of us to send to London to stay behind. We think that we’ll need all hands on deck to carry out this—
Heist, fledgling, Petronia interrupts. Some of you might die trying. Especially that mortal boy who’s put you up to it. Be wary of his motives.
Oh, we are, Sam sasses back, pressing a kiss against Rashid’s chest. He’s got a thing for Doris, but he might also have a thing for the Yank.
Spare me, Petronia groans. Get the job done, get home safe, and get London running so you can negotiate with Amsterdam and New York!
Rashid is relieved that Arion cuts the call after that, because Sam has continued to squirm against him in a way that he can’t ignore. “Sweet thing,” he murmurs in Sam’s ear, grabbing Sam’s arse, rubbing up against him just to feel him tremble and hear him muffle a breathy cry in the pillow. “Want me to suck your precious cock until it’s time to get dressed and disembark?” Rashid skims over the cleft of Sam’s arse with his fingertips, working one deep enough to rub over his hole. “Finger you while I keep my other hand over your pretty mouth?”
Sam reacts so instantaneously to Rashid’s dirty-talk that Rashid feels himself pitch to the brink, too. Sam shouts into the pillow, the onset of his orgasm so intense that the mattress shakes with him. His internal monologue has something resembling words even if his cries don’t. Oh my fuckin’ God it’s not fair how you can do this to me it’s not fair Rashid I love you I love you Rashid it feels so fuckin’ good it’s not fuckin’ fair!
Rashid hushes Sam, kisses Sam’s cheek, and tangles his fingers that much more tightly in Sam’s curls. “I love you so much,” he whispers. “I love seeing what I can say to wind you up, just how little it’ll take…” He tugs Sam’s head gently, but firmly to one side and sinks his fangs in Sam’s neck, grunting in satisfaction as the taste of Sam’s blood floods his tongue. He feels another violent tremor seize Sam’s body, another sluice of wet heat against his belly as Sam’s cock twitches. So sensitive, mera dil. I’ll suck your cock later, finger you later, anything you want once we’re on the jet, he promises, giving himself over to his own pleasure as Sam’s arms tighten around his shoulders. There’s a bed on it, even a few guest coffins, he continues, gasping with wave after helpless wave of his own orgasm. The others’ll just have to—“Sam, fuck—”
The PA system chooses that moment to begin droning disembarkation instructions at them, which makes Sam laugh and press his lips fondly against Rashid’s temple. “Poor darlin’,” he mumbles between kisses. “Set a trap at the last second when we should be packing, and what happens? End up worse off than me.” He takes Rashid’s face in both hands, kissing him soundly on the mouth. “Oh, I adore you.”
Rashid grins dopily up at him, tuning out the rest of the announcement. “You, too, but we need to clean off and pack. Oof, Sam. Get up.”
Once they’ve all disembarked and met up in the terminal with their luggage, Armand arranges transfer to the airport. Rashid has been on this particular aircraft enough times, and Louis’s jet in addition, that this mode of travel no longer registers as unusual. However, even Sam’s occasional travel at points higher than first-class don’t seem to have prepared him for the shock of his surroundings onboard the jet. While Burton leads a bemused Doris and Guy from feature to feature, gushing from whatever personal knowledge he has of such luxury, Rashid just keeps Sam close against his side as they sit on the edge of the bed watching Daniel and Armand help the crew stow all of the luggage. Rashid catches Sam’s hand as he runs it idly, repeatedly over the brocade duvet cover, bringing it up to his lips. He squeezes it, and then kisses it.
“Hey, is he okay?” Daniel asks Rashid, sliding into one of the two seats at the table next to the window. “Never been on one of these?”
Rashid brushes Sam’s cheek, and then side-eyes Daniel as Armand joins him at the table. “You hadn’t prior to the late seventies.”
“Yeah,” Daniel agrees sarcastically. “And then forgot I’d ever been on one for…how many years was that, babe? Remind me?”
“We’re not doing this again,” Armand says, rolling his eyes. “Decades, my fault.” He peers at Sam. “What’s the matter?”
“Talamasca monitors incoming flights at Schiphol, especially ones that land in the private hangars,” Sam replies softly.
“Then I expect that Burton and I will be mindfucking a lot ground staff from the get-go,” Armand says. “You could help.”
Rashid gives Armand a look. “We have the trickiest part of it once we’ve infiltrated headquarters, and you know it. Permission to use one of the guest coffins, si—” He bites his tongue when Sam squeezes his hand. “Permission to use one of the guest coffins,” Rashid repeats in a brasher tone, coaxing Sam to his feet. “Also, I don’t know about that lot giggling over there, but we haven’t fed. Are there blood bags onboard?”
Daniel whistles. “Transitioning out of that staff role was never going to be easy, huh, Rashid, what when the lines got kind of blurred as it was?”
“Of course,” Armand sighs, ignoring Daniel’s barb. “You already know where both things are, so…” He makes a gracious gesture. “Help yourself.”
Rashid nods his thanks to Armand, and then hustles Sam beyond the curtain into the next segment of the plane. He gets Sam settled in the largest of the bolted-down coffins and fetches half a dozen bags of AB-negative. It feels like a weird, transgressive slumber party, joining Sam in coffin with snacks to tide them over on a transit experience that should take less than a few hours from start to finish. They drink their fill of the blood, leave the drained bags on the floor, and then don’t do much more than curl up and drift off once they’ve closed the coffin lid.
It’s nearly dawn when Armand knocks on the coffin lid and announces that they’ve landed at Schiphol. He owns property there, because of course he does—a tall, narrow brick house in the Canal District with a sloping roof, a marble entryway, timber beams, and pale parquet floors. There are four bedrooms with amply curtained windows, which means that everyone is accommodated as long as it’s three couples and a single. Burton seems disappointed that he’ll be the one sleeping alone for the day, but he’s tired enough to wave them all off and slam the door in their faces. Rashid and Sam haul all of their luggage into the lavishly decorated guest room with its four-poster bed, leave it all in the middle of the floor, and then have a delicious, achingly slow fuck on Armand’s flawless cedar-and-lavender scented linens before they pass out.
The next evening at dusk—once they’ve all awakened, dressed, hunted, and grabbed a perfunctory take-away meal—they meet on the pedestrian bridge over the canal outside Armand’s front door. They make a somber tableau in their dark coats and clothes, Rashid realizes, maybe somber enough to border on suspicious. Doris fiddles restlessly with something in her pocket as Rashid and Sam join the rest of them.
Raglan’s ID? Sam thinks, glancing sidelong at Rashid, maintaining his hold on Rashid’s arm.
What else, Rashid replies, fixing Doris with his steady gaze. “We all need to start walking.”
Doris nods once, curtly, exchanging nervous glances with Guy and Burton. “It’s not far.”
Daniel clears his throat, folding his arms tightly across his chest. “Anyone need a refresher of what we discussed on the boat, or are we good?”
Guy scowls, picking at the last of his patatje oorlog, which…he’s not disgusted with them, but he’s not enjoying them, either. “Great pep talk.”
Armand sets a hand on Daniel’s face and gives him a sincere variant of the yes, dear look that Rashid had often seen him give Louis. “We’re ready.”
Burton makes a bitter sound as Daniel kisses Armand in front of everyone. “You’re all forging those companionships. Rub it in, why don’t you?”
“Oh, knock it off,” Sam scolds irritably, huddling closer to Rashid seemingly on principle. “We might fuckin’ die soon. Just let ’em have this.”
“I might’ve been in a better mood this evening if I’d been able to get to sleep sooner last dawn,” Burton sniffs, making spiteful eyes at Rashid.
Not my fault I fuck Sam so well he can’t hold back the racket, Rashid thinks. “Ask Fareed to make sure your supply from the farm is spiked?”
“I’ve tried Z-drugs and Benzos, no such luck,” Burton shoots back. “It’s a different problem this time, and fortunately not a permanent one.”
Doris rubs her face in frustration. She grabs one of the fries from Guy’s take-away container, takes a bite of it, makes a face, and pitches what’s left over the bridge. “Are we done acting like petulant children?” she asks. “Good. There’s a service entrance at the back of the old archives building. That’s how we’re going in. They’ll be holding him in the lower level of that complex. It’s where they used to hold me and other…subjects. I’ll use this to open and check a load of rooms on a really long corridor. I’ll need the rest of you to fan out in either direction to run interference. We have no way of knowing from which end they’ll send security. Probably both. Don’t spare anyone except Houseman.”
“What about your sister?” Sam blurts hesitantly. “We should’ve thought of that eventu—”
Doris blinks, somewhere between upset and uncomprehending. “Helen? Why would she—”
“Because if they’ve captured her, they’ll use her as bait,” Rashid sighs, rubbing his temples.
“You were pretty emphatic about her being in police custody in London,” Daniel points out.
“Right,” Guy insists, a little desperate. “Not ideal, but it’s the safest place she could be for now.”
Armand laughs, loud and disbelieving, before managing to rein it in. “Beloved, I think I see it.”
“Not a fucking word, do you understand me?” Daniel snaps at Armand. “I’m not sure, okay?”
“It’s in his inflection periodically,” Armand continues. “His manner when he’s agitated, yes?”
Rashid turns to Sam, the exchange making sudden, horrible sense. “Oh, fuck me. Really?”
Sam shrugs, sucking air through his teeth before forcing it out. “Daniel did know Anna.”
Meanwhile, Guy looks as if he’s just put together the last hellish puzzle pieces that had been kicking around his head. He hates what he sees.
“Oh, Lord!” Doris roars, aggravated enough to silence them all. “This is no time to discuss Guy’s mummy and daddy issues! Fucking focus!”
Rashid slides his arm around Sam’s waist and hustles him across the bridge, leading their exodus in the direction of Talamasca headquarters.