Page 44 of Searching for the Prince
“Are you saying we won’t be treated?” Gwil asked, a fake concern as he was sure the quartz had outed them as potential marks.
“Not at all. I need some details and to discuss your options before any decisions are made. Can you give me some details, names, addresses, species, and conditions you’re here for? I assume you’re both here for treatment.”
“Yeah, both of us have an infection we’ve not been able to shift, spectral in nature that’s caused a different variant of Nosferatu disease,” Gwil said, sticking to the script. “I’m William Carpenter and this is my partner, Robert Black. We’re vampires, obviously, or we wouldn’t have what we have, and we live at 12a Aldershot Avenue, Clapham.”
“Have you already sought out medical assistance?”
“We’ve both seen doctors but there’s not much theycan suggest, apart from signing up for an experimental treatment and we’ve not been selected.”
Nurse Helm’s eyes glowed orange—definitely wolf. “Did you get a reason why?”
“The doctor wasn’t convinced it was worth his while, and that the chances of success were too low, so he wanted to prioritise someone more likely to be cured.”
The backstory of their medical side had been crafted to pass muster with even a specialist in the disease area but with extra tasty Easter eggs for a lich.
“Understandable, resources are limited these days,” Nurse Helm said.
“But he did say it might clear up on its own, but wasn’t sure as it’s a level four spectral infection… which I don’t really know what that means,” Robin said, sounding meek, nothing like the real Robin.
“Level four?”
“Yes.” Level four was a rare virus mutation producing specific proteins that would make a lich super happy.
“And you’re both infected?”
Gwil huffed, aiming for dismissive cheating arsehole. “Yeah, look, I know what I’ve done, and Rob is willing to look past it and we are working through that, all right? He’s sticking by me, I don’t deserve it, but I’m going to do anything I can to win his trust back fully.”
Nurse Helm scribbled several notes on his clipboard. “I do think Dr Mettle will be able to help, but what you have is a persistent and difficult-to-treat infection. Let’s see, are you in the position to locate to a secure facility after the meeting if needs be?”
“We’ve a few things in an overnight bag, but we weren’t planning to be away for long,” Gwil said.
“Everything will be provided for you, and if you need a medical certificate for an employer Dr Mettle can arrange that.”
Robin shook his head. “We don’t have employment in that sense, I have a trust fund and support us both.”
Gwil was playing a real shitbag who lived with his rich boyfriend despite giving him a nasty pox, making Robert Black a prime candidate to be manipulated, and that trust fund would be an extra draw.
“Perfect. Take a seat, and the meeting will begin shortly.”
Gwil stood first and grabbed Robin by his upper arm—in their real life he’d have never dared manhandle Robin. “Come on.”
They took seats and waited. The hall filled quickly, several people being turned away before the doors were closed. The intel they had was minimal, and Gwil was on the fence regarding the way the crowd would react, although the sedate English countryside would unlikely bear witness to a US-style rally.
A side door opened. Dr Ralph Mettle took the stage with no pomp or ceremony. Gwil tried to be impartial in his assessment. He was reasonably attractive, with brown hair and a close-cut beard, but nothing that would make him stand out, which Gwil thought was the point.
“Friends, welcome, I am humbled that you have come to see me. My credentials speak for themselves, I don’t have to sell my wares like a street hawker. Now, knowing all our time is short and everyone knows why they are here, we don’t need a song or dance. So I will begin without further ado. I will walk amongst you, I will lay my hands on your head as I pass so you will feel my presence. I will heal you if I can.”
Gwil offered up a polite round of applause. Robin mimicked some of the audience members by sitting forwards, pretending to be eager, while Gwil slouched in his seat.
He noticed many of the other attendees were indifferent, as if they didn’t care if they were there or not. Maybe they’d been brought in to fill seats to stop others taking them. Mettle would only have so much power, and a room of a hundred people would suck him dry.
Nurse Helm stood behind Mettle, along with two others who took the details of each person after Mettle had laid his hands upon them. Nothing appeared to happened to the first four, then Mettle’s hand had barely rested on the next woman’s head. She sprang up from her seat, threw her hands into the air, then stood stock still, before collapsing back into her chair. “I’m free. The spirit—it’s gone,” she cried.
Gwil would bet a lot of money she hadn’t been exorcised. From his experience, malevolent spirits were difficult to evict and that seemed far too easy. She burst into tears and was helped out of the hall.
“It appears we have had our first real success, my friends,” Mettle said, smiling.
Mettle moved. The next guy was one of the pre-screened attendees like they had been. Mettle’s hand lingered on his patient’s head before closing his eyes. “I can help you, but not here. Please go with my colleague, and we will see what we can do.”
