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The Vampire's Apprentice	By : Evilida44 Category: G through L > House Views: 1787 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House or its fandom nor do I make any money from it.

Chapter List
- 15
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At The Lucky Shamrock Inn
After they left Princeton for the second time, House wanted to go back to Las Vegas, but Wilson most definitely did not. A few days before, House might have dragged him back to Nevada, willing or not. Now, however, he was uncomfortably aware how close Wilson had come to leaving him and he didn't want to lose him. Generously, he decided to delay their return at least for a few weeks.
Wilson found them a small furnished apartment in a run-down former hotel. The landlord was willing to let apartment by the week and the rent was reasonable by New York standards.
When House and Wilson had been living rent-free with the Professor, money from kills, though always sporadic and unpredictable, had been enough. Now that they had to pay rent, they needed a more reliable source of income. Reluctantly, House decided to find work as a musician. He worked off the books, for cash and tips, a couple of nights a week.
One of House's gigs was playing at a supper club called the Lucky Shamrock Inn. House had been hired to play "light music" as the patrons ate their meals. Later in the evening, Giselle Varney, owner of the Shamrock, would sing while House accompanied her on the piano. It was an insultingly easy job for a musician of House's calibre, but it paid well.
Giselle had the ambition, confidence and attitude of a natural born diva, but her voice was nasal, and her vocal range was tiny. She was shrill on the high notes and almost inaudible on the low ones. Her voice teacher had tactfully suggested songs that she could sing without straining her voice ("Tea for Two", "Moon River"). Giselle didn't pay any attention to his suggestions. She wanted to sing the songs made famous by the women who inspired her: Barbra, Whitney, Bette, and especially Celine.
House hadn't been as tactful as her voice teacher. The first time he heard her sing, he bluntly told Giselle that she was lousy. She laughed. She thought he was joking.

Wilson's latest pastime was reading vampire fiction. Literary quality didn't matter to him. Bram Stoker, Sheridan Le Fanu and Anne Rice shared shelf space with supermarket thrillers, ragged second-hand comic books, and supernatural romances.
Wilson preferred the older stories, even though the vampires in them were evil and almost always died at the end. "Good" vampires didn't seem to have much to do with him or the vampires he knew. They proclaimed their undying love to their human girlfriends, mused moodily about the cost of immortality, and seldom drank human blood at all – preferring artificial substitutes or cow's blood from a convenient nearby slaughterhouse. They were too soft to be killers.
Wilson's most recent find was a manga featuring a group of teenaged vampire crime-fighters. They were all fashionably dressed and had enormous doe eyes and long silky hair. The villain was someone called the Red Heart Queen, who regularly chopped off people's heads with her samurai sword.
Wilson put the manga down when he noticed that his hand was shaking. He knew that once the shaking started, he couldn't put off hunting any longer. He needed blood. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. Wilson spotted the young man from half a block away. He was a predator, like Wilson himself. Half-hidden in the shadows, he waited for his prey. There was a weight of some kind, probably a knife or a gun, in the right hand pocket of his coat.
Yukiko the teenaged crime-fighter would have given the mugger the fright of his life. She would have stood over the cowering criminal, her over-sized fangs glittering in the moonlight, while he pleaded for his life and vowed to reform. Wilson walked by. What one human did to another was none of his business.
He stopped a block and a half away in front of a homeless man. The homeless man was a familiar sight. He spent his nights sitting on a sheet of cardboard next to the entrance of an alley. Sometimes his shoulders slumped and his eyelids drooped with exhaustion, but Wilson had never seen him sleep.
Wilson squatted down next to him and looked into his red-rimmed eyes. The man's irises were an extraordinary colour, a changeable shade somewhere between blue and green, like the sea on a cloudy day. Wilson put his usual donation into his hat.
"How do you feel today, Mr. Philips? Is your cough any better?"
The homeless man shook his head. " 'bout the same," he said.
His voice was a whisper, so weak that only someone with a vampire's keen hearing could have made out the words. Still the effort of talking was enough to bring on a paroxysm of coughing that left him weak and helpless.
It was possible that Mr. Philips only had bronchitis or pneumonia. Wilson didn't think so though. He thought his cough was a symptom of something much worse than either.
Wilson stood up and walked the half block to the nearest all-night liquor store. He went to the wine section and picked up a bottle of California red. He remembered sharing a bottle of this wine with Amber. It had been delicious, with a taste that had reminded him of strawberries and sunshine. He pulled out his wallet and found that he had just enough left to pay for it.
Wilson returned to the alley. He held up the bottle. Mr. Philips smiled and held out his hand.
"Not here," Wilson said. "In the alley, where no one will see us."
He pulled the man to his feet and supported him as he walked into the darkness. The homeless man leaned against the wall of a building, catching his breath, and then sank down to the ground. Wilson sat beside him. He pulled the cork from the bottle using his strong, sharp vampire's fingernails. The homeless man, transfixed by the sight of the bottle, did not notice Wilson's nails.
Wilson passed him the open bottle, and the homeless man took a long drink. He tried to pass the bottle back to Wilson, but the former oncologist shook his head.
"I never drink...wine," he said, quoting a famous line from a vampire movie.
Another clue, but Wilson didn't really expect the homeless man to pick up on it.
Mr. Philips had finished the bottle.
"I want you to shut your eyes and go to sleep," Wilson said, looking deep into his eyes. "I don't want you to be afraid or to be in pain. One bite and then it won't hurt anymore.
I don't know what happens after that. Maybe nothing at all."
The homeless man slept at last, and Wilson leaned in for the kill.

Wilson got to his feet, clinging to the wall for support. Half-blinded by tears, he fought against a wave of dizziness and nausea.
More out of habit than from any reasonable expectation, Wilson searched the man's pockets for money, finding a few coins to add to his own small collection of change. There wasn't much point in trying to tidy him up. At the entrance to the alley, Wilson paused. He knew he was blood-drunk and should go home to sleep it off, but he didn't want to be alone in an empty apartment.

Halfway through her performance of "The Wind Beneath My Wings", Giselle forgot the words. Like the true professional she was, she didn't miss a beat. She skipped the rest of the song and launched into the final number, the theme to Titanic. House, her accompanist, cursed under his breath as he caught up, and Giselle threw him a coquettish glance.
Normally Giselle sang her last song to a member of the audience, but that night there was no one in the small group of diners closest to the stage who appealed to her. Instead she sang to House. She looked into his eyes, and then moved across the tiny stage to stand behind him. He was enveloped by the scent of her perfume, which smelled of musk and spice. Her hand brushed against his cheek. Her soft body pressed against his and her long glossy black hair (a very good stage wig) brushed against his shoulder.
House didn't like Giselle, not at all, but there was something about her that appealed to his vampire nature. Perhaps it was just her sheer artificiality. Every inch of her was buffed and shined to perfection. The angle of her cheekbones and the slant of her nose had been chosen by skilled cosmetic surgeons. Her body was sculpted by the best trainers and diet specialists, and her skin was pampered and smoothed with expensive creams and serums. She was an objet d'art, precious and beautiful but also just a little ridiculous, like a Faberge egg.
Giselle aroused his appetite. The only problem was that he wasn't sure whether what he felt for her was lust or hunger. It would be disastrous to mistake one for the other.

House spotted Wilson at the bar half-way through Giselle's finale. Wilson was sitting at the bar. Simon, the club bouncer, was looming over Wilson in a way that was meant to be menacing. Of course, Wilson, being a vampire, wasn't menaced in the slightest. House picked up the tempo, rushing through the final verses of "My Heart Will Go On".
"I don't have enough money to pay for the cover charge myself," Wilson was saying with the exaggerated precision of someone trying very hard to pretend he is not drunk, "but my friend the piano player will lend me the money, and then I'll give it to you."
"Your friend the piano player, huh?" the bouncer repeated doubtfully. "What's your friend the piano player's name?"
Wilson considered. He knew that House wasn't performing under his own name. He'd picked one of the aliases from the fake ids that the Professor had obtained for them. Unfortunately, Wilson couldn't remember which alias House was using for this job. It was annoying really. It would be a lot simpler if he stuck to one id, the way that Wilson did.
"I'm Emil Lime," Wilson said, "which is easy to remember because it's the same backwards and forwards."
"I didn't ask for your name," Simon said, raising the level of menace in his voice another degree, "I asked for your buddy's name."
Giselle was still basking in the audience's tepid applause, but House had already left the stage and was standing at Simon's elbow.
"Emil here," House said, "had a brain injury that makes him forget names. He can only remember his own because it's written on his underwear."
"Yeah, right," said the bouncer humourlessly, "Except one day he gets the wrong pair back from the laundry and he spends the whole day calling himself One Size Fits All. I know that one.
Is this guy a friend of yours, Mike? Are you going to take care of him or I am going to have to?"
"I'll take care of him," House said. "I'll take him round the back to sober up."

The back room contained a couch, a half dozen battered lockers, and a television mounted on the wall. House and Wilson sat on the couch. Wilson gazed into the blank television screen.
"He had such pretty eyes," Wilson said. "Sea-green eyes. Fathomless depths of pain. You could drown in them. You could sink forever."
"Very poetic," House said. "Have you ever thought of not looking into their eyes? It works for me."
"A bottomless abyss of suffering..."
"Do you have any idea what you smell like? You really need a bath."
"You smell too. You come home smelling like her perfume. Like a cinnamon-coated weasel."
House glanced sharply at Wilson.
"If you're going to have sex with somebody else," Wilson said," you should either hide it better, or you should tell me about it."
"I'm not having sex with Giselle," House said," but I'm thinking about it. There are complications. She's married."
"And she's your boss, and she doesn't know that you're a vampire, and you're supposed to be in love with Cuddy..."
Wilson's voice faded. House looked up, sensing another's presence. Simon was standing in the doorway. His face was impassive. It was impossible to tell how much of their conversation he had overheard.
"Giselle said this is for you," he said, handing House a handful of bills.

Wilson almost fell asleep in the taxi going home. He took a quick shower and then went to bed, without even bothering to dry his hair. He just put a towel over his pillow to catch the drips.
"You realize that I can't go back there anymore," House said, standing over Wilson. "It's too risky. If Simon overheard what you said..."
"Sorry," Wilson mumbled.
"You're not usually so careless. Did you do it on purpose?"
"What?"
"So that I wouldn't be able to see Giselle any more."
"I'm not that devious."
"Yes, you are." House said suspiciously.
He looked closely at Wilson, trying to determine whether he was lying, but the other vampire was already asleep.
- 15
- 16
- 17
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The Vampire's Apprentice