Seven Devils

Taking off wasn't uncharacteristic. Miklós didn't exactly feel the need to inform anyone of where he'd gone, how long it would be for, how to reach him. He had a month when no one would expect him at work, the one thing that László actually arranged without prompting each year.

The shakes were slowly ebbing off, walking from the motel to the address he had helped clear some of his head at least. The tremors in his fingers made it near impossible to do much more than input the address into his phone for directions. He was aware that calling ahead would've been smarter, actually making sure that Zee was home, would expect him. Who just showed up on the doorstep of a powerful witch? Family or not.

It wasn't like he'd thought things through; one of his problems, one of many problems, lack of forethought, he should work on it, wasn't sure if it would be his downfall or not. Felt too much like forethought to ponder that one really. It was just instinct though. Once the rush died down, when the images he still couldn't piece together settled into something of a story that they weren't maddeningly vague, he just knew he needed to leave.

There was blood on his shirt cuff, even with him changing from what he'd wore, the wound opening again. Still had blood under his fingernails, vampires were ridiculously bloody, but it was something he'd gotten used to -which was terrible, really, twenty years of murdering a species shouldn't make you use to anything.

He knew better than to do anything but walk up to Zelda's door and knock. No point in seeing if her husbands wards would let him through or knock him into last week. And he'd prefer not to go through that again.