A hoof against her face brought Lyra back into the waking world. She gasped, her eyes shooting open at the touch.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” Soft Stitch said, his muzzle only inches away from her own. ”We’ve got work to do.”
She opened her mouth to scream, but his hoof quickly smothered it.
“Now now,” he said, smiling like a doctor to a foal. “That’s not going to help you, so let’s make this a little less painful for the both of us, okay? Can you do that for me?”
Lyra nodded.
“Good, good.” He pulled away, standing up and stepping back.
It took a moment for Lyra to register that he was upside-down, and a moment longer to realize that he wasn’t. The blood her racing heart was pooling in her ears helped, as did the tears flowing up her face instead of down.
She tried to move, but found she couldn’t do much; her forelegs had been tied behind her back, and her hindlegs were secured by a length of chain to a beam across the ceiling, leaving her suspended upside-down only a couple of feet off the dirty concrete floor. Her head had been secured too, by what felt like a strip of metal around her forehead. A quick attempt at freeing herself told her that her magic had been cut off as well, and the sharp pain from her horn indicated that is hadn’t been a clean job.
Unable to do anything herself, she turned her attention to the rest of the room.
Her restraints afforded her only a limited view, but from what she could see she appeared to be in a basement of some kind. The walls and floor were all concrete, and the only lighting came from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling above them. A sheet covered something on the right wall.
Stitch was saying something.
“…And if you’re good, this won’t hurt any more than it needs to, alright?”
“What have you done with Lyra!?”
Bon Bon.
“Oh, your friend? She’s right here.”
He stepped out of the way, revealing Bon Bon in a very similar predicament to Lyra’s own.
“Lyra!”
“Bon Bon!”
“Aw,” Stitch said, “Isn’t that sweet?” He gasped. “Oh, are you two lovers? Oh, how wonderful!”
“Let us go, Stitch,” Bon Bon growled. She jerked at her restraints, though it didn’t do much good.
“Oh, I would if I could,” he said, slipping a set of plastic surgical coverings over his hooves. “But, unfortunately, you’ve seen too much. Besides, your friend—Lyra, was it?—I can’t just let her go!”
“W-what? Why?” Lyra stammered.
He looked at her, raising a hoof to his chin as if appraising her.
“Your eyes, I think. You have wonderful eyes.”
What?
“What are you going to do to us?”
He laughed, short and loud. “What, you hadn’t figured that out yet? I thought you were detectives!”
His horn glowed, and a matching glow appeared over the sheet-covered thing.
“I’m going to add you to my collection.”
The sheet was whisked away. Lyra and Bon Bon both gasped at what it had hidden.
Rows and rows of mason jars lined the polished steel shelves, each one filled with red, though several of a far darker shade.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he said, walking over to the shelving unit, the bags on his hooves rustling with each step. “There’s two hundred and forty-four of them, and each one’s a quart…”
He seemed to lose himself for a moment, staring at the macabre display.
“Beautiful…”
Lyra couldn’t accept that, she wouldn’t. “You—Y-you killed nine ponies… You kidnapped nine ponies, you murdered them, you murdered your sister, right here… for, for that!?”
“I had to!” he said, snapping around to face her with a snarl. “It’s—I get these urges, if there were some other way, like back at the hospital, I would have—" He stopped, suddenly. "Nine? Did you say nine ponies?”
“There were nine victims, you monster.” Bon Bon said.
“That’s, that’s… that’s impossible! I only took eight!”
Lyra felt nothing. He was telling the truth…
“But that doesn’t make any sense! There were nine victims!”
“I’m telling you, I only took eight ponies before you two!” he growled, before abruptly stopping, his mouth twisting into a grin.
“This is a trick. You’re tricking me!” He laughed. “Well, it’s not going to work. Besides, I think we’ve wasted enough time.”
He looked between his two captives, before finally settling his eyes on Lyra. Nodding to himself, he lit his horn, dragging a large metal basin out of the corner and leaving it directly under her. The screech of metal against concrete echoed throughout the basement.
“I should save the best for last,” he said, grasping a scalpel in his magic, “but I just can’t help myself.”
Bon Bon began struggling again, frantically twisting her body about and rattling her chains to no avail, screaming threats at Stitch the entire time. He ignored her, striding over to Lyra and bending down, his gleeful face filling her vision.
Lyra became suddenly very aware of her own heartbeat, thudding like a bass drum in her chest, again and again. She could almost feel the pulsing of her jugular as the cold steel of the blade’s edge pressed against her throat.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” Stitch said. The pressure against the knife grew stronger—
The sound of a metal impact rang through the room from somewhere to Lyra’s left. Stitch looked up, startled.
“Wha—”
A white blur blasted into Soft Stitch, sending him and his scalpel flying away. He crashed into the left wall, the white form atop him resolving itself into a very welcome shape:
“Vinyl!”
The white mare, her face twisted into a snarl, hissed as she reared up and brought her forehooves down on Stitch. He raised his legs to defend himself, but still shouted from the impact.
The scalpel, which had fallen not far from Lyra’s head, glowed orange and jerked through the air, embedding itself deep in Vinyl’s shoulder before Lyra could shout a warning. Vinyl appeared barely to notice it, even as a dark stain began to spread through her coat around the wound. She brought a hoof down on Stitch’s horn, silencing the spell he had been about to cast.
A blue glow matching the glow of Vinyl’s horn encircled Soft Stitch’s neck. Spinning around, she lifted him off the ground and hurled him at the other wall in one clean movement. He soared through the air like a ragdoll, his legs flailing about as he crashed back-first into his precious collection.
The impact shook the shelves, sending much of their contents careening down on top of him. The jars fell like bombs, their contents exploding out of them as the broke against the concrete floor.
Stitch was drenched in crimson, the blood sticking to him and pooling around him and the broken glass. The metallic stench of copper flooded the room.
Stitch opened his eyes.
“No… no…”
His forelegs reached out, trying desperately to sweep the rapidly spreading pool back towards him. “No… you can’t…”
He was shaking, his eyes wide. “Y-you can’t… No, no, no… No, they’re all gone…”
His head snapped up.
“You! You took them from me!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you!”
“Vinyl!” Lyra shouted, “He’s getting up!”
When Vinyl didn’t respond, Lyra twisted her head around to look at her.
“Vinyl?”
Something was very wrong with the vampire. She swayed back and forth jerkily, and her raspy breaths came rapid and uneven through gritted teeth. Her shrunken pupils danced around the room, focusing first on Stitch, then on Lyra, then Bon Bon, then back to Stitch.
“Out of the frying pan…” muttered Bon Bon, pulling once more at her restraints.
“Vinyl, what’s wrong!?”
“It’s all the blood,” Bon Bon said. “It’s overwhelming her; she can’t control herself. She’ll drain Soft Stitch dry, and then she’ll have us for seconds.”
“Vinyl wouldn’t do that!” Lyra shouted, pulling at her own restraints with equally little success. Vinyl had her head pressed to the floor now, her hooves pinned over her head.
“She’s a vampire, Lyra! I kept telling you, but you wouldn’t listen! They may look equine, but at the end of the day they’re still just monsters!”
Soft Stitch had finally scrabbled to his hooves, his face twisted in hideous fury.
“You’re dead!” He screamed, dashing forwards.
Vinyl screeched, flinging her head up to the ceiling. She reared back, and met Soft Stitch’s charge with a heavy blow to his head, knocking him flat. He didn’t get up.
She staggered over to Lyra. A quick bit of telekinesis and the chains suspending her went slack, dropping her unceremoniously onto the floor. Vinyl’s teeth made quick work of the ropes binding her hooves, and soon she was free and standing, albeit achingly.
Lyra pulled the mare into a hug, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you…”
Vinyl pulled away quickly. Later, she said, although it seemed to be with great difficulty. She staggered away, towards an open grate in the floor that had been hidden from Lyra’s vision, and dropped down into it.
That must be how she got in. But how did she find us?
…There’ll be time for that later. She limped over to Bon Bon and began freeing her, a process made difficult by her lack of magic.
“Just a monster, h-huh?” Lyra said, still choking up from relief. “I t-told you she wouldn’t hurt us.”
“I…” She seemed to be at a loss for words. “That shouldn’t be—”
“Shush.” Lyra pulled the ropes loose, allowing Bon Bon to free her hooves.
“What do we do with him?” Lyra said, eying Stitch’s unconscious form wearily.
Bon Bon stood up, shaking out her legs. “Restrain him and leave him here. We can leave a tip for the police, tell them about this place. That way, we won’t be directly involved in their case.”
“Makes sense. Is my horn okay?”
“Just a cut. It’ll heal.”
“Phew!” After a moment, she began to laugh, loud whooping laughs that filled the chamber.
“What’s so funny?” Bon Bon asked, but Lyra was too busy laughing to answer. The mood proved infectious, though, and soon she began smiling too.
“C’mon, you silly pony,” she said with a giggle. “Help me tie him up.”
“Sure thing.”
─────
“I think I owe you an apology.”
Following their escape, Lyra and Bon Bon had left the same way Vinyl had, through the open grate. A half-hour’s trek through the sewers had brought them, blinking, into the daylight via a drain outlet; an outlet that drained directly into the East River.
Vinyl had met them at the end of the pipe—or more accurately, they had met Vinyl, dry-heaving over the water.
A few minutes of recovery time later, and Vinyl had been ready to head back to the hotel. She’d explained how she’d found them on the way, how she’d followed the map to the drain and smelled faint traces of blood on it. She’d then returned to the hotel and waited, and when the two hadn’t returned, had gone back to see where the drain led.
They had left their tip, an anonymous letter, tucked under the police station’s door. Vinyl had posted a letter to Winter Bell, explaining the situation.
And then they had returned to the hotel and all taken very long, very relaxing showers before ultimately collapsing into their beds.
Which led back around to now, the three of them sitting in a gently rocking train car the morning after.
You don’t have to—
“No, I do,” Bon Bon said. “You may be a, you know—“
A vampire.
“Right. But you aren’t a bad pony, and I shouldn’t have treated you like one.”
Vinyl laid back in her seat. It’s cool. You’re not the first, and I know you have your reasons. I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about you anymore.
She fixed Bon Bon with a look that could be felt even through her shades. I don’t, right?
“Not anymore.”
Same for ‘Tavi?
“…Octavia?”
“Werewolf,” Lyra supplied.
Bon Bon’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “There’s a werewolf living in—”
“Bonnie…”
“…Right. Can I at least meet her, make sure she’s taking precautions?”
She is. But sure. Vinyl sat up, a grin spreading across her face. Hey, we should do dinner!
“Oh, that’d be nice!” Lyra said. “I think it’s our turn to cook for you guys, though.”
You sure you can? We have pretty unusual tastes.
“I’m sure we can manage!”
The conversation slowly devolved into food-related small talk, mostly between the two ponies who had any talent for cooking. Lyra, meanwhile, took to staring at the rolling green hills flying past the window.
It’s over. It’s all over.
And yet, there was still something nagging at her, something she couldn’t quite let go. Perhaps it was her blessing, or just her own stubbornness, but…
There were definitely nine victims… But if Stitch was telling the truth, and I know he was…
Then who—or what—killed the extra pony?