Chapter Three

9:32 P.M.

“So why the garlic?”

“The current theory is that the scent of it disrupts the host’s ability to scent 
blood, although there may be more to it than just that,” Cuddy replied, slowly 
locking up the Oncology Bio-storage door. House checked his watch and 
frowned to himself.

“Okay, we’ve been at it for nearly six hours and what do we have to show for it 
so far?”

“Not a hell of a lot,” Cuddy admitted wearily. “The last place with more than 
two personnel out sick was here, in Oncology. Where else do we go?”

House led the way to the waiting area; here the carpeting was thick underfoot 
and the place empty. He dropped himself down onto one of the sofas and 
eased his right leg out across the cushions, sighing.

“If you’d agree to split up, we could cover a lot more territory,” came his 
grouse. Cuddy sat in one of the armchairs, slumping a little herself as she 
dropped the backpack next to the chair.

“If we split up, we’ll have to divide the contents of the bag. And neither of us 
would have backup if we DID find the vampire. We’ve been OVER this, 
Greg—“ She grumbled, sliding one foot free of her high heel and reaching 
down to rub her instep through her stockings. House looked over and watched, simple male fascination on his face. Cuddy waggled her toes. “What?”

“Legs AND cleavage, yowsa.”

“I thought,” Cuddy gritted her teeth, “That one of the side effects of long term Vicodin use was a dampening of the libido.”

“Not in my case. House males are known for their breeding stamina and 
extended performance. We laugh at Viagra; sneer at Cialis—“

“—But in point in fact, require Rogaine?” Cuddy snapped back.

House scowled, reaching over to poke her hip with his cane and she pushed it away. “Hey, you started it—“

“Two can play at the prescription game, Doctor Cuddy. I seem to recall you 
yourself have more than one on record that might not want to see the light of 
day,” he threatened. Cuddy blanched a little, but set her mouth in a grim line.

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

House let his mouth curve in a faint smile, and arched an eyebrow at her. 
“We’ve played poker, Cuddles—ask yourself if I’m bluffing or not.”

“Anyone can contract Impetigo, House,” she muttered sulkily.

“That’s why clinic doctors should wash their hands,” he replied in a lofty tone, 
not looking at her. Neither of them spoke for a moment, then House sat up 
and rubbed his eyes. “Okay, let’s work on this logically here—where are the 
places you can find a corpse in a hospital?”

Cuddy thought for a moment. “The morgue and the autopsy bays, but all our 
bodies are pretty well documented. Will Arliss runs a tight ship down there.”

“Yeah, but he’s also the only one on duty tonight.”

She looked irritated, and then worried. “How do you KNOW that?”

“He owes me money. I keep tabs on people who owe me money,” House 
replied shortly. “So I figure if one of us looks around the morgue and the other 
the autopsy bay, we might luck out and find our parasite.”

Cuddy said nothing for a moment, then nodded gently; she pulled the 
backpack up to her lap and unlocked it, tugging it open. House looked on, 
interested as she fished out the baggie full of rice and handed it to him.

“Here. For some weird reason, the parasite kicks up a tendency for OCD 
within the host so you can distract them if you need to. Just drop the rice in 
front of them and get yourself out of the area. If you drop enough you can 
keep them busy until they’re required to sleep.”

“Rice. Got it.” House muttered, sticking the bag in his pocket. “What about 
you?”

“Me? I’ve got the stakes,” Cuddy pulled one free from the bag and hefted it in 
her hand, the move casually confident. The wood gleamed dark and varnished, tapering to a definite, dangerous point. House eyed it and gave a slow shake 
of his head.

“And that’s standard issue from the CDC?”

“You bet. Oh, and one thing more, Greg. Don’t look it in the eyes. Hard as hell 
not to, but you can’t, not for longer than a few seconds.” She carefully 
replaced the stake and lifted her gaze to him, sighing heavily. “Splitting up is a 
bad idea, but we’re running out of time. Which do you want—bay or morgue?”

“Morgue. Why doesn’t Arliss know?”

“Government policy,” Cuddy laughed without humor. “The Surgeon General’s 
office wants to keep as few people as possible aware of the situation. And 
quite honestly, no vampire SHOULD have been able to get in. Our security 
systems throughout this place are built with silver as the primary conductor so 
I’m still trying to figure out the breakdown point.”

“That’s easy,” House grunted, rising to his feet. “The ambulance bay on the 
west side—the one that wasn’t up to code. Two days of construction and no electricity there, remember?”

“Crap.” Cuddy replied after a moment’s thought. “That would do it. And 
now . . . “

“ . . . Now it’s trapped here. Not that it cares, probably. Lots of blood in a 
hospital.”

“Yeah, but losses are easier to spot,” Cuddy pointed out. “Smaller community, limited opportunities.”

House nodded. They stood for a moment longer in the Oncology waiting area, 
taking wordless comfort in sharing the truth, then Cuddy shouldered the 
backpack and sighed.

“Check in once in a while, okay?”

House nodded.

***   ***   ***

2:32 A.M.

He pulled out his cell phone as he stood at the basement elevators, his spine pressed against the wall. Cuddy picked up on the second ring. “Greg?”

“Hit the jackpot. She’s been taking her freezer naps down here. Where’s 
Arliss?” he demanded. Over the line, Cuddy laughed shortly.

“You saw her? I’ll be right there. I don’t know where Arliss is--I thought you 
were keeping track of him.”

House looked down the silent hallway leading back to the morgue; one of the florescent lights at the very end flickered. He felt his balls tighten and moving 
quickly he jabbed the elevator button.

“There haven’t been any reported deaths tonight so he wasn’t down here—“ 
he muttered, trying to keep is voice level. The light stopped flickering for a 
moment.

Then it went out, with a soft little ‘pop.’

House reached over along the wall and smacked the elevator button as the 
quick rise of nausea rose in his throat. He kept his focus on the hallway, eyes locked on the white scuffed linoleum and pale green walls. Cuddy’s voice 
rattled in his ear.

“Is she still there? “

“Rice,” House hissed, straining to hear the ‘ding’ of the elevator behind him. “I 
did the rice thing. How fast do they count?”

“Very. Why doesn’t this damned elevator come?”

“Because I’M trying to get it down here!” came his exasperated growl. “Get 
your OWN elevator.”

“Fine. I’ll take the stairs—“ came her terse response, and before House could 
say another word the click of disconnection echoed in his ear. He blinked and 
then hit the elevator button once more. The hallway remained empty, and 
House had nearly relaxed when the first faint scent of decaying roses reached 
his nose. In quick response his jaw tightened and he felt his scalp tingle as adrenaline flashed through his system; even the muscles around his thigh 
tensed, sending needles of pain through his system.

 The growing clatter of Cuddy’s heels on the concrete stairwell reached him; 
he reluctantly pocketing his phone and turned his head to glance at her when 
the door opened.

“Crap. I smell her—“ she muttered, sidling to stand next to him along the wall, holding the bag in front of her. House snagged it and scowled, irritated at 
having Cuddy see him against the wall. She was looking towards the end of 
the hall. “The light’s burnt out.”

“Just happened,” House replied in a low voice. “And the next one’s starting to flicker.” He felt the warmth of Cuddy’s shoulder against his, and that small bit 
of comfort worked.

“No—“ Cuddy protested, but in contradiction to her outburst, the second 
furthest set of florescent lights began to blink in a slow strobe. She bit back a 
little moan.

“None of that,” came House’s sharp order. “Let’s think about this. She’s trying 
to force an advantage here—darkness would help her move around.”

“I’m not going to try and stake a vampire in the DARK, Greg—“

“She’s not staying put!” House snapped. “If she’s making the lights go out, 
then she’s tampering with the circuit breakers, or disrupting the cables. Either 
way, she’s not IN the morgue any more.”

Cuddy took a deep breath; House admiringly noticed, shooting her a sidelong glance as she spoke, more calmly this time. “So where IS she?”

“My guess would be that she’s gone through the walkthrough janitor’s closet 
by Arliss’s office to the Physical Therapy pool on the other side,” he replied, 
thinking hard. “The only other elevator down to this level is on the other side 
of that.”

Pushing herself off the wall, Cuddy gave a shake of her head. “That elevator 
gets locked after six every night. She’ll be stuck in the locker room. Come on.”

House snagged her arm mid-charge; startled, Cuddy swung back into him ungracefully, the CDC bag hitting his shoulder as she herself smacked up 
against his chest. House glared down at her. “Let’s just think about this for a 
minute, okay Buffy? If we don’t want her to get past us, we need to shut down THESE elevators . . . “ he trailed off, acutely aware that very nicely rounded 
bits of Cuddy were now pressed up against him. Those, combined with the determined sparkle of her eyes and the startled O of her mouth weren’t 
helping matters at all.

“Oh my God. You have a hard on!” she hissed in accusation, looking rattled. 
House rolled his eyes even as a faint flush rose on his cheeks.

“Adrenaline and stress make for the typical male response—“ he shot back, 
albeit a bit weakly. “Worry about your OWN stakes, okay?”

Cuddy looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t believe it. We’re in a highly dangerous situation that requires serious concentration from BOTH of us, and YOU have 
a boner. This is ridiculous!”

“Ya think? And stop rubbing—that’s not exactly helping Mr. Happy, okay?” 
House groused. Before Cuddy could finish her snicker, the second set of 
lights silently went out.

They tensed, all humor gone. Carefully Cuddy pulled away from him and 
opened the backpack, fishing for the velvet sack of religious symbols. She 
pulled out the silver Star of David and gripped it reverently. “Av ha-rachameem shocheyn m'romeem—“ came her gentle whisper as she stepped forward. 
House followed up behind her, fascinated. Together they moved down the hall 
and into the semidarkness, both turning to face the bay doors of the morgue.

The sound of wrenching metal echoed off the walls; a quiet screechy sound 
of torqued steel. House looked in quickly through the window of the door and 
shook his head at Cuddy.

“Not in there. Drawer I found her in is empty. And the door to the office is 
open.”

“So she’s in the locker room. That’s good—she’s not going to want to get in 
the water. We’ve got her trapped.” Cuddy shifted the Star of David in her 
hands gently. She looked up at House and for the second time he saw the hollow-eyed fear on her face. Cuddy managed a sickly laugh. “Hey Greg, if we 
get done before midnight I’ll take you to Waffle World—my treat.”

“Oh gee, with an incentive like THAT—“ he snarled lightly, striving for 
normalcy, for comfort in the familiar.  “And it’s Double bacon Wednesday, 
too—“

“Shhhh—“ Moving carefully, Cuddy pushed open the door of the morgue and 
flicked on the switch on the wall; instantly the room was flooded with harsh 
light, making both House and Cuddy squeeze their eyes shut. Cuddy 
recovered first and scanned the tiled room. The odor of overripe fruit still hung 
in the air and the one pallet for the open drawer was extended like an empty 
diving board.

Cuddy shot a look at House, who was staring over her head towards the office. 
He held out a hand, whispering hoarsely. “Give me your badge.”

“What?” she protested even as he reached over and plucked it from the 
waistband of her skirt. House stepped to her side, then pointed with his chin to 
the door next to the office; the one marked Custodian.

“She ripped the doorknob off on the janitor's closet.”

“Damn,” Cuddy gulped.

For a moment they both stood staring, then with unplanned synchronicity, 
both House and Cuddy stepped forward, towards the Chief Pathologist’s office. 
It was empty, but the light lacing of red spatters on the floor spoke volumes.

“She got him,” House deduced. “He must have been stashed in one of the 
other drawers, or laid out somewhere like a snack stored away. And she’s 
going to be pissed that we forced her to drain him.”

“House—“ Cuddy muttered in a monotone, “Not that it matters, but it just 
would have been a matter of time anyway. The CDC is going to want his body 
too.” Carefully she unzipped the backpack and yanked out one of the stakes, 
her elegant fingers wrapping around it tightly. House held out his hand; she hesitated a moment, then handed him the stake and reached for another one 
out of the bag. Crookedly she smiled.

“What’s my badge for?”

For a moment House blinked at her, then stared down at the little plastic card 
he had pinned against his silver-headed cane with his thumb. “Yeah, well you mentioned symbols of protection; things that would terrify her. I figure your 
photo ought to do it, you know.”

Impulsively, Cuddy stuck her tongue out at him, and House smirked. “SO 
mature there, Lisa. And if that’s an offer—“

The rattle of a metal locker door cut into the exchange and whatever Cuddy 
was going to say died on her lips. She squared her shoulders and nodded. 
“Okay . . . let’s just—“

House lumbered forward and nudged her shoulder with his, his voice low. 
“Double bacon Wednesday. You and me, we’re going to get waffles and toast 
and maybe a side order of hashbrowns—“

They cautiously walked through the janitor’s closet.

The door on the other side hung open and the scent of chlorine and water 
hung in the air. Cautiously Cuddy prodded it open further with her foot, and it 
swung wider, revealing the Princeton Plainsboro Physical Therapy pool in the 
dim light.

The pool itself was half the size of an Olympic one, with a wheelchair ramp 
and several ladders descending into the still water. Cuddy glanced at House, 
and they moved through the door; she tried to soften her heel clicks against 
the tiles underfoot. House swung his gaze around, senses on high alert, wary 
for any movement anywhere. To the left of them was the entrance to the 
men’s locker room; to the right of the janitor’s door lay the women’s. Cuddy bit 
back a gasp as she darted to the edge of the deep end in front of them

Drifting in the water, a corpse in green surgical scrubs floated face down, a 
faint tinge of red rimming the water around the body. Cuddy leaned out, 
reaching but it was too far. She set down the bag and wrestled out of her suit 
jacket as House gave a sigh of exasperation.

“He’s DEAD, Lisa. There isn’t any—“

She dropped her feet into the water, then slid the rest of the way in and swam 
to the body, snagging one pant leg. House rolled his eyes as Cuddy dragged 
the mortal remains of Will Arliss back to the side of the pool. She lifted herself 
out, rising sleekly from the water and gave a shiver.

“Remind m-m-me to h-h-heat this during off hours . . .” Came her moan as she 
bent for Will’s arms and with a strain, pulled him up over the edge onto the 
side. Water splashed over the tiles, soaking her jacket. House said nothing.

Part of him was fascinated with Cuddy’s courage, and dedication—she hadn’t hesitated a second on seeing Will in the water. Part of him was furious with 
her recklessness in pointlessly going after what was clearly a corpse.

And part of him was locked onto the way her thin white blouse had gone transparent, molding itself to the most fabulous set of tits he’d seen in a while. 
The water had worked it’s magic on her lace bra as well, and the beautifully 
saucy perk of her nipples through the clinging fabric brought grateful throbs 
from his erection.

She noticed his stare, and scowled, her makeup giving her a slightly raccoon 
look as the mascara ran. “G-Give me your jacket.”

“What?” distracted, House glanced at her expression, and flinched. Cuddy 
tucked one arm over her chest and used the heel of the other hand to wipe 
her eyes, smearing most of the runny streaks clear. Impatiently she reached 
out a hand to him.

“Your jacket, I’m freezing and you can stop looking at my boobs any time 
now.”

“Do I have to?” he whined, meaning it for both requests. Cuddy’s scowl 
deepened. With a regretful sigh, House slowly began shifting his cane and 
pulling off his sports coat.  Cuddy took it and draped it over her shoulders 
quickly while House bent and handed her the stake and Star of David she’d 
set down in her retrieval of Arliss’s body.

“All right. She’s in here somewhere. Which locker room?” he murmured. “It’s a fifty-fifty chance for either, and we can’t afford to guess wrong, otherwise she 
could get away.”

“No.” Cuddy spat out. She dug in the backpack and pulled out the little velvet 
bag, grabbing the tube of garlic extract. Swiftly she squirted it over the door of 
the janitor’s closet, and then hung a silver crucifix on the sign; as she did so, 
the emblem glowed faintly with a bluish light. Startled, Cuddy stepped back.

House sucked in a breath, impressed against his will at the phenomenon. 
Cuddy was whispering more Hebrew under her breath. She turned, holding up 
the Star of David. It glittered as reflections from the pool hit it, and when 
Cuddy turned it towards the women’s locker room, a sudden, visible thrum 
seemed to emanate off the six points.

“Whoa—“ House blinked. Cuddy gave a soft, satisfied laugh and nodded.

“In there. We can do this, Greg—the CDC will be here by seven tonight, and 
we could have this all wrapped up.”

House bent to pick up the backpack and slowly followed as Cuddy, one arm 
outstretched and the other clutching the stake, stepped forward. “Sh'ma Yisrael Adonai Elohaynu Adonai Echad—“

The Star glowed more brightly as they crossed the open black doorway into the locker 
room.

“Barukh Shem k'vod malkhuto l'olam va-ed—“Cuddy continued. House chimed in after 
her, his low voice blending with hers on the next stanza. “V-ahavta et Adonai Elohecha 
b-chol l'vavcha u-v-chol naf'sh'cha u-v-chol m'odecha--”

They turned the corner, entering the main dressing area, and Cuddy fumbled for the 
light switch, using the blunt end of the stake to flip it. The lights came on, flooding the 
room. Several benches were bolted to the floor, and a bank of tall grey metal lockers 
stood against one wall. There were several sinks, and mirrors along another.

“House, you’re not Jewish---“

“What’s your point?”

“Hebrew?”

“Internet—“ he admitted lightly, looking around. He glanced at Cuddy’s badge under his thumb, not surprised now to see her photo glowing faintly, along with the caduceus 
next to it.

The scent of moldy fruit hung in the air again, mingled with chlorine and despite the 
light, a chill permeated everywhere. House limped to the wall of lockers and stared.

All of them were closed; a few with locks.

All but one.

He turned his head to catch Cuddy’s eye, and when he did so, in that spilt second of inattention, the locker door flew open, smacking against the one next to it with a metallic 
bang like rifle shot. House staggered back at the blast of rotting chill. Instinctively he 
swung his cane, handle first, and the steaming hiss as the silver connected with the 
vampire’s cheek echoed in the locker room.

The vampire shrieked, a high caterwaul of outrage. She lunged out of the locker, hands extended to House, long white bones of her fingers curling to snag his throat. She 
knocked him down, and together they landed on the rubber matting of the locker room 
floor with a heavy thump.

House flailed, trying to use his forearms to keep her from lunging any closer. The 
charnel stench of her breath, rolling out from between the stilettos of her fangs choked 
him, and in a last desperate attempt, he thrust the one item still in his hand forward, 
into her face.

Cuddy’s badge. It lodged vertically in the vampire’s jaws, wedging there, holding that 
ferocious bite open. House stared up, mesmerized by the black pit of the vampire’s 
mouth, by the sight of the plastic badge glowing with a pure silvery shimmer.

And then came the punch to his chest.

On him, the vampire tensed, caught in a rictus of agony, her body hardening. House 
looked up, over her shoulder to see Cuddy press the Star of David between the 
vampire’s shoulder blades.

“For the foulness you’ve brought to MY hospital—“ Cuddy growled, and House FELT 
the impact of that downward drive of the stake, the slick squelchy PUNCH of varnished 
wood piercing the back of the vampire’s rib cage. The force of the strike pushed the air 
from his lungs and he gasped for a moment struggling for breath as on him, the 
vampire writhed, wet, bloody cracks ripping through her face.

With a shove, House rolled out from under her; the vampire stiffened and shrieked 
again, the scream echoing off the walls, the sound like pottery shards dragged over 
glass. Panting, House got to his hands and knees; Cuddy had a two-fisted grip on the 
end of the stake and was leaning into it, driving it hard on the left side of the vampire’s 
spine.

“NOBODY kills in my hospital!” came the furious growl, and House felt the beginning of 
a slightly hysterical laugh rising up in the back of his throat as Cuddy continued to do 
just that. He reached for his cane just as the vampire vomited; Cuddy’s card dividing the 
flow of reddish black sludge gushing out. When the foul liquid hit the rubber mat, it 
boiled into it.

The vampire groaned. In a quick flash of crackles and creaks, she dried, crumbled and slumped into a pile of grey ash as the faint whiff of corruption and rot drifted up. 
Resting on the remains, the Star of David glittered, and the stake wobbled a moment 
before dropping with a clatter onto the rubber mat.

House crawled over to Cuddy, who dropped to her knees, arms crossing over her chest protectively. House gripped her upper arm, dragging her to him as he sat down, 
tightening his grip around her. “Kick ASS hard core, Cuddles! Geez, way to go medieval 
on her fanged butt!”

Cuddy clung to him, shaking, her wet hair brushing his face as she gave in to the 
comfort of him for a few long moments.

“Had to do it, Greg. Sorry you were under there—but I HAD to—“ she murmured, 
sounding as if she was fighting back tears. Awkwardly House stroked her back, 
suddenly aware that she’d dropped his jacket during the fight and he was now 
touching clingy wet shirt. He cleared his throat, feeling his heartbeat finally slowing, the adrenaline wearing off now.

“Yeah well, the good of the many and all that---“

“Damn it. You still have a boner—“ Cuddy whined against his neck, not moving away. 
House exhaled like a leaking tire.

“Oh come on—Ninja valkyrie woman goes righteous Hebrew on the badass vampire, 
flashing her mightily impressive rack in the process and I’m not suppose to react? DUH! 
As long as I have blood and testosterone, hydraulics are going to happen, thank you 
very much. Especially here.”

Cuddy barked out a tired laugh against his shoulder, “The women’s locker room?”

“Oh yeah.  And if we didn’t have a dead pathologist and—“ he looked over at the 
heaped remains of the vampire, “—A major dust buster job ahead of us cramping my 
style, I’d jump you. Big time.”

Cuddy smothered her snort along his neck.

EPILOG

9:42 P.M.

The room was quiet, curtains drawn and the low seductive strains of Generique rolled 
out. Cuddy pulled the blanket up just under her bare chest and speared another bite of 
waffle. She leaned over and fed it to House, then took one for herself, dipping it into the 
syrup in the Styrofoam box.  “So good. Thanks.”

“Double bacon—“ He replied, smirking. “And chargeable to the CDC.”

“This time,” Cuddy mused. “Next vampire that gets in to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital means we pick up our own Waffle World tab. You up for that?”

“I,” House murmured, reaching for her and dragging her across his chest, “Am up for a 
lot of things, Doctor Cuddy. Did I ever show you my own personal stake technique?”

“Twice,” she laughed, “Although I haven’t turned to dust yet.”

“Mmmmm—practice makes perfect,” House murmured, reaching for her hips under the blanket.

End.