Rose for My Master

When the strange scent first caught his attention, Alucard was certain he had made a mistake. It wasn't like his master to keep such things around. But as he entered her gloomy office, he saw that what his sharp senses picked up was indeed correct. How odd.

The night was clear, the moon cast a silver veil through the window of Integra Hellsing's office. The young woman behind the desk, smoking a cigar with her chair facing the window, didn't turn to look at him, although he knew she was aware of his presence. On her huge mahogany desk, scattered amongst piles of paperwork, were roses.

As curiosity seized him, Alucard approached the desk. Yes, they were roses indeed, of all shapes, sizes, and colors. A few had obviously been dipped in paints with utmost care, for they were of the most unnatural shades. Still, they were lovely, each one of them, despite Integra's obvious effort to ignore them.

"Master?"

The large chair turned around slowly. Integra took the cigar from her mouth. "Go ahead," she said. "Laugh, make some degrading joke and be done with it."

"Why master," the vampire said with a sly grin and bowed, "I would never think of it. I was merely curious as to who would shower the lovely Sir Hellsing with gifts that are obviously no match to her own beauty."

Integra scoffed. Tendrils of white smoke rose from the cigar in her hand. "You haven't heard?"

"Of what?"

"So rare for you to be the last to receive such news," said Integra. She leaned forward on the desk and picked up a rose tied with a pink ribbon absently. "It started out as a game, but now I'm not so sure it still is."

"What kind of game would this be?" Alucard grinned. "And why was I not informed?"

"With the recent pressure for me to find a suitor and produce an heir, the men of the Queen's court, along with many aristocrats, are sending me roses. From what I can tell, they each send one, decorated personally in some unique way. Supposedly I am supposed to pick one rose I like the most and the sender is to be my groom. It's like an application for candidacy." Alucard laughed, which earned a scowl from his master. "You find this amusing?"

"Do you not?"

Integra shrugged. "I suppose to some degree it is." She gestured the rose in her hand toward him. "This one came with a poem, a lot of drivel about summer nights and tender loves."

"Typical."

She set it down and picked up another one. It was painted black and its surface was encrusted with tiny jewels, a work of art to say the least. "This one is supposed to represent the dark nights and something about my eyes shining like stars." She picked up another one that hadn't yet bloomed. "Something about hidden beauty yet to bloom." Another one painted like a Picasso painting. "I don't even want to guess what this one is supposed to be."

Surveying the pile of flowers, Alucard's eyes landed on a gold-dipped one, gleaming in the soft light. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand.

Integra took a drag of her cigar. "That one came with a three-carat diamond ring," she said flatly.

"What happened to it?"

"I gave it to your fledgling. I think she sold it for much less than what it's worth and bought new sheets and ammo for herself. Then had all of the Wild Geese's personal garments shipped to Guadalupe. A personal score, perhaps."

Alucard nodded, set down the rose, and pointed at a small pile of average-looking flowers at the corner of the desk. "Those don't seem to be unique in any way."

"They came with various candies and wines. Walter may still have some left if you wish to indulge in them."

"Human sweets do not interest me," Alucard said with a hint of distain. He bowed to her again. "I simply came to inform you that I will be departing on my assignment now. I will return to report in after dawn."

"Very well," Integra said. "Tell Walter to come in here and clean this up on your way out. Courtesy says I must acknowledge them when they arrive, not how long I must keep them."

The vampire paused. "Walter has already left," he said. "The assignment required his attention."

Before Integra could say more, he disappeared into the shadows. Groaning, the young Hellsing stood. She was twenty-three, but looked and felt much older. The noxious films of the roses were beginning to get to her. Sighing, she left the office.

Most of the staff was asleep. It took her fifteen minutes to locate trash bags at the corner of the kitchen cabinet. She took one and headed back to the office. If nothing else, she wanted them bagged and out of her sight. Maybe tomorrow one of the maids will want to make potpourri.

The roses were waiting for her when she came back. She opened the bag, rose a hand to sweep them inside, and stopped.

At the center of the desk, a small area had been cleared, all other flowers and papers swept aside. In it laid a single rose, perfectly preserved and dried. Its petals were a dark purple, like old blood on the armor of a seasoned warrior.

She picked it up. It was old, and long dead, but still beautiful and shrouded in the shadows of its former glory. Its fragrance was faint and lingering, but not overpowering like the rest. She touched its crispy petals and darkened stem and brought it her face.

It smelled like death. And death, unlike all other earthly things, is eternal and true.

With a serene smile, Integra set the rose aside and began to sweep all the rest off her desk.