[ This is a familiar process. Almost the same as it was four years ago, except warmer and with more dick jokes. Dracula didn't have the good manners to write his notes in French, favoring a combination of Latin and those ancient forgotten languages that Alucard and Sypha like to squabble over sometimes. He understands enough Latin to have avoided too many canings from tutors, not enough to read an alchemist's research notes.

And so Alucard reads and Trevor tries his best to form battle plans with horribly incomplete information. The best, most useful thing he can do is to wrap his arms around Alucard when to becomes too much and he's forced to close the book, to push slices of bread spread with honey in front of him when the angle of the sun looks lunchtime-ish, to put tiny thin slices of venison into his hands and guide them to the eager little yappy dog to be thoroughly licked and nibbled at or to occasionally suggest with mock-horror that the horse is going to tell everyone. ]

Can you tell when it was that that one ended? This fucking place is full of books. I get the feeling he didn't leave his clinic after Sara was hurt. If it's after that, it'll be there. Otherwise it could be anywhere in the house.