[Fanfic] Doppelgänger

Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners

Fandoms : Queen of the Damned (2001), The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003)

Rating : T

Pairing : Mina Harker x Dorian Gray

Genres : Fanfiction, crossover

Characters : Mina Harker, Lestat de Lioncourt, Dorian Gray

Warnings: none

Summary : She had put an end to him, Dorian Gray, that she was certain. Then, would anyone kindly explain to her why she was seeing him again, in modern day, a hundred years later? A rock star on a billboard outside one of the many skyscrapers in San Francisco, no less.

Mina Harker was determined to find out.

For more than a hundred years, she had been certain that she had put a full stop to the dragging paragraph of his dark soul… Or strictly speaking, she had lent it a hand. Nailing him to the wall like a pinned butterfly, tearing off the silk fabric that covered his portrait from sight, and letting his own demon do the deed. She had watched his youthful flesh and skin turn to ash and melt off his skeleton, and his body that she had just held in her embrace crumple at her feet. “Farewell, lover,” she had whispered, placing her cold lips on the small heap of ash that had once been the forever young and beautiful Dorian Gray. “You avoided death long enough.”

Never in her wildest dream had Mina Harker imagined that she would see her former lover again, and in such manner.

She was seeing him on a huge billboard hanging outside the tallest building in the heart of San Francisco. Sleek black leather, bare chest and artfully tousled hair did bring a fresh charm to him as opposed to his previous gentlemanly look, though she had never imagined him in anything other than velvet and lace. His immaculate suit and silver walking stick. The hopelessly vain Mister Gray.

The letters caught her eyes and she allowed a smile to creep up her face. Her tongue flicked over her pointed incisors. The Vampire Lestat. Intriguing. This ‘Dorian Gray’, or whatever name he picked to go by in this age, had chosen to submerge himself in the popular culture. Ah, rock music. Mina rarely listened to rock, finding it too loud and outrageous for her taste as compared to classical music – she considered herself to be old-fashion: who else could be wearing too many layers of clothes in this day but a certain Victorian lady? However, she got in enough contact with modern age and its various colorful aspects to know that a number of mortals worshipped rock with a fervent zeal not unlike a true religion. She found herself smiling again. Dorian had always loved attention; it would be unwise of him to not establish himself as a god of these youngsters, who would gladly kneel at his feet for even the faintest curve of his perfectly shaped lips. His lips. How Mina had missed them even more often than their owner.

But, why a vampire of all things? Surely Mina also knew that rock and vampirism had a long, enduring love affair. She once read from a novel that the sensuality and euphoria of rock was very muck akin to a vampire’s feeding on blood. She had dismissed it as a writer’s artistic flair, who was not a vampire to taste blood. And if she could someday have an interview with one of those writers, perhaps in a dimly lit room with a window open to the bustling San Francisco streets, she would tell them the experience was neither always the same nor ecstatic; quenching the thirst was one thing; the ecstasy only came with the ‘right’ blood, at least in her case. Nevertheless, from the tiny TV screen in her apartment she learned that not all famous rock stars had to associate themselves with these bloody creatures of the night. And for all her history with Dorian, she didn’t remember him being obsessed with anything other than himself, certainly not vampirism. What thought had crossed his twisted mind when he presented himself as a pale-looking blood drinker clad in provocative sleek leather? Had he also found out that she still existed in this world and meant to provoke her? Intriguing. Definitely intriguing. Her smile widened into a grin, her fangs gleaming. A pair of passers-by scrutinized her with curious eyes. She winked at them, loving the blushes on their tender cheeks, and waltzed into the dark.

She grabbed a young man with dark brown hair and slender build on her way back, imagining it was Dorian Gray she was holding in her lethal embrace before sinking her teeth deep into the prominent vein on his neck. Loved the struggle he put till the very end. She had never been more satiated for a long, long time.


For the first time in her century-long existence, Mina was standing in queue. Since she hadn’t stood in line for all these years, she was devastatingly baffled at the length of this queue. Nevertheless, she resigned with soft, inaudible sigh and took her place at the end. More humans filled the space after her.

The line was moving with a dreadful pace.

In truth, Mina could have hypnotized the mortals here; she didn’t even have to pay either. However, she chose to go the mortal way, standing in line and waiting patiently for her turn. Dracula would not approve her abusing his immense powers just for something as mundane as buying a ticket for a rock concert.

You read just right. A rock concert.

She was buying a ticket for a concert that was to take place in a week’s time. The Vampire Lestat was the band’s name and it was all the rage these days that hardly did she not see either the posters hanging on the shops’ door or the TV playing their music videos anywhere she went. The youths seemed crazy about them, especially about their lead singer, who addressed himself as the Vampire Lestat. Even now in this stadium she could hear them talking relentlessly about him with a passion as strong and real as love. Still, that was not her reason for being here, enduring the tantalizing salty scent of blood rushing in young, vital bodies around her. She was here for the a certain Dorian Gray, who had somehow managed to come back from death and established himself as a new rock icon. She would see for herself if her former lover was flesh and blood or merely a phantasm, built by the collective minds and desires of young mortals. Then she would deliver him to Hell with her hands if needed be…

… Or so she had herself believed.

However, Mina would not admit, it was mostly because she wanted to know if he still remembered her.

She looked at the giant screen hung on the wall, entertaining herself while waiting. He looked certainly paler than before, his goatee forgone, and he had donned a pair of white fangs, which he seemed proud to show off. Quite taken with the idea, hadn’t he? She bet Dorian had spent an absurd time to perfect this look, he whose life purpose had been revolving around nothing else but his own appearance. The vain narcissist. And she couldn’t believe she had fallen for that narcissist, for that exquisitely shaped visage, those dark and mischievous eyes and sinful lips. Even more ridiculous was that after a century, she still had not been able to pull herself out of her ephemeral intoxication. Jonathan would be very disappointed in her if he were to know. Probably Dracula, too. The Count had told her how he’d fallen in love with her firm determination to reject him. How would them not though? Even Mina felt disgusted at herself from time to time, when she wasn’t boiling in her lust and memory of Dorian’s lips caressing every inch of her vampiric body.

Had she known killing Dorian would never bring an end to his curse on her, she might have preserved his life, taking him with her, away from the League, away from the world. No use crying over it, she had been telling herself over the decade, what had been done could not be undone. But it mattered little now, didn’t it? Somehow the magnificent bastard had found his way back into life. Back into Mina’s life.

At least he had a better-than-average singing voice. That was good to know. Perhaps she should make him sing for her before she finished him off for good.


She arrived at the stadium seven o’ clock sharp. She had prepared meticulously, dressing in her most appealing outfit that consisted a long, crimson velvet coat and tight black bodice that complimented her womanly curve, and a choker with a ruby on her throat; she had combed her hair and treated herself to a much more generous feast than usual just so her skin was rosy and her lips rogue – the best make-up a vampire could afford. She was satisfied with her look really, which drew eyes to her as she slid through the throng like a well-whetted knife. She did not realize she possessed such a level of vanity: the prospect of seeing him again after a century had brought it out in her. Aside from potent lust, that was.

She was two hours early and thus had plenty of time to survey her surroundings. Like her, a number of mortals had come early, filling in every empty space possible. Noises filled her preternatural senses and the rush of blood in young veins caused a delightful tingling in her throat. Only a tingling, no more. Lucky for them she was brimming with new blood and theirs only teased, not provoked her thirst. It would be unsightly to present yourself to your old flame with your immaculate clothes spotted with blood, she concluded. Gray had never been a sucker for carnage anyway.

She looked around and was mildly surprised to see chalky faces amongst human ones. Clad in black hoodies and black coats, they stood motionlessly in the bustling sea of mortals like odd statues placed at odd places. They didn’t bother to mask their look, just came as they were. Again, they might not need to, seeing that tonight was Halloween Night, an occasion for humans to try being monsters and monsters to walk freely amongst their prey. It wouldn’t be so bizarre that some of them could use this one-in-a-year chance to attend a rock concert. Music for everyone, is it not?

Mina shrugged and strayed as far from them as possible. She wasn’t scared of them, truth be told; she just didn’t want anything to do with them. In a sense they and her were of the same kind: blood predators that haunted the night for eternity. However, they were just as different as chalk from cheese. She was Dracula’s heiress, that much she knew, yet she could never figure out where her ‘distant cousins’ came from. Her maker had only Mina as his living fledging, while those vampires seemed to be everywhere over the continent. Not wanting to get into unnecessary trouble, she had been avoiding them ever since she stepped on this American land. She would forsake her prey if she saw them – there was no need to fight since this vast city was more than enough to sustain them. She didn’t frequent any of their bars either, though once in a blue moon she would take a very brief glance at the bar in her neighborhood. The name was Dracula’s Daughter and since she was in fact the titular character (aside from the late Lucy, God bless her soul), Mina felt a rather peculiar pull to the place. Masquerading as a normal patron, having a drink that she never touched, and admiring the beautiful gothic artwork littered on the black-painted walls, no more. Still, however careful and surreptitious she was, there had been some inevitable encounters from which she had learnt the hard way their sets of powers were much distinguished. And if she was entirely honest with herself, she could not be sure whether she could stand a chance against those ‘ancient ones’ of them. If their myths proved to be true, that an ancient one could set fire to their opponent with a snap of their mind, it dawned on her that it wouldn’t take long for them to incinerate her bat-swamp form to crisp. So she decided it was best to make her presence unknown to them. Better be careful than sorry. She thought it a particular advantage that her appearance was less conspicuous than theirs – unless she neglected her meals on a regular basis, which was unlikely – and that they would not be able to detect her easily if they didn’t come into direct blood contact. For once she was pretty grateful to be ‘Dracula’s daughter’.


Where was Gray? Would he come early to grace his fans with his presence? Basked in their unadulterated love, probably. She was beginning to raise questions when a thunderous cheer nearly burst her hearing. Once she overcame the short-lived pain, she looked to the entrance and caught sight of a black limousine maneuvering through the thick crowd with certain difficulty. That should be Gray, she thought. Who else would ride a big, fancy limousine but the star of the show?

She half-heartedly wanted to soar up to get a better view of him since the young mortals around would not allow her. They swamped around him like bees, trying with madness just so they could lay a finger on their worshipped idol. Gray greeted them with a faint smile, waving at them or touching their outstretched hands briefly while making his way through them, his black, bulky bodyguards keeping anyone from getting too close to him. He seemed rather accustomed to this whole huge-celebrity business. Not a yesterday-born star, wasn’t he?

She hid a smile and slipped through the mass. She was in for a private talk with him before the concert began.


“Hello lover,” Mina said, opting for casual manner as she leaned against the wall of the dressing room. Gray was alone, to her pleasant surprise. Saved her the energy for dismissing the mortals should they have been with him.

She knew not whether to simply laugh in amusement or throw her head back and roar in laughter at the look he was giving her. A mix of perplexity and terrible caution was etched on his face. He took a step back and regarded her, an uninvited and likely to be dangerous guest, with cool eyes.

At the same time, her undead heart received a sharp sting of realization: there was no indication that this ‘Dorian Gray’ would know a vampire who went by the name of Mina Harker, let alone remember being her lover.

She reacted just in time to dodge a malicious swipe of dagger aiming at her throat. Twisting her lithe body in the air, she managed to avoid the next attack directing at her midriff. She frowned in frustration before landing a roundabout kick in his right hand, sending the dagger flying and impaling the wall.

Both regained their respective distance, observing the other for the next movement. Mina tossed her long hair back and exhaled in mock relief. “That was uncalled for,” she remarked, unapologetic for wounding him.

“Who are you?” A thin, tortuous red trail ran down his marmoreal skin. Gray brought his injured wrist to his mouth and licked the blood clean. The shallow cut had vanished when he let his hand down. “…Vampire?” With that he launched at her again. Not bothering to retrieve his dagger, he opted to go at her with bare hands. His pointed incisors bared, somewhat marring his otherwise perfect beauty.

Once more, Mina dodged his attack by a hair’s breadth and mentally sighed. They could go like this all night, which hardly was what she had intended in the first place. A look of annoyance crossed her face before it literally dissolved into a dozen black bats. They circled around their target, flapping their wings furiously at the air before descending on him like ravenous beasts. He seemed stunned by their sudden appearance. Bat wings formed human arms, and Mina caged him in their inhuman strength. With no further notice, she crashed her lips on his. Her fangs glided on his flesh, her tongue immediately lapping his blood. And with blood flooded in her the understanding.

Blood never lied though.

The very first taste aroused in her an aggravating grief and disappointment. She threw him out of her embrace at once.

He wiped his lips, stepping back. Taking a defensive stance, he glared dagger at her.

She never knew Dorian Gray’s face could possess such burning and hateful expression; his was all cheeky smiles and blatant, shameless flirts. A tasteless joke, she smiled bitterly. This wasn’t Dorian Gray at all. Being a scientist once, she should have known better than the flimsy belief that one who had been reduced to ash could come back to life.

“What are you?” he asked incredulously, punctuating each syllable.

“Same as you are,” she replied. A lump in her throat. Her voice slightly hoarse. “A vampire.”

She could tell he didn’t believe her one bit. Didn’t matter. His trust was not her concern.

“My apologies. I have got the wrong person.”

Leaving him no chance to ask for further clarification, Mina dissolved into a dozen bats and rushed out of the window.


She was running away. She simply had to. If she was any second later, she was afraid that stranger would see her tears. He had a name all right. She would address him by his name as a token of her apology for the nuisance she had caused. Lestat. Lestat de Lioncourt. A name as French as it could be.

A distant cousin of hers, and never was Dorian Gray.

Well, she was not as tough as she fancied herself to be, and this, this was simply too much. The greater the hope, the louder the sound when it went crumbling in one’s heart.

Perhaps she had been too lonely. Too lonely that she would weep upon the lost chance of seeing the likes of Dorian Gray. Too lonely that she realized with such pain how deep and scathing her affection still was.

She felt consumed. All the previous blood she had fed vaporized. She felt the thirst stronger than ever.

A youth walked past her, ears plugged with headphones, paying no attention to his surroundings, to the ominous shadow lurking in the dark. His skin was pale, but pumped with fresh blood, his shoulder-length wavy brown hair billowing in the wind.



She felt tipsy when she set foot into the corridor leading to her apartment. Drunkards weren’t her usual choice, for she didn’t fancy getting alcohol in her bloodstream. But she felt no such restraint tonight, and a little alcohol, albeit second-hand, was welcoming.

“Hello, lover.”

Oh, she probably had had overestimated her tolerance of alcohol. She was drunk, not just tipsy, and she was seeing a tall man in long gray suit standing in the middle of her living room.


She blinked a few times. The man hadn’t disappeared; rather, his figure was becoming clearer in her eyes.

“I am immensely surprised that you still keep my portrait,” the man said, tilting his head to the white wall. “I thought you would have burnt it.”

“It would be a waste,” she replied flatly, “to waste an artwork. Especially one of fine quality.”

Now she fully knew she was intoxicated; if not, she wouldn’t remain this calm, this impassive.

“Indeed.” The man slightly nodded. “Though I would prefer it placed in the middle of this wall…” Still with his back to her, the man strode to the nearby shelf, unwrapped a painting. “How I have missed you.” His lips touched the canvas in tiny butterfly kisses. Like making up to a neglected lover, she thought with strange fondness. He found a nail on the wall, and hung the portrait on. When he turned around to face her, he and the picture appeared a pair of twins.

The ghost of the picture.

The corner of her eyes was tingling.

She approached him with heavy but steady steps. When they were within arm reach, she stroke his cheek with her left hand. Warm and smooth as she had remembered. Always remembered.

Her other hand reached for her boot. She ran a knife through his heart in one swift movement.

He did not flinch. His eyes calmly traveled from her hand to her face, and he smiled the smile that was undistinguished from a smirk. “I hoped you had already given up the habit of nailing me after all these years.” He mimicked her stroke, long fingers absentmindedly drawing a line to the contours of her full lips. “I was wrong again.”

She withdrew the blade from his chest with little resistance. Not a single drop of blood. Even the hole on his clothes closed up instantly. “Just a small test.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “For…?”

“To see if you are real or a trick of light.”

“How do you find the result?”

“Perplexed.” She let out a small laughter. “What the actual hell are you?”

“I am Dorian Gray, the same as you have known.”

Her eyes glanced at the portrait and returned to his face. “Not quite.”

“With a minor difference from my previous self, I admit.” He gave a small shrug. “I traded everything I could to the Devil. Obviously he does not mind a pretty boy running errand for him now and then.”

Somehow, she found little interest in the knowledge of the Devil’s existence. So he existed, that was all she needed to remember. Instead, she asked, “What sort of errand?”

He tilted his head. “Picking up his sons who have been unfortunately scattered around this globe. Not many people know this but the Devil is quite a loving father.”

“A rich one also. He must pay well.” She asked sarcastically, her eyes raking him up and down. “Nothing can destroy you now, is it so?”

He stroking his chin, feigning a pensive look. “Aside from my boss and his trusted hounds, no. I believe he rather indulges me as he allows me to roam the earth to seek for a single woman.”

He lowered his face, lips barely inches away from hers. His arms wound around her form.

Placing a hand on his chest, she pushed herself out of his embrace. “What is your plan?” She asked. “Revenge on your murderer?”

She wouldn’t let him know she even found that thought more welcoming than never seeing him again.

He smiled. “My portrait was my murderer. You…”

He was approaching her. “…only lent it a hand.”

He suddenly grabbed both her hands, pulling her to him once more. Their mouths crashed. She felt the coppery taste of blood on their lips, their tongues. His blood was the same delicacy she had had a century ago. Ecstasy came with the right blood. She bit his tongue and sucked harder.

When they finally separated, her eyes had turned red with desire.

“I have been searching for you for decades,” he stressed, “you who never stay long in one spot. Let’s say I was not very pleased to see you kiss that vampire when I finally found you.”

“Are you certain you haven’t a twin, Dorian Gray?”

“One that is a two-hundred-year-old bloodsucker? I think not.”

“Your doppelgänger then?”

His arms snaked around her waist. His hands slid further down to her lower curves. “Can we not talk about him and go back to my original plan?”

Her hands mimicked his movement. As a thought of mischief hit her, she squeezed his backside, digging her nails to his flesh. She was positively aroused to hear Dorian hiss. “And what may that plan be, Mr. Gray?”

“Nailing you, Mrs. Harker,” he breathed into her ear. “Not literally, of course.”

She burst into laughter and hauled him down the carpeted floor. Her hand trailed a path along his body until she reach her desired part. She gave it a light squeeze and was very pleased with the result. “I remember putting a knife here. Does it still function?”

“Want to put it to test?” He smirked.

She ripped apart his suit faster than he could blink.


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