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Las Vegas had many luxury shops, and by a fortunate chance, they offered huge reductions. It took Rowan and Cora a couple of hours to become suspicious of the ninety percent sales in every boutique they entered. Then, they noticed people followed their steps, texting like mad every time they approached a store. At first, it was embarrassing, but in the end, they took it like a gift from Viscardi.
After filling their inventory with presents, Cora and Rowan headed to the Castle Casino. Blackswarm had opted to have a central transportation hub, with fixed portals of great size, framed by an artificial contraption. The portal marked Reno had a double lane, with important incoming traffic of heavy trucks. There were two more portals built, one to Randolph, and the other to Goblin town.
“You should build one to Rome as soon as possible,” Rowan rushed to say to the approaching Vampire Lord. “They have a sizeable army now, they can help you manage things.”
“The strategist in you is always awake, I see,” Viscardi smiled. “But there’s a little detail you missed. The training dungeons’ levels are not based on the level of their prisoners but on the target audience. All those nice Ogres, Orcs, and Goblins in Goblin Town were capped by the dungeon settings.”
“Let me guess: once out, they’re top-level?”
“And some of the best warriors one could wish for. I’d rather use Orcs and Ogres than Rome’s carabinieri.”
“Makes sense… That woman, Fenrri, was way too strong for a fifty-five. Look, Viscardi, I have no idea what to buy as a Christmas Gift to a Vampire—please don’t say virgin blood or some shit—so…. I hope you’ll like these. Use them as you see fit.”
In each of Rowan’s hands, a core appeared. The Vampire swapped them into his own inventory, then fondled the younger man’s shoulder.
“Thank you. And I want to say that you won yesterday’s duel fair and square.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re a lousy shot.”
“And you’re a lousy swordsman. Anyway, it was a good fight, and my wife and I decided to give you this.” This time, it was the Vampire who had two spheres in his hands, only smaller, about three inches in diameter, made from a sort of gray steel.”
“Err… thanks…” Rowan frowned, clueless about their meaning.
“True artifacts, old, unique, and impossible to reproduce. In your character sheet, you’ll notice a separate tab, a sketch of your body, with armor and weapon slots. Only the highest technology and magic can be equipped there. This one is an armor, and the other a weapon, taking any shape you want. They’ll feel like an extension of your body. That’s how our rapiers work.”
That’s how Victoria put that DOT on us, in Rome…
Rowan bowed deeply. “I’m grateful.”
“Don’t mention it. It seems the portal is working now.”
After a handshake, they parted ways and the couple went through the bluish light inside the arch. They exited in Elkins’s new Main Square, near the town hall. There were a couple of similar portals there, in the process of self-building themselves.
Towns sharing perks.
“My flying suit is also an old Artifact,” Cora said as they walked home. “It’s indestructible, but takes a lot of effort to insert tech in it.”
“Indestructible, like invulnerable?”
“Not invulnerable. It can absorb a large amount of damage, but eventually, things will get through, and it needs to repair itself. Like we do when we Rezz. If you lose a true Artifact, it will teleport back to you at midnight, if it breaks, it will self-reconstruct. It’s a great gift. I'll add some tech enhancements for them as soon as possible.”
“Err… What’s Dmitri doing?”
The Greek was sitting on a bench in the garden, smoking. Rowan had never seen the man smoke before.
“What’s wrong?” Rowan asked. “You’re OK?
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Go inside and see for yourselves. I’ll finish this, and plant another rose, or two. Or ten, to calm my nerves.”
“Dmitri is annoying, always avoiding explaining things,” Rowan said to Cora, more like an indirect admonishment to the Greek.
As they approached the house, a loud voice reached them. “And for the last months, everyone asked: Are you related to the Count? Of course not, I said. Even put a sign on the shop: NOT related to the Count. Then, I start to notice people watching my shop around the clock. And the most suspicious was my new massagist. He had no idea how to do a back massage. I asked him: are you FBI? And he says: no, I’m a Healer. A friend of the Count sent our team to protect you. And would you believe it? I was related to the Count after all, because the Count was none other than my bloody son.”
“Fuck…” Rowan sighed, stopping for a second.
“What’s up?” Cora grabbed his arm, startled.
"Karma striking back." Half-shrugging, Rowan entered the house. “Hi, Papa.”
A tall, old man, wrinkled but in good shape for his age, snorted, crossing his arms. “Dead in my sleep, huh?”
“Sorry, I had to. You always embarrass me in front of everyone. You can’t stop yourself.”
“At least, you weren’t murdered with a hammer,” a woman said. Tall, in her early sixties, sitting on the couch, near a shorter plump man.
“But you were murdered with a hammer,” Graced said. “I killed you countless times, in my daydreams. Bam, Bam. I could see it all… the bones cracking, the blood. Never mind. Rowan, meet my parents. I’ll not charge your memory with their names. They're not worth the effort.”
“That’s… interesting,” Cora said. “You both lied about your parents being dead?”
Rowan let himself fall on a chair. “Thank goodness…” he sighed. “I was convinced Isla killed your parents because they wanted you to have an abortion, or give Lizzie for adoption."
"That’s exactly what they did. Don’t ruin your life, they said, every single day, until I gave birth, and months after. Do you want to know how much they helped after that? Zero. Not one dollar, not a day of babysitting. Nothing. I was lucky to… have a little money on the side, and buy this house. And now, guess whose grandparents' instinct came to life, and want to bond with Lizzie?”
“Where’s she?”
“With Isla. I called her as soon as these assholes appeared. She took Lizzie and Thomas out for a Christmas movie.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“We’re sorry, OK? We truly are,” Grace’s father pleaded.
“Goodness…” Rowan facepalmed with both his hands. “Guys… This is not how to do things. You don’t appear in someone’s house, on Christmas Eve, and expect to be forgiven just by saying sorry.”
“Thank you,” Grace put weight on the words. “Can you kill them, please?”
“No, but I can throw them in prison for trespassing. Seriously, just leave. You’re not welcome here and believe me, you’re not on my top priority list, and obviously not on Grace’s. We’ll have a talk, I mean I and Grace, and let you know what we decide.”
“Come, Peter,” Grace’s mother said, pulling the man up. “I told you they won’t be reasonable.”
Looking at the pair rushing out, the elderly woman fuming, Rowan shook his head and stepped forward to hug Grace, who started to cry her heart out. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I should have come home earlier,” he patted her back.
“Do you want me gone too?” his adoptive father said, crossing his arms.
“You know what? No. You’re a decent old bloke, Papa. At least compared to those two. I forgive you everything.”
“You forgive me what, exactly? I did nothing.”
“You could have. You like to brag about every good thing I do. Remember when you came to visit that Bourbon factory and told my boss I’m such a good forklift operator because you taught me how to read a bicycle?”
“It did improve your coordination, didn’t it? And look at you now, you’re a count. Do you think everybody becomes a count just like that? No, they need a good example, and edu—”
“See, that’s exactly what I meant.”
“Thank goodness, my parents are dead,” Cora sighed, sitting on a couch. “They’d kill themselves if they’d see this. Human culture is a raving circus.”
Core, are you online? Do we have any Rezz spots free?
[The Butler]: At this precise moment, we have 12 spots free, Master.
Please attune my father for a Recall and Resurrect spot.
[The Butler]: Order acknowledged, Master. At my current processing level, it will take 5 minutes.
Can you speak less formally, please? Without the Master thing?
[The Butler]: But Master, this is the less formal I can do. Formal is quoting all your titles and using My Liege.
Never mind then. Keep up the good work.
[The Butler]: Thank you so much for your kind words, Master.
Meanwhile, Rowan’s father approached Grace, who was now sitting at the dining table, lighting a smoke, her hands slightly shaking “I apologize,” he said. “The unpleasantness you’ve been subjected to is my fault. Let me explain. When—”
“Please keep it under half an hour, and don’t use any word we’d need a dictionary for,” Rowan said. “Sorry, but he’s the bombastic type.”
“It’s called being a gentleman, and I still hope you’ll become one eventually. What I was trying to say to your lovely wife was that when I found out the notorious Count was my son, I did inquire around. Elkins Town’s site mentions you and Grace as Count and Countess, and she took your name.”
“I shouldn't have allowed the site to be accessible from the outside,” Rowan grinded his teeth.
“It's good PR. We look more normal this way,” Grace said.
“Your bio is just a short expose of your heroics, with some clips showing your fights, but Grace’s has some links about her artistic career, with her maiden name. It’s not a common name, so I searched for her parents online and found her mother was a singer herself. The artists' world is small. I found a friend of a friend who knew her number, and I called. Then we all agreed to come and visit, but the only window of opportunity was Christmas. Your mother has a busy agenda.”
“Of course, she sings the Evil Witch part in every other musical,” Grace said.
“I live in Philly, they live in DC, we met in Baltimore and drove on with their car. The County online visa application provided us with a special app, to avoid government controls and roadblocks, and then a portal opened for us in Winchester. Your parents might have… misrepresented your relationship…”
“Because you complained so much about ours, right?”
“Because I had the right to. Just a few emails now and then? Making me believe you're still in Louisville and all is normal?”
“So that’s why you put your email setting on private?” Cora asked. “I thought you wrote to some ex.”
“No, baby, I was quite a lonely boy until you girls got a grip on my heart.”
“Sorry?” Papa Allinder interjected, looking at the two in befuddlement.
“Papa, meet Cora, my second wife. I’m also married to Isla, the blonde you saw earlier. There’s no hierarchy, that’s the order I married them. Ah, and by the way, Cora's not a Japanese Anime fan, she's an alien, those ears and tails are for real. Now you can close your jaw and have as many heart attacks as you want because you’ll be Rezzed. Your attention, everyone. I won’t have this little mishap ruin our Christmas, so I propose we have just a snack now, and have a big family dinner together. I and Papa will cook, to give Dmitri and Grace some slack. We’ll not, and I repeat, not talk about any business or quest. Sweetheart, if you want to take a nap, to relax, please do.”
“I’ll take Lizzie and go for a walk. We’ll talk about her grandparents.”
“Do tell her about me too, please,” Papa Allinder said.
----------------------------------------
In the end, cooking had been a collective effort. Grace made a bean soup, and Rowan and his father meatballs and mashed potatoes, with the meat—a mixture of boar and deer—offered by Snemc. Isla brought crafted beer, and her parents helped prepare salad and various pastries and entries, although they didn't stay for dinner. A giant Panettone arrived through an interdimensional email from Count Lepastrina. Dmitri had procured the wine, as usual. The food was really good, and the conversation was sparse until the eating part was done.
“And what about your magic, dear sir?” Papa Allinder asked the Shaman.
“Magic is so simple. Just be one with the universe and empty your mind. Then—”
“This is for the Charisma builds,” Cora interjected, a little irritated. “The proper way is to understand Mana, the fifth fundamental force of the Universe. Let’s imagine you want to shoot a fireball. Will you ignite oxygen, or hydrogen, or act directly on atoms, creating plasma? How do you avoid being burnt? Do you create it at a distance, or envelop it in a forcefield? How do you want to deliver it? Throw it like a baseball or shoot it with your magic, like through a magnetic accelerator?”
“You just let your instinct do the work for you,” Snemc repeated.
“Mommy, can I go play in my room?” Lizzie asked. The conversation was boring for her, that was clear. “Please?”
“Err… It’s not polite to leave so soon,” Grace tried to resist the girl’s puppy eyes.
“Sit near me, and I’ll tell you a secret,” Papa Allinder patted the vacant seat near him. A little confused, Lizzie approached. “Give me a hug, please. Oh… This feels so nice… Rowan was about your age when I adopted him, but he wasn’t a great hugger.”
“He is, now,” the girl said.
“Really? Then come and hug your old papa, Rowan. Let me be the judge.”
Rolling his eyes in reluctance, Rowan obeyed.
“Not bad. A lot of improvement, but you can put more heart into it. Lizzie’s a champion. What I’m about to tell you, Lizzie, I also told Rowan when he was a kid. Getting through a family reunion might be boring, but we must endure it. It’s not about politeness it’s about love and learning. I don’t particularly care about magic, but I want to learn as much as possible about the new world my son is living in. You might not enjoy this conversation much, but just by staying around, you’re bringing joy to my old heart… I lived to see my son married and he gifted me you in the process, the sweetest granddaughter I could wish for, the best Christmas present of my life. Here is a small gift for you,” he reached behind the chair, in a small suitcase, and produced a children's book. “Maybe you could read it on the couch, while we, adults, talk our nonsense, thus allowing me to enjoy your company a little longer?”
Wordless, Lizzie hugged the old man again, snatched the book, and ran to the farthest couch in the living room.
“This is what a good education looks like,” Fenrri, the Shaman’s wife said. “Beats a beating.”
“I have a surprise of my own for you,” Rowan told his father, offering him a pair of slippers. “Put these on, and go on the porch. Err… guys, help him unwrap it."
“Hm… you’re thoughtful, for a change… This awakening suits you well.”
As Rowan went to the mudroom to leave the shoes, the old man walked toward the back porch, followed by the Shaman and his wife. Seconds later, screams and struggle noises were heard. After a minute, a disheveled Papa Allinder entered back, struggling to put his shirt back into his pants with one hand, and waving the other before his eyes.
"Success," Snemc said. "And quite a breakthrough. Sage, Epic."
“What have you done to me?” Rowan's father yelled.
“He has a lot of stamina for his age,” Fenrri said, sitting on the stool she had brought for herself, to avoid breaking the furniture. “I used both my hands to restrain him.”
“You got a Class,” Rowan said. “Our Town can Awaken people as long a priest is performing a ceremony. I asked Snemc to see if you can be Awakened because he’s much better at his job than the local priests.”
"How can I make these things d-disappear?” Rowan’s father stuttered, trying to slap the screens in the air.
“Think ‘dismiss notifications’. I’ll help you get your bearings tomorrow.”
“But I have no intention of becoming a hero.”
“Relax. Think about it like vitamins. Even at level one, you’ll reach one hundred and twenty and play with your grand grandkids.”
“Do I have to move here?” the man looked around, still disoriented.
"We have a couple of spare rooms," Grace said. "You're welcome to stay."
“Look, spend the holidays here, then decide," Rowan said. "And yes, in the long term, I think it's better to move with us. We bought both adjacent houses, as soon the Holidays are over, we'll renovate them."
“T-this is too much… I need a drink…”
“It’s Bourbon time!” Rowan cheered.