I’ve no motivation to leave my bedroom tonight. A permeating despondency settles over me the moment I wake to the darkened space, still feeling defeat at last night’s lack of real progress – a mood exacerbated due to my reunion with James. He’s out there still, and while he cannot return to the Market there’s no saying he cannot find me in the streets of Boston, those odd shadow creatures in tow. I am meant to work tonight, moreover, I’m meant to make up time for Cassandra, but I know I’m going to call in. I find my concentration lacking already, too much so to be much use in mixing our more complicated drinks, and I don’t think I’m capable of handling another night in Muir’s company if he decides to appear again.
I conduct my nightly regime in a haze, chasing phantom memories from consuming the forefront of my mind; screams across the dark moors, the light of the moon seeming harsh overhead, the smell of blood thick and heavy in the air.
After I finish with the blood bag, I take hold of the satchel and lay it on the bed, my hand reaching inside to retrieve the relic. I stare at it, intensely, as if I may glean its secret if I look at it hard enough. Alas, I do not, and it remains stubbornly mysterious as ever. With a sigh, I stuff it out of sight and listen more carefully for sounds about the large home. Castillo’s not here, Gianna’s watching television downstairs. My indecision of whether I desire company or not keeps me rooted to the spot longer than it should before I decide a night alone may be in my best interest. First, I must make that call to Sanguine Sweet, so I leave my room to go to the nearest phone.
I dial the bar’s number and hear a lazy voice answer. It’s not open yet, so whoever is there already is likely taking the time to lounge.
“It’s Henry, is Vivienne there?”
“Hold on.”
I hear the phone set down on the bar top and the same voice asking for the bar’s proprietor. Clicking heels become louder on the other end then there’s the subtle sound of movement as the phone is lifted again.
“Hello, Henry.”
“Hello, I’m sorry for the short notice, but I won’t be able to come in this evening.”
“That works out well,” Vivienne replies.
“Oh?”
“Yes, Charlemagne is ready to meet you, I was going to tell you when you came in. You’re to be at the Moliere Coven at 1:30.”
Farewell, my night of solitude.
“Thank you,” I know she’s arranged the whole thing, after all. “Where…is the coven, exactly?”
I can hear her disbelief in the silence that follows, confirmed with her muttering ‘how you survived this long…’ before she speaks to me directly again. “Go to Weston Town Hall. I have a friend who lives full time in the coven, I’ll have her pick you up there and drive you to the mansion.”
“Is there anything I should bring or be aware of?” I ask, entirely unversed in how to deal with a coven leader.
“Be respectful. Charlemagne can be blunt some days and vague as a dream on others, don’t lose patience either way. Oh, he prefers being addressed as Master or Lord Charlemagne, so that will win you points…these ancients have their eccentricities.”
“Very well, thank you, Vivienne.”
I have a few hours before I need to head out, and I spend those alone, contemplating how Riley would handle this sort of thing. I’ll bet he wouldn’t have lost the book before getting what he needed from it. I wonder what he might say if he knew where I was headed tonight. I wonder if he’s looking for me by now.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
I leave Castillo’s early, unable to remain in place any longer. Having worked for some time now, my immediate cash on hand is enough to hail a cab and go all the way to Weston, although it costs me $100 to do so. It’s not as though I truly need money the way I did as a human, so I don’t stiff the driver on a tip and take the warm gratitude as a means to get rid of some of the cold doubts persisting through my mind.
It’s quiet at town hall, as I expected given the hour. I look around and spy a dark car in the adjacent lot, which flashes headlights at me to indicate this is my ride. I’m at the door when I realize it could be a trap set by my parents, inwardly berating myself for taking things at face value when I should be exercising far more caution. The window rolls down to reveal a face I don’t know, however, a girl who looks to be in her late teens staring at me in question.
“You coming?” she asks.
“Yes, sorry,” I reply, opening the door and getting into the passenger’s seat. “I’m Henry.”
“Figured,” the girl says. “I’m Kayleigh.”
“It’s nice to meet you, thank you for driving me.”
“Sure,” Kayleigh says. “Are you thinking of joining the Moliere Coven?
We’re pulling away from town hall, driving away from Weston’s town center and towards what must be the residential area. I almost say ‘no’ at once, but I do not wish to give her reason to pry.
“It’s a possibility.”
“Well, if you are looking for a coven, ours is the best,” Kayleigh says. “I’ve been with this group for…fuck, two hundred years now. Can you believe that?”
I look at her again and shake my head genuinely.
“Hm? Yeah, turned at sixteen,” she continues. “My maker was a creeper, but an arrogant creeper. He never thought I’d be capable of burning him to ash.” She laughs jovially and I feel less comfortable being trapped in the car with her.
“Charlemagne is the bomb though,” she adds. “Man, he is like…all over the place, but I swear it’s deliberate? Maybe? Impossible to pin down, but he makes immortality so much fun. Probably because he keeps it from getting boring. I miss the days when we had the run of Boston though. Fucking wolves multiplied like bunnies and just…crowded their way into control.”
I nod noncommittally, thankful that wherever Castillo goes for the change, it’s never in his home and spares me from carrying the scent of a werewolf with me by accident.
Kayleigh chatters the entire time, which I don’t mind since I only have to respond with the occasional ‘yeah’ to show I’m listening. There’s no chance for her to ask about me while she’s busy speaking of herself, and the near mundane topics she covers is oddly relaxing, so that when she pulls into the expansive drive of a large mansion, it feels like hardly any time has passed. She steers the car into a six-car garage, lights automatically turning on and flooding the space to reveal high end vehicles. We both step out and she leads the way out of the garage and along a stone path that leads to the impressive mansion.
Lights shine out of the many windows, and I can see a lot of activity behind the larger panes. There are also several work trucks parked in the roundabout set in front of the grand entrance of the mansion. Kayleigh walks up the steps and opens the double doors into the mansion, where the sound of hammering and power tools echo loudly.
“Wait here,” Kayleigh says, still chipper as she melts away in a blur.
I do so, staring at my surroundings. It’s all very intentional in its decor. The walls are white, the furniture a dark but warm wood to contrast. It’s somewhat minimalist in design, but I get the sense it is to avoid clutter rather than a lack of care about making this place a home. There is a lived-in atmosphere, ironic I suppose since its occupants are dead. The noise of the contractors only lends to the sensation of being in a home rather than a mausoleum, and while I can detect the high-quality of everything around me, nothing comes off as ostentatious.
“Welcome, welcome,” a rich voice rings out.
And here is the mansion’s ostentatious beacon. The vampire approaching me is shorter than I am, and possesses unattractive features. Coldness seeps down my spine at the thought, not for its judgment but for the familiarity it bolsters in my mind. I shake it off, believing it remnants of my dour mood affecting my current perspective. He is impossible to ignore, however. The nature of his fashion inevitably draws the eye. He wears a floral print long sleeve shirt with a popped collar. The collar, as well as a thick stripe following the buttons is black, the rest of the shirt is a shiny white and the floral print – thin branches with swirling leaves and delicate flowers – is a rich gold. He leaves many of the buttons open at the chest, revealing a patch of thick hair. Gray corduroy pants hug his legs too tightly and disappear into the golden cowboy boots he has on his feet. He’s also wearing white shutter shades and his thin hair is tied into a high bun on the back of his head.
“Charl…excuse me, uh…Lord Charlemagne?”
He presses a hand over his heart, closing his eyes in relish. “A well-mannered visitor, how wonderful. Yes, I am Charlemagne and you must be Henry Stone.”
“Yes. I was wondering—”
“Follow me,” he cuts me off and leads the way further into the mansion and away from the entrance hall.
I swallow the unasked question and do as he bids, walking with him through a long corridor that opens to a grand living room, where much work is being done. My pace slows as I watch them; some are replacing a drywall with marble, the marble is subtle but laced with silver and stands out from the rest of the walls for its composition and design. Others are installing intricate crystal baubles. Some are already finished, shining with a warm light.
“Keep up, can’t you see I’m on a schedule?” Charlemagne asks.
“You employ…”
“Humans? Yes. It’s like walking through a little ant farm, isn’t it? Look how industrial they are! So cute.”
“Isn’t it risky?” I ask, as Charlemagne does not bother to lower his voice, and I’m sure several nearby workers heard his statement.
He looks over his shoulder at me with a grin and winks, saying no more about it. I feel apprehensive more than relieved at his response, but recall Vivienne’s warning to show the utmost respect. Challenging his ways in his home before I’ve asked any of the questions I have in mind will do me no favors. Perhaps there’s something I can do to ensure all these people find their way safely home, however.
The mansion is labyrinthine and we go through many doors, up several staircases ranging from sweeping to narrow, until we reach what I think is the eastern wing and Charlemagne opens a pair of double doors that lead to a sitting room. A fireplace is set in the middle of the wall, with leather chairs around it, and several bookcases line the nearby walls. There is also a dining table on the other end of the room, but no chairs around it. I smell blood beneath the citrusy scent of cleaning supplies.
“Sit,” Charlemagne says in a voice that’s a command instead of an invitation.
To my utter dismay, I find my feet move of their own volition to one of the chairs by the unlit fire and my body follows suit to do as it's ordered. “How did…?”
“Huh,” the expelled sound is intrigued, yet I cannot help but think that intrigued is staged for some reason. “You must be a fledgling.”
“No…well, unless you count three years as still being a fledgling,” I want to flee, a lurching swell of anxiety over the implications this has nearly dragging me into a visible panic.
“Hmm,” Charlemagne ponders. “Not quite, not quite. Do you regularly dine?”
“Yes…but not on the living.”
Charlemagne scrunches his features. “Do you ransack recent graves? That’s unhealthy, you know.”
“No nothing like that. I consume donated blood…through blood bags.”
I feel like I’m fidgeting, but a quick look over my body shows I am rigidly still. It’s as though I’ve separated from my body, the reality of my mind’s perception unmatched by what my body experiences at the moment.
My host does not look as if he’s prepared to take advantage of this situation, he looks disappointed and his heaving sigh illustrates a rather dramatic level of that disappointment. “This is what happens with wayward vampires. Not to worry, my boy. Now you know, you need to feed on the living or else any vampire could have you dancing as their puppet. It’s an evolutionary imperative, I’m afraid. We older vampires can’t let you young ones leave the nest until we’re sure you’re equipped for the world. Otherwise you’re as helpless as an infant, and there’s so few of us as it is.”
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I feel that coldness again, exacerbated by this new piece of information about my rather precarious position.
“You’re here because of your parents, yes?” he asks.
“...Yes. I was wondering—”
“But I’m curious about you,” he speaks as if he did not hear my response at all. “You are so unlike them, they start with the hissing and spitting and ‘hear me roars’.”
“I suppose I never…”
“To me. As if such a thing would ever move me. Not even a ‘how d’you do?’ Just give me, give me, give me.”
“I’m glad I am not like them,” I say firmly in the silence after his complaint.
“Me too, they aren’t even pleasant to look at, which might make some of their blustering bearable. Ah, but here I am insulting your family.”
“They deserve far worse than that.”
Charlemagne grins again. “Now I see them in you.”
I bristle inwardly, counting the retort as a vicious insult towards myself. There is little that ignites any semblance of a temper in me, but this is one of those rare exceptions.
Charlemagne finally takes the other chair set before the fire, looking at me with the avid interest of a scholar discovering a new aspect of long-stagnant research. “Ask me a question.”
“How do you know my parents?” immediately barges past my lips.
“I met them when they were younger, before your time.”
“But why—”
“Good sir Averline didn’t tell you how this worked, did he?”
“...What?”
“Never mind, it’s not my nature to play the same game in such quick succession anyway. Your parents and I did a lot of business back in the day.”
My mouth settles into a frown. “What sort of business?”
“Vampires can’t do magic,” Charlemagne sighs. “At the time, I was living near Rosedale Abbey and kept hearing about the prowess of Charles and Ines, so I went to enlist their services. What a load of crock, they could barely use the artifacts they bought in London’s Market. Still, I’ll admit they fascinated me. Your parents are interesting.”
“They’re monsters.”
“Interesting monsters,” he amends with a smile. “Obscure rituals for an even more obscure case of idolatry…”
“Their excuse for murder.”
“Eh,” Charlemagne dismisses the accusation with an ease that suggests he has no qualms about taking life. “Long story short, when they contacted me asking for a place to stay I decided to agree.”
“But they aren’t here anymore?”
“Dreadful guests, and somehow more pitiful with their ‘arts’ than ever before. How’s the wolf?”
The sudden change of topic has me shake my head slightly. “What?”
“Castillo. That impertinent little mutt…I remember when Riley called you a year ago, asking you to contact him.”
I recall Kayleigh’s rant about Castillo and his pack taking over Boston, it’s easy to surmise her bitterness comes from Charlemagne. Judging by his scornful disposition, that bitterness is poignant indeed. I have not forgotten Castillo’s reaction to the Coven’s leader either. There’s bad blood between the two, and I feel caught in the middle of it now. “I don’t…”
“Word to the wise, don’t lie to me.”
“I don’t see how he has anything to do with me being here,” I reply, disposing of my brief idea to claim I hardly know the alpha.
“You want information on your parents, I want information on the beast. Fair?”
“No.”
“No?”
I steel myself for whatever consequence my decision may bring. “Alejandro Castillo is my friend, a generous one at that. I won’t betray him, even if it means leaving here with no answers.”
Charlemagne appraises me. “If you leave here at all. It’s such a betrayal that you would choose him over me.”
“I don’t know you, save for the fact you associate with vile people like Charles and Ines.”
Charlemagne laughs. “Do you think Castillo’s ‘associates’ are any better than your parents? To quote the cool kids, pull your head out of your ass, Henry.”
Silence falls between us. He makes no hostile moves towards me, nor does he offer any signs he’s willing to help me without getting his request fulfilled. Trepidation coils around my heart, what is really stopping him from simply demanding it from me? If I was compelled to sit, would I also be compelled to tell him all I know? His expression is shifting from studiously neutral to an impish glee.
“You would be,” he confirms the fear budding in my mind and even taps his temple. “You’re not as loud as Riley, but you lack any sort of discipline that would keep me out.”
I stand, deciding a quick retreat would be safer. Not just for me, but those I care about.
“Sit down, Henry,” he chuckles and again I find my body folding to take a seat. “I can tell you more, beyond your parents. I can tell you so many things…for instance, the identity of your sire. Wouldn’t that be nice to know?”
I spent the first year of my unlife seeking my sire. By now, I assumed they had no real motive for turning me, perhaps it was little more than a game to them, and finding them slipped from being a priority to a lingering curiosity. I am curious again now, but not so much that I’m tempted to help Charlemagne hurt Castillo. I shake my head, no.
“Ugh, you’re annoyingly selfless,” Charlemagne groans, removing his shades to reveal his eyes fully. He glares at me, and fear grows as I believe he deliberates on whether he shall simply take the information he wants. “No, I’m not going to do that,” he says, voice sharp as though in chastisement. “I could. Easily. You’ve totally ruined how I imagined tonight going, by the way.”
“Sorry,” I do not feel apologetic, but I hope the gesture will be taken as the peace offering it’s meant to be.
He nods, then stands and faces the fireplace, retrieving a long lighter that clicks to life before he puts it closer. The kindling within catches aflame and the room is filled with the crackling of the fire as it spreads to the logs. He turns to face me, his small stature caught in a halo of firelight.
“Henry, I am your father,” he states in a clear impression of Darth Vader.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s not actually the quote, you know,” Charlemagne replies. “Well, obviously the Henry bit isn’t, but the name; Luke, I am your father. That’s wrong. He just says ‘no, I am your father’ in response to Luke bitching at him.”
“Why are you quoting Star Wars at all?”
“Way to further ruin the moment. I’m your sire, you dimwit. It’s the only reason I agreed to meet with you.”
I could not say how long I sat in silence staring at him after this declaration. I am only aware of the sudden burst of…everything in my chest that comes out as a torrent of demands. “Why? Why did you turn me? Why did you just leave me there in the dark? Why did you force me to come to terms with all of this on my own? Was it some sick joke to you? To jump a random stranger and change him into a fucking vampire?!”
He takes this in stride, which only makes me feel worse. He doesn’t even have the sympathy to look guilty at all. “You weren’t some stranger, you’re the son of my prior associates.”
“Why?” I do not have it in me to wince at the raw desperation in my voice.
“You’re in over your head,” Charlemagne replies, not at all answering the question. “You have no idea, but suffice to say, leaving you in the proverbial ditch wasn’t actually the intention. I was interrupted after giving you my blood, attacked by a horrendous lowlife. By the time that was sorted, you were gone and I needed to recover. I thought I’d find you easily enough, but it’s incredible how well you mingle with the mundanes.”
My hands shake, I feel like I’m drowning. What fate I once imagined was attached to that night seems to shatter into nothingness. This creature is my sire, the one who took my life and gave me something I never wanted in return. I doubt he expended much effort to find me, to take me in and make it less impossible, to lend a guiding hand when most I needed it. “I don’t…understand.”
“I know you don’t,” Charlemagne says. “Truthfully, you’re better off not understanding. You’ll be happier in ignorance for now.”
“You make it sound as if there’s some great plan surrounding me. Your acquaintance with my parents, you…turning me, and then you letting them stay here…surely you knew they were looking for me?”
“Of course I did, and I figured sooner or later you would find your way to me because of it. Much better than me spending valuable resources combing through Boston for you. Especially with you being so close to the dog.”
“Why?” I ask again.
“I gave you enough for free, now it is your turn to tell me what I want to know. The sooner I rid Boston of that mangy pack, the better.”
“I can’t…”
“Then I can’t help you, so sorry.”
“You killed me, the least you could do is tell me why!”
“Hogwash, I didn’t kill you, I turned you. Big difference. We’re undead…ish, sure, but you’re not a literal corpse walking around.”
“Why?”
“Why, why, why…you sound like a child,” Charlemagne sighs. “And you sound like them; give me, give me, give me. All while offering me nothing, and here I thought you weren’t rude.”
I am numb, I am slipping into the void that used to claim me when I was locked in the dark. Shut everything else out, fall away from it all to some parody of peace. I came here looking for my parents, instead I find my sire…but this revelation brings no closure. It only brings more questions.
“I want to go home,” I whisper.
“Home,” Charlemagne scoffs. “Back to Castillo?”
Castillo isn’t where home is, not really. Riley is, and I need him. I need him before I disappear, but I can’t go to him…because this is even bigger than I thought and I fear what will become of him if he gets involved. I say “yes” because I don’t know what else to say. Perhaps there is the hope that it will at least sting Charlemagne, that I should continue to choose his enemy even after knowing what this vampire is to me now.
“Go then,” Charlemagne says. “Go and stay in ignorance, it will be better for you after all. But if you go, know you will remain in ignorance until the end, and there is an end, coming sooner than you think. You are a key to it.”
I attempt to stand and find I am not impeded in the endeavor. Charlemagne cocks his head, eyes steadfast on my face. “You’re not suicidal are you?”
I look up from his gaudy boots to his face. I want to scorn the question, but to write my own ending is nearly appealing all of a sudden, to step once more into the daylight unguarded and let that warmth wash me away. Then I think of Riley again, and I know I will never do such a thing to him. I shake my head.
“Good! Very good. You can show yourself out then.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
I am nowhere near coming to terms with what happened tonight by the time I stagger up the stairs to the front door of the narrow home in Dorchester. It is nearly dawn, but my memory is a haze of wandering; dark streets interrupted by sharp streetlights, quiet boulevards cast in the neon of blazing signs, none of which give me direction.
The door isn’t locked, and it shuts behind me with a creak as I stand in the entryway, familiar surroundings bringing little comfort. It’s the sound of the television playing from the living room which brightens the shadow around my heart, and the approaching footsteps I am still so used to as Riley comes to investigate. The moment I see him there is another swell of emotion, more positive this time. It’s been months, and I can see now the man he’s always been come to the surface as he wanted; a scarce amount of stubble shadows his face, which looks slightly more angular now, and the noticeable curves to hips has lessened. I step towards him, intending to draw him close and hold him for a while but I’m met with a swift punch to the face that nearly lays me flat on the floor.
“You asshole!” Riley snaps. “What the fuck is the deal disappearing like that? Do you realize how goddamn worried I’ve been about you? I’ve been losing sleep over you, fucker, and I have precious little time for that these days as it is!”
I rub my cheek and notice there are dark circles under his eyes. I have been so busy keeping him out to avoid hurting him without realizing I’ve been hurting him in a different way. “I’m a fool,” I mumble.
“I mean, I think that’s putting it lightly,” Riley shoots back quickly. He looks at me more closely and the anger recedes. “What’s going on, Henry? You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
“Yes…” I find myself speaking about my fears instigated by my conversation with Charlemagne. “Something is coming, and I have a part to play in it, but I don’t know what. I’m worried it’s going to lead to something horrible…I’m scared I’m going to hurt the people I care about inadvertently. I think I should leave, just…go. I think it may be better for you, for Brianna and Castillo too. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“For fuck’s sake, Henry,” Riley still sounds exasperated, but there’s concern there too. He completes the interrupted hug and holds me tightly. “You’re okay, it’s going to be okay.”
At that moment, Riley is the sun that has been unreachable to me for these past three years. In his voice is the comfort that felt so far away ever since I got my father’s letter. I am not used to being in touch with emotion, it’s easier to avoid it, it’s easier to shut it all away and use the void as a shield. But it feels like that elusive joy that was meant to come with family, and it is a comfort I did not realize I yearned for so much for years. Lost in my childhood, then again in losing Amelia, in losing our marriage, in losing my humanity. But he’s still here. Riley has always been here.
I kiss him seeking more of that comfort, seeking those fires that used to encase us and block out the rest of the world in a roar, but he shoves me back firmly. “What the fuck, Henry? This isn’t like you.”
“I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” I repeat, struggling to come to grips. I never let myself think about what it would be like to kiss him again, but after that disaster I’m sure what subtle thoughts I had were of a more profound and romantic nature.
“Just…come and sit with me, and we’ll talk about what’s going on. You can be all cryptic, I’ll eventually get the whole story though so spare me the strenuous effort would you? Sheldon’s been working me to death already as it is.”
I can tell he’s more disturbed and confused by my actions than he’s letting on. That’s always been his way, a million thoughts racing through his head while none of them are verbally articulated, not right away. At least he finds the words for it eventually. I rarely do. It makes me come across as appeasing, forever calm, too nice, but at least I can bury the true complications that come with assessing emotion.
It is not difficult to recognize the relief being in his company brings, however. Even after my blunder and his initial anger. There is apprehension too though, because my coming here means I at least owe him an explanation, and even if I had planned to keep it to myself, I know already my resolve would not last should Riley demand answers. He won't demand them anyway, but then…he would never need to. It is partly why I’ve been avoiding him after all.