I wake as the last of the daylight fades from the skies, much as I do every evening. I am yet to become used to my different surroundings, always expecting to see the familiar walls of my bedroom instead of the enriched grasscloth textured room that serves as my temporary abode. I wouldn’t ask Castillo for refuge if I thought it would indebt me to him, but he’s assured me my help in getting his pack to safety eight months ago negates any perceived dues he felt I owed him.

I don’t see much of Castillo despite my staying here a couple of weeks now. Between restoration efforts and his illegal operations, he keeps busy day and night. I prefer it this way, I know that for whatever light is in him, there is an equal amount of darkness – getting to know him more may reveal the balance isn’t truly a balance at all. I feel guilty enough relying on his resources to help me, but with no alternative I must ignore that guilt for the time being.

Because nothing, not even guilt, compares to the horror instilled in me by my father’s letter.

It is because of this letter that I decided to come here. In staying with Castillo, I can be sure to keep Riley away. I cannot involve him in this, I have never been able to involve him in anything related to my family. As far as he knows, I was raised in the foster system, but that is a lie. My parents would never be so kind as to let me escape their home. I wish I could put it behind me, and I almost succeeded after my turn, but the letter reminds me they are still out there. And now…they know where I am. Or was. I hope they aren’t bold enough to try and infiltrate Castillo’s home if they do track me here.

It’s another reason I chose his place rather than asking Brianna to put me up, that and Castillo’s enviable resources will help me track down where the letter originated. I do not know what I will do if we find them…whether I will go to them or else leave Boston behind. The latter thought fills me with sorrow, the former with dread.

At present, I can do no more than what I usually do when my night begins; I go to the small freezer in the corner of the room, open it and retrieve a bag of blood. I assume it’s donated with consent…and not stolen, it makes things easier, of that I can be certain. I never quite got the hang of hunting, I can’t bring myself to attack an innocent person or animal to sate my hunger. With it being in my room, I do not have to disturb Gianna either. Castillo’s housekeeper is not overly fond of my nature, and while one may assume Castillo rules his home with an iron fist, he did not argue with her complaints about leaving blood bags in the main freezer next to actual food.

I stand at the large window which looks down on Fairfield Street, sipping blood as if it were from a juice pack. When I finish, I’ll go downstairs and see if Castillo’s left any sort of word for me. If not, which is the most likely case, I’ll find ways to entertain myself until dawn returns. It’s not the most thrilling existence, but I don’t dare to risk wandering around Boston at present.

Certainty of another dull night leads to surprise when there’s a rattle at the door instead of the usual silence, which opens to reveal Castillo’s broad frame. “Come,” he says bluntly, and I follow him from my room and down the hall to his office. He looks tired, and I can smell the blood that brushes his knuckles and is settled under his fingernails before my sensitive eyes see it.

“...Bad day?”

He looks at me over his shoulder and raises one of his thick eyebrows before he takes the concealed gun he’s carrying and sets it down on the desk. “No, today was a very good day, Santito,” he replies as he moves to sit behind the desk, gesturing for me to take a nearby seat.

I do so and try not to show my disapproval towards the more violent aspect of his business.

“It would seem our efforts to trace your family have not gone unnoticed,” Castillo sighs. “I got a hit,” I notice he glances down at his reddened knuckles. “It turns out that Charlemagne put them up.”

My brow pinches. “Charlemagne? The vampire Riley saw in Elena’s vision?”

It feels like the temperature in the room drops as Castillo stares at me. I haven’t spoken to him about that, or mentioned what Riley told me, and it appears that decision is catching up to me now. His eyes are blazing, and it's at that moment I realize he has two different colored irises, a detail I note only for the fact I cannot look away.

“Chingada madre…” he growls. “What vision?”

“It…was very brief…Riley mentioned Charlemagne was part of Elena’s visions. Very briefly—”

“You said that.”

“…Yes. Sorry. He was the one who told her about…Paradise. At least, that’s what I think Riley said.”

“You don’t remember?”

“That’s what Riley said,” I force my voice to be firmer, but my eyes drop to his desk, staring at the gun like it could still kill me.

“Pulling teeth,” Castillo mutters, obviously frustrated with me. He gathers his patience, however, and leans back in his impressive chair. “Charlemagne…Y que chinge a la puta que lo parió, he has had it out for me since I took control of Boston. Some whiney shit about it being his city, I say if it is his city, he would still be running it, no?”

I don’t think he’s actually speaking to me, and is letting off steam more than anything. Still, I nod.

“I should have known he was the one who told Elena about the True Source.” He scowls, his posture rigid. “Which begs the question, Santito, why are your parents going to him?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I…I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “My parents…” I hesitate. It’s not only Riley I kept the truth from, it is everyone I’ve ever known. Castillo’s demanding glare tells me I cannot keep this part of me, of my story, hidden any longer. He needs to know, and perhaps…I need to tell someone. The fact he is still closer to a stranger than acquaintance makes it oddly easier. Somehow. Or perhaps it is because Castillo is the sort who knows how terrible the world can be, even if he is partly to blame for that terribleness.

“My father’s line came from magic,” I begin. “But there hasn’t been any magic for many generations. Despite that, my father upheld the traditions my ancestors began. They were, or I suppose…they are, a secular movement devoted to an unknown…force. I didn’t…there wasn’t anything…specific about vampires involved, but there was…blood.” I see the moorlands stretched out before me and force my gaze to focus back on Castillo’s face. He’s not part of my past, so he can keep me in the present. “It may have been that simple fact that brought them together.”

“You don’t think this force is the True Source? Paradise?”

“No, it…always came across as a tangible…thing. Not a person exactly, but something, or someone, powerful.”

“Hn.”

I don’t know if he’s disinterested in this, nor do I care. What matters is that it is enough that the demanding glare softens to his usual stoicism. Yet, without more of a response I am left unsure how to continue.

“I cannot send wolves with you to Charlemagne’s, it is against the Treatise the Order wrote up a while ago.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright. I could go alone.”

I am not so afraid due to my current situation to not be offended by Castillo’s laughter following my statement.

“Ay güey, no. No, Santito,” he chuckles, mirth extending once he sees my agitated expression.

“Then…” I think hard. “The Market, there’s a vampire bar there. Fighting in the Market is still frowned upon, isn’t it?” When Castillo nods, I continue. “I can see if someone there could help me figure out why Charlemagne hosted my parents, or if he’s still hosting them. I may find a means to meet with him directly in a less unfavorable location.”

“If you want to,” Castillo replies. “It may be enough to stay on your family’s trail. Charlemagne does not live alone, there will be one in the Moliere Coven more willing to talk.”

I don’t tell him that I would rather face Charlemagne than my parents. I know enough thanks to Riley to understand that Charlemagne is a powerful vampire, but I have no personal conflict with him. Unless I count his acquaintance with my parents as a personal conflict, but I can’t see what would be in it for him. I don’t know him, and I rather doubt he’s even heard of me. They could know each other separately from me.

“Henry.”

I blink, and notice Castillo looks impatient. “Yes?”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Right. Sorry.”

If anything, he looks more annoyed so I get up with the intention to leave his office. I pause before I pass the door, however, and look back to him. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting you to be quite so hands on about this.”

“It was coincidence today,” Castillo replies. It doesn’t sound like he is trying to dismiss his involvement, rather it is his blunt nature at play again. “Some pendejo tried to steal from me, when I caught him, he tried to dissuade my punishment by using his ‘patrons’ as a shield.”

“And his patrons were…my parents?”

“Sí.”

“What did this man try to steal?”

“I don’t know. A couple of my Halcones in Mattapan caught him attempting to break into my self-storage business there. I’ll give him some credit; he had the cojones to keep that information to himself.”

“Do you have actual customers that use these units?” I ask. Castillo nods. “So, this man may not have been trying to steal from you, but from someone with a unit there.”

“It is possible.”

“Maybe I could question him?”

“He’s dead.”

The balance tips, and I am reminded again of why Castillo has such a feared reputation. He is not known for mercy, or second chances.

I return to my room, trying to puzzle out what this means while knowing I need more information to do so. I cannot attest to Charlemagne’s moral compass, but I doubt he is naïve enough to be fooled by the likes of Charles and Ines. They are a scourge, and radiate ill intent like the sun radiates heat. Perhaps Charlemagne is as well, or it could be a matter of being paid enough to play host. The last I remember of my parents; however, they were incredibly poor.

I go to the dresser and open the top drawer. It is empty save for the crinkled paper that I take hold of again. I unfold the letter and gaze at its succinct message: What was left undone will be finished. —C. B.

With a sigh, I look out the window and watch the people going about their night. I too must walk Boston’s streets, because I will gain nothing by staying here any longer tonight. I need to return to the Market, the problem with this is that I cannot remember the password Riley spoke to the statue of Thomas Cass in the Common. Without being able to call him to ask, I’ll need to rely on someone else. I do not return to Castillo’s office, as I’m sure he’s in the midst of work again, and instead go downstairs to one of the landlines scattered through his large home. I retrieve my wallet from my pocket, and take out the slip of paper where I’ve written important numbers, having left my mobile behind to avoid easy detection from the Order. Finding Brianna’s isn’t hard, there’s only three numbers I’ve taken down. Hers, Castillo’s, and of course Riley’s.

“Boss?”

“No, it’s me.”

“Oh, hey, Henry. What’s up?”

“I need help getting to the Margadh Sióg. Do you know how to get past the statue?”

“Statue? What the hell are you talking about?”

“...Evidently not the entrance you use,” I reply, hoping I won’t get Riley in trouble for the slip.

“Apparently not,” Brianna sounds amused, not like one preparing to find out exactly what statue I alluded to. “I can get you in our way. Meet me at the Museum of NCAAA in Roxbury, you know what I’m talking about? The old Abbotsford mansion?”

“I think so.”

“Good. They’re closed now, so we don’t got to worry about visitors. I’ll be out front.”

“I’ll see you soon then.”

“See ya.”

We hang up simultaneously and since it’s dark outside, I have no need to grab the usual items I would if daylight remained. It feels nice to get out, I haven’t since coming here and only now does the time feel long. I’m not used to the idea of immortality yet, I was barely getting used to the idea of my approaching forties, so while some might assume a few weeks is nothing to me, it still is. I think I’ll be sad when that’s no longer true.

I don’t go to the subway station closest to Castillo’s. His house is alarmingly close to the Order’s headquarters and I’m paranoid that I will see a Centurion who recognizes me if I go down there in this area. I hail a cab instead, although it would be quicker for me to run that’s something I haven’t embraced yet either. My money will run out soon though, and I’ll not be able to do this forever…eventually I suppose I could find work for an overnight shift, but I don’t see it being all that practical.

It is good I’m thinking of the future, though. I tell myself it means I expect to survive what’s coming, and with that more firmly in mind, I prepare to meet with Brianna and return to the Market. Surely there will be someone at Sanguine Sweet who can give me a tip or two.