Charles smiled and Adin followed him, wrapped in a pleasant haze of
good wine and lively conversation, basking in the warm glow of Charles’s
regard. Adin watched and went along for the ride as Charles worked the
room, his finely chiseled face by turns serious and teasing. He kept Adin by
his side, introducing him as his protégé, shooting him speaking glances and
knowing looks. Charles could be boyish, even though at forty he bore the first
faint traces of silver in his medium brown hair. He had lines near his eyes
from laughter, and frown marks from studying. Adin drank in everything
about him from his long, thin fingers, to the olive color of his sweater, which
exactly matched the color of his eyes, to his easy charm and the way when
he grinned one of his front teeth overlapped the one next to it, negating and
proving his flawlessness all at once.
Charles was a perfect storm of looks and charisma, a man who had
a superior intellect and the sophistication of world travel, even as Adin
84 Z.A. Maxfield
had, but somehow, fuller and more developed, richer and deeper and riper.
Adin reveled in the knowledge that Charles saw something in him; something
Charles himself had said was fine and noble and beautiful. Adin was
thrilled to be with him. Charles Holmesby’s
Chosen One
. Charles wanted
him; he said he wanted to love him.
So yes, Adin had come. And yes, Adin watched Charles like a hungry
boy outside a sweetshop, waiting for a signal that the next part of the evening,
the most important part, would begin.
Finally, they made their way up the stairs and down a long hallway
to a room that seemed enchanted. Warmly lit by a fire in the fireplace it
featured fine linens covering the bed, and a bottle of champagne, chilling
in a bucket next to a vase full of fragrant, exotic white flowers. Charles
unwrapped Adin like a gift, worshipping every square inch of skin as it was
uncovered, touching and tasting and breathing him in. Adin’s affection for
Charles led him to clumsy confessions, trembling hands, and urgency. While
not inexperienced he had never been on the receiving end of a seduction of
such complete skill. Charles took everything Adin gave him so effortlessly,
his demeanor slick and charming, that when the knock came softly on the
bedroom door and Charles’s lover joined them, Adin simply lay frozen and
numb with shock.
“What are we playing with today, Chaz?”
“This is Adin,” Charles purred. “He’s a delight. Come and share him
with me.”
Adin roused slightly when the movement of the car ceased. He
felt the concussion of the car door when Boaz got out, slamming
it shut. It startled him briefly, causing his heart to race until he
knew where he was. The first thing he saw was Bran pretending
to sleep against the door opposite his. After a moment, Bran
stretched and unlatched his safety belt. He glanced Adin’s way
and flushed when their eyes met. Adin turned away, but not
before catching a look of utter desolation on Bran’s face.
Intense compassion. True empathy. Was this what the boy had to offer
someone? Was this why he was worth so much to a man like Harwiche?
They were parked outside a pleasant two-story chalet style
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home, set among fruit trees in a pastoral setting. Neither Adin
nor Bran spoke as they left the car and went around to the back
to help. Even on an overcast day, like the one they were currently
enjoying, the house was a cheerful, whitewashed gem with bright
red shutters and matching doors. It had five windows lined up
across the ground floor, four on the second, and one centered in
the attic under a peaked roof that slanted down over the building
like an inverted V. It gave the impression of a face with too many
features, pleasing in its symmetry, but disturbing nonetheless. On
the whole it looked like a clock Adin’s sister had, which featured
a little boy and girl who came out of a door, kissed, and returned
on the quarter hour. It was impossible to imagine Donte there,
gazing out the windows onto the lawns below. Donte had always
seemed more at home in timeless buildings made of stone,
covered with old vegetation and gargoyles. Donte was a granite
fortress, and this was little more than a child’s playhouse.
Earlier rain had left the grounds wet and they squelched
through grass as Boaz led them around to the back. Adin and
Bran followed Boaz past covered patio furniture through a single
half-glass door into a spotless kitchen, all white except for a
dashing burgundy tile backsplash. Adin tried not to track in mud
and grass, but finding it hopeless, he removed his shoes. As soon
as he did, Bran did likewise, and Boaz shot them both a grateful
look.
“I’ll show you to your rooms, shall I?” Boaz led them across
knotty pine floors past a sunny dining area with a large rustic
table and chairs through a parlor and up a narrow, steep wooden
stairway to the second floor. The bedrooms were small. Adin
assumed he was being placed in Donte’s sleeping quarters, a fact
that was confirmed when he opened the clothes cupboard to find
two fine suits and one of Donte’s trademark silk and brocade
dressing gowns. Adin pulled it out and ran a hand over the fabric,
surreptitiously breathing in his lover’s scent. If he closed his eyes
he could picture Donte perfectly, his pride and his ego and his
warm dark eyes. Adin put his own clothing away—there was little
enough of it—then found his way back down the hall to see
about Bran, whom Boaz had settled comfortably at the other
86 Z.A. Maxfield
end of the hall.
“This is nice,” Bran told him as he looked out the window.
“It’s so green.”
“One thing you can always count on is that Donte will live
someplace beautiful.” Adin began hanging up Bran’s new clothes
automatically, removing tags and nesting the bags they’d been
packed in.
“You’d think it wouldn’t matter much; he only gets to go out
in the dark.”
“If you saw what he sees in the dark, you wouldn’t be saying
that.” Adin pulled out the three ties they’d purchased, each one
louder than the one before it, and folded them carefully. “He
showed me what it’s like for him, the way that his eyes perceive
the world at night and how heightened his senses are. It’s
fascinating.”
“But he hasn’t turned you?” Bran asked. Adin turned around,
still holding the ties. “Hasn’t he offered you immortality?”
“Who would want that?”
“
Everyone
.
”
Bran appeared surprised that he’d ask. “When
people die, they all fight it. It’s really hard sometimes, seeing them
give up.”
Adin turned sharply. “You’ve
seen
that…? Yes, of course you
have.” Adin sank onto the bed. “I’m sorry.”
“Sometimes people think they’re going to be just fine, so they
don’t panic. Sometimes they fall asleep or they don’t know what’s
happening to them.”
“Bran. I didn’t realize. That must be…”
“It’s just the way things are. People will fight to live if they
think they’ll die. Even if they didn’t like living much. Even if they
thought they were used to the idea. Sometimes it’s shocking to
them that they really want to live and it’s too late.” Bran swallowed
hard and sat next to Adin on the bed. “That can be...”
“I can imagine.” Adin put an arm around Bran and gave him
a hard squeeze. “I don’t want immortality, but I don’t want to die
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either. Is there something in between?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think maybe life is what’s in between. My life, anyway. What
it is and what it’s going to be. Getting old is part of that. Dying
is part of it. I don’t want to do anything to change that. What
Donte offers feels to me like cheating myself out of the things
that are important to me. Maybe dying is the price we pay for the
things we learn and the joy we feel.”
“How does Donte see it?”
Adin grimaced. “He thinks I’m stubborn and foolish and as
fragile as a butterfly wing. He worries that I’ll trip and fall under a
bus because I’m looking at the stars. He treats me like a child he
has to watch constantly.”
Bran pointed out, “Because he’s worried.”
“I understand that, Bran. I’d do anything to make him happy,
except become a vampire. He wouldn’t have chosen it either, so
he can’t tell me I’m being irrational. We’re between a rock and
a hard place. Any advice?” Adin waved the tie in Bran’s face.
“Forget fashion advice because I know you picked this tie.”
“What would I know about it?” Bran turned furiously to his
armoire to rearrange his new trousers.
Now that they’d spent time together, Adin placed Bran’s age
at about fifteen, but suddenly wondered what it really was. “How
old are you?”
“Fourteen. Fifteen next month.”
“Has there ever been a girl?”
“No,” Bran told him without turning. “How likely would that
be?”
“But someone you liked?”
Color crept up the back of Bran’s neck and he tensed, but still
didn’t turn. “Not like that.”
“Liar,” Adin teased. “Keep your secrets, Bran, it’s fine with
me. Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to sort through
88 Z.A. Maxfield
people’s memories and find out every little thing about them.”
“I said I was sorry. I don’t always do that. I just wondered…”
Adin took Bran’s shoulder and turned him. Once they were
facing one another it wasn’t hard to see that Bran was every
bit the uncertain teenaged boy. His brown eyes, usually full of
mischief, were troubled and his entire face carried doubt.
“Wondered what?”
“Why you loved a…” Bran bit his lip.
“Go on,” Adin commanded. “It doesn’t do either of us any
good if you don’t say it.”
“A monster, all right?” Bran leaned against the aging wood of
the rustic wardrobe. “Vampires are monsters, they need to prey
on weaker beings for food, and they look like people but they
aren’t human. They don’t have human values. Even smart people
like you are taken in.”
“Do you have a monster story?” Adin frowned. “Did vampires
harm you? Hurt your parents?”
“It’s nothing like that. I don’t remember when my parents
died. I know I lived with my grandfather at one point, but he
didn’t want me, and he wasn’t too concerned when I left because
he never called the social service people. I heard later he died in
a fire.”
“But you do have a story.”
“You can’t live on the streets without a story.”
“I didn’t even know vampires existed until I met Donte,”
Adin admitted.
Bran smiled faintly. “Lucky you.”
Adin processed that. How long had Bran been aware that
there was something different about him? How had he discovered
what he knew about the world around him?
How had he survived?
Adin gazed at Bran’s wary face and sighed. It was enough for
now that both were safe. He’d ask for answers to all his questions
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when Bran had a chance to process that fact.
“I think we should explore this place starting with the kitchen.
I’m hungry, and if it’s left up to Boaz we’ll be eating an egg dish
before we can conceivably find an alternative.”
Bran smiled up at him, and Adin thought that maybe he was
grateful to leave the serious behind. He was sure of it when Bran
found a small cupboard full of board games and lined them up
on the table in order of his preference, insisting that they had to
play one, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
By the time Adin and Bran returned to the kitchen, Boaz
was already cooking, and they had no say whatsoever in what
he made. It turned out to be spectacular though. He’d made use
of some pancetta and eggs and some thin dried pasta to create a
carbonara that struck Adin as the best he’d ever had. Even in this
far outpost, Boaz refused to dine with them, telling him that he
preferred to eat alone.
They sat at a long rustic pine table in front of a row of
windows. Outside the sky was growing darker. Soon the only
light would come from the stars and the moon, as there was
nothing beyond the windows but grass and fruit trees.
Boaz had the table set with woven placemats and checkered
napkins. He served the food on mismatched transferware dishes,
and uncorked a bottle of red wine, putting glasses out for both
Adin and Bran, but watering Bran’s wine considerably. They ate
by the light of two hurricane style lanterns while a strong wind
outside caused a draft through the wooden window frames, even
though the windows themselves were closed.