Of Scions and Men

by Courtney Sloan

  Leaving him to his duties, I wove my way to the downstairs guest room. Opening the door quietly, I entered the dark room. Will’s reddish-brown hair peeked out from under the bedcovers. He’d pulled the blankets all the way up to his face, but one leg and armed curled their way around the edge and hooked around the top. Sitting on the bed, I pulled the covers down until I could see his face. I smiled at his peaceful features. This was what I needed—to see him. He was why I did it.

  I pushed down the feelings of panic from earlier, cupped his cheek, and smiled. Will was safe, and I would keep him that way. No words came from Devon through our bond, but I could feel the determination and agreement from him coming over loud and clear. In some ways, this wasn’t so bad.

  Reaching over, I picked up Will’s shoes and socks placed neatly beside the bed, probably by Marie. Then, leaning down, I scooped his limp body into my arms. How a ten year old felt a hundred times heavier asleep, I’ll never know. Moving to the door, the load got easier as I realized Devon was feeding me a subtle supply of extra strength. Shifting Will to a more comfortable position, I smiled inwardly. Nope, sometimes this didn’t suck completely.

  y days off were always errand days. Between late night jobs, school meetings, DEC briefings for both day and night shifts, and attempting to squeeze in some quality time with Will, days off were the only times I could do stuff like doctor visits, grocery runs, and, occasionally, sleep. Today was no different—except it was the errand day I had to do every three months. The one I hated most in the world. Today was Will’s and my quarterly doctor visit.

  By law, both schools and work, even the saintly DEC, had to give people paid leave to go to their mandatory, free check-up. Well, it cost no money. The expense to me was still too high.

  Thus, I found myself sitting with Will an hour after his appointment was supposed to start, trying not to yell at the nurse again and trying to keep my fidgety, ten-year-old brother occupied. Currently, he was playing some preprogrammed game on my phone. Technology to the rescue.

  Observing the room, mothers and fathers with passels of kids all waited for their family block appointment, just like us. Everyone appeared bleaker than the intake at the DEC. But where I only had Will, many of them were entertaining an under-fed and over-excited brood of maybe four or five. Even though humans had to take daytime appointments, most of the parents looked dead on their feet, probably working similar hours as me, putting in overtime. Illegal but necessary.

  One father in particular had nodded off and was snoring loudly in the corner while the closest three groups of kids took turns throwing small pieces of crumpled paper at him, trying to get them to land in his mouth. How their giggles and squeals of excitement didn’t wake him, I had no idea.

  “Ro?” Will asked.

  “Yeah, buddy.” I glanced down at him then watched as the littlest girl bounced a ball off the guy’s nose, causing him to shift in his sleep to scratch it. All the kids scattered in a panic. My lips quirked upward at the scene and the mother trying to regain order with a desperation usually reserved for clearance sales and PTA disputes.

  “I feel fine. Can’t we go?” The whine in Will’s voice grated on me. He leaned forward in his chair, kicking his feet in short, jerky movements. I smiled at his ten-year-old nerves.

  “Sure, if you want me to have to come arrest us,” I replied.

  He giggled. “That’d be funny. You having to cuff both of us.” He sat up at this new entertainment and set my phone down. “Hey, you could cuff us together. Or, better yet, have Lyle do it. He’d have fun.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “If we’re healthy, why do we have to wait? Shouldn’t we go away and let the sick people have our spot?”

  I shook my head at the truth in his statement. “That’s not the way it works. We have to come in to make sure we stay healthy. If everyone does that, then there’s less sick people overall. Plus, doing this maintains us as valid U.S. citizens, and we get stuff like your school paid for.”

  “But I don’t want the shot or give blood. It makes me feel yucky.” He made a face, and I laughed at his flair for the dramatic.

  “Sorry, buddy, that’s the deal.”

  His face filled with all the frustration a ten-year-old could muster. “But all they do is drink it.”

  I froze. When had he figured it out? I’d known he would, but I’d hoped it would be a bit later. How would he feel about Devon and me after this revelation?

  “Where did you hear that?” I asked.

  “We started talking about predator prevention and reporting in health class. Daniel brought in a video of a guy in his neighborhood drinking from a girl’s arm at the park for money. He said his older brother took it the other night after curfew.”

  I’d forgotten he’d be starting those levels of health this year. It seemed too early. I also made a mental note to see what neighborhood Daniel lived in… And fought the urge to take the camera away from little Daniel.

  “Well, that’s why the government thinks these checkups are a good idea,” I said. “That way, those guys have to get their food from credible sources, and we can find the bad guys from the good guys easier.”

  “Devon’s a good guy cause he has you,” Will toned innocently as he picked up the phone again, swiping it on.

  I was saved from having to respond when a nurse stepped out and called us back. Once behind the waiting room door, we were measured in every possible way, from height and weight to body fat and urine content. They took a first round of blood to check for any pathogens and to check our hormone and other vital levels.

  That was the easy part. While they ran every test knows to man and vampire, they hooked Will up and took his quarterly donation of one blood bag to the national blood stock. I was exempt because I already gave to Devon on a regular basis, but given Will’s betrayed expression as I stood back and let them bleed him, I would’ve gladly given again to be at his side.

  I watched as his precious blood spilled into the bag and swallowed as bile rose in my throat. I shouldn’t have had breakfast. Murder scenes were one thing, but the violation of my brother, even by an accredited and valid source, was another. To distract him, I told him stories and jokes until the medical vultures deemed he’d given enough.

  With a Band-Aid he’d picked out for himself and a glass of juice and a couple of cookies, we were ushered into an exam room to wait for the doctor. Another twenty-five minutes later, the doctor arrived to both of us cuddled asleep on the exam table.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting; people are just being stupid today.”

  “You’re busy,” was the best thing I could say as I was not yet ready to forgive our wasted time, again. Just like every quarter.

  He grabbed our charts and glanced over them though his mouth kept talking. “Exactly. And half of the idiots in here are coming into their check-ups a pint or two low, knowing we have to take blood. It’s not like this is a surprise. We’ve already had seventeen pass out and two go into shock. It isn’t even noon yet.”

  I didn’t think he was actually talking to us—more like to the universe—but we just happened to be the only ones listening.

  “You’re preaching to the choir, doc,” I said. “If we could get the street donations down, I could be out of a job.”

  I meant it as a good thing, but at my words, he glanced up at us for the first time. Paling, he glanced down at the DEC symbol emblazoned on my chart next to the word “scion” and swallowed hard. “Of course,” he said in a much shakier voice, “we will be reporting all violators to the authorities for the proper punishment.”

  Dammit, he’d put me in a place I didn’t want to be: between what my job said was right and what I thought was right. I hedged what I was going to say to make him feel better, given he was about to put needles into us. “See, the real problems are the violators stealing the blood, not the victims.” I ignored the fact most of the victims he was talking about had been paid for their services to make ends meet,
not innocent victims grabbed off the street. “When they have enough of a supply, these issues should go down.” Bullshit. Not even I believed the words coming out my mouth, but both Will and the doctor looked relieved.

  “Exactly, Agent”—he scanned my chart for my name—“Brady. You understand perfectly.” He more thoroughly read our charts, this time keeping any commentary to himself. Yeah, now he knew I was part of the establishment, he was going by the book.

  After only a couple of minutes, he turned a forced smile on us. “Everything looks great. Your levels have been recorded and sent. There are no pathogens or contraband in your systems.” His eyes twitched to me. “Not that we would have thought there would be.” He rushed over his sentences. “And the only thing left is your vaccination, and you’ll be out of here and back to your day. Doesn’t that sound great?”

  It was rather pathetic.

  Will panicked. “I don’t want a shot again. It hurts.” He clawed up my body, trying to get behind me. “I just want to go. I hate the shots.”

  Killer vamps with attitude I could take. This broke me.

  Wincing, I grabbed Will into a bear hug and kept him there while he fought for freedom. My heart twisted.

  What is going on? What’s happening to Will? My emotions must have been enough to wake Devon up.

  He’s refusing his quarterly shot.

  It’ll help him.

  Tell that to a scared kid who hates shots.

  The good doctor took the shot full of red liquid from the nurse and stepped forward, causing Will’s wail to hit a new frequency. I clenched my jaw as the doctor spoke to him in a soothing voice.

  “It’s only your vaccination. It will go into your blood and make sure no bad germs or diseases can hurt you. Isn’t that nice?”

  “It’s blood!” Will screamed. “It’s vampire blood. It’s going to make me one of them. Daniel said!”

  Who the hell is Daniel? Devon’s outrage was clear.

  I fought with my brother, who suddenly seemed to have grown as many flailing arms as an octopus.

  Use an aura of compliance.

  I gnashed my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut. He wanted me to use one of his tricks and mind control my brother into something he was already freaked about doing. We were not thralls. Never would be. Not on my brother! And if you ever do, I’ll end you. Now shut up!

  I turned Will around, so he could gaze into my face. “Daniel is a moron, and you are too smart to listen to that kind of nonsense.” Tears were flowing down his face and, seeing them, my own stung my eyes.

  “But you never have to take them,” Will whined.

  Hell. “Doc, please give me a vaccine, and then give my brother his.” I peered down at Will. “Sound fair?”

  He nodded slightly. As Will clutched on, the needle slid into my arm, and the plunger emptied some strange vampire’s blood into me. My continued hatred of needles and shots was nothing compared to the burning in my veins. Mixing different vampire blood in your body created a kind of internal war as their crazy DNA fought for supremacy. Fire traveled my circulatory system until the searing sensation gave way to a crazy itching that made me want to scratch my skin off everywhere at once. And all I could do was paint a happy smile on my face.

  Sometimes being a responsible big sister sucked.

  ut the side bank of windows, I watched as the last reds of sunset were replaced by the first star of the night. Quickly, I made a wish before any others joined it. Silly, I know, but the secret moment of hope was nice.

  Behind me, Devon’s house was ablaze with his staff finalizing details before the diplomat, Nadia Gavrilova, and her entourage arrived. Shahid and his security detail, in their dark suits, were spread over the grounds to keep any dissenters or troublemakers away from the dinner. Devon’s salon was old, gorgeous, and rich. Over two centuries seemed to be more than enough time to collect enough funds to be a small god, though I’d heard Romaric’s reworking of the old Glessner-Clarke homes–soon to be the new White House compound–was a new wonder of the world.

  Devon’s taste reeked of his age. The ceiling arched up into deep mahogany curves, ending at swirled panels. From each of these panels dangled a bronzed chandelier which reflected light from the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the gardens on the grounds. The effect made the foyer seem like an extension of the outside. Electric lights were hidden everywhere, lighting the space with an artificial flicker, giving a good imitation of a softer firelight feel. He was a monster, but he had taste.

  My hands trembled as I pulled once again on the short skirt of the dress Gwen had squeezed me into. Truly, how did Gwen do it? I had thought I’d be stuck in a Cinderella dress from hell, given Devon’s talk, but Gwen had the weird ability to make modern look refined. The dress was form fitting until it hit my thighs, but slits on both sides allowed me to move with ease. It would keep me graceful, like the lady of the manor Devon wanted me to be, but Gwen assured me, if push came to shove, I could still fight in it. After a few practice kicks, I believed her, though modesty would have to go out the window at that point.

  The simplicity of the dress ended there. Every inch of it was covered in row after row of bedded crystals. With all the ambient light around me, I created a light show wherever I went. I had to admit: I would never have picked it out, but when Gwen finished the ensemble by putting my mahogany brown hair up in a side-swept, ‘40s do, and painted my lips a bright red to contrast my pale skin. It worked.

  If you play with your dress anymore, I don’t think my staff will be able to keep their minds on their work. But at least you’re passably dressed tonight.

  Turning to Devon as he spoke, my eyes widened at his appearance. Strong, tall, and sure of himself. His olive skin was flawless as he approached me with a glass of red wine. He handed it to me, and stepped back to run a hand through his thick, black hair which had only slightly receded before he was turned.

  With an almost imperceptible nod, his eyes ran over me. The appearance of his dimple was his final sign of approval. I let go of a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. What did it matter if he approved? It was all a show for the visiting dignitaries anyway.

  He let a smile consume his eyes and lips, making his perfect white teeth stand out. I hated what I was, what he was providing for me, but in that moment, I couldn’t hate him. He was graceful in his tux, sure of his movements from years—well, centuries—of practice.

  You are a vision, cherie.

  I blushed. Trying to cover it up, I took the glass and drained it. Having found no response in the bottom of the glass, I changed the subject. Why all the extra security? Something I should know?

  His eyes tightened momentarily, then he led me over to the sidebar. Don’t fret…

  I laughed and responded out loud. “Did you say ‘fret?’ Who the hell says ‘fret?’”

  The reaction I wanted washed over his face as the tightness released into an annoyed smile. Okay, don’t “freak out.” We’re safe. The woman coming tonight is protected under Romaric’s hospitality, so as my guest, I must ensure hospitality is not broken. Mostly for show.

  I smiled at Shahid as he reached over and poured me a refill.

  Just a wine and dine then? I asked Devon.

  Not entirely. We need to find out what they’re really after, though. She’s been bugging the council for years for an audience in Chicago. Her Russian connections make things worrisome. See if you can get anything from her scion. He may let slip more than her years of training will allow. Turn on what charm you can scrape up.

  My affronted retort was cut short when the front bell sounded. My dress suddenly felt two sizes smaller. Social networking was not my forte.

  The herald came forward with their gold and glass canister invitation and announced, “Nadia Gavrilova and her escort and scion, Carson Holt.”

  Leaving my glass on the bar, I stared at the door as Devon took me lightly under my elbow and guided me to the center of the room. I fidgeted a bit in his grasp to remind him I h
ated when he led me around like a prized sow. His slight grin at me was replaced by his social but professional smile.

  A black-haired woman glided into the room. Her features were sharp and gaunt, but hell if she hadn’t spent an ungodly amount of time on her appearance. She had groomed every inch from eyelashes to toenails. Her dark hair was oiled and twisted into a stark and shiny bun that made me do a double take before I realized her hair was more than an inch long. Smokey makeup accented her dark eyes, while her high cheek bones carried a slight blush. Her long white gown was conservative, but clung to her slight body in such a way that there was no mistaking it was made just for her. Next to it, my fabulous dress couldn’t help suddenly seeming vulgar.

  “Nadia Petrovna, dobro pozhalovat. Thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice.” As the Russian rolled off Devon’s tongue, I fought not to stare slack-jawed at him. “I am Damir Shuvalov, though most call me Devon now. May I present my scion, Rowan Brady.”

  The woman’s grace was mesmerizing as her slight frame ate up the area around her. But as she glanced at her date—scion—escort, I followed her lead and finally took notice of him beside her.

  I took a sharp breath, bringing a sly smile to her companion’s face. It was Dudley-freaking-Do-Right from last night.

  After a slight pause, Nadia grinned tightly as her eyes darted from me to her scion. She shifted to extend a smile and delicate hand to Devon. He’d told her something. Something about me; I was sure of it.

  “Please, Devon,” she said, “I think it best we leave the Russian to our forefathers who still live there.”

  With a last gentle squeeze of reassurance to my elbow, Devon took Nadia’s hand and led her to a small area of chairs facing one another. I took my leave to return to where I’d left my glass. Why was Mr. Stuck Up everywhere I was?

  From behind my drink, I watched Carson wander a circular route around the entourages and scurrying staff. No matter how dashingly he’d dressed himself, his mannerisms made me dig my fingernails into the tablecloth. His earring kept glittering in the low lights, forcing my attention every so often. Not that I was interested.