Now Comes the Night

by P. G. Forte

  “Step on them?” Conrad snarled viciously, his temper evaporating into white-hot rage. “Suffocate them? You imbecile! You dare suggest I would intentionally do them harm? After everything that’s been sacrificed on their behalf? After the promise I’ve given their mother and all I’ve done to ensure their safety—since the day they were born?”

  “What?” Still on his knees, Damian turned to look at Conrad. His eyes widened in alarm and he twisted, until he was seated with his back to the chair. He tightened his arms protectively around the children and he hugged them closer to his chest. “Calm yourself, querido. I was upset. It was merely a figure of speech. You must know I didn’t mean anything by it.” He continued for a moment longer to study Conrad warily, then his expression changed, softened, relaxed. “Are you quite all right, Conrad?” he asked, his voice gentler than before. “You seem…unusually jumpy tonight.”

  That look in Damian’s eyes… What was that? Was that…pity? Conrad turned away in disgust. “Uncle Damian?” he repeated quizzically. “Is that what you’re calling yourself now?”

  “They’ll have to call me something when they’re a little older, won’t they? I might as well begin to lay the groundwork now. And seeing as it was you who sired both their mother and me… Can you think of a better way of describing my relationship with them?”

  “And what do you intend for them to call me?”

  Damian’s eyes twinkled suddenly and Conrad could have sworn he was holding back a laugh as he answered, “Grandfather, obviously. I would have thought that went without saying.”

  “Grandfather?” Conrad stared at him. “How is that obvious? Do I look so old now?”

  Damian smiled. “Not at all. You’re still as youthful looking as the day I met you. It’s simply that, again, as you are their mother’s sire, I judged it the simplest approach. But perhaps you had something else in mind? Was there some other way in which you planned to describe to them your relationship with their mother?”

  Conrad scrubbed his hand across his face. His relationship with their mother. Yes, that was definitely not a subject he wished to discuss in any great detail with her children. Assuming they lived long enough to ask about her. “I hadn’t actually given the matter much thought.” It was all still such a long shot. “But, since you clearly have, so be it. Grandfather I shall be, should the need arise. Now, where’s the blood?” he asked, choosing to change the subject rather than continue. “I’m assuming you did eventually manage to bring some home with you?”

  “Yes, of course,” Damian replied, in between murmured endearments addressed to the babes in his arms. “You didn’t really think I’d forget, did you? I got as much as I could, several bottles, the freshest they had. Hopefully it’ll be enough to tide us over for a while, but if they’re going to continue to eat at this rate, we’re going to have to reconsider our plans, not to mention seek out some new resources—and soon. I left the bag on the dining room table, if you’d be so good as to get it.”

  Conrad blinked in surprise. “You expect me to get it?” There had been a time, and not that long ago, when people had waited on him, not the other way around.

  Damian glanced pointedly at the infants in his arms. “Well, I do have my hands full at the moment. Unless you’d like to trade places? I don’t imagine you thought to change their diapers while I was gone, did you?”

  Conrad opened his mouth and then closed it again when he could think of nothing to say. Turning, he left the room without saying another word.

  It was too much. Nothing in his past had prepared him for this. How was he expected to deal with it all? Deadly threats against the twins, their imminent starvation, the possible annihilation of his entire race and his own forced absence from his nest—for who knew how long, decades at least. Now diapers too? Why, in his day, children didn’t even wear diapers. Come to think of it, they hadn’t in Damian’s day either. At least…he didn’t think they did. So how was it he could remember to think of all these details?

  By the time Conrad returned to the living room Damian was ensconced in one of the armchairs with the twins, freshly changed, reclining peacefully in his arms. He tried not to smirk when he realized Conrad had taken the time to carefully warm the blood and transfer it into two of the baby bottles they’d purchased when they’d first moved here, several weeks earlier. From the way Conrad had first reacted to the suggestion that he retrieve the blood from the dining room, Damian hadn’t been sure what to expect. But, as always, his old friend was full of surprises.

  “Here, take this.” Conrad held out one of the bottles to him. “And give me one of them.”

  Damian passed him one of the babies without comment, wondering if Conrad would ask which of them he’d been given. It was the boy, but would Conrad know that? Could he tell them apart yet? Did he even care?

  Conrad scrutinized the infant’s face for a moment but said nothing, merely took his seat in the empty armchair and settled the child in his arm.

  Though the babies were not identical they bore enough of a resemblance that it was still difficult to tell them apart with just a glance. The boy was quieter, graver, more thoughtful, a little more overtly determined. The girl seemed to have a livelier temperament. She was quicker to laugh, quicker to cry, somewhat easier to settle, but withal, equally as strong-willed as her brother.

  She waved her tiny fists in the air and mewled quietly. Her restless movements recalled Damian to the task at hand. Gently, he teased the child’s lips with the tip of the rubber nipple, watching spellbound as her little rosebud of a mouth opened and her tiny fangs extended. Her tongue lashed at the nipple, as though seeking for veins, then she latched onto the bottle and began to feed. Damian shook his head in bemusement. Instinct. It never failed to amaze him. How was it the children knew just what to do? He and Conrad were flying blind, stumbling along with almost nothing to guide their steps, but these infants—they had no doubts, no hesitation. They knew just what they needed, just how to get their own way…with at least one of the two adults in whose care they found themselves.

  Damian had no idea how Conrad felt, but he himself was hopelessly smitten. Protecting the twins was second nature to him now, as natural as breathing. And all for no reason that he could easily identify. By rights, he should hate them and resent their very existence, even if they were directly responsible for his current change in station.

  When he’d first realized Conrad did not intend to destroy the infants, as should have been done, Damian had been shocked and appalled. He’d been horrified by the danger Conrad was choosing to place himself in, at the danger in which he’d placed the entire nest, by his actions. His first impulse was to run as far and as fast as he could, to hide himself and wait for the inevitable storm to blow over. But Conrad had appealed to him for help and that was exactly the opportunity for which Damian had been waiting. A chance for redemption. A way to finally begin to work himself back into Conrad’s good graces—into his home, into his heart perhaps. And someday, God willing, maybe even back into his bed.

  It was the first such chance that had presented itself in over one hundred years. Given how unlikely it was that Conrad would survive this foolishness, even with Damian’s help, it would also very probably be the last. So, dangerous and foolhardy or not, Damian had no choice but to jump at it, to seize the opportunity and prove to Conrad that Damian’s loyalty—and his love—was still his for the asking.

  His victory was bittersweet. The situation Damian soon found himself in only served to underscore how very far he’d fallen in Conrad’s estimation, how little his loyalty, his love, or even his well-being seemed to matter anymore.

  Not that he should have been surprised. Why, look how quick Conrad had been to risk Damian’s life by asking for his aid in the first place! And he hadn’t even blinked when Damian had stipulated they not be lovers. If Damian had been hoping Conrad would protest Damian’s decision to keep himself out of Conrad’s bed, that he might beg for a return to their previous intimacy, he�
�d have been sorely disappointed. Even the speed with which Damian had agreed to throw in with Conrad, the way he’d immediately dropped everything he’d been doing for the chance to put himself once again at Conrad’s beck and call, had earned him no praise, no gratitude. Conrad hadn’t even seemed particularly pleased by Damian’s alacrity. Perhaps he thought it no more than what was owed him as Damian’s sire?

  A brooding silence settled over the room, broken only by the small, sucking noises of the children. Damian waited, biding his time, gauging his companion’s mood, finally asking, “So have you given any more thought to what you might want to name the children?”

  Conrad sighed. “How is it you are not yet tired of the subject? How many times must I repeat myself? What’s the point of giving them names when it’s by no means certain they’ll live long enough to even use them?”

  “Conrad,” Damian chided softly. “There’s nothing in life that’s truly certain, is there? Does that mean we should never hope for the best? How is one to live like that? What chance have we to succeed at anything if we can’t even—”

  “Stop it,” Conrad growled angrily, cutting him off. “You sound like a child yourself when you talk like that. Do not speak to me of hope. It’s one of life’s cruelest jests, the most dangerous, destructive emotion that could ever exist. To live without hope is precisely what we should be attempting to do—especially at a time like this.”

  Damian stared at him. “Live without hope?” How did one even survive without hope, without some faint belief that tomorrow might yet prove better than today? He’d rather kill himself. If he had to resign himself to the idea that even eternity would not be long enough to make Conrad love him again, if he had to give up his belief that, together, the two of them could accomplish anything, even this, what would be the point of even waking up on the morrow? “You can’t mean that.”

  “Why should I not mean it, when doing anything else is to court disaster? How many men have clung to false hopes and so wasted their lives, holding out for a dream that was no more than a chimera—and dying miserably because they’d refused to resign themselves to the reality of their condition?”

  Damian shook his head. “I have no answer for that. But I do know I’d rather count myself in their number than attempt what you’re suggesting.”

  Conrad sighed. “Has it really not occurred to you, my friend, how foolish we both are for even attempting this venture? Or how infinitesimally small are our chances of succeeding with it? Not just because of the endless need for secrecy and the constant possibility we’ll be called upon to fend off attacks, perhaps even kill those we’d once thought of as friends. Merely keeping the children alive will take a miracle.”

  Damian chuckled. “More like a series of miracles. I consider it quite an accomplishment we haven’t killed them already—with all the best of intentions.”

  Conrad eyed him bleakly. “Do not celebrate that victory just yet. The decision to put them out of their misery might still have to be made.”

  “What?” Damian felt the blood drain from his face. His pulse began to pound. He clutched the girl in his arms a little more tightly. “No. Conrad, you-you can’t. Don’t even say such things.”

  “I will not allow them to suffer unduly. I tell you this now, Damian, and make no mistake for I will not change my mind. If it becomes apparent to me that our mishandling of them has gone too far, that we ourselves are endangering them or that our ignorance has caused them irreparable harm, I will have no choice but to end this…experiment.”

  “Stop it.” Damian swallowed hard. He did not like where this conversation was headed. Time to return it to his original point. “I believe you may have misunderstood me, querido. I was not giving the credit for their continued survival to either of us, but to the children themselves. I believe it is their own will to live that is keeping them alive—even with all of our ‘ignorant mishandling’ of them, to use your own words. And for that valiant struggle, if for no other reason, they deserve the dignity of a name. It is far too easy otherwise to discount what they have accomplished.” It was far too easy to talk of ending them. “You owe it to them to call them something.”

  Conrad didn’t answer right away. He gazed pensively at the child in his arms and Damian, with equal intensity, and more than a little fear, gazed at him. The minutes ticked steadily by. “Marcus,” Conrad murmured after a little while had passed. There was a note of finality in his tone.

  Damian frowned. “What’s that?”

  Conrad smiled fleetingly, a somewhat sheepish expression on his face. “Marcus Maximilian. I thought it would make a good name for my…for my ‘grandson’ here. What do you think?”

  So, he did know which twin he held. Damian felt weak and almost giddy with relief. He smiled. “Bueno. I like it very much. We can call him Marc, for short.” He nodded at the girl. “What about this one?”

  “I thought…Augusta, perhaps?”

  Damian studied the little girl he held, still greedily attacking her meal. Poor child, she deserved to be called something far prettier than that. “It’s certainly an unusual name,” he answered diplomatically. “Especially in this day and age. But it’s not particularly modern, which might cause comment. What on earth put it in your head anyway?”

  Conrad shrugged. “It was my mother’s name.”

  “Was it?” Should I have known that? Damian wracked his brain in an attempt to remember, but in five hundred years, he was almost certain this was the first time he’d ever heard Conrad speak of such a thing. Perhaps this was yet another sign he was mellowing with age? “Well then, why not give it to her as a middle name? Surely that would be better, don’t you think? That way, we can call her by something that, while not as special, would be less likely to cause awkward questions as to how she came by it.”

  An expression of grim amusement curled Conrad’s lips. “If you’ve another name in mind, my dear, why do you not simply tell me what it is and have done with it?”

  “Are you asking for my opinion in this?” It wasn’t the first time he’d done so—not exactly, anyway—but Damian was still getting used to this new Conrad who did more than issue orders and announce decrees, who occasionally took someone else’s opinion into consideration and even asked for things as well, things like assistance, thoughts, advice.

  Conrad seemed to hesitate—as though he found the concept strange as well. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Since it appears likely you’ll be using their names as much as I, it seems only fair that you at least be allowed to offer suggestions.”

  “Very true. So I should be. And, that being the case…I was thinking that Juliet was a very pretty name, especially when shortened to Julie, and romantic besides.”

  Conrad frowned. “I’ve never understood that. What’s so romantic about flouting your family’s traditions, defying your parents’ wishes and then killing yourself when it all goes horribly wrong—as anyone might have predicted it would?”

  “Well, nothing, if you put it that way,” Damian answered crossly. “But, risking everything, or perhaps even dying for love’s sake? Is that not the essence of romanticism?” Was that not exactly what Damian was doing now? What he’d done countless times over the centuries? But perhaps Conrad didn’t see it like that. Would he ever?

  “Very well.” Conrad turned his attention back to the child he was feeding. “Marc and Julie they shall be. And now at least that subject’s settled.”

  “Is it?” Damian blinked in surprise. Given Conrad’s unenthusiastic reaction, Damian had assumed he’d intended to reject the name.

  Conrad glanced sharply at him, his expression annoyed. “Unless you’ve some other objection to make?”

  “N-no.” Damian shook his head. “It’s just… I mean, well, what about their surname? We haven’t discussed that yet. It really wouldn’t do to give them yours, I suppose?”

  “No.” Conrad grimaced. “Not if we’re ever to have any hope of one day convincing the rest of our people that I’d no connec
tion to them, prior to turning them.”

  Damian bit his lip to keep from smiling. So, it seemed they were allowed to have a little hope after all. Bueno. “Well then? What are you thinking? I assume you have something else in mind.”

  “Fischer.” Conrad shrugged briefly. “After their mother. It’s on their birth certificates already anyway, so I see no reason to change it. And it seems the least I can do to honor her memory. I just wish I could do more.”

  “What more could anyone ask of you?” Damian protested. “You’ve already committed yourself to keeping your promise to her, which many would not have done, and at great personal risk. You’re caring for her children as if they were your own.”

  Conrad shrugged again. “Aren’t they though? In a way? You can’t deny it was I who made them what they are. It’s my blood running through their veins.”

  And through mine as well, thought Damian. “But is it safe to give them a name that would still allow people to connect them to you through her? I know we’ve still a ways to go before we reach that bridge, but surely it’s best to begin to prepare for it now?”

  “It’s safe enough, I’d imagine. It’s not a particularly uncommon name and since she was no longer even using it herself when I knew her, I doubt it’s a connection anyone of my acquaintance will ever think to make.”

  “Bueno. Then I guess we really have settled it.”

  “Yes.” Conrad sighed. “May God have mercy on their souls. And who knows? Perhaps, if we’re really lucky, once we actually do reach this bridge of which you speak, we’ll be able to safely navigate our way across and not find ourselves being thrown off of it instead.”