Now Comes the Night

by P. G. Forte

  “You mean let them die, don’t you?” Marc glared at him. “That’s what you’re really saying. You know what would happen to them if I just walked away. They’d be dead inside of a month.”

  “Don’t exaggerate,” Conrad said. “You get that from your uncle, I fear. No one’s suggesting you walk away entirely. I gave you use of the warehouse. I’ve warned everyone that, as long as the ferals behave themselves, they’re to be left alone. I’ve given you my word. What have I ever done to make you doubt me like this? All Damian is suggesting, I believe, is that you limit your interaction to what others might perceive as ‘normal.’”

  “That’s bullshit and we both know it. What everyone perceives as ‘normal’ is for me not to interact with them at all. How long do you think they’ll be able to ‘behave themselves’ if no one’s there every day to help them do it? I’m not blind. I understand why people want them dead. I’ve seen how crazy they can get on their own. Why do you think I came to you in the first place? Why do you think I wanted your help?”

  “So you would choose to promote their safety over that of your sister?” Damian asked.

  “Oh, don’t go dragging Julie into this,” Marc snapped angrily. “That’s not what I’m saying. Besides, she’s still got the two of you, doesn’t she? Not to mention the whole damn nest, to protect her. If we’re really in that much danger you should have told us both years ago. You had no right to keep this from us.”

  “I had every right,” Conrad said. “As I’ve already told you. It’s about time you realize that! It falls to me to make whatever decisions need to be made for all of you, to me and to no one else. I did what I thought was best.”

  “Yeah?” Marc’s face was grim as he met Conrad’s eyes. “Well, guess what? That’s exactly what I’m going to do now too. Fuck this limiting my interaction with the ferals crap. That’s not how it’s going down. As a matter of fact, I’m out of here. I’m moving into the warehouse full-time, if they’ll even have me after the way I failed them. That way everyone’ll be happy and you two can both relax. I won’t be here to endanger Julie. I won’t be around for anyone to notice how much like a freak I’m acting. You can put your heads together and spin whatever kind of story you want to explain it. I don’t care.”

  “No!” Damian half-rose from his seat. His face was white, strained with worry. “Marc, you can’t do that. You need to stay here—where it’s safe. Have you learned nothing from losing your eye? I did not bring you here so you could place yourself in harm’s way. And I certainly didn’t risk my life all these years caring for you and your sister just so you could throw yours away.”

  “My life, Damian,” Marc snapped. “Do you even hear yourself? It’s my life—just like you said. That makes it my choice.”

  “Oh, do you think so? Well, let me tell you something, chico. That might work in the human world, but you have never been part of that world. In our world, things do not work that way. It’s past time you came to terms with your nature.”

  “What nature is that? The one you’ve lied to me about my whole life?”

  “Enough!” Conrad put a hand on Damian’s arm, urging him back in his seat. “Let it go,” he said quietly, as though either of them had any other choice. “Don’t fuss so much, caro. Perhaps Marc has a point. Maybe, for the time being, he would be better off somewhere else.”

  Damian gasped in shock. “What are you saying?”

  Conrad shrugged. “I’m saying… Sometimes little birds need to stretch their wings.” It was as foolish a statement as he’d ever uttered, but sometimes a lie was kinder and easier than the truth. Often, in fact. “It will be all right. You’ll see.”

  The truth was generally far more complicated, far more dangerous, and not at all reassuring. All his attempts at compelling Marc, at forcing him back into line, had failed and Conrad did not know why. Perhaps he was still far weaker than he’d realized. Or maybe it was Marc who had changed, who had grown inexplicably stronger in the past few weeks. Stronger than anyone yet suspected. Too strong perhaps. Either way, it was not exactly good news, and his inner beast was not taking it well. It had begun to view Marc through a new lens, one previously reserved for enemies, other Invitus and threats to his well-being. Not good news at all. “I’m going to allow you to try this your own way, Marc—for now. But I’m warning you, you must take care. Watch out for yourself. Protect yourself. Now that you know what’s at stake, I expect you to use that knowledge wisely. I will not stand for your endangering yourself or your sister needlessly.” Although what he thought he could do to stop him was far from clear.

  Marc nodded agreement. “I’d never do anything to hurt Julie. You know that. But don’t start pretending you’re doing me any favors—either of you. I’m the one who should be mad here, you know. I’m the one who’s been lied to after all.”

  “Lied to!” Damian laughed scornfully. “Ay, Dios mio. Listen to the child! Niño. ¡Háblame! Por favor. When were you ever lied to?”

  Conrad shook his head, holding tight to his temper. “A lie of omission now and then, perhaps, Marc, but only for your own good. And we were—and still are—well within our rights. So do not expect us to apologize. Just, go. Quickly now, before I change my mind. This conversation is trying my patience.”

  Marc stood, his face uncertain. Perhaps he recognized the strain Conrad was under. Perhaps he wanted to do something about it. That, too, would not be good news.

  Damian bit his lip and looked at Conrad. “Querido, won’t you reconsider? I fear you’re being a trifle hasty. Perhaps—”

  “No.” Conrad silenced him with a sharp glance and a shake of his head. “I’ve made up my mind. This changes nothing,” he told Marc. “I assume you both understand that? If not, let me make it more clear. This is still your home, Marc, and we are still your family. But, for now…it might not be a bad thing for you to keep your distance from the nest.” It might, in fact, be the only thing that would save them both. “I will let it be thought that I’m displeased with you, although—” He held up his hand to forestall Damian’s inevitable dissent. “Yes, Damian, obviously, not so displeased that I would countenance any harm coming to him. That’s understood. Hopefully, this should serve to take some attention off of you, Marc, and allow you to go your own way unobserved.” It was the lesser of two evils, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t also a mistake. He could only hope for that. “Off with you now. If you delay very much longer, your uncle here will likely be reduced to tears at the thought of losing his little boy and then I will be forced to spend most of what’s left of the night in futile attempts at comforting him.”

  Marc nodded, cast a last, reluctant look at Damian and left. As the door closed behind him, Damian turned to Conrad, eyebrows raised. It was an expression of extreme annoyance with which Conrad was well acquainted. Usually, he did what he could to avoid it. Right now he welcomed it. “Forced to comfort me? Is that how you think of it?”

  Conrad smiled. His relief at being back on familiar ground was huge, even if the ground in question was more than a little rocky. And teasing Damian out of a bad mood was not without its rewards. “Come, my dear, you did not expect me to admit the truth—that it will more likely be the other way around—did you? I must think of my position, after all.”

  “I could think of some positions for you.”

  “I’m sure you can.” Laughing, Conrad pulled him close. “And I can’t wait to hear all about them.”

  “Oh, you’re impossible,” Damian sighed, tipping his head back obligingly as Conrad’s lips sought his throat. “Conrad…I’ve a question. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you about.”

  “There’s a surprise,” Conrad replied wryly. “What is it this time?”

  “You know I never understood why you became so upset when Marc attempted to starve himself, but now, after listening to you tonight… Was it because of his mother?”

  Conrad straightened up with a sigh, his appetite gone. “I suppose, in a way, it cut too close t
o home. I couldn’t stand the idea of her sacrifice going for naught, of her son throwing away his life, throwing away everything she’d given him, after all she’d gone through.”

  Damian nodded. “I understand.”

  Conrad hesitated. “No, my dear,” he said at last. “I’m afraid you don’t. I know I’ve never told you very much about Invitus, about how we’re created, but a certain level of starvation is a critical part of the process. Repeated deprivation right at the start, while our new nature is still being formed and we’re at our most malleable, is crucial to our development. It’s that struggle for sustenance, the fight to survive, day after day, meal after meal, that makes us stronger, tougher, crueler. It hardens us and helps make us the monsters that we are.”

  “And you were worried something like that would happen to Marc? But why? Surely there’s more involved? It can’t be so simple, to become…well, what you are.”

  “There’s nothing simple about it at all!”

  “Exactly. Then since it was so unlikely, so very nearly impossible, why would you worry?”

  “Because the twins’ very existence is unlikely! If we’d been talking about anyone else, I would not have been the slightest bit concerned. But who’s to know what might happen with an Infragilis? Can you imagine the disaster that could result if the two somehow combined? I couldn’t take the risk.”

  “No, that’s true.” Damian sighed. “You couldn’t, could you? I do wish you’d have told me some of this sooner. It would have helped so much.”

  “How could I have told you? You know I’d vowed never to speak of it with anyone. You know the consequences. I’ve endangered your life by sharing even this much with you.”

  Damian grimaced. “Ah, well, it’s not the first time you’ve done that though, is it? Given the circumstances, I think I’d rather take the chance. This task we’ve taken on is difficult enough without all these secrets complicating things between us.”

  Conrad nodded. “You’re right. We are partners, after all, in this madness. Despite the additional danger, I should have told you…something.” Not everything, of course. Surely there was no need for that. He just hoped what he had said had been enough and not left too late. But as to that, only time would tell.

  Chapter Twenty

  Contradictory thoughts and conflicting emotions warred within Marc’s mind as he left Conrad’s house. Unwilling to wait for the guard to open the gate at the main entrance, he pushed through the smaller side gate instead and nearly barreled into Julie who was on her way in. “Marc? What’s going on? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He glanced up and down the block, looking to see if anyone else was around. He should pull her aside right now and tell her what he’d learned. He should make sure she understood the danger they were in. But the look in her eyes stopped him cold. Hypocrite that he was, he couldn’t do it. Despite everything he’d just argued to the contrary, he couldn’t stand the thought of taking her innocence. “Everything’s fine. Same as always, right?”

  “I guess. Are you going out again? I hardly ever see you anymore. Can’t you stay for awhile?”

  “Can’t. Sorry. I’ve got a lot of stuff going on right now.” That was an understatement! “Listen, Jules, you’re being careful when you go out, aren’t you? I don’t like the idea of your being out there on your own. I know you don’t like the clubs, but maybe you should take someone with you when you hit the streets. Damian, perhaps. Or, you know, you could maybe think about eating in more.”

  Julie blinked in surprise. “Since when do you worry about stuff like that?”

  “I’m not worried. I just think you should be careful, you know?”

  “Are you sure everything’s okay? Because you’re starting to scare me a little.”

  Great. Exactly what he didn’t want. Marc took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Sure, everything’s fine. Just be careful, okay? I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Marc turned away from the questions in his sister’s eyes, but he could not escape from his thoughts. As he headed up the block, his mind immediately resumed its battle. He was furious with Conrad for having put him in this situation. Furious with Damian for colluding with him. Furious with himself for…too many reasons to count.

  He hated that he’d been lied to, hated that he hadn’t had the guts to tell Julie the truth either. That made him just as big a liar as those who’d lied to him. He hated how disappointed he felt. Conrad had let him down. It was the last thing Marc had anticipated and it hurt worse than anything else, and yet…

  And yet at the same time, he also felt as though somehow he was the one at fault, the one who’d somehow let his grandfather down, instead of the other way around.

  How many times had he felt that way growing up? How many times had he felt as though the bar had been set too high, as though he could never live up to all the expectations Conrad had for him? Now, at least, he knew the reason for that feeling, he really couldn’t have lived up to them. Ever. Conrad and Damian thought him something special. He knew himself to be anything but.

  Disgusted with the trend his thoughts were taking, he pushed them away, but more flooded in to take their place. How dare they keep this information secret from him all these years? How dare they sit there now and profess concern for him, all the while attempting to manipulate him into giving up his friends? How dare Conrad refuse to help him, after all the promises he’d made, weeks ago, that he’d do everything in his power to aid him with the ferals? Not that Marc even wanted his help. Which only made things worse—because he should have wanted his help.

  The last thing Marc had actually wanted to have to do was to cede over control of the ferals—not to Conrad and not to anyone else. That was partially why he’d waited so long to approach Conrad in the first place. He liked having them all to himself, liked being the one they looked up to, the one they respected, the one who helped them. They were his, damn it. He’d saved them, he’d claimed them, and he wanted everyone to know it. But it couldn’t just be about him. He knew that too. He had to give them what they needed, not just what he wanted them to have. Much as it pained him to admit it, what they needed was Conrad, or someone just like him, a leader strong enough, smart enough and experienced enough to keep them safe.

  Sure, he could keep trying to fool himself, pretending he could be that for them. He could stay and try his best and maybe postpone the inevitable a little while longer. Sooner or later the truth would come out and when it did, he wouldn’t be a bit surprised when they lost whatever faith they had in him and left.

  The warehouse was quiet and dark when he got there. It felt deserted. For a moment, he wondered if it was. Perhaps, somehow, the ferals had already gotten the news of his failure and had cleared out, left him to fend for himself. Then his senses reasserted themselves and he realized that all of his little family was still at home, safe and sound, just where he’d left them. It was only the humans, who should also have been there, who were missing.

  “You’re back!” Heather ran to greet him as soon as he pushed the door open. “Where were you? I was starting to get worried.”

  “I had an errand to run,” Marc answered, eyeing the cut-glass cup in her hand with more than a little curiosity. “What’s that you’re drinking?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized how stupid they must sound. It was blood, obviously. What else would it be? But why from a glass? “Where is everybody?” Certainly it was late enough in the evening for at least a few humans to have shown up. “What have you done with them?”

  “Relax, dude,” Nighthawk said, as he joined them. He carried two more cups, one of which he handed to Marc. “It’s Christmas Eve. All the good little humans are likely safe at home, tucked in their beds and waiting for Santa, same as every year. But this one—” he nodded at Heather, “—still wanted to party. So me and some of the guys went out and robbed a blood bank and knocked over a coupla thrift stores. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Marc glared. “You d
id what?”

  “Come and see,” Heather urged. She grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him deeper into the warehouse. “They even got trees!”

  “I’m just kidding about the robbery thing,” Nighthawk confided as he fell into step beside Marc. “We did hit the hospital up for a few small withdrawals, but we covered our tracks and our asses and no one got hurt, ‘kay?”

  Marc barely heard him, his attention caught by the small forest of pine trees that had sprung up in the center of the warehouse, all of them decorated with an odd mix of ornaments that shimmered and glowed in the low light filtering in from the windows set high on the warehouse’s outer walls. The couches had been drawn up close together, to form a circle within the ring of trees and, in the middle of that circle, stood a folding table topped with stacks of cups and a large, matching punch bowl filled with blood. “Where did all this come from?”

  “Thrift stores, like I said,” Nighthawk answered. “But it’s all legit. They were selling most of the stuff off cheap ‘cause of the holiday. And we didn’t steal nuthin’ but the blood. Not even the trees. Those were all leftovers that had been thrown out.”

  “Oh,” Marc said faintly. “Okay. Well, it looks great. Good job everyone.” He gazed at all the expectant faces turned his way and mentally kicked himself for his lousy timing. Christmas Eve. Damn it, he’d completely forgotten what day it was. He felt like the Grinch now, dropping in just in time to steal the Whos’ Christmas. Perfect.

  “What’s wrong, Marc?” Heather asked frowning up at him. “You’re frowning. Don’t you like it?”

  “She wanted a party,” Nighthawk repeated. “You said I should give her what she wanted, so that’s what I did.”