by Alex Kidwell
He took Randall to the outer east edge, leading him to the path that started a winding trail through the growing vines that twisted over trellises. It was not yet fully dark, the sinking sun lending an orange glow to the light.
“This is absolutely lovely, Victor,” Randall breathed, his fingers going out to trail along the petals of the gardenia bush they passed. “It’s like something out of a book.”
“My mother loved it here. Every time I was here during school break, it seemed she would spend half her time in the garden,” Victor replied. “She was very careful to cull out the ones I was allergic to. I unfortunately wouldn’t know a cactus from a Venus flytrap.”
Randall stooped down, studying the flowers that lined the path. The broad purple petals were spread out gracefully against dark-green leaves, and Randall seemed to choose one carefully, picking it and standing again. He tucked the flower into the buttonhole of Victor’s jacket. “This is not a Venus flytrap,” he informed Victor, teasing. “It’s an iris. You have so many out here, they’re like a carpet of color. It’s beautiful.”
“I didn’t know what they were,” Victor said, peering at the flower in his jacket. He laughed softly, pulling Randall in tighter against his side. “Apt, I suppose. My mother’s name was Iris.”
Randall pressed a kiss to his jaw. “We’ll put vases full of them everywhere in the house. It’ll make the whole place smell like out here.”
Randall was making plans for the house. That made Victor smile to himself, though he didn’t comment on it out loud. What they had was still tentative in many ways, and he didn’t want to force Randall to stand by or discard those words. Instead, he just took Randall down a bend in the path toward the roses.
The roses were probably the part of the garden that Victor liked the most. There was every shade of rose imaginable planted together in clusters of color, framed with low-lying bushes to line the sides of the paths. In the middle of the circle where the paths came together there was a fountain, one that Victor hadn’t switched on for some time, depicting a full-blooded medusa of old, her fierce gaze looking north, the stone snakes that made up her hair looking like they would come alive at any second.
“I always hated this thing.” Victor chuckled as they stood at the base of it. “It used to make me fear that my hair would do that, no matter how much my parents reassured me it wouldn’t. It always made me glad that I did not spend much time here when I was growing up—sometimes I would look out my bedroom window and I could swear that the statue was looking at me.”
Breathing out a quick laugh, Randall leaned forward, inspecting the statue. He pressed his glasses up farther on his nose in an absent gesture, his whole expression one of intent contemplation. “I didn’t know medusas could be men before I met you,” Randall said lowly, musing as he circled the statue to see it from all angles. “They’re always shown like this, a powerful matriarch figure, her hair, the symbol of her femininity, literally alive and full of dangerous intent. It’s such a striking image, really. Taking back the traditional ideals of what women were in those times. I always was quite fond of them in myths. I thought they must be so lonely.”
Victor was so absorbed in listening to Randall speak that he forgot to reply in kind for a good few seconds once silence had settled in. “Medusas usually are women,” he agreed. “My grandfather and I are statistical outliers.” He settled a hand on Randall’s back, quite enjoying watching him study the statue. “I’m surprised you thought they were lonely. Most people thought they were monsters.”
“Most people believe I eat children.” Randall shrugged, head tipped back as he stared at the statue—meeting her blank stone eyes without fear, Victor realized. “I don’t believe in monsters. At least, I don’t believe it when the books tell me they are.”
“You’ve got more common sense than most, then.” Victor smiled. “Shall we continue? We’ve got half the garden to go yet, and the sun is setting fast.”
“That should be on my tombstone,” Randall hummed, taking Victor’s arm once again. “More common sense than most.”
“Only if you don’t die of something extraordinarily stupid,” Victor pointed out. “That would give contradicting messages.”
“Only if I do,” Randall decided with a laugh. “Here lies Randall Lewis. Dead of a toaster in the bathtub. He had more common sense than most.”
Victor had to bite back the urge to suggest that it might one day be Randall Lewis-Rathbone. The very idea of it, where it had once sunk dread into his stomach, now made a little spark of hope in his gut, an anticipation for a future where that might happen.
They next went into the west side of the garden, which was dedicated less to structure and more to chaotically growing wildflowers which twisted around each other to form a carpet of color. The flowers crept up the sides of statues and walls, only held back from dominating everything by the monthly prune the gardeners gave them.
“So,” Victor said, “about those eight other date ideas I have. Would you like to schedule another one?”
Randall tapped a finger to his lips, as if thinking very deeply. “Is it too forward to ask about your availability tomorrow? I have to work”—he looked extremely depressed by the very thought, some of the lightness fading back into worry—“but I should have a few hours free in the evening.”
“What about the weekend? Are you available then?” Victor asked.
“I asked for double shifts at both jobs,” Randall admitted, sounding disappointed. “The bills we have coming up…. I can’t afford them as it is. I need the hours.”
More than anything, Victor wanted to once again offer his money. He was living off the interest that accumulated in his accounts. He had more than enough money to easily pay for all the bills Randall was dealing with. He could, at the very least, give Randall a small amount to get him ahead of his current debts. But if he knew Randall, he knew Randall would never accept.
But then an idea began to form in the back of Victor’s mind, and he nearly started smiling from the simplicity of it. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? He would have to do this very gently.
“Well, I may be a bit busy tomorrow evening,” he apologized. “I’m due for a phone call with my research assistant, but they’re always late and manage to take up an hour more of my time than I had scheduled. But if we manage to get some free time together, I would love to do something with you.”
“Are you having them pull Galatas’s Evolution of Primal Fear? It’s incredibly boring, and please, don’t get me started on the accuracy of his sections on water nymphs and wartime signals, but he has several excellent firsthand accounts of what I am quite sure are early half-blooded medusas.” Victor was admittedly barely listening to the actual words. Randall’s entire face lit up when he talked like this, his hands moving as if words alone couldn’t capture what he was trying to express. “It talks about a small city in central Greece where there was a family whose women, it said, would steal the soul of their suitors. They’d have fits in the streets, and the men who came to ask for the daughters’ hands were all strangely empty afterward, some even dying. Galatas calls them witches, but he’s an idiot.”
Victor had had a better plan for attempting to offer Randall a job. Instead, it came out more suddenly than he’d anticipated. After a speech like that, how could Victor not immediately want Randall working by his side?
“If I offered you my research assistant job, would you want it?” Victor asked. “Please say yes. You are so much better than any other person I’ve looked at for the job.”
Randall stopped walking completely. “Me?” He was immediately shaking his head. “No, Victor, I’m not qualified. I’ve only two years of school. I don’t even have a degree. You need someone with far more experience.”
“I need someone who is interested in the work,” Victor insisted. “I need someone who wants to be there, not some undergrad who spends most of his time chewing gum and texting. Randall, you would be absolutely perfect for the job. The pay would only be
a little better than what you’re getting now, but I would give the job to you in a heartbeat if you said yes.”
Randall slid his glasses off, fiddling with the earpieces. It was a nervous habit, Victor had noticed, one that he used when he was stalling for time to think. “Is this because we’re sleeping together?” Randall finally asked, a frown creasing his forehead. “Or because you think you have to? Because I really don’t want to compromise your work over… whatever feelings you might have about it. You don’t have an obligation to me. What you’re doing is far too important for that.”
Victor sniffed, a little insulted at the insinuation. “I can promise you that I would be one hundred percent professional during office hours,” he replied. “The work is important. I’m hardly going to play grabby hands in the middle of research.”
Randall lifted an eyebrow. “One hundred percent?” he asked, a very slow smile starting to curve one corner of his mouth. “Now that just sounds dull, professor.”
“I might be willing to negotiate it down to ninety percent, if you took the job,” Victor bargained. “But if you didn’t want our relationship to affect the work, then yes, I would keep my hands to myself. I promise.”
“I think I could live with ninety percent.” Clearly making a decision, Randall nodded, putting his glasses back on and smiling at Victor. “Yes. Yes, let’s… do that. I’ll be your research assistant.”
“Good.” That single word didn’t express how relieved Victor was—both for Randall’s sake and for the sake of his own research—but he found he couldn’t come up with any better right then. “Excellent. When can you start?”
“Well, I hear that you have a meeting scheduled tomorrow,” Randall said with a sly look over at Victor. “Perhaps I should prepare a few things for that?”
Victor took Randall’s arm again, and they started walking through the rest of the garden, slowly making their way back to the mansion. “Then I suppose I should make a phone call to my old assistant,” he mused. “Since I have a far better one coming along.”
“And I think I need to quit my jobs.” Randall stopped, pulling Victor to a halt as well, as if the realization had just hit him. “Oh my God, I get to quit my jobs.” The relief on Randall’s face seemed to take ages of worry away from him. “I can throw out the apron. And the name badge.”
“And I believe you’ll find I’m a lenient boss,” Victor offered. “If you need to take time to be with Anthony for his appointments, you’re more than welcome to. In fact, I’ll insist upon it.” Though he knew he wasn’t explicitly part of the family yet, Victor couldn’t help but worry at the idea of Anthony going to the hospital alone. Hospitals were lonely places, even when surrounded by people going through the same situation as you.
“You wouldn’t come with us?” Again Randall paused, this time turning to face Victor, the dying sunlight bathing his skin in gold and ruby. Quieter, Randall moved a step closer, their entwined fingers brought up to rest against Randall’s heart. “I would understand if you didn’t want to. But if you think that I wouldn’t rather have you there, Victor, you’re wrong.”
“I’ll come with you.” Victor was surprised to realize he genuinely meant it. Not even that long ago, the idea of integrating with Randall’s family had seemed something scary. Now he wanted to be there for them. He wanted to sit in the waiting room and bring bad coffee to Randall.
“Well, then.” The words were said lightly, but Victor could see the relief in Randall’s smile, the way he moved closer still, sharing Victor’s warmth, the soft breaths mingling between them. “It is a very good thing my boss is willing to give me the time off.”
Arm in arm, they exited the gardens. The mansion seemed looming in the not-quite darkness, but there were lights on inside, more windows lit up than there had been in years. He could see Anthony and Edwin going through the front door, Anthony’s arm looped over Edwin’s shoulders, their body language easy and relaxed.
For the first time in a long time, the mansion felt like home.
THE NEXT day seemed to blur between chaos and stillness. To Victor, it felt like highs and lows crashing from one to the other—first the high of Randall starting his first official work day, the way they meshed so easily together making Victor unable to stop smiling. Then the low of accompanying Randall and Anthony to Anthony’s hospital visit, the weight of watching Randall’s shoulders grow tenser and tenser in anxiety.
After that, the mixed relief and resignation when Anthony came out: not worse, but not better either.
They took Edwin to the nearby shops to buy enough food for all of them, and the sheer amount they wound up with left Victor wondering if he had enough fridge space. The whole time, he’d noticed Randall and Anthony eyeing the prices of things, wincing when they thought something was too expensive before putting it back. Every time, Victor then picked up what they’d discarded and declared that he was buying it for himself. If they tried to complain, Victor put on a huffy host act, insisting that his very soul would be dishonored if they didn’t let him spoil them.
Dinner and a peaceful night passed, and the next day there was no hospital visit. Victor spent several hours properly showing the Lewises around the mansion. Edwin’s favorite room was one on the far west side that hadn’t been used in decades. It had once belonged to great-grandfather Sir Milton Braxton, and the room contained nothing but two dozen sets of armor on mannequins. Anthony had particularly liked the workshop at the end of one hallway, and had spent a long time looking at the old wood-carving tools.
Victor had guessed correctly that Randall’s favorite would be the library. Long after Anthony and Edwin had wandered off to go collapse on the couch, Randall had meandered around the library, entranced, sometimes devoting half an hour to a single shelf.
When Victor had shown him the antique books, Randall looked like he might have a heart attack then and there. He studied the books in their glass cases like they were the finest treasures, which pleased Victor to no end. Not many other people he’d known had the same appreciation for such things.
He and Randall slowly learned how they fit into each other’s lives. Randall washed the dishes; Victor dried. Victor retrieved the books from the shelves; Randall marked them at the appropriate pages. Randall, as Victor had known he would be, was the best research assistant Victor could possibly hope for.
Anthony rested a lot. Edwin went back and forth between being content to slouch in front of the television to raising hell around the mansion, tearing through hallways so fast that all anybody ever saw was a blur of wolf. Anthony joined him on the days he was feeling better, though at a somewhat more sedate pace. The wolves bickered over dinner and took up all the hot water, then thoughtfully repaired old cracks in the walls and cleaned out the garden shed.
Three days into their stay, Victor offered both Anthony and Edwin employment opportunities. Anthony loved driving and Victor hated it, so it seemed a match made in heaven, and Anthony had been only too happy to take the job. He’d found the cupboard in the service quarters that held some very old uniforms and had walked around the whole day with a driver’s cap on.
To Edwin, Victor offered a gardening job. The previous day he had noticed Edwin absently strolling among the gardens and plucking off old leaves that needed to be pruned. Though Edwin couldn’t name most of the plants in the gardens, he seemed to know how to treat them nonetheless, and the prospect of a job where he didn’t have to work cooped up inside had made Edwin beam.
Four days into the Lewises’ stay, Victor had to do something other than sit at home and research.
“Randall,” he called. Hidden away behind one of the massive shelves in his library, Victor had no clue where Randall was in the room, as all he could see was his possibly too large collection of historic texts. “I’m going to go by my office today, if you’d like to come along?”
Edwin, in wolf form, leapt over the desk and scurried away, tail wagging. It had been raining for the past two days, which meant Edwin had been force
d to entertain himself inside, as Anthony couldn’t stand it when Edwin shook water everywhere, and Victor absolutely forbid him from it. Edwin had taken to sniffing absolutely everything in the house and giving them all detailed rundowns of what he thought used to happen in each room. Apparently this was his day on the third floor. “Edwin.” Victor despaired. “Please don’t knock over my work. I just got it in order.”
It was the full moon tonight. Victor had learned in his time with the pack that in most cases, wolves didn’t seem to feel the effects of it strongly until late afternoon. Edwin, however, always marching to the beat of his own drum, had been buzzed since the moment he’d gotten up.
Edwin just gave him a wolfy grin, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he trotted off to sniff the windows. Victor got up from behind the desk to stretch and check to make sure his tower of notes hadn’t gotten pushed out of order. Randall had apparently taken up space in a huge armchair in the far corner, volumes with brilliantly colored sticky notes poking from their pages scattered around him.
“What?” Randall said, eyebrow raised, an enormous book spread out in his lap. “Are you feeling a little claustrophobic in here with all us big, bad wolves?”
Victor just smirked a little to himself. Yesterday the two of them had sneaked outside alone. They’d deliberately forgotten Victor’s rule about not going out into the rain so that they didn’t track it inside, and Victor had forgotten his usual hatred of dirt and twigs in favor of spending some time with Randall in the forest. Randall had jokingly suggested that perhaps Victor was afraid of the big, bad wolf, and it had led to a rather entertaining chase through the trees, ending with both of them muddy, soaked through, and satisfied.
“I need to pick up some mail from there, and speak to some of the other professors,” Victor replied. Randall had something of a point, though. As much as Victor liked having company, it was difficult going from a house that had been empty for years to a house with rambunctious wolves. “I thought you might like to see where I work.”
