That must be what Lucy tried telling me yesterday — what my dreams have been telling me. “It happened in this room, didn’t it?”
“What makes you say that?” she asks.
“I’ve been dreaming about it. Since my first night here, I’ve been seeing my father in this room. There.” I point to the desk. “He’s writing something on his arm, and someone attacks him from behind.”
James leans in. “Who?”
“I don’t know” — and it makes no sense to mention he died by my hand in one of those visions. I wasn’t even on the same continent at the time. “But am I right?”
James and Lucy exchange glances. “Micah did find your father’s remains down here,” she says. “It’s just bizarre you would have dreamt that.”
Dreams are the language of God. Is this what Micah was referring to? “Who does Micah think is responsible for killing him?”
“No one yet,” Lucy replies. “Micah didn’t want to jump to any conclusions unless there was solid evidence. As of now, nothing concrete has surfaced, and we can’t exactly call the police.”
“Who do you two think did it?”
“I haven’t a clue,” she remarks.
“Neither do I,” James confesses. “But it had to have been somebody he knew well, who had access to this house. And if it was a Disciple, the number of suspects is too small for my liking.”
We leave the study and ascend the spiral staircase to the top landing. James puts on his sunglasses and pulls on a latch in the wall. The stairwell floods with a blinding wave of sunlight, and I turn away, shielding my sensitive eyes. The smell of parchment and aged leather enters my nostrils. Once my vision adjusts to the brightness, the white light dissolves into a vibrant array of colors, lines, and shapes, revealing the circular library.
Micah awaits us on the other side, a goblet of red wine in hand. He scowls as we emerge from the bookshelf passage. “Do you know what you have put your mum through these last several hours? Minerva called me when she landed in New York last night, hysterical, asking if Gabriel had collected you from the airport. Imagine my surprise.”
Crap. I should have messaged her. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head and takes a sip. “Be thankful you passed Anthony in the pasture last night. Had he not reported your safe whereabouts to me, your mum would be on the next plane back to London.”
“But she’s home, right? She’s okay?”
Micah nods. “She’s home.”
“Did Anthony tell you anything else?” James inquires.
“No. Why?” Micah’s eyes narrow “Should he have?”
“No,” he responds.
“Well then. Let’s put this incident behind us. James, I trust you’ve brought Manny up to speed with the nature of his father?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. So you must know what I am?” Micah asks.
“A Disciple?”
He beams with joy. “Yes. And you know what you are?”
“A Daemon.”
“Marvelous. Now, what questions do you have?”
“Well… no one’s told me how you all… got this way.”
“Who sired us, do you mean?”
“I guess so, if that’s what it’s called.”
Micah sighs. “Dear boy, I’m afraid that’s the one question I can’t fully answer. Disciples aren’t allowed to reveal the identity of their Sire without their Sire’s consent. It’s against the Afterliving’s rules.”
“Why?”
“Safety in anonymity. However, I can tell you who your father’s sire was. I am honored to say that it was me,” Micah states.
I think I pieced that much together on my own, but it’s nice to receive a direct answer for once. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Grandson, it is my pleasure. And I’m so glad everything is finally out in the open. Now, come and give your Grandsire a hug.” He extends his arms and receives me with a bone-crushing embrace, followed by a loud slurp of wine over my right shoulder.
“And because you’ve decided to stay, you’ll be needing these to get around.” Micah hands me a set of keys to one of the Phantoms. “I had Nicholas perform a maintenance check and fill the tank this morning. Everything should be in perfect working order.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course. It belonged to Isidore, so it’s practically yours. Why don’t you take it for a test drive? I’m sure Miss Weston would appreciate a ride home.”
“That would be nice,” Lucy replies.
“But do hurry back. There are pressing business matters that must be tended to this afternoon.”
“Sure,” I respond.
Lucy and I exit the library. “I’m surprised you didn’t have more to ask him,” she comments. “If I were you, my mind would be swimming with questions.”
“I’m still trying to process everything.”
Truth be told, the majority of questions I have are for my mother, and until I can recharge my phone, those will have to wait — so will an awkward conversation with Andrew.
When we step onto the front porch, my brain becomes bombarded by sounds, smells, and sights that are louder, sharper, and more defined than before: the scent of fresh grass, the distant bleating of Weston Acres sheep, the shimmer of morning dew on the maple trees peppering the lawn. It’s like my senses have been upgraded overnight.
But it’s different once we enter the Phantom. Its heavy metal shell and thick glass windows work together to form a type of sensory deprivation chamber, soothing to my current state of hyper-stimulation.
“How do you feel?” Lucy asks.
“Normal, I guess. But not normal normal.”
“How do you mean?”
“Everything seems…better? More real? I can’t explain it.”
She nods. “James told me the longer you’re off your pills, the sharper your instincts become.”
“What did he say they were again? Silver something?”
“Silver Salt.”
“And what is that?”
“Silver Salt’s kind of like moonshine. It’s a derivative of Moon Silver, and Moon Silver is one of the strongest weapons you can use against a Disciple, second to a wooden stake, of course.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because Moon Silver was one of the materials used to make the weapon that killed Christ.”
“I thought Jesus died on a cross.”
“He did, but he didn’t die from crucifixion. He was stabbed in the heart by a Roman soldier, and that weapon, the Spear of Destiny, was what ultimately ended his life.”
“And the spear was made of Moon Silver?”
“Yes. Moon Silver and wood.”
“Oh. So is that where the myth of killing vampires with wooden stakes comes from?”
“Precisely. But it’s not a myth. It’s very much reality. While we’re on the subject, how much do you know about vampires?”
“Not a whole lot. Just the basics. They drink blood.”
“Yes.”
“They’re immortal, unless you stake them or chop off their heads.”
“You’re half right. Beheading them is more of an inconvenience than a death sentence. What else?”
“They don’t cast a reflection.”
Lucy laughs. “Completely untrue, but go on.”
“I would say they hate crosses, but I’m guessing that’s also untrue.”
“Very good. Now what about how a vampire is created, or sired, as it’s called? Do you know anything about that?”
“Yeah. When a human’s bitten, they get infected.”
“Infected?” she snorts. “There’s no infection. Vampirism isn’t a virus. To convert a human to vampirism, the human must drink the blood of a vampire — a Sire — and die with the blood in their system. Then,
after three days’ time, they resurrect.”
“Seems simple enough. So how are Disciples created?”
“The siring process is much the same, just a lot more formal. There’s a ceremony, a church, guests. It’s very proper.”
“But if vampires and Disciples are sired the same way, and I’m guessing they have the same abilities, how are they different?”
“Disciples adhere to the doctrine of Jesus, their Supreme Sire, which is the foundation of the Afterliving. They have rules, rituals, and restrictions, and their belief in God dictates the whole of their existence. Vampires are the polar opposite. They’re members of the Fallen, with no laws, no limits, and no God. They are selfish, despicable creatures, Manny, whose sole purpose is to serve themselves.”
Lucy’s explanation puts me on the defensive. “So if I were to be sired, this very second, I’d be a selfish, despicable creature whose sole purpose was to serve myself?”
“What? Of course not. Where did you get that idea?”
“You just said the difference between Disciples and vampires is their belief in God, and I’ve already told you I’m an atheist.”
“I said a Disciple’s belief in God dictates their existence. A vampire can still believe in God, but what’s the use if they do nothing to serve Him?”
“Okay, but doesn’t the Bible say something about good deeds not making you a better Christian? Isn’t this the same thing?” I may not be able to quote the book verbatim, but USD is a Catholic university. I’ve picked up enough biblical knowledge over the last eight years to know how to confront people who tailor Scripture for their own agenda.
“Are you actually defending vampires?” she argues.
“No. I’m defending myself.”
“And why does what you used to believe even matter? You said today you were keeping an open mind.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ve changed it.”
“But you can,” she exclaims.
We pull up to the entrance of Weston Manor.
“And what if I don’t? What if I stay the same? What will you think of me then?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it hasn’t happened. And for all we know, it may never happen.”
“Then what about now? What do you think of me now?”
“I think you’re…uninformed.”
“Uninformed?”
“Yes. What makes vampires so diabolical is they know the truth and choose to reject it, but that’s not the case with you. You’re just learning the truth. You’re only now opening your eyes.”
It’s eerie how similar the Lucy in front of me sounds to the Lucy from my dreams.
“You’re not angry with me, are you?” she inquires.
“No. I feel a little judged, but I’m not angry. I’ve never been compared to a vampire before.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to insinuate a comparison.”
“I know. But regardless, you made your point, right? Now I know the difference between a vampire and a Disciple.”
“That’s good, I suppose.”
I suppose. “I need to get going. Micah wanted me back ASAP.”
“Right. I don’t want to make you late.” Lucy opens her door. “Bye. For now.”
“Bye for now.”
After Lucy leaves, I notice a slip of paper wedged between my seat and the center console. There’s an address on it, written in thick black cursive: 4 Sydney Street, North Laine, Brighton.
When I return from Lucy’s, I find the others in the library, seated in the heavy wooden chairs surrounding the glass round table.
“Just in time,” Micah remarks. He addresses the room. “Gentlemen, our newest interim member of the board, Manny.”
Huh?
Anthony stands and greets me with a warm smile. “Wonderful to see you again. I apologize for not having time to chat the other night. I’m glad you made it back in one piece.” He shakes my hand, squeezing my fingers in a painful grip.
“Thanks for your concern,” I reply with a straight face.
Micah continues with the introductions. “I believe you know Nicholas, as well.”
The man with the golden eyes and long brown hair nods. “Hello. It’s nice to see you again.” The corner of his mouth rises into a half smile, and he indicates the empty seat on Micah’s right. “Come. Join us.”
Micah hands me an aged document from the pile of papers in front of him. “Now we may get to business. Can you read this for the board, Manny? Second paragraph.”
“What is it?”
“Isidore’s will.”
I scan the page, recognizing the thick cursive handwriting from the piece of paper I just saw in the Phantom. I begin reading: “‘I, Isidore Stockton, being of sound body and mind, bequeath the entirety of my estate to my son, Emmanuel Stockton…’ The entirety of his estate? Is this for real?”
“Very real. Keep reading, please.”
“‘…bequeath the entirety of my estate to my son, Emmanuel Stockton, under the sole condition he assumes responsibility for all current legal rights afforded to me by surviving members of the Board of Stockton Farms, Inc.’ Wow. So if I work here, I get what? The Rolls, a few personal things, and some stocks and bonds?”
“You could say that,” James answers, “along with twenty million pounds, several international residences, thirteen cars, and an extra twenty-five percent of the company and its subsidiaries.”
My jaw drops.
“Give or take,” he adds nonchalantly.
“Shut up.”
Micah raises his brow. “Shut up?”
“I mean, you’re joking. That’s a ridiculous inheritance,” I laugh.
“It’s no joke,” he affirms. “Those were your father’s wishes.”
“Twenty million — Twenty million pounds? Houses and cars? Are you kidding me? It’s way too much.”
“Nonsense. Isidore worked tirelessly for the success of Stockton Farms every day of his Resurrected life, and each cent was earned in dedicated pursuit of the Afterliving’s survival. No amount could ever do justice to his contribution,” Micah declares.
“And it’s all mine if I accept a position on the board?”
“Yes.”
“And what was that you mentioned about an extra twenty-five percent?”
James clarifies, “You were granted an initial quarter stake in the company when you were born, making you an equal partner with Isidore, myself, and Micah. With your father gone, that stake has now doubled.”
“Which means you, Grandson, are now the boss,” Micah jests.
I glance across the table at the other two. Nicholas bows his head in congratulations, but Anthony’s expression is far from celebratory.
Micah leans in. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I thought it best to wait until you were more aware of our family’s — how should I say? — situation.”
“I see.”
“Keep reading,” James advises, pointing to the paper.
“‘In the unfortunate event Emmanuel should refuse his legal rights to Stockton Farms, Inc, or be of unsuitable body and mind — ’”
“Or die,” James adds. Micah shoots him a reprimanding look. “What? I’m clarifying the legal mumbo-jumbo.”
I continue, “‘ — the aforementioned endowment shall be awarded to his prime successor, Anthony Stockton.’ Stockton? Your last name is Stockton?”
“For the last ninety-eight years,” Anthony replies.
“Anthony is your brother,” Micah states.
“My brother?”
This new information changes the context of Nicholas’ comment in the library the other night: The rightful son should inherit the legacy of the father. He wasn’t comparing me and James. He was talking about me and Anthony.
/> “So my dad had another family?”
“Don’t be absurd,” Micah chuckles, shaking his head.
“Then how is Anthony my brother?”
“He’s your brother in-blood, much like I’m your grandfather in-blood. He’s one of your father’s Saved.”
“His Saved?”
“It means Isidore was Anthony’s Sire,” James explains. “In the Afterliving, Sire and Saved is equivalent to parent and child. In this case, father and son. You came from Isidore biologically, and Anthony was born spiritually. Isidore is as much a father to him as he is to you.”
“Then why do I get all the inheritance?”
Anthony stands, furious. “Clearly, Isidore’s judgment was blinded by his charity.”
“Charity?” Now I stand. “I’ve never asked him or anyone else in this family for a damn thing.”
“Drop the charade, Emmanuel. We both know the only reason you returned to Devil’s Dyke was to claim more of the family fortune.”
“Which you tried to prevent by forcing me into leaving using your whole Impulsion trick, after you almost killed a girl.”
Micah is stunned. “What’s this?”
“He chased a girl into the woods last night,” I continue. “Michelle.”
“I know about Michelle — the girl is fine — but the Impulsion?”
Anthony hangs his head, ashamed.
Micah stands. “Well, gentlemen, I don’t know what transpired last night, but whatever it was, it ends here. We’re all adults, and Isidore’s instructions are clear. Should Manny refuse his seat in the company — ”
“Or die,” James repeats.
Micah’s jaw hardens, and he forces a smile. “Then, Anthony, you will be awarded accordingly. But until then — ”
“Excuse me.” Anthony forces his chair back. It slides across the floor into the shelf behind him.
“Anthony,” Micah booms. “In order to expedite Manny’s decision, I think it’s imperative he learn the duties of his prospective position. And seeing as the two of you are so poorly acquainted…”
Anthony’s pupils expand, giving his eyes the same shark-like quality as last night. “Are you suggesting I instruct him?” he asks in disgust.
The Afterliving (His Blood & Silver Series Book 1) Page 13
