For the first three or four days, Grace thought the boys, as she had come to think of them, were sure they’d made a bad bargain. She couldn’t and wouldn’t abide the mess and every waking moment when they weren’t on patrol, she had them carrying trash, scrubbing floors and putting away the clean and neatly folded clothes that were the result of the masses of laundry she washed and dried each day. They griped and complained, but never refused her orders and she found it amusing how easily bullied her muscle bound roommates were.
“Mom wouldn’t make us do all this shit,” Dov grumbled from atop the ladder as he swept cobwebs from the wire covered lights in the gym.
“She wouldn’t let you say ‘shit’ either,” commented Col. He was using a damp cloth to wipe the dust and grime from the mats that padded the walls of one corner. He rinsed his rag in a bucket of water and wrung out the excess.
Grace was sitting in another corner folding clothes. She found the boys worked best under supervision. “A mother? You guys have a mother?”
“What do you think? We weren’t hatched.” Dov looked offended.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Although, in a way, she did. It was hard to imagine these gentle giants as toddlers running around in diapers. “Not everyone has one, that’s all.” They already knew her story.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. She lives in California.”
“Is she like you?”
“Nah, she’s real little, about five foot eight.” When Col snorted, Dov’s light went on. “Oh, you mean the other thing. Yeah, she’s like us. I mean she doesn’t do what we do. She’s a research assistant. Freelance.”
“Does she know what you do?”
Col answered. “She knew from the day we were born. It’s a family tradition.”
“Did you have a choice?”
“You mean like say no, you wanna be something else?” Dov considered. “I never really thought about it.”
“I did,” said Col and Dov looked surprised. “Well, I did,” he said defensively, “I asked my uncle and he said that it was encoded in us, like in our DNA, but the choice was still ours to make.” He turned to Dov. “That’s why we won’t be initiated until we’re fully grown.”
“Whoa baby! You mean to tell me you’re going to get bigger?”
The twins laughed as Col elbowed hi brother. “Hell, we probably got another six inches to go.”
Grace wasn’t convinced they were kidding.
*****
“Here’s a list of things you need to pick up on your way home.”
Dov and Col were ready to leave on their nightly patrol. They were wearing what she’d come to think of as their uniforms; tight fitting jeans, snow white t-shirts of heavy weight cotton and tonight, black leather jackets that they alternated with similar jackets of denim. Col claimed that it saved them from arguing about which clothes belonged to whom and had nothing to do with being twin. Considering the way they lived before, it made sense. The only difference between them was their choice of footwear. Col preferred heavy black leather ‘shitkickers’ while Dov wore steel toed woodsman’s boots in a brushed brown finish. Apparently shoes were the one thing they didn’t share.
Col took the list and his eyes widened. He shook his head. “Stopping at the QuikShop on the way home is one thing, but you want us to go to a grocery store? No. No way. We’ve put up with your cleaning and polishing and wiping our feet, but this is where it ends. We can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“Look at us. Think about it.” He flexed his muscles and preened. “In a grocery store? How’re we going to do that?”
She knew what he was hinting at. Guys who looked as they did were too cool to be caught in a grocery store.
“I don’t mind,” Dov said after thinking it over, “We used to do it for Mom.”
Col crumpled the list and stuffed it in his pocket. “Come on blabbermouth. And you better hope we find something to kill tonight because I’ve got the urge and it could be you.”
“What’d I do?”
After they’d left, Grace did think about it. The twins were gorgeous. They were twenty three years old though she thought they acted younger. They had the faces of angels and their bodies were those most women only dreamed about, not muscle bound like weight lifters, but strong and powerful like men who used those muscles in heavy labor. They had slightly different personalities; Col was more controlled and thoughtful; Dov more boisterous and ready to laugh. Each was adorably appealing, yet she never had any I-wonder-what-it-would-be-like thoughts about either of them. She sighed. One more thing to add to the why can’t I be like everyone else list.
Buffy purred and rubbed her head consolingly against Grace’s ankles as if she understood her feelings. Grace could have sworn she saw the cat smile.
*****
Of the two roast chickens, massive bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, corn and a dozen yeast rolls, only the bones remained. Grace sat back with a satisfied smirk. After five nights of full breakfasts and coming home in the morning to a home cooked dinner, there were no more complaints about trips to the store.
“That was the best meal I’ve had since I moved out of my mother’s house.” Dov groaned as he pushed himself away from the kitchen island.
“Thank you, gentlemen. Now, I’ll rinse and load and you two clear and wipe up.”
“Aw Gracie.”
“Don’t you ‘aw Gracie’ me. Get your butts in gear.” She laughed as she threw a wet cloth at Dov who snatched it from the air with amazing speed. He, in turn, winged it at his brother who was just as quick.
The kitchen was quickly put to rights, the last dish put away and the floor swept. Grace retrieved two beers from the fridge and poured herself a glass of wine.
“Sit for a few, guys. We need to talk.”
“No more questions, Grace. You agreed.” Col looked ready for an argument.
Grace laughed. “No need. I can find my own answers. I already know this isn’t your house. I think it belongs to Canaan. You know, Canaan, as in ‘Canaan’s gonna turn us’ or ‘Canaan’s gonna be pissed’. Most of the doors are locked and you don’t have the keys. In that ton of laundry I only found three pair of boxers that you didn’t claim. You’re both white boxer brief kind of guys so I’m thinking the plaid ones must belong to Canaan.”
At that the twins doubled up with gales of laughter, way out of proportion to her words.
“Yeah, that’s right,” sputtered Dov, “Canaan just loves his plaid boxers!”
“Maybe we should buy him a package to welcome him home!” Col slapped the counter and the two roared again.
“Okay, maybe I’m wrong about that,” Grace said, laughing herself, “but I’m right about the only exit being the one you use through the gym and the latch is above the mat to the right of the door.” The twins sobered quickly. “My point here, boys, is that I could have run away anytime I wanted.” Or at least since last night when she finally found the damn latch. “But I didn’t pack up Buffy and leave, did I? And I haven’t complained about being a virtual prisoner on what’s supposed to be my vacation. Which brings me to what I really want to talk about. I want to stay. Permanently. I want to help.”
She waved her hand to indicate the spotless kitchen. “I know I’ve worked you two hard, but now it’ll be my job to keep it this way. I’ll keep your house. I’ll cook your meals. I’ll do your laundry. I’ll earn my keep. I’ll empty my apartment and sell off everything I own. That and what little I have in the bank should cover my personal expenses for a while. In exchange, I’ll get room and board for Buffy and myself and you’ll train me to fight.”
As if knowing she was part of the discussion, the pint sized tiger leaped into Col’s arms, rubbed her head on his chest and settled in with loud purrs.
“Whoa, back up there, Gracie. I was with you right up to that train you to fight part.” Dov got up and went to the refrigerator, pulled out two more beers and returned to the island. He opened both bottles, set one down in front of
his brother and topped off Grace’s wine from the bottle already there. “Train you to fight what, Grace? ‘Cause if you’re talkin’ demons, the answer is no. Hell no.”
Col was holding Buffy like a baby, scratching her belly while the cat rolled its eyes in bliss. “I think we better back up farther than that. I think you staying on here as our housekeeper and cook is a great idea. I’d even pay you for it, but like you just said, this isn’t our house, so it’s not our decision. It’s Canaan’s and I don’t think he’s going to go for it.”
Dov rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement.
“How long have you two lived here?”
“Goin’ on a year now.”
“And did the house always look like it did last week?”
“Pretty much.”
Grace smiled and nodded. “I think we might convince him. Plus, there are things I need to know about myself that you don’t know or can’t say.” The twins began to protest, but she cut them off. “I know, I know. It’s not that you don’t want to. You can’t. You’re following orders and I understand that. So, when is this Canaan coming home?”
“Won’t be for another two weeks.”
“Good. That gives us two weeks to prepare our arguments and start my training. Look, I’m not planning to go on the hunt with you guys. I only want to be able to defend myself. Unless your plan is to keep me a prisoner here, sooner or later I’m going to go out, maybe to the grocery store.” She let that sink in. “I’ve seen one of those things. What’s going to happen if I see another one? I know I won’t be able to kill it, but maybe with the right training, I can keep myself alive long enough to get away or” she folded her hands under her cheek and fluttered her eyelashes like a heroine in an old silent movie “until my heroes arrive.”
Dov shuffled his feet and scuffed his boot sole across the floor, then removed an imaginary hat from his head. “Aw shucks, ma’am,” he said, using an old movie take off of his own, and “It’d be ma pleasure to rescue such a fine lady as yourself.”
Chapter 8
Councilor Ambrose thoughtfully sipped his scotch and watched as Canaan paced the length of the room, his long legs eating up the distance between the window and the table where the Councilor sat. Ambrose was reminded of a hungry lion, muscles rippling, pacing its cage, waiting for the opportunity to attack its keeper and win its freedom. Liege Lords and their Guardians were a breed apart, throw backs to an ancient age when giants walked the earth. Endowed with superior strength and speed, they also inherited gifts that others of the Race might envy. The envy was misplaced, however, for like many things in life, the gifts were a double edged sword. In those that chose to be initiated into the life of the Guardians, the gifts flourished and grew with age and practice, but the life was a lonely one, traditionally sacrificing personal happiness to the welfare of others. For those that chose to turn their backs on their birthright, the gifts, like seeds unplanted, never came to fruition.
Canaan stopped his pacing. “There has to be something we can do.”
“I’m sorry, Canaan. You and the other Liege Lords have done all that can be done. We’ve lost. The vote won’t go our way. I thought we had Addison’s vote but apparently I was mistaken and it appears he and his daughter hold sway with the others.”
“Then it’s on their heads.”
“But the blood will be on yours.”
“State the fucking obvious why don’t you? Anytime a member dies at the hand of a demon, we aren’t doing our job. Anytime a human dies by demon it’s our fault. There aren’t enough of us to do the job. What do the bastards’ need, Ambrose, a fucking massacre? Every one of the goddamned Councilors sat through the last major Outbreak. Have they forgotten what it was like? Or maybe they never knew. They could afford to leave the city and go underground to keep their families safe. You were the only one who stayed topside. Hearing reports about the number of dead doesn’t have the same impact as collecting them for cremation.”
Canaan slammed his hand onto the table rattling the glasses. He wanted to smash something. He and the other Liege Lords had spent every waking hour courting the members of the Ruling Council and soliciting the Advisors over dinner or drinks. They all spoke of the safety of the Race as being of the utmost importance. Preparedness should be paramount. Yada, yada, yada. According to Ambrose, it was all bullshit; lip service that wouldn’t translate into solid votes. Only six Councilors understood the seriousness of the situation.
“The majority feel that a Call to Service is too drastic a step. Traditionally it is only issued in time of war. They believe it would be unfair to those of the Race who are genetically predestined. Asking men to leave their families to train for a war that might not happen would be prejudicial.”
“Dammit, Ambrose, we’re not human. Political correctness should be their problem, not ours. My line descends directly from the Nephilim. It shows in my size and my abilities. I’m proud of it. The Race used to be proud of it.”
Ambrose held up his hands in appeasement. “I’m voting for the Call because I believe you’re right that an Outbreak is inevitable, but I understand their concerns as well. Not everyone is suited to live like a monk in a Guardian House.”
“We are NOT monks,” Canaan snapped.
Ambrose chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. “All right. Single, genetically superior men who live together but are allowed to indulge their voracious appetites.”
Canaan nodded and grinned. “It’s a tradition.” He poured himself another scotch, sat and heaved a defeated sigh. “I’ll wait for the formal vote and then I’m leaving. I’ve been here long enough. I’m done. Let them do what they will. I’m going home.”
*****
Grace gently eased herself down the stairs. A hot soak in the tub did nothing to alleviate the pain in her legs, her back, her shoulders, oh hell, the pain in every bone and muscle in her body and then some. Once she convinced the boys that training her was a good idea, they set about the task with a diligence she found frightening. She was working, in her humble opinion, at a dedicated rate, but the twins were never satisfied and pushed her to even greater efforts. The result of those efforts was her current condition; limbs that only seemed to move under conscious command. Lift left leg. Lift right leg. Keep back perpendicular to the floor.
She was convinced that this was all part of some nefarious plot of revenge, retribution for floor scrubbing and garbage hauling. Or maybe they thought if they pushed her hard enough she’d quit. Not going to happen.
As she headed back toward the kitchen, she could hear them foraging. They were never full. She forced herself to walk normally. She’d be damned if she’d let them poke any more fun at her weakness.
“Col? Dov? I didn’t expect you back so early. I’ll get supper started.”
Grace swung into the kitchen and started pulling out pots and pans. She heard one of the boys rummaging around in the pantry and wondered why he hadn’t replied to her greeting. Too busy looking for food, no doubt. She went to the room off the kitchen that served as a laundry room and pantry with a small, but convenient, lavatory set just inside the door.
“Hey! Get out of there. There’re snacks in the kitchen and supper’s in an hour. Don’t be messing with my shelves now. And how do you expect to find anything with the lights off.
Grace flipped the switch. It wasn’t Col or Dov but a stranger with his back to her tossing cans onto the floor as he searched for something in the fridge. Anger overrode caution and she yelled, “Cut it out! What do you think you’re doing?”
The stranger growled and turned toward her. His grey face was contorted with anger, his lips pulled back in a gruesome snarl. Long fangs protruded from his upper gums and his extended fingers were tipped with claws. Was he animal or human?
Terror gripped her throat and when she opened her mouth to scream, nothing came out. She stumbled backward, reached for support to save herself and caught nothing but air, felt her feet slip out from under her and landed hard, on her ass, he
r legs splayed before her. She scrambled backward in a frenzied crab-crawl through the door until she hit the island where she pushed herself to her feet and ran to the far side.
The creature stalked into the kitchen and gripped the edge of the island. He lifted his head and inhaled deeply through his nose and bared his enormous fangs. His face looked feral.
“Fresh.” The word became a hiss. “I need…” and he lunged. One moment the island stood between them and the next he had his hand at her throat, her back bowed over the sink. Again the deep inhale through his nose and his reddened eyes met hers.
“Smell so fresh,” he groaned. He licked his lips in gruesome anticipation. “And I need…”
She met his stare and swallowed hard. “Please. Oh, God, please don’t hurt me.” Her voice trembled. She was going to die in the one place she’d thought was safe. His grip began to loosen. “Don’t hurt me,” surprising herself with the firmness of her voice. “Tell me what you need.” She needed to keep him talking if she wanted to get away.
“Twins,” he rasped. His head snapped to the right, then left as he searched the room.
What could he possibly want with the boys?
“Where do they keep it?” he asked. He allowed her to straighten her back but didn’t relinquish his hold on her throat.
Her knees felt weak and her bladder full but she kept the fear from her voice when she said once again, “You don’t want to hurt me.” And “Tell me what you’re looking for.”
He pulled his hands from her throat and shook his head from side to side as if trying to clear his mind.
“Blood,” he whispered. “They keep my blood.”
Her terror receded leaving her with a frightened determination. If she could keep him talking, Dov and Col might get here in time. She would scream her warning before they reached the kitchen. She kept her eyes focused squarely on his.
“The twins keep your blood?”
“Yes.” He breathed heavily and his eyes glowed red.
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