by Jo Penn
Oh for the love of… Chane did his breathing exercises, thought of Zen-inspired quotes, and admitted defeat. Fine, he would do these irrelevant, nonsense sessions.
“It appears I am offering, Lord Mason.”
“Excellent. And call me Mason. It was fun negotiating.”
No, it hadn’t been. Mason concluded his call. Chane wondered how he would deal with Archie. Mason prattled on and did something on the computer, printed things out, set them up neatly in a folder, and held it out. Chane hissed and snatched it. Mason rolled his eyes.
“Now, what is it I may assist you with today, Chane?”
Finally. From his satchel, he removed a folder small in length but thick in size and held it out. “I am in demise. I require the list of prescribed medications.”
“Ah, I see. That is unfortunate…saddening.” Mason seemed sincere. “I will have this arranged immediately. Dr. Lacy Aston is very exact. I am sure she can make the last few months comfortable for you.” Mason sighed. “Is this why you move so much? And why Archie follows you?”
Chane gave a careless shrug, dismissing the conversation. “I also require a scent-covering lotion and a sleep draught. I cannot locate any of the plants for this at the Durand coven, so I will require the premade from here.”
“Scent-covering? I can understand the sleep draught if you are having difficulties sleeping from the demise, but scent-covering—”
“Yes. Perhaps my scent will begin showing I am in demise,” Chane said snappishly.
“And perhaps you are not bothered but say this to stop my queries,” Mason retorted. “I admit I had not known of you before a few weeks ago, but then, you are not a witch or wizard and not in any of the councils or associated when any fraction or family. But I do know Archie. He is concerned about you.”
“I do not understand what business this is of yours, Lord Armstrong.” Chane uncrossed his legs and rose. “I will take my leave.”
“You will sit down, Chane Taunton,” Mason snapped. “Good. My business or not, when a friend, a stoic, normally jovially, smart friend, woefully tells me his older brother has left his life behind without a word and travels without any protection, never lingering in one place and refusing to speak to him, I will look out for my friend. Chane, if you are in demise and it is affecting your ability to think properly, it is dangerous, and you will have to be monitored and secured. Can you prove to me you are of sound mind?”
Chane blinked, surprised. “You think I am not? Is this what Archie believes?”
“I’m not sure. He said you were focused, driven, where you have never been focused or driven before. You are more contemplative, in no way ambitious and content with what you have. He calls you a Zen master with a pissy side. I can see it. So prove to me, reassure your brother.”
Chane had spent the last year avoiding his brother, for Archie’s own safety. He had not considered that his brother would worry so much. Chane knew how busy his brother was, how in demand for his talents, so he did not think Archie would begin a crusade of sorts by following Chane from country to country, coven to coven, and trying to make him talk.
For ten or so minutes, Chane contemplated, deep in thought. He was brought out of his musing by the smell of delicious, aromatic Indian tea. He smiled appreciatively at the wizard, relenting.
“I am of sound mind, Mason. I wish to travel, to see and experience. The world has changed so much in my five hundred years, and I wish my last year to be spent seeing these changes. As for Archie, I did not realize he was becoming so concerned.”
All of what he said was true. He would have to pay more attention to Archie to stop this ridiculous crusading, and though what he said was true, there was much more to his behavior and actions than he’d care to elaborate on and share.
Mason sipped his tea, looking reflective. “That is all understandable. I will provide you with the doctor-prescribed medications and the sleeping draught… I will also provide the scent coverer and hope you have been honest with me.”
Chane merely smiled. He was over five hundred years old and not an immortal vampire, simply long-lived, and in the last few months of his life. These days he did not trouble himself overly by others’ comments and behavior, so while he knew Mason did not entirely believe him and was suspicious, Chane would hold his counsel and not be swayed in any way.
Mason set about filling the prescribed tonics and medications from Dr. Aston, explaining and going through each of the contents with Chane when he asked about one. Placing them all in a chill bag, Mason went back to the computer and made some notes, printing some off to give as instructions. Chane thanked the wizard.
“I will have one of the coven collect you tomorrow, Chane, for our lessons. You won’t be billed for the medications and others.”
Witches and wizards were experts at bartering and exchanging services and information. Mason viewed Chane teaching a class here at the coven a good exchange of services for the consultation and medicines he received today.
Leaving the room, Chane immediately spotted his much younger half-brother loitering across the hall, poking something on a wall. As soon as Chane stepped out, Archie gracefully came to his side and divested him of his satchel and the chill bag.
“Hi, Mason. Let go, Chane.” Archie tugged the satchel.
Chane did, reluctantly. “Really, Archer, you cannot leave a coven when you are required to perform duties that you agreed to.”
“Well, if you would stay put, so would I, and I’d get to fulfill my duties.”
“Hello, Archie. I hope Xavier is able to sort out your coven issues.” Mason patted Archie on the shoulder, winking.
“Prince Misha is speaking to Duke Carlton of the Peterson coven. I think he’s a bit annoyed. Err, Duke Carlton, that is, not Prince Misha. He seemed pretty happily chuffed I turned up, something about having an advantage in the land dispute.”
Mason looked speculative. “Hmm, I see. Well, we can’t have that, can we? Chane will have to do a site visit with me, see if there are any valuable plants that cannot be disturbed.”
“Ooh, you’re plotting. Cool. Come on, older brother, I bought a moped! You’ll love it.”
Chane looked drolly at Archie and, as he often did when speaking to his brother, switched to English.
“Non, je not. I go bus.”
“Nah, it’s cool! Trust me.”
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of the coven in the Village, a very prestigious part of the flourishing city where the coven had a huge monstrosity of a castle on seven acres. Chane doubted he would trust his brother again! And he would not be getting on a moped with his brother ever again.
Who knew his brother had very little balance and was prone to speeding!
The gates swung open without issue, and soon they were inside where one of the coven’s managers met them with keys to a joined suite.
“Great, thanks!”
For a vampire, Archie didn’t have much of the pretentiousness associated with their kind. He was lively, fun, cheeky, kindhearted, and yes, could be easily offended and become a little dramatic.
“Archie!” a young, excited sounding voice squealed behind them.
Archie grinned. “Tyler! How ya doing? Prince Misha still riding your ass?”
“Oh my Gods! He never stops! ‘Don’t do that, Tyler! Can’t you have some decorum, Tyler? I’m going to hang you up by your talons, Tyler!’ Oh, and my favorite now: ‘Tyler, you have not found your mate!’ I have, Archie, I really have! I’ll tell you all about it.”
And then there was Prince Tyler Durand, the youngest prince at only twenty-five. Tyler had a reputation for pulling pranks, teasing, provoking and getting in trouble, often. Since arriving a short time ago at the coven, Chane had noticed a change in the young prince. Where once he was dramatic and couldn’t stick to anything, Tyler now seemed very focused, attended university nearby, and was working with Xavier. Still, that didn’t stop him and his antics, which were quite amusing. Chane turned away to
retire to his suite.
“Is this your brother?” Tyler whispered loudly. “Like, wow! He’s really exotic and hot. I chose your suite. Misha’s choice was sooo stuffy. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Tyler Durand was a motor mouth. By the time they arrived at the suite, Chane was sure his eardrums were bleeding. Though, Chane had to say, Tyler was a sweet boy, and it was nice that Archie had a friend here, for he and Archie had absolutely nothing in common, and though he enjoyed hearing of what his brother was up to, his escapades, it was a comfort to Chane to know that his thirty-nine-year-old brother, which was little more than a very young adult in paranormal terms, had numerous friends, was accepted, and wanted.
When Chane passed, Archie would be on his own, the last of their line.
What Chane had to do was ensure that Archie survived. That was Chane’s main objective now… If only he felt confident he’d be able to succeed.
The suite was fairly modern in design and furniture. Chane quite liked it, Archie and Tyler did a lot more. Chane spent twenty minutes answering Tyler’s numerous questions, and then took his leave to shower and consider his next steps.
* * * *
“What this?”
“Just try it! Geez, be a little adventurous,” Archie exclaimed.
Chane poked the pile of whatever on his plate with his fork. It smelled better than it looked, and it looked worse than a pile of pig slop.
“I non hungry.”
Archie hissed and, leaning down low across the table, slammed his hands down. “Eat it.”
“I non—”
“Eat it!”
“Fine!” Chane scooped up a spoonful and stuck it in his mouth. At first, he attempted not to taste the pig slop, but with another hiss and look from his brother, grimaced and tasted it. One eye half-closed, he shuddered and considered spitting it all back out—in his brother’s face.
“Huh. That bad, hey?”
Sighing—his brother was peculiar at times—Chane felt ignoring the nuisance was for the best. He rose and soon had breakfast on the small kitchen table in their suite, a simple fare of fruit and muesli Chane had made himself.
“Ugh, thanks. So, are you going to tell me what is really going on? Or do I just keep following you and spiking your French coffee with blood and medicines?”
Unfortunately, Archie wasn’t jesting. He truly did spike Chane’s coffee, juice, food, and whatever else was available.
“Archie, you must stop. I am fine. We both know my time is nearing its end. You have to begin to accept this.”
“I won’t,” Archie snapped. “And you can pretend all you want, but I see your aura, brother. I see the myriad of lies spread across it, and I see the changes. So if you wanna be a douche, go ahead. As Prince Misha would like me as a permanent coven member, I negotiated with him—”
“What did you do, Archer?” Chane put his fork down, glaring at his brother.
“He’s going to enforce a writ over you, stating you are withholding information, have isolated yourself, and may be a danger as you are in demise and not completely coherent.”
Stunned, Chane just sat and gaped at his brother. When had Archie become so devious? Learned to deal and plot…and why? Why was he so determined to stay close to Chane when it could harm him so badly?
Hmm, well, of course the last part Archie had no clue of, but really, this was taking things a little too far. Calmly, Chane endeavored to reason with his brother, but after half an hour, Archie screaming at him that Chane was being an unreasonable, old dipshit, Chane decided to take a walk in the gardens. As he stormed through the mansion, he hissed at a few creatures, snarled at an assistant, and made it outside. He couldn’t help but notice security were monitoring him, talking into head phones and little devices, and it fueled his anger.
But he had to be sensible. He was running out of time, and every trap he had set previously had failed.
Well, possibly this was due to the fact he was not a fighter and was not a good trap setter, but he could, and would, improve. He had to. If he didn’t and this continued… No, it mustn’t be allowed, even if his principles were compromised.
As Chane was learning, catching someone was not as simple as using cheese as a lure. There was so much more to it. He was conscious of innocent bystanders, the utensils he would need, and the location. Then there was how to draw the creature out. And when he actually managed to trap said creature, holding it long enough until assistance arrived would be another issue entirely.
He had to plan it better by always being prepared. He had begun researching different ways to disable creatures and what was most effective with less of a chance of anyone being hurt.
To clear his mind and settle himself, he did tai chi chuan, taking his time, stretching himself out, and centering himself. He knew he garnered an audience. He always did when outside Korea, and occasionally coven members had joined him in the past.
When finished an hour later, calmer and clearheaded, he was able to reenter the mansion without hissing and being pissy, and thankfully the suite was empty. He showered, dressed, and gathered what he would need for the session with Mason Armstrong, which he was not looking forward to…well, possibly a little bit. Chane so did enjoy playing with his plants, experimenting, and seeing the amazing results.
As he went to the communal lounge at the front of the mansion to wait for the Armstrong coven to collect him, he passed a familiar-looking vampire, one he was certain he had seen before but could not quite place. As the creature did not stop or acknowledge him in any way, Chane dismissed it. He must have been mistaken.
“Where are you going? Oh, that’s right, you have to show the witches and wizards some of your plant knowledge.” Archie plonked down next to Chane. “Oh, come on, don’t be all pissy and huffy. I’ll come with you—”
“You be impossible!” Chane muttered.
“I’m not! And your English hasn’t improved.”
“Mon English excellent.”
“So isn’t.” Archie snorted.
While Chane had spent the first two hundred odd years between France and Korea, and some time in Tibet, Archie grew up spending half his time in France and the other in the U.S. as his mother was a vampire from a group in Boston, and their father had been situated in Paris. Their father passed twenty years ago, having had Chane when he was only seventeen. Archie had spent all his time in the U.S., except when occasionally visiting with Chane.
“Why you difficult?” Chane implored his brother.
“I’m not. You are being really pissy and difficult lately. It’s kinda cool, actually.”
His brother made no sense whatsoever.
“Chane Taunton,” one of the assistants called out. “Your car is here to collect you for the Armstrong coven.”
“Merci. Stay, Archie. Be useless.”
Archie chuckled and followed Chane out. “I’m sure you mean ‘useful.’”
“I say this!” Chane hissed.
“Nope. I’ll just grab my laptop—”
“There you are! Why are you out here? Prince Misha wants you in the second conference room for the land dispute meeting right away.” One of the managers hurried over and grabbed Archie’s arm.
“Sheesh, bo-ring. Fine, fine, I’m coming. See you back here, Chane.”
With a wave, Chane strode over to the waiting car, a very smart sedan that screamed class and luxury, and hopped in, the driver closing the door after him. He noticed an obscenely long stretch limousine enter the estate as they were leaving and watched as a very tall, solid man with white-blond hair stepped out and sniffed the air. Just as they pulled out into traffic, he was surprised to see the man staring after the car Chane was in.
The drive from the coven to the witch and wizard property was approximately five or six miles, but with traffic and lights, it took longer at this time of day. Chane didn’t mind the drive, and once outside of the city and surrounding suburbs, it was countryside, which was pleasant.
“What the— Damn!”<
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The car skidded across the country road uncontrolled for a few moments before the driver managed to correct it, but couldn’t get back on the road. They ended up pressed against a guard rail, the front of the car crumpled.
“Are you okay?” the wizard driver asked.
“Oui, you be ill?” Chane saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m fine… Who’s that?”
Slipping a few items into the pockets of his loose-fitting coat, Chane opened the back door. “Stay in car.”
“What? No! I’ll call for help.”
“Do this.”
Stepping out, he closed the door and turned to face the creature waiting patiently at the end of the car by the road. The creature was armed, dangerous, and clinically insane.
“Hello, darling.”
“Carlo.”
Smiling rather evilly, Carlo Sandstone twirled a large knife, watching, waiting. “You keep moving, darling. It’s not good for your health, and you know you’re a homebody. All this moving about must be stressing you out. Why don’t you come home with me now, before anyone gets hurt?”
The problem with Carlo was he quite enjoyed hurting others. And Chane was a pacifist, but he would defend himself and others if necessary. And Carlo had no patience. With a growl, the other vampire executed a superb leap and roll, coming up close to Chane and latching a strap onto his arm. Chane was quick also, using the sleeping draught he had modified the evening before and tossing it on the man while sliding sideways and slicing through the strap.
He had to keep moving though, for as quick as his responses, Carlo’s were just as fast and the man was extremely well trained—a professional assassin and personal security guard.
“Good moves, darling. What is this stuff? One of your concoctions?” Carlo wiped his face of the grayish powder. “I’m taking you home, Chane. We can do this the easy way, or I take you down.” Carlo blew him a kiss. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. I always am. With you anyway.”
