by Aimer Boyz
Casey laughed. “Nothing. I turned my SoundSpa to Thunder and Rain. I didn’t hear a thing,” she assured him. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Go on, what were you trying to say?”
“After the harvest,” Symon said, pulling his mind away from the memory of Michael telling him he looked good in his bed. “Michael drove me back to my hotel. The snow had kicked in and the wind. The driving conditions were bad.” Casey stopped smiling, worry spilling into her eyes. “Michael braked to keep from hitting a pair of deer. The truck ended up in a ditch. Michael was hurt, badly.” Casey pressed both hands to her lips, shook her head, denying the truth she saw in Symon’s eyes. “I couldn’t stop the blood, so I gave him mine,” Symon said, holding Casey’s eyes, willing her to understand what he was saying.
“You gave Michael your blood?” she asked, puzzled.
“Yes.” Please, Symon thought, please don’t make me say it.
“You gave Michael your blood,” Casey repeated, searching Symon’s face. “You turned him?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, there was nothing—”
“Wait,” Casey said, holding her hand up. “You’re telling me Michael was dying and you saved him?”
“No. I tried, but I couldn’t save him,” Symon said, feeling the same dread he’d felt then, Michael bleeding out between his fingers. “I had to turn him.”
Silence.
“Michael is a vampire?”
“Yes. I’m—”
Symon had an armful of crying woman, kisses landing on his cheek, his forehead. “Thank you. Oh, my God, Symon, thank you,” Casey said, pulling back, and swiping at her eyes. “Sorry, I got your shirt all wet.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Symon said. He’d expected the crying, prepared himself for screaming. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Casey had chased him from the house, curses following him down the front steps, but this? He’d inducted her son into the undead hall of fame, and Michael’s mother was thanking him?
“I understand that I’d be planning my son’s funeral if it wasn’t for you. So, yeah, I think I’ve got it.”
The sound of the front door opening had them turning as one, exchanging glances, waiting for…
“Symon,” Stavros said, Michael’s dimple creasing his cheek as he entered the living room. “I didn’t recognize the car. Where’s Michael?”
Casey clasped Symon’s hand, squeezed gently. No words, but her meaning was clear enough. Let me do the talking.
Symon was more than happy to let Michael’s mother take the lead on this one. He wasn’t up to repeating the whole miserable tale to his father.
Stavros hadn’t missed the hand squeeze, or the way his wife hurried across the room to meet him. “What’s going on?”
Casey leaned into her husband, took his hand and held it against her heart. Her voice low, her eyes on Stavros, she started to speak.
It was there between them, the trust and caring, the history of their years together. Symon knew what Casey was saying, but he tuned the words out, giving them some semblance of privacy. Stavros’ face paled, he dropped into the armchair behind him, and Casey went to her knees beside the chair, holding her husband’s hands, speaking softly.
“No,” Stavros said, shaking his head, and pulling away from his wife. “No, it’s not—You,” he said, storming across the room to Symon. “You did this.”
Symon watched him come, got to his feet and waited for the blow that never came.
“Yes,” Casey said, grabbing her husband’s arm. “Symon did this,” she said, putting herself between them. “He saved your son’s life. If it wasn’t for him, the police would be standing here now, telling us Michael was dead. Is that what you want?”
“No,” Stavros said, the fire dying out of his eyes. “But he’s—”
“Still Michael, still your son.” Casey spread her hands out on Stavros’ chest, leaned into him. “Still here, with us.”
Stavros gathered her hands in his, gathered her conviction, her strength around him like a shield. “Michael’s okay?” he asked, looking past his wife to Symon.
Symon wasn’t sure Stavros, or any human, would think undead qualified as okay, but he nodded anyway. “Yes. He’s fine.”
“Where is he?” Stavros asked, sliding an arm around his wife’s waist, as she moved to stand at his side. “When can we see him?”
“He’s in Toronto, staying with friends. Uh, it’s going to be a few weeks, maybe more before he can come back to Niagara-on-the-Lake.” Symon said Niagara-on-the-Lake instead of home because he didn’t see how Michael could possibly live here again. No vampire, no matter how good his control, could live with two humans. That was a powder keg waiting to blow.
“Okay,” Stavros said. “No problem. We’ll go to Toronto. We can head out tonight,” he said, pulling out his phone. “What’s the address?”
“We can’t go tonight,” Casey said, touching her husband’s arm.
Stavros looked up from his phone. “Why not?”
“We have to wait until Michael can come to us,” Casey said, taking Stavros’ phone, and sliding it back into his pocket.
“Why? I thought you said he was okay?” Stavros asked, turning suspicious eyes on Symon.
“He is okay, but he’s new, and that can be dangerous,” Symon said, sharing a look with Casey.
“Stavros, we are a temptation Michael can’t deal with yet,” Casey explained to her husband, tilting her head, and touching two fingers to her neck.
“No.” Stavros reared back, his body one long line of outrage. “Michael would never…” He stopped, his eyes begging Symon to tell him he was right. To tell him Michael would never dine on his family.
Unfortunately, Symon couldn’t say that. “It happens.”
That truth hit Stavros hard. He folded in on himself, crumpling under the horror smacking at his mind. Casey reached for her husband’s hand, threaded her fingers through his. Symon couldn’t tell if she used some Seventh Son of a Seventh Son voodoo or not, but whatever passed between them, Stavros was stronger for it.
“Okay,” Stavros said, rubbing the back of his neck the same way Michael did. “This is going to take some getting used to.” He paced a few steps away from his wife and back again. “But we can call him, right?” he asked Symon.
“I don’t know,” Symon said. “This,” he said, circling a hand between the three of them. “Doesn’t happen. It wouldn’t be happening now if Michael hadn’t blocked my command to forget. Thank you for that,” he added in a snide aside to Casey. “
Oh, please,” Casey said. “If Michael had been like all your other sheep you wouldn’t even remember his name.”
“Prey,” Symon corrected.
“Pardon?”
“We say prey, not sheep.”
“Nice,” Casey said.
Symon smiled, remembering when Michael hadn’t thought much of the term either.
“Sheep, prey, who gives a shit,” Stavros said, breaking in on Symon’s mental flight to happier nights. “I want to talk to my son.”
“And I want what’s best for Michael,” Symon retorted.
“So do I,” Stavros said, daring Symon to say otherwise.
“Sorry,” Symon said, backing down. He wasn’t here to argue with Michael’s father. “It’s been a rough two nights. I’ll talk to Etienne, see what he thinks.”
“Etienne?” Casey asked.
“Yes, Etienne is an old friend. Michael is staying with him and his partner Andrew.”
“And they’re…?” Casey asked.
“Yes,” Symon said, edging towards the door. He had to get out of there before Michael’s parents asked any more questions, he didn’t have the answers to. “I’ll get back to you about the phone call.”
Casey hugged him before he left, Stavros didn’t. Symon didn’t think he was imagining the man’s eyes following him as he walked to his car.
Fucking dimple.
Chapter 26
IF SYMON BELIEVED in omens, a cell phone ringin
g minutes after sunset would rate up there with black cats and broken mirrors. An email or a text meant nothing, but an actual phone call? Not good.
“Christ’s blood,” Symon cursed, turning off the water for the shower he hadn’t had yet, and stomping back to the nightstand to grab his cell. Unknown number. His thumb hovered over the disconnect icon, but whoever this was had waited until after sunset to call and that wasn’t something Symon could ignore. He hit connect. “Hello?”
“Symon Bradewey?”
A woman’s voice. A woman Symon didn’t know. “Yes.”
“This is Katherine Santos. Michael’s sister,” the woman said, a definite don’t-mess-with-me attitude coming through in her cool tone and precise diction. Yeah, Symon thought, should have let this go to voice mail. “My mother tells me you saved Michael’s life. That he’s staying with friends of yours until he gets his act together.” The intimidating voice paused. Symon heard tapping, a pen against a desk? “Here’s my problem, Mr. Bradewey. If you and my brother are so chummy, why isn’t he staying with you? Why aren’t you teaching him how to be a fanged fiend?”
Many years ago, Symon’s horse had failed to clear a hedge, and he’d been thrown. He still remembered the jarring shock as his body hit the ground. That’s what Katherine’s question felt like, shock reverberating through every bone. Cell phone in hand, Symon sank down onto the bed. He’d spent two nights now trying to find the answer to Katherine’s question, going over every expression, every word Michael had spoken and…nothing. He had nothing.
“Mr. Bradewey?”
“I don’t know,” Symon sighed.
Silence on the other end of the call, Katherine waiting for the explanation Symon didn’t have.
“Okay,” she said, sounding so much like her brother. That’s exactly what Michael had said, exactly the way he’d said it, when Symon told him he was Vampire.
“Okay? That’s it?”
“Not the answer I was looking for, but you told me the truth. I’m good.”
“How do you know I’m telling the truth?”
“I know a lot of things, Mr. Bradewey,” Katherine said, amusement warming the cool voice. “I’m driving out to Niagara tomorrow. I’ll see you at my parent’s place, after dinner. Eight o’clock?” She hung up.
Symon tossed his phone, headed back to his interrupted shower. Had he really thought he’d stop by Michael’s parents’ place, drop his little bombshell, and that would be the end of it? Yes. He’d forgotten that Michael had a sister, a brother too. Major tactical error on his part. Of course, Casey had told them. She’d probably picked up the phone the second he’d left last night. What Symon didn’t get was why they wanted to see him. Let’s get together with the guy who turned my brother into a creature of the night. Sounds like fun. Didn’t make any sense. Oh, he was going to the Santos’ place tomorrow night. He wanted to meet this woman who thought she could tell a vampire what to do. Plus, he was certain if he didn’t show up Katherine would be hammering on his hotel door.
Interesting family his Michael had.
***
Symon presented himself at Michael’s parents’ house just before eight the following night.
“Right on time,” Casey said, pulling him into a hug. “We’re just finishing dinner,” she added, tossing his jacket over the stair rail, and leading him into the kitchen.
No stainless-steel appliances here. The floor was old hardwood, the walls and cabinets white. Blue and white checked curtains dressed the window over the sink. In the centre of the room stood the round table Symon had caught a glimpse of when Michael snuck him down the hall to his bedroom. Four people sat at the table now; four pairs of eyes trained on him.
“Symon, my daughter, Katherine and my son, Nicholas,” Casey said, putting a hand on Symon’s shoulder. “This is Michael’s Symon.”
Michael’s Symon?
As much as he liked the sound of that, Casey had it wrong. Symon hadn’t heard word one from Michael since he’d left him at Etienne and Andrew’s. No calls, no texts, no sappy little Emoji. If it wasn’t for the updates from Etienne, Symon wouldn’t know—
“Symon,” Katherine said, standing to offer her hand. A good-looking woman, she’d inherited her father’s height and her mother’s eyes. “We talked yesterday. Nice to—”
“No way,” Nicholas said, disbelief stamped across his face.
It wasn’t a bad face. Symon might even think it was an attractive face if its owner wasn’t looking at him as if he should be in day care. Nicholas didn’t have Michael’s dimple, but he had the same strong jaw, and the same dark waves falling over his forehead.
“This is the guy who turned Mickey?” Nicholas asked his parents. “He’s just a kid.”
“Nick,” Katherine hissed at her brother. “Knock it off.”
Symon shook hands with Katherine. “Nice to meet you in person. Mr. Santos,” he said, nodding to Michael’s father before offering his hand to Nicholas. “I know, it disappoints me too and I’ve had over six hundred years to get used to it.”
“Six hundred years?” Nicholas said, taking Symon’s hand.
“You can’t tell?” Symon asked. “I thought you guys could sense stuff like that?”
“Nah, man, not me.” Nicholas pulled an empty chair out for Symon. “Things talk to me, not people. Things that people carry around with them, in their wallets, pockets. Stuff that’s important to them,” he said, shrugging. “Personal stuff.”
Symon pulled his wallet out, handed Michael’s brother a card. “What do you get from this?”
Nicholas laughed. “Sceptic, huh?” he said, taking the card, and turning it over. “The edges are soft, frayed. You’ve had this for a while.” He closed his eyes, traced the printed words with a finger.
Symon looked around the table to find Casey smiling, watching her son with affection and not a little pride. Katherine rolled her eyes, mouthed, ‘show off’.
“This guy,” Nicholas said, setting the card down, tapping it with one finger. “He’s important to you. Not a lover, not anymore. Family. The two of you against the world,” he said, grinning, and sliding the card across the table back to Symon. “Nailed it, right?”
“It was that way with us once, but he has a partner now,” Symon said, slipping Etienne’s business card back into his wallet.
“Nah,” Nicholas said, shaking his head. “Nothing’s changed. It’s like you’re tied together.”
Blood of my blood.
Symon smiled. “You’re good.”
“Yeah, he’s brilliant,” Katherine said, sibling sarcasm at its best. “Can we stop with the show and tell and focus on Michael now? What should we do or not do?” she asked, turning to Symon. “How can we make this easier for Michael?”
That’s why he was here?
Symon looked around the table, at the four people looking back at him. It was obvious that Katherine had spoken for all of them. Alive or not, Michael was family, and they had no intention of letting him vanish into the night.
For the next two hours, Symon ran a support group for relatives of the recently fanged. He sat with Michael’s family and told them what it meant to be Vampire. He answered their questions, eased their concerns. He helped them help Michael.
“Start with a text,” Symon suggested. “One text. Don’t bombard him with messages and questions. When you see him, no hugs, no touching at all unless Michael says he’s good,” he said, looking from one worried face to the next. “Give him time.”
His volunteer social work done for the night, Symon tried to make his escape, but Katherine grabbed her coat, and followed him onto the porch. “Okay, now tell me what you didn’t tell them.”
“I told them everything.”
“Nicholas is good with things, but me, I’m good with people. You didn’t tell them everything.”
“Right. You read my mind from across the kitchen table,” Symon scoffed. “No tea leaves or anything.”
“No. I didn’t read your mind. I sensed the
spaces. The empty areas, the words you didn’t say.”
Symon wanted to call her a liar, but he knew she wasn’t. It pissed him off. “There’s this thing called privacy, ever heard of it?”
Katherine grinned. “The truth isn’t out there, it’s in here,” she said, tapping her temple, and whistling the theme from the X Files.
“Yeah, funny.”
“Come on,” Katherine said, starting down the porch steps. “We stay here too long, and my mother will be out here wanting to know what we’re talking about.” She waited for Symon at the bottom of the steps, walked him to his car. “How’s Michael, really?”
“He’s good. He’s hunting with Etienne and Andrew, learning to control the hunger.”
“But?”
“He doesn’t talk much, keeps to himself. Andrew got him to watch a hockey game Wednesday night, but…”
“He’s not talking to them or he’s not talking to you?”
“Both.”
Her eyes cutting away from Symon’s, Katherine considered that news bite in silence, before looking back at him with eyes like her mother’s, like Michael’s. Eyes that saw too much. “How are you doing?”
“Me? I’m not the one dealing with a new diet and a constant temptation to chew on my neighbours.”
“No, you’re the one wondering if he’s lost the one man he didn’t want to lose.”
Symon snorted his opinion of that piece of Movie of the Week melodrama. “We’ve known each other less than two weeks. Little early for the hearts and violins.”
Katherine called him a liar. Not out loud, not in words. She stared Symon down, the knowledge there in her eyes, on her face. It was a silent duel between them, and Symon lost.
He pulled the rental car keys out, unlocked the car, and opened the driver’s side door. “Good night.”
“Symon,” Katherine said, catching the car door before Symon closed it. She leaned down, repeated Symon’s words back to him. “Give him time.”
Symon had given Michael time. He’d given him eternity.
Chapter 27
THE FOLLOWING WEEK, eight nights—yes, he was counting—after Michael’s induction into the night life, Symon walked into the Prince of Wales from the parking lot tucked behind the hotel and got hit with a blast of power.
