Lord of Legions

by T. R. Hamby

  He craved a Blade, and cursed that the family had hidden them all. Didn’t they want him to punish himself for what he had done? He did. He wanted to punish himself in the most brutal of ways.

  He got up and left his room, going out the back door, through the snow, to the stables. The chestnut horse, Priscilla, was awake, and he fed her an apple. The horses liked him now--the only creatures in the world who were fond of him. He laid his head on her strong neck, and for a small moment his depression ebbed.

  What had he done. He had terrorized a woman, forced her to do horrible things. Kidnapped her, sedated her, imprisoned her. She had had to manipulate, kiss, touch, to get away from him. And then she’d had to return to him, to rescue a child he should have known very well wasn’t his.

  The guilt overwhelmed him beyond measure. He would never forgive himself.

  He walked for a while, wishing he could feel the cold--to endure more suffering.

  He returned to the house. The sun was rising. Almost time to train.

  Good. Something to focus on.

  He would never bother Nora again--never speak to her, or so much as look at her. But he would protect her, with every ounce of strength he had. Which, right now, wasn’t proving to be much.

  He got dressed, and waited in the living area for the family to wake up. It was always Nora first--she wasn’t sleeping well. Then Mel, who murmured to her. Then Michael, who came downstairs to make Gilla’s coffee.

  He caught sight of Roone and hesitated. “Morning.”

  He had been greeting him in a kinder manner lately. Roone didn’t know how he felt about it. On the one hand he was relieved--he had one person who wasn’t treating him like dirt. But on the other hand, he knew he deserved that kind of treatment, and wished Michael would continue it.

  He looked away. “Good morning.”

  Michael went to the kitchen, started up the coffeemaker. Roone sat on the sofa, lost in a painful cloud of guilt.

  But he frowned, and chanced a question. “That detective questioned Barry yesterday.”

  Michael glanced at him. “Yeah.”

  “Is he….okay?” he asked awkwardly.

  Michael shrugged. “Just annoyed. He says Hudson doesn’t think we’re involved.”

  “Why was he questioned, then?”

  “The rest of them do, apparently.”

  Roone considered this. It was completely the wrong direction. How likely was it that a man hitchhiking on Elle Road would come across a recently moved-in family of murderers?

  “It’s because of Barry’s history,” Michael said, as if reading Roone’s thoughts.

  “History?”

  Michael frowned, as if surprised Roone didn’t know. “Addiction.”

  “Oh.”

  He thought for a moment. “So they think Barry….did it, and that we’re covering for him?”

  Michael seemed annoyed by the barrage of questions. “Guess so.”

  Roone quieted. He wondered why on earth the police were so interested in Barry, when there had been other murders. Prejudice, maybe.

  He felt a stab of anger.

  The rest came downstairs, some still in pajamas. Mel turned on the television, flipping the channel to the local news. Nothing on Samuel, but Roone watched anyway, in an effort to keep his eyes off Nora.

  “You doing all right?” he heard Michael ask as the group sat at the table.

  “S’pose,” Barry replied.

  They were all quiet, with nothing but the sound of utensils scraping their plates.

  Then Barry said, “S’pose we helped her.”

  “Barry, we have enough on our plate,” Nora said with a sigh. “We need to focus on training.”

  “There are plenty of hours in the day,” Barry replied stubbornly. “We need her off our backs. We need justice.”

  “She’s not going to let us help,” Mel said gently. “She’s already suspicious of us.”

  “I don’t know,” Barry murmured, and he sounded thoughtful. “I think she’s mostly curious now. She wants to know what we’re up to.”

  “She should stop playing Van Helsing and focus on the murders.”

  “Why not show her what we are,” Andreas said dully, and Roone could tell he was in a bad mood again. “Might scare her away. It did me.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  Barry must have looked intrigued. “If she could get over the shock of it all--”

  “No,” Mel interrupted.

  “--and we told her about our Talents--”

  “No, Barry.”

  “Leave it alone, mate,” Gabriel said, his voice gentle.

  Barry sighed. “Fine,” he said darkly. “Forget it.”

  They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

  Roone couldn’t help but be intrigued by Barry’s idea. Hudson seemed too stoic to be scared away by their true nature. If they showed her their Talents, she might agree to accept their help. And Michael and Melkira--Mel--had been doing detective work for thousands of years. She would want them on her side.

  But still, it wasn’t possible. Interesting, but not possible.

  Right after breakfast they went to the clearing to train. Michael looked troubled, and had to think for a moment before deciding on a lesson.

  “Let’s do knives first,” he said, selecting a couple daggers from the neat pile on the ground. “We haven’t worked on those much.”

  “Will I get to keep a Blade on me now?” he asked. “I won’t hurt any of you.”

  “No, but you’ll hurt yourself,” Michael replied, raising an eyebrow, “and we can’t have you weak.”

  Roone looked away. He almost wished Michael would worry about him. He craved attention, craved affection--as much as he didn’t deserve it.

  Michael handed him a knife, and they began, slashing at the air. Roone tried not to stumble; Michael was quick. Michael grabbed his arm, wrenching the Blade out of his hand, and threw him to the ground.

  Roone swore under his breath.

  “You have to watch,” Michael said patiently, holding out a hand. “Stop staring at your feet.”

  Roone grasped his hand and stood. He could hear Nora’s voice nearby, and he squeezed his eyes shut and shook himself.

  Michael looked cautious. “Let’s take a break,” he finally said.

  “We just started,” Roone replied, annoyed. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not,” Michael growled. “Just sit down, get your shit together.”

  And he strode off, toward Gilla and Nora.

  He had forgotten to take Roone’s knife from him. Roone considered it, examining the carvings in the blade. Just one cut. His sleeve would hide it….

  But no. He shook himself again. He would be in trouble if they found out.

  He returned the Blade to the pile and walked a ways, eager to get Nora out of his line of sight. He approached the other end of the clearing, where Mel and Andreas were trying to melt a snowman. The snowman was still, resolutely, intact.

  They gave him dirty looks when he arrived.

  “Yes?” Mel asked.

  He was scowling, but his tone wasn’t as harsh as Roone had expected. Andreas, on the other hand, glowered at him dangerously.

  Roone shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Could I sit here?”

  Mel considered him a moment. Then he sighed and shrugged, turning to face the snowman again.

  “I’m ready,” he told Andreas, who immediately produced a ball of fire in his hand.

  Mel reached out, and some of the fire whooshed into his palm. Then he stood, focusing intently on the snowman.

  In a flash a jet of flames shot from his hand, strong and hot, and obliterated the snowman into a puddle of slush.

  Everyone paused to stare, shocked. Mel’s eyes were wide, and he looked at his hands, which were still in flames.

  “Fuck,” Andreas breathed. “You did it.”

  “How?” Nora breathed, drawing closer.

  Roone looked away from her, until he heard Mel s
ay, “I was angry….I was….he came over….”

  Roone looked up. Everyone was staring at him, dark looks on their faces. Nora went pale and walked off.

  He felt an incredible anger suddenly rise up within him, and he blurted, “Great. So I’ll just sit here and motivate you. Do you want me to dance, maybe? Like a monkey?”

  “Roone,” Michael said warningly.

  But it wasn’t Mel who exploded. It was Andreas.

  He swore in Swedish. “How dare you. You petulant, disgusting criminal. You deserve to be in a prison, and yet you’re here with us, and you have the nerve to talk shit.”

  Roone sprang to his feet as Andreas approached him, eyes blazing.

  “Leeching, whining, sorry excuse for a creature,” Andreas growled, shoving Roone backwards.

  “Don’t hold back,” Roone hissed, shoving him too. “Tell them all what I am.”

  “I don’t have to tell them what a waste you are. Fucking prick. We all wish you were dead.”

  It was Roone who threw the first punch. His fist made good contact, and Andreas stumbled, grunting. He straightened, incensed, and then they were on each other, throwing punches.

  They fell to the ground, but Roone began to slow. As furious as he was, he couldn’t hurt Andreas. It wasn’t him he was angry with.

  Andreas slowed too, and eventually they broke apart, breathing heavily. Andreas stood and looked at Roone. Roone expected to see anger, disgust, but instead he saw grief.

  He strode off, and Roone sat there, ashamed. Everyone was watching him, uncertain of what to do.

  Finally Michael approached, and held out a hand. “Come on.”

  Roone considered his hand for a moment. Then he took it, and Michael hauled him to his feet. Everyone looked away, awkward.

  Michael started for the creek. “Let’s walk for a bit.”

  Roone was more inclined to lie down, but he followed Michael dutifully through the trees.

  “Got that out of your system?” Michael asked calmly.

  Roone felt a surge of guilt. “I know I shouldn’t have done that.”

  To his surprise, Michael shrugged. “I think he needed it too.”

  Roone snorted. “Glad I could help, then.”

  Michael’s lips twitched. “He’s been through a lot too.”

  “I know.”

  They arrived at the creek. Michael folded his arms, and Roone shoved his hands in his pockets.

  He looked out, over the ice and at the woods beyond. It was beautiful.

  “Do you still love Nora?” Michael asked suddenly.

  Roone looked at him and nodded warily. “I’ll always love her.”

  “But you know she doesn’t love you.”

  He felt a horrible pang, and nodded. He knew very well now.

  They were quiet.

  Roone’s heart was slowing now, and that familiar feeling of self-hatred returned. He felt almost overcome with despair, and he lowered himself onto the ground.

  Michael sighed, and sat beside him. He seemed to struggle for a minute, before saying, “None of us want you dead.”

  Roone stared at him. He wasn’t sure which was more shocking--what Michael had said, or the fact that Michael had said it, as if trying to cheer Roone up.

  He finally shrugged. “You should.”

  “Don’t be an idiot about it. What’s done is done. Don’t expect forgiveness, but don’t wallow, either. We need you to have a clear head.”

  It wasn’t exactly comforting. Roone suddenly remembered lying beside Nora, on her bed in the Walsh house, listening to her speak. Telling her his horrid history. Kissing her.

  He had been so happy, so convinced they were meant to be together. Now it made him sick.

  “We should go back,” Michael said, standing. “You think you can focus on your training today?”

  Roone stood and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Good. We need you.”

  And he led the way back to the clearing.

  Roone stayed in his bedroom for the rest of the day. He was embarrassed, and couldn’t bear the looks everyone would give him if he ventured out.

  But when night came he grew restless. He went outside, longing for relief from his dark thoughts. He walked a while before going to the stables.

  He felt a Presence as soon as he got to the door. He frowned. Mel? He was up late sometimes, but he never went to feed the horses at this hour.

  He eased the door open, and was mortified to find Andreas. He was clad in a T-shirt and jeans, and was gently stroking Elvis’ long mane.

  He looked over at Roone and froze. They eyed each other for a moment. Roone knew he should leave, head back to his room. But he stood there instead, waiting to see what would happen.

  Finally Andreas said, “Come back for more?”

  It wasn’t exactly an angry statement.

  Roone shook his head. “No.”

  “What do you want then?”

  Roone nodded at the horses.

  Andreas glanced at them, then stepped a few feet to the side, petting Priscilla instead.

  Roone took that to mean he could come in, and he closed the door behind him. He got a brush, and began grooming Elvis’ soft hide.

  He could feel Andreas studying him. Finally Andreas said, quietly, “If you touch a single hair on Nora Rossi’s head, ever again, I’ll--”

  “Kill me?” Roone sighed. “I know.”

  They was quiet.

  Roone glanced at him. He was petting Priscilla’s snout, looking thoughtfully into her eyes. His own eyes gleamed in the dim light, and his sandy hair fell into his face.

  He caught Roone staring. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Roone replied, looking away.

  He resumed brushing Elvis, who stood very still.

  “How does an Angel,” Andreas finally murmured, “suffer from an illness?”

  Roone frowned, stunned. Just a few hours ago Andreas was calling him a criminal. Now he was saying that Roone was sick.

  “I suppose it’s your history,” he continued, almost to himself. “An abusive childhood.”

  He glanced at him. “Have you felt this way for other women?”

  Roone flushed. For a moment he considered remaining silent.

  But Andreas’ words were too intriguing. “Not like this. But….I have been….obsessed before. Knowing they didn’t feel the same way.”

  “Did you hurt them?”

  “No. Some of them married me--security. I’ve always been wealthy. But none of them cared for me.”

  He was bitter. “I suppose being an obsessive lunatic puts people off.”

  Andreas’ lips twitched at his dark humor.

  They were quiet again. Elvis was still, enjoying his brushing. Priscilla whinnied for an apple.

  Roone thought he sensed Andreas studying him a couple times, and he flushed. No, now was not the time….definitely not….

  “Have you ever been married?” Roone asked quickly, when he thought he saw Andreas shift in his direction.

  Andreas cleared his throat. “No. I’m not romantic.”

  “That’s interesting wording.”

  He shrugged. “Never was. Never been in love, don’t plan to.”

  And his face fell. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. Being dead has its perks, I guess.”

  He sounded pained, and Roone felt sorry for him.

  He didn’t know what to say, so they were quiet again.

  Roone looked at him. He looked sad, patting Priscilla’s strong neck. He caught Roone’s eye, and they stared at each other for a moment before Roone looked away.

  Fuck.

  Andreas caught his wrist. Roone looked at him, and Andreas kissed him, cupping his face in his hands.

  Roone was so shocked that all he could do was stand there, for so long that Andreas drew away. He looked confused, disappointed, and after a moment he turned to go.

  Roone grasped his shoulder and pulled him close, kissing him roughly. Andreas moaned, shoving Roone against t
he wall. They tore their shirts off, touched each other, before kissing again, rough and frantic. They yanked their pants down, and Andreas turned Roone around.

  Roone clung to the wall, breathing heavily. He realized he was grinning--for the first time in weeks he was smiling. Both men moaned as Andreas rocked into him, holding his hips and swearing. They peaked at the same time, gasping and moving shakily.

  Roone was dizzy. He braced against the wall, trying to get his breath back.

  Shit. They shouldn’t have done that. They really should not have done that.

  Andreas seemed to have the same thoughts.

  “We’re never doing that again,” he said, pulling up his jeans. “Fuck. Mel will kill me.”

  Roone pulled his pants up too, and looked around for his shirt. He refrained from saying that everyone would want to kill him if they found out.

  Andreas ran his hands through his hair, taking deep breaths. “Fuck.”

  “Don’t worry,” Roone said, tugging on his shirt, “I won’t say anything.”

  Andreas looked at him. “Don’t fall in love with me.”

  Roone just snorted. Didn’t he remember who he was talking to?

  Andreas was studying him, an odd look on his face. Roone thought he saw some of that grief from earlier, and knew in that moment that he was missing his old life, so brutally taken from him.

  He felt awkward. “I won’t tell anyone,” he repeated lamely.

  “I know you won’t.”

  “Well--good.”

  “Good.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then Andreas cleared his throat, looking pained. He approached him, kissed his cheek, and left.

  Roone suddenly felt very hollow. He backed into the wall and slid to the floor. Beside him Elvis huffed, annoyed that his brushing had been interrupted.

  Roone wondered what that was. Loneliness, obviously. Desperation. And something else….a need to be close to someone. To be loved.

  He swore, held his head in his hands. He thought of Nora, wrapped in his arms the night she had escaped, and his heart ached. Why hadn’t he known? Why had he been so blind?

  He finished brushing the horses, and then went to bed. He knew Andreas’ room was just down the hall, and he yearned to go there, let himself in. Just talk.

  But he knew he would kick him out, so he lay in bed instead, trying desperately to sleep.