The Afterliving (His Blood & Silver Series Book 1)

by Fernando Rivera

  “I wasn’t following you. I was — ” He’s not buying it. “Yeah, I was following you. But just for the last few minutes.”

  “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself, not after yesterday. It’s not safe.”

  “I don’t feel any safer at the estate than I do out here.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m returning you to your family.”

  “And I’ll find a way out again. Besides, you’re my family, too, right? If my mom was your Sire, you’re kind of like my Afterliving brother.”

  Gabriel’s expression softens, and he breathes a heavy sigh. “Why are you in Brighton?”

  I shrug. “Following a hunch. Looking for Anthony. I don’t really know. What about you?”

  “Tending to a personal matter.” He glances at his watch.

  A personal matter? It never dawned on me Gabriel had a personal life — or any life outside of Stockton Estate. “What kind of personal matter?”

  “One that doesn’t concern you.”

  His aggressive tone stimulates my instinct, and my senses become more acute. I sniff the air, detecting that familiar hint of incense. “Are you wearing cologne?”

  The color drains from his face. “I’m — ” He checks the time again. “I’m taking you home.”

  It clicks: Gabriel isn’t suspicious; he’s embarrassed.

  I look him up and down. “You have a date, don’t you?”

  “A date? Don’t be absurd. I’m simply meeting a mate for a pint.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have a problem with me coming along.”

  “I — ”

  “Look, you can continue arguing with me and be late, or you can take me home and still be late. Either way, if you keep saying no, you’re gonna be late. ‘For a very important date.’”

  “Enough,” he syncs. I flinch. Gabriel clears his throat and smooths his polo. “Excuse me.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

  Gabriel studies my eyes. “If I let you accompany me, we must promise not to breathe a word of what we see or hear to anyone. Is that clear?”

  “Sure.”

  “Manny, you need to promise me.”

  “Fine.”

  His sea-blue irises grow. “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Very well. As I promise you.” His words conjure an imaginary wave of water that rolls from the front of my eyes to the back of my head. After it passes, I feel an overwhelming sense of duty to the commitment I’ve just made.

  “What happened? You did something weird.”

  “We’ve been bound to each other’s word.” He smiles. “Now you may come.”

  Once we safely reach the ground, Gabriel instructs me to stay on his left side, away from the street.

  “So was that your talent? Promises?”

  “The Talent of Accountability is more than promises, Manny. It’s rooted in trust and commitment. I create loyalties between parties. Much like a Sire Bond.”

  “So it’s like another form of Impulsion.”

  “Not exactly. Accountability isn’t as one-sided as Influence. For a Veravox like myself to bind you to a promise, I also must commit to you.”

  “That seems fair.”

  “I agree. Although, you’d be astounded by the number of people who are afraid of commitment,” he chuckles. “And it’s sage.”

  “Sage?”

  “The fragrance I’m wearing. It’s sage.”

  We arrive at a pub off of St. James Street, the Mad Dog, the only bar on the strip with a doorman. He and Gabriel face off. The man’s rough, weathered skin is an extreme contrast to Gabriel’s milky-smooth complexion, but they both possess an equally intimidating presence — the stranger with his squat, sturdy physique and Gabriel with his tall, powerful frame.

  I wait for one of them to speak, but words are never exchanged. Instead, Gabriel’s pupils flux, swallowing his irises in a pattern of beats and pulses. The bouncer replies in similar code, manipulating his hazel eyes to match Gabriel’s cadence. Gabriel responds once more, and after he’s finished, the doorman smiles. “We’ve missed you, Vampire.”

  “I’ve missed you, Mutt,” Gabriel fires back. They embrace like old friends, and as the bouncer moves away from the entrance, I notice a CCTV free sign posted on the door. It’s similar to the one at St. Nicholas Parish, only this one is light green.

  The doorman sniffs in my direction. “And who is — ?” His jaw drops. “Is this Isidore’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you brought him here? Are you mad? The New Moon is tomorrow.”

  “We’re aware, Harrison.”

  “But if the other Shifters find out — ”

  “Harrison…”

  “And if he gets — ” Harrison wrestles with his conscience. “His blood’ll be on your hands, Gabriel. Your hands.”

  “You know he’d never let that happen.”

  “He wouldn’t. But he doesn’t speak for the lot of them.”

  I have no idea what Gabriel and Harrison are talking about, but if it causes this much conflict, it must be worthwhile. “I’ll take my chances,” I exclaim.

  Harrison reaches for the door. “As long as we’re clear. I don’t want your lot raising hell in this district later here because of you being a numpty.”

  “They won’t,” I say, half believing my own words. “What’s a numpty?”

  Harrison shakes his head in disbelief and pulls the latch, allowing us passage into the Mad Dog.

  Within seconds, my nostrils are accosted by one of the heaviest, most stomach-churning odors I’ve ever encountered. It’s not the typical bar smell of cheap beer and old carpet. This is something much more potent — and organic.

  I pinch my nose and cover my mouth, retching.

  “Stop that,” Gabriel whispers.

  “I can’t help it.” My eyes start to tear as I fight the urge to gag. “This place reeks.”

  He pulls my hand away from my face. “Of course it does. It’s a Shifters’ den.”

  I hold my breath and scan the pub more closely. I don’t see any Shifters — whatever those are — but I do see enough men to know what kind of bar this is. “I didn’t know you were gay,” I remark.

  Gabriel smirks.

  My throat constricts and the back of my tongue stiffens. “I can’t be here.”

  Gabriel’s taken aback. “Manny, I’m insulted.”

  “No.” I retch again. “I literally can’t be here. Gabriel, the smell — ” Before I can finish my sentence, a crimson stream of vomit spews from my mouth. It’s blood — two flasks and one bottle’s worth.

  The music stops, and all heads turn in our direction. Whispers erupt from every corner of the room, and the word vampire is thrown around more times than I can count. The nearest men form a tight circle around us, and my skin hardens when I see my face reflected in a sea of black Shifter eyes. Gabriel and I are outnumbered.

  My next thought is to phasm, but the door we entered through is blocked by a formidable wall of patrons. There’s no way we could get past them unscathed. We’re trapped, like sheep in a lion’s den.

  The spark within my chest ignites, and my fingertips tingle. My nails could become longer and thicker if I allowed…

  ‘Manny, remain calm. Trust me,’ Gabriel echoes.

  One of the men steps forward. “You’re going to have to use more than sage to cover your tracks, Vampire.” The odor in the air becomes thicker as the man’s facial features contort, taking on distinct birdlike qualities. His nose elongates into a razor-sharp beak, and his locks of curly hair entwine to form a large helmet of ornate feathers. His eyes are the last to change, erupting in an abstract splash of brown and gold, completing his were-bird transformation.

  The stench increases as the Shifter next to him follows suit
. His trim beard spreads like a mask across his face, traveling down his neck until every inch of skin is covered by a thick coat of fur. Then the muscles in his temples stretch and twitch until his ears widen and extend like a cat’s. Just like his friend, his eyes are the last to change, taking on a metallic green sheen.

  Gabriel remains unfazed.

  “Gentlemen, might I remind you this is a neutral den?” a familiar voice says from the back of the pub. “So if anyone is going to harass these blokes, it’s going to be me.”

  A path clears from our circle to the end of the bar, and on the last stool sits Wolfgang Schmitt. He’s casually dressed, nursing a colorful cocktail and sporting an unexpected carefree air. Even his posture is different — relaxed. Aside from the gaudy cane hanging on a hook underneath the bar, I’d say this was a completely different man.

  Wolfgang’s gay, too? I look to Gabriel in disbelief. “This is the ‘mate’ you’re having a pint with?”

  He gives me a reassuring nod and proceeds. I do my best to ignore the Shifters’ black stares as we approach the empty seats at the bar.

  Wolfgang dismisses the crowd with a wave of his hand. “As you were. And can somebody clean that up, please?” He indicates the bloody vomit.

  “Sorry about that,” I remark.

  The Shifters hiss in response, and the music and chatter continue as if never disturbed. Gabriel directs me to take the middle stool, so I sit. Wolfgang waits for him to speak. Or Gabriel waits for Wolfgang. I can’t really tell. This whole situation is bizarre.

  “So you two are…mates?” I say, breaking the silence.

  Wolfgang grins, looking over my shoulder. “Gabriel?”

  “Yes, Manny. Wolf and I are mates. And we’re together. We’re a couple.”

  “A couple? Like, boyfriends?”

  “Yes.”

  A Lycain and a Disciple? And not just any Lycain, the Lycain — the Demiguard. “Is that…common?”

  “No, actually. It’s quite frowned upon,” Gabriel answers.

  “You could say I’m Gabe’s dirty little secret,” Wolfgang jokes.

  “Can we change the subject, please?” Gabriel orders a drink from the bartender.

  “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s been more sensitive than normal since your father passed.” Wolfgang leans in, lowering his voice. “Although, in my opinion, he should be celebrating.”

  Celebrating?

  “I can hear you,” Gabriel comments, annoyed. “Wolf, you promised. No talk of Isidore tonight.”

  Wolfgang chuckles, sipping his drink. “So, Emmanuel, I trust you’ve been told what I am.”

  “Yes.”

  “And how vulnerable a Daemon in your position would be if scratched or bitten by someone like me — or really, by any Shifter in this pub, for that matter?”

  I nod. “But I also know it’s against the rules. You have to follow a treaty, right? And Lycains can only claim on the Full Moon.”

  Wolfgang’s eyes light up. “You know about the Discarnate Treaty? It’s funny you should mention it.”

  “Wolf…” Gabriel warns.

  Wolfgang feigns innocence. “He’s the one who brought it up. And he has a right to know how it pertains to his father.”

  I give Gabriel a pleading look, and he permits Wolfgang to continue. “Your father and his Saved were notorious for overstepping our parties’ agreement, and as you know, siring outside the terms of the Discarnate Treaty provides Disciples no protection from enemy interference. That being said, when Isidore wished to break the rules, he would petition me for exemption to ensure his Baptisms remained uninterrupted.”

  “You helped him sire more Disciples?”

  “Indirectly, yes.”

  “Why?”

  Wolfgang stares at his drink and sighs. “Because there are certain things in this world that are more important than power, Emmanuel, and unlike your kind, I will not live forever. I would like to believe my time spent on this earth amounted to more than numbers and duties to my creed.” He looks at Gabriel, who smiles, finally pleased by one of Wolfgang’s comments.

  “However,” Wolfgang continues, “business is business, and in our last conversation, I believe you were given a deadline.”

  “For the job offer, you mean, at Woodland Imports?”

  “There’s no job offer,” Gabriel scoffs. “Wolf wants you to be Claimed by the Lycains. Wolf, Manny isn’t interested. Now, can we please talk about something else?” He slams his drink on the bar top, so forcefully that it shatters. “Bugger…”

  Wolfgang motions to the bartender. “Another, please?”

  “As I live and breathe, the lost soul’s been found,” someone exclaims. “How’d you like the moonshine? Put hair on your chest, did it?”

  It’s the taxi driver from the airport. “Tom?”

  “Good memory. Just like his father.”

  “My father? You knew who I was?”

  “Of course I did. There’s not a Shifter around here who don’t know who you are. The great son of Jacob Isidore Stockton.”

  “I’m afraid I have a confession to make,” Wolfgang says. “Tom assisted you upon my orders.”

  “So it wasn’t a coincidence we met at the pub?”

  Wolfgang shakes his head.

  “But how did you know I got off the plane?”

  “Mina told me,” Gabriel replies. “It was the first time she had tuned me in over twenty years. Her echo was just as beautiful as I remembered.” He clears his throat, choking back his emotions. “Unfortunately, I was detained when she informed me you had stayed, which is why I passed the information to someone I trust.” He motions to Wolfgang.

  “And I contacted Tom,” Wolfgang adds.

  “Who’s a…?”

  “Shifter. A Sylvercat, to be precise,” Tom declares.

  “Do Sylvercats not like Disciples, too?” I ask.

  He laughs, slapping my shoulder. “Sylvercats don’t get mixed up in all that business. We’re neutral. Like the Swiss. We keep our noses clean.”

  “I hardly consider recommending moonshine keeping your nose clean,” Gabriel remarks.

  “I had to. To calm his nerves,” Tom admits. “The boy was echoing thoughts like mad. And I don’t see what the fuss is. It was just a shot.”

  Actually, it was two if you count the extra one Wolfgang offered me. But seeing as he’s already skating on thin ice with Gabriel, I’ll keep that bit of information to myself.

  “Regardless, Tom, thank you for keeping Emmanuel’s best interests in mind,” Wolfgang says.

  “Glad I could be of service. Cheers.” Tom toasts us with his pint and disappears among a new crowd of Shifters.

  “As I was saying,” Wolfgang continues, “I would be honored if you considered joining me and my pack.”

  “Wolfgang, I already told you he’s not interested,” Gabriel protests.

  “Why don’t you let Emmanuel decide?” Wolfgang turns to me. “Has your family told you the truth? About where your people and my people really come from?”

  “Wolf, I’m begging you,” Gabriel pleads. “You promised. No business.”

  “That was before I knew you’d be bringing a guest. And you of all people know the chances of Emmanuel obtaining a straight answer from a Stockton is as rare as a Blood Moon in June,” he says with a wink.

  Gabriel rises from his stool. “Manny, we’re leaving.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I know where this conversation is going, and Wolf is the last person you want answering your questions. His interpretation of our history is — ”

  “Accurate?” Wolfgang interjects.

  “Blasphemous.”

  “Those who live in glass houses should not cast stones,” he taunts, taking a sip of his fruity cocktail. This debate is clearly an integral part of their
relationship. “All I care to emphasize is there are two sides to every story, and because one is written in the Vulgata, that doesn’t make it the most valid.”

  “That’s enough,” Gabriel scolds, drawing the attention of the other Shifters.

  “There’s no need to be defensive, Gabe. We’re having an honest conversation.”

  “There’s nothing honest in what you’re trying to do, Wolfgang, and I won’t sit here quietly as you defile the name of Christ and everything this man’s parents stood for.”

  “You’re overrea — ”

  “I am not overreacting,” he syncs, a fire burning in his eyes. “I’m disgusted. Mina may not be ashes, but she is gone, nonetheless, and instead of being a decent companion and expressing the slightest hint of condolence, you’re using this time of tragedy to further your own opportunistic agenda.”

  Gabriel’s words pierce the chink in Wolfgang’s armor, and his bravado melts away. “You’re right, Gabriel. You’re absolutely right. What was I thinking? I’m sorry,” he says, revealing a glimpse of his humanity. “I got carried away. Please, forgive me. You know how I can be. Mina was an incredibly loving Sire.”

  “Yes, she was. Come along, Manny.”

  “Wait,” Wolfgang begs. “Don’t leave.” He reaches across the counter to grab Gabriel’s arm, exposing a numeric scar on his left wrist: 616. “You were right. I should have been more sensitive to your loss. To both of you.”

  “Yes. You should have. And maybe next time you won’t need someone to remind you. Good night, Wolfgang.” Gabriel yanks me by the arm, leading me away from Wolfgang and the burgeoning stench of the Mad Dog.

  The farther we get from the Mad Dog, the less Gabriel checks over his shoulder. He’s as pensive as I am — for different reasons, I’m sure. What do the scars on Wolfgang’s arm mean? And are they connected to the numbers I’ve seen in the dreams about my father?

  We continue walking in silence until reaching Brighton Pier. It’s empty this time of night, and not as warm or inviting as I would expect. The bright lights and noisy rides are far less enjoyable without laughing kids and weekend tourists.

  Gabriel leads us to a deserted corner of the pier. “I apologize for exposing you to that spectacle. My relationship with Wolf can be stressful at times, as you clearly saw.”