by Ari McKay
“Bourbon for me, but I’ll get it.” Julian squeezed Thomas’s ass, then released him. “I’ll move over to the sofa, if you’d like. That way you can sit beside me.”
“I’d like that,” Thomas said, his smile widening. He enjoyed being close to Julian even when they weren’t kissing or cuddling, and a few quiet hours of reading side by side was almost as appealing as coaxing Julian to bed. Almost.
Thomas hummed quietly as he headed to the kitchen to prepare the tea. In less than fifteen minutes, he was back in the library with a hot cup of chamomile tea and a plate of lemon shortbread, and he paused long enough to retrieve a family journal before joining Julian on the sofa. He’d been reading his ancestors’ journals in chronological order, and he’d finally gotten to Micah’s, which had given him a pang of twined anger and grief at first. The Micah Carter who had written those journal entries wasn’t the Micah Carter he’d grown up with, and seeing how much losing his son and daughter-in-law had affected Micah gave Thomas a little more understanding and sympathy for him.
Julian had settled in, a glass of bourbon on the table beside him and a massive leather-bound tome with yellowing pages open on his lap. As they both read, Julian reached over from time to time to absently play with a lock of Thomas’s hair, sifting it through his long fingers. Thomas sat close enough that his shoulder could brush against Julian’s. He wanted the contact, and he knew how much Julian liked his warmth.
He nibbled on the shortbread while he read, careful to keep crumbs out of the journal, and he quickly became engrossed, especially once Micah began writing about James—his training, his early missions—and then, later, Alicia. Thomas was getting to know his parents at last, and he felt more of a connection to his family—his heritage—than he ever had before.
He turned a page and was surprised to see one entry that took up a little more than half a page, and then nothing, even though about a quarter of the journal remained and all the other journals had been filled from cover to cover. He flipped through the rest of the journal, but the pages were blank, and he frowned as he returned to the last entry, curious why Micah had stopped writing before he reached the last page.
His breath caught and his heart beat faster as he read the entry, and he groped blindly for Julian’s arm as he stared at the page through the tears swimming in his eyes.
Julian turned at once to look at him, eyes widening as he saw Thomas’s expression. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“It’s my grandfather’s last journal entry. He wrote about my parents. Listen.” Thomas cleared his throat and tried to compose himself so he could read the words aloud. “James and Alicia are dead. They came by last night while I was sweeping the Henry family cemetery. We’ve been spread thin with the uptick in activity lately, but I’d gotten a report of disturbed graves there. They left Thomas with Clara. Julian had some information and wanted to meet with them to discuss it. They wanted me to meet up with him instead. Something he said must have tipped them off. Clara said she tried to get them to wait for me, but Alicia didn’t want to. She wanted to get back as soon as possible so Thomas’s sleep schedule wouldn’t be disrupted. James said they were going to make a quick scouting run, but if anything happened, the two of them could handle it. He got overconfident and forgot what I taught him. I didn’t meet Julian. I went after James and Alicia. I can only assume they showed up when the higher-level demon gated in. They killed it, but the shifters got them. I killed the shifters, but Alicia was already dead. James died in my arms. I made it look like a car wreck took them. My father died in service to the Most High. Now James and Alicia. I have spent my life in loyal service, and the Most High has done nothing but take those I love. I will throw off the chains that have bound my family for generations. I will be a servant of the Most High no more.”
Thomas’s heart ached for the grief and pain that had driven Micah to repudiate the Most High and cut himself off from the world, and considering how driven he felt to fight the Unholy, he could imagine the amount of willpower it had taken for Micah to resist his training and his instincts for so many years.
Julian looked even paler than usual, and he was still, not moving, not even breathing. His eyes were wide, and for the first time ever that Thomas had seen, he actually looked dead. When he finally spoke, the words were soft and full of pain.
“He let me believe, all this time, that it was my fault. He even said it was, that if I hadn’t summoned them to take a look at the glyph I’d found, they would still be alive. But they killed the demon. That’s why there were no more incidents afterward. But Micah let me believe….”
Thomas was too stunned to react for a moment, but then he flung the journal aside and moved closer to Julian.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around Julian. “I knew he carried a lot of bitterness, but I never thought he could be so cruel.”
For a moment Julian didn’t move, and Thomas wondered if Julian was going to push him away. But Julian didn’t retreat. Instead a sound escaped him, something dreadful and wounded and yet oddly relieved at the same time. Julian pulled Thomas into his arms, burying his face against Thomas’s shoulder. He wasn’t crying, but Thomas thought Julian was letting go of a deep, abiding pain he’d carried for a long time. Thomas held him close and offered comfort with long, soothing caresses along his back from shoulder to hip.
After some time Julian drew in a shuddering breath and lifted his head. “Sorry,” he murmured. “It’s a relief to know it wasn’t my fault, but Micah… he must have felt it was really his fault and simply couldn’t deal with it. Easier to divorce himself from the world, easier to be angry rather than guilty.”
“Or maybe he lashed out because he wanted someone else to hurt too,” Thomas said, still stroking Julian’s back. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care. The important thing is you know the truth now.”
“It helps.” Julian placed a hand to Thomas’s cheek. “I’ve felt guilty for being with you when I thought I’d cost you both your parents and your grandfather. I’ve wondered if you were going to wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.”
“You didn’t cost me anything. You set me free,” Thomas said, leaning into the touch. “I’m finally the person I was meant to be because of you. I don’t want you to feel guilty about being with me. I want you to be happy.”
“I should try to talk you out of it, for your own good,” Julian said. He caressed Thomas’s cheek with his hand. “But I’m too selfish.”
“Be as selfish as you want,” Thomas said. “I don’t want to be talked out of it.”
Julian smiled slightly. “You’re so young, Thomas. It frightens me sometimes. Just remember that when you finally tire of me, I won’t hold you back. You’ve had enough of that in your life.”
Thomas drew back and regarded Julian with a puzzled frown. “Why are you so sure I’ll grow tired of you? Just because I’m young?”
“Because I know myself, and I would try the patience of a saint.” Julian leaned in to kiss Thomas gently. “You’re wonderful, but I’m not sure even I believe you’re a saint.”
“I’m not a saint, and you’re definitely trying,” Thomas said, chuckling. “But this is a very big house where we can take breaks from each other as needed.”
“Just let me know if after the first fifty years or so, it’s too trying,” Julian said. “You’ll have a very long life, you know.”
“Assuming I’m not killed by a demon,” Thomas said. He didn’t want to die young, especially now that his life was shaping into something far better than he ever dreamed of, but after reading the journals of his ancestors, he knew the chances of surviving to old age weren’t in his favor. “But yes, if we’re both still alive fifty years from today, we’ll meet right here and reevaluate our relationship. Who knows? You might be tired of me by then,” he added with a teasing smile.
“I could never tire of you.” Julian ran his hand along Thomas’s back. “There is so much I hav
e to share with you, and learn from you. Not to mention, your enthusiasm for sex makes me feel young and randy myself.”
“My enthusiasm might be a little dimmed in fifty years,” Thomas said, his smile widening into a grin. “But maybe not. I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”
Julian laughed outright at that. “Yes, yes you do. And speaking of which… I could use a distraction from looking for that glyph. Why don’t we take the cuddling back to the bedroom? You do still need to recover your strength, but… well, you are young and healthy.”
“I’m happy to provide any kind of distraction you want.” Thomas stood up and held out his hand, eager to return to bed since Julian would be with him this time.
Julian picked up his glass to drain the last of his bourbon, then put it back on the table. He took Thomas’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Just having you with me is enough,” he said, then glared at Thomas playfully. “And if you dare tell Whimsy or Arden I said something so completely soppy, I’m going to be very perturbed. It’s just for you, you know. I do have a reputation to maintain.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Thomas tugged Julian’s hand to help him to his feet. “Besides, if anyone knew you’re a closet romantic, they might try to lure you away, and I won’t have that.”
Julian rose. “No one could ever lure me away from you. Trust me on that.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Thomas leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to Julian’s lips, and then he drew back with a coy smile. “Cuddling now? Maybe even naked cuddling?”
“Yes, naked cuddling if that’s what you wish.” Julian snorted. “You might be even worse than Arden and Whimsy combined. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Thomas laughed, amused by Julian’s grumbling, and he twined his fingers with Julian’s as he led him out of the library and up the stairs. “Good, because we may not have a mating bond, but you’re stuck with me now.”
“I think I’ll get used to it. In a decade or two.” Julian chuckled, then shook his head. “Maybe.”
Chapter Eleven
EVEN though he was a vampire, Julian didn’t like being in the presence of death.
Unfortunately, in this case he didn’t have much of a choice, not when his best friend’s father was the one dying. The old man in the bed was shrunken and wasted, his snow-white hair draping out over the pillows and his age-spotted hands curled on the covers. His face was peaceful, and a slight smile curved his lips. He looked like an incarnation of Father Time.
Gilorean was close to five hundred years old, and even for someone steeped in magic, that was a venerable age. There were limits to what magic could do to sustain a human body.
In contrast to her husband, Marin Goldenvoice looked young and vibrant. She was an elf, one of the Fae, who aged so slowly they were virtually immortal. Even Arden, her son, had no idea how old she was, except that she was even older than her husband. Despite the experience and wisdom of her years, Marin’s sky-blue eyes shimmered with tears, and she held one of Gilorean’s hands in hers as though fearful of letting go.
On the other side of the bed stood Arden. Julian had known his friend for over a century, and it was obvious Arden was grief-stricken. His huge green eyes were red from crying, and he seemed to be staying upright only because Eli had an arm around him. The others in the room included Whimsy and Harlan, Brianna Winddaughter, and several elves who were part of Marin’s family. Arden had called the death vigil an hour before, when Gilorean had briefly regained consciousness and told his son it was time.
Thomas stood beside Julian. Even though Thomas hadn’t known Gilorean, Arden had wanted him present, since Gilorean had been well acquainted with the Carter family. Even if he hadn’t been specifically invited, however, Julian would have brought him, because even if Gilorean wouldn’t feel Thomas’s absence, Julian certainly would.
Thomas was holding Julian’s hand, and they waited quietly. Three of the elves, however, were singing softly. Julian spoke Elvish, and he listened to the words, which described death as a journey between one place and another.
Suddenly Gilorean’s eyes snapped open. They were as green as his son’s, and surprisingly bright and focused. His gaze moved over the assembled watchers, sliding over the elven singers and coming to rest on Marin. Julian saw Gilorean’s gnarled fingers tighten on those of his wife; then Gilorean’s gaze continued on, lingering on Arden and Eli before moving to Whimsy and Harlan. When Gilorean’s gaze met his own, Julian felt a shock almost as direct as a touch, as though the old mage was looking into and through him. It lasted for only a moment before Gilorean’s eyes fell on Thomas.
This time it was as though Gilorean was the one receiving a shock, and he suddenly sat upright, focusing on Thomas with an intensity that seemed to blaze. The old mage’s aura expanded to meet the edges of Thomas’s. When they touched, Gilorean reached out his free hand toward Thomas.
“The answer, demon hunter. You have it. That which you seek lies in the place of lost voices. You alone can find the cauldron. You will find it, and you and the young mage will die.”
Stunned silence fell in the wake of this pronouncement. With a sigh, Gilorean fell back against the pillows. His eyes turned once again to Marin, and he smiled. “I’ll be back,” he murmured and closed his eyes. He drew in a deep breath, then let it out on a long, soft exhalation.
With that, he was gone.
Arden made a sound like a wounded animal and turned his face into Eli’s chest. But Julian couldn’t move, icy fingers of dread raking sharply down his spine. He stared at Gilorean’s body, willing the old man to rise again and tell them it was all a mistake. It had to be a mistake! Thomas wasn’t going to die, not if Julian had anything to say about it.
Whimsy looked shaken by Gilorean’s pronouncement, but he mustered a smile as he joined Eli in comforting Arden. “I don’t know how much better it’ll make you feel right now, but he really will be back,” he said as he stroked Arden’s back gently. “Mages can do that, remember? He’ll be like my uncle Restraint, only less voyeuristic.”
Arden turned his head to look at Whimsy, giving him a watery smile. “Good, because the thought of Appa looking at us in bed is rather off-putting.”
Julian realized he was squeezing Thomas’s hand too tightly, and he let up on the pressure. He turned his gaze to Thomas. “It won’t happen,” he said, his voice harsh. “I won’t let it. Gilorean never could see my future. I’m not going to let you or Whimsy die.”
“Maybe he didn’t mean it literally,” Thomas said, although a flash of worry appeared in his eyes. “My ancestors recorded things they were told by divinators. It tended to be pretty cryptic.”
Julian shook his head. “Cryptic or not, I’m not taking any chances.”
It didn’t seem respectful to argue about Gilorean’s last vision while the mage had barely drawn his last breath. Julian centered himself, then moved to offer Marin his condolences. He led Thomas out into the main part of the house, then waited for Whimsy, Harlan, Eli, and Arden to join them. The group agreed to meet up at Julian’s house as soon as Arden had done what he must for his mother.
Night had fallen by the time all six of them had gathered at Castle Schaden. Julian built a fire in the library fireplace, warding off the encroaching autumn chill as well as the specter of death. Even knowing that Gilorean was likely to return as a spirit didn’t do much to banish the gloom, and Arden was subdued from his normally bright and cheerful self.
Julian opened a bottle of his oldest bourbon, passing around glasses of it so they could drink to honor Gilorean’s life. After the toast was over, Julian raised the subject that he knew was on all their minds.
“Gilorean obviously saw the Cauldron of Rebirth,” he said quietly. “I know we need to beat the demons to it, but I’ll be damned if I’m risking Thomas or Whimsy in the process.”
Whimsy put his glass aside, his expression somber. “We might not have a choice,” he said. “Gilorean’s predictions were often cryptic,
but they weren’t wrong. If it comes down to my life versus saving the world, well….” He shrugged and spread his hands.
Harlan wrapped his arms around Whimsy. “I can’t see how you or Thomas dying would be needed to save the world,” he said, his voice husky. “I can’t believe the Most High would ask for that kind of sacrifice! Not after the demons have already killed so many.”
“I’m not sure how much the Most High has to do with any of this.” Julian grimaced. He’d never liked the itchy philosophical kinds of arguments; he preferred for things to be concrete and understood. He knew of ways to defeat demons that had nothing to do with intervention by higher powers, and he preferred to stick with those. Good and evil in this case were pretty clear-cut. “We know what the demons are after. We know that somehow Thomas will be able to locate it. What if Whimsy stays behind here, where it’s safe? Maybe Thomas doesn’t have to get right up on the thing to find it. If he can point us in the right direction, he can come back here and stay with Whimsy while Harlan, Eli, and I deal with retrieving the cauldron.”
“And what if the demons realize we’ve split the party and somehow find a way in?” Whimsy rested his hand on Harlan’s thigh and rubbed it absently. “Spells fail. Wards drop. If this is our fate, then trying to avoid it is foolish at best and impossible at worst. I’d rather die fighting.”
“It won’t matter whether fate or free will is at play if we don’t find the cauldron,” Thomas said, gazing into the depths of the amber liquid in his glass. “What Gilorean said about lost voices sounds familiar, though. I’m pretty sure I saw a reference to that in one of my family journals.”
“I guess that’s where we need to start, then,” Julian replied. “Something about ‘lost voices’ is familiar to me too.”
Arden, who had been curled up in Eli’s lap ever since arriving, raised his head. “It was my father’s prediction back when this all started, when I first brought Eli to him,” he said. “He said that the voices of lost souls will cry out in the wind. And that the dead who haunt Eli will not be his own.”