Curdled milk. The one beverage in the house that young Sam usually had to himself was three days past its expiration date. Even now, lying comfortably in the penthouse suite, Sam could smell the decay.
Saul was a changed Vemreaux, which meant that after his dip in the Fountain of Youth, he’d been granted the usual extra one hundred twenty years, hardened bones and unaging organs in exchange for a lesser sense of taste and the ever-common iron deficiency which triggered the thirst for filtered O-type human blood.
The taste for blood usually trumped his father’s want for milk, so Sam did not put the beverage high enough on his list of priorities. After all, spoiled milk usually only earned Sam a less enthusiastic breakfast. His father preferred whisky on the rare chance he woke before noon.
That morning the exchange was a quarter cup of chunky milk for a bloody nose and a round with the leather belt. He’d forgotten that the smell would set his father off. Sam was then locked in the bedroom closet with the carton of sour milk to remind him that changed Vemreaux had a heightened sense of smell.
The thing it ended up teaching Sam was to skip breakfast and duck out of the house whenever his father was awake. His father had forgotten he’d locked Sam in the closet and left him there for two days.
Sam flinched and continued to smoke, facing the window. Even though the curtains were shut, he could still detect a faint glow sneaking in to taunt him. Of all the bonuses touted about bathing in the Fountain, sharper sight was never listed as a deterrent. His keen vision could make out shapes in the room, ensuring that going back to sleep would be impossible.
He stood on unsteady feet, pulled on shorts and zipped on a sweatshirt over his bare chest. Sam knew he had to distance himself from the horror he’d endured through his subconscious. He stepped out of the room no one would share with him and found Alec sitting at the table, drinking a bottle of O-Negative cola.
Alec was well into his borrowed one hundred twenty years, most of which were spent as security detail for Europe’s royal family. He could recall Sam’s restlessness even back when Sam was younger and would roam around the mansion on the nights it was unsafe for him to leave his friend and go to his unstable home. He’d been the one to suggest Sam go running if he couldn’t fall back asleep, though the demons always managed to catch up.
“Sorry I woke you,” Sam offered. It was one thing for him to suffer, but he hated being responsible for anyone else’s sleepless nights. He loathed it when his friends witnessed him crying out like that. “Did I…did I attack you?” Sam was unable to look up at his friend as he put out his cigarette on the edge of the kitchen sink and tossed it in the trash.
“No. You just shouted a bit. Same as usual,” Alec lied. “Be back before Liam’s meeting. They’re settling on their final plans for the testing. You’re in charge of sobering Liam up so he’s presentable for Emperor Anders.”
“How’d that fall on me?” Sam whispered as he shoved on his trainers.
“You’re the one what suggested that stupid rave last night. You deal with Liam’s royal headache when he wakes up. He’s your best friend.”
“And your charge. Not mine anymore. I’m just here for the sightseeing.” Though Sam was unofficially part of Prince Liam’s security, he and the prince were first and foremost best friends. “Shouldn’t you be the one getting him up and going?”
“Nope.”
“Yeah, alright.” Sam stood and stretched, patting his pocket to make sure his room key and phone were there. “Go back to sleep. You’re looking old. I’d say you look near on thirty-two with that ugly mug.” Of course, Alec had not aged a day since he’d dipped in the Fountain more than a century ago, but Sam missed no opportunity to introduce levity to the grim start of his day.
Alec was not known for smiling. He returned the slight with a rude hand gesture, which Sam answered with a blown kiss before he exited the suite.
The cold air hit Sam like a punch in the face. The hair follicles on his arms were shocked awake, bemoaning the early morning fall weather. Sam jogged through Capital City, admiring the difference from his home country. He’d run to the edge of the capital yesterday, when memories of fights with Liam’s older brother kept him from sleep. Today he decided to venture beyond. The tall skyscrapers traded themselves in for trees the further out he ran. The city noise gave way to a few birds and the occasional early commuter.
Endorphins kicked in and chased away his childhood, giving him a fresh perspective for the new day. They had nearly a month and a half to spend in the Americas, and Liam’s duties demanded they were near the capital. Sam had heard of some truly wild parties a few cities south, but Emperor Frederick Boniface would not be happy if his son missed his check-ins or failed to be a satisfactory judge in the testing to find the Wayward Light. Frederick was the dad Sam unofficially adopted as his own long before he got a job working for the family. Letting him down was not an option.
Sam was about to turn around when he caught sight of the most obnoxious-colored Humvee he’d ever seen. The large vehicle was neon green with yellow-painted flames engulfing the tail lights. Sam shook his head and smiled, guessing that whoever drove that car was not in the bodyguard profession. The car was parked heading out of town, and the driver’s body was slumped over the steering wheel.
Sam neared and saw that the front of the car was caved in around the trunk of a thick oak tree.
His heart rate spiked as his jog broke into a run. He banged his fist on the windshield, hoping to rouse the man sitting inertly in the passenger’s seat. When that yielded no results, he yanked out his phone and called the international emergency hotline. The operator assured him she would send police and an ambulance straight away.
Sam was not accustomed to doing nothing. He’d been a bodyguard for the royal family of Europe for several years, and served a term in the King’s Royal Army before it was disbanded, due to the successful reign of peace.
Before that, he’d done his fair share of adolescent crime. Sam folded his arms over his chest and let out a short noise of frustration. What he wouldn’t give for a crowbar.
Chapter Seven
The Waitress
Age of Peace Law 18, Subset 12c
Regarding dining establishments, the menu must be clearly marked for unchanged Vemreaux and Waywards to limit food poisoning from consuming changed Vemreaux food.
“Fire hydrants, Elle?” Baird questioned.
“One,” Elle proclaimed with a nod as she hopped out of the vehicle.
Blue groaned aloud at the “game” Baird used to make them play in The Way. It was one thing she’d hoped would not make it out into the real world. Perfect recollection was important, sure, but never knowing when the “game” was coming put her on alert at all times.
“Trees?”
“One hundred thirty seven a meter out from where I’m standing,” Blue replied, stretching down and touching her toes. Even the pavement was an experience. It was black and smelled odd, unlike the gray concrete walkways in The Way.
Blue fought to keep her smile under wraps, but she was dancing on the inside. She was thrilled to be out of The Way and back with her girlfriends and her brother. She had a new life with just one job and fancy clothes with pretty colors on them to boot.
They entered the kitchen through the back using two of the keys on Baird’s sturdy key ring. Baird reached his hand inside the doorway and flipped on the overhead lights. They came in dim at first, the fluorescent bulbs needing time to wake up before they could properly shine.
Her eyes swept once around the kitchen before Baird shut off the lights. “You-See,” Baird announced, naming the “game” he had played with Blue since she’d been a child.
Grettel’s breath hitched and became uneven. It was the only sound that everyone could hear above the whirring of the refrigerator. “Baird?” she whispered uncertainly.
“It’s important, Grettel. Blue has to be able to memorize every room perfectly and be able to use that information at a moment�
��s notice.” Baird picked up Grettel’s small hand so she could feel his strength and be reassured. “I know how you hate the dark, though. I’m here. Nowhere safer.” In the moments he stopped to comfort her, he drew in a stealthy amount of tenderness from the girl he would never admit to needing. Grettel softened him, while Elle kept him on his toes with her smart mouth and lusty looks. There were times he wished he could find the qualities of both women in just one girl.
“Dishwasher.” Baird spoke through the quiet, giving his sister a little push forward.
Blue gave him a light shove in return, not caring for the manhandling. Blue’s fists rose to four centimeters below her chin, one in front of the other, and clenched there, elbows in. Blue inhaled deeply, separating each scent and assigning it a name and location of origin as best she could. The darkness crowded around her, but she kept her eyes shut to avoid cheating, in case her superior night vision picked up shapes in the void. She moved forward, turning a sharp left three paces in front of her and walking seven more until she reached out and rested her hand on the stainless steel wall of the commercial appliance. “Touch,” she confirmed, and then withdrew her hand.
She knew he would have more. He always had more.
“Bring me three clean dinner plates,” he instructed.
“She hasn’t even seen the kitchen a whole minute, Baird,” Elle complained. “Give her a break.”
Baird did not answer, but held his hand out expectantly.
Blue weaved around the island in the kitchen, careful not to bump her body to any part of the enclosed space. Resting the plates in Baird’s outstretched hand, she knew that he would be smiling because the dark would cover his pride at her ability to be so stealthy.
Wiping the smile from his voice, Baird spoke again. “Elle, put the plates back.”
Elle wasted no time in returning the plates to the exact pile they were taken from without making a single sound. Blue was always impressed by her friend’s prowess at the “games” they had played for years. Blue’s abilities were natural, but Elle’s were cultivated through time and lots of practice.
Much to Grettel’s relief, Baird dropped her hand and flicked the lights on. “The large fridge’s for changed Vemreaux food, and the small one’s got fresh things for the unchanged. It’s also stocked with food for us.” Baird pulled four apples out of the A-blood fridge and passed them around.
“Grettel’s the best cook around. We get so many repeat customers because of our little pixie.”
Grettel blushed at Elle’s compliment. “It’s not that. Baird’s Green Abby shots keep them coming back. Another bar tried to copy the drink, but it was a total flop.” She dipped her head in the man’s direction, who acknowledged her praise with a reciprocating nod.
Elle’s hand rested on a fancy looking machine with several nozzles and buttons. “This,” she explained in her best attempt at a low, creepy voice, “is the blood fountain.” She indicated the labels just above the buttons that were faded and spattered grotesquely as her tone changed back to normal. “We’ve got both the drinkable types here. Filtered O-Positive and Negative. It’s better than the one in The Way that the professors use with their coffee, isn’t it? Newer.”
“Vemreaux gotta have their blood,” Blue commented bitterly, offering a weak smile. No matter how hard she tried, she could not block out the disturbing image of her own A-type blood running through the hoses of the fancy machine, ready to be doled out to any Vemreaux with an appetite or iron deficiency. As miserable as The Way could be, she was glad that drinking A-blood repulsed the Vemreaux and made them sick. Work camps were better than blood farms.
Elle showed her the different functions the buttons performed. “This lever flips from Negative to Positive. This switch whisks in flavoring, while this steel grip holds the cup in place. This control blows air into the drink if the customer wants frothy foam on top. This push button here controls the carbonated sweet water to mix in with the blood,” she explained, tapping her fingers lightly on the surface of the button. “Don’t offer blood drinks to unchanged Vemreaux. They don’t drink it because they don’t need it. You can tell by looking at their eyes. Black eyes means they’ve dipped in the Fountain of Youth and gone through the change, so offer them blood. Regular eyes means they drink like Waywards – without hemoglobin.”
Blue smiled as she rolled her eyes dramatically. “No kidding. I’m new to the real world, not new to the whole world.”
“Baird said to be thorough. Now, of course, this isn’t straight blood. That’s illegal. It’s the same filtered stuff the professors drank in The Way. Enriched with extra iron and vitamins and stuff. O-Negative’s rarer and more expensive. It’s harder to farm, so don’t mix them up,” she warned, pretending to be serious for a moment. The look didn’t suit her, nor could she maintain it, proving so only two seconds later when her pretty lips broke out into a grin of glee at being able to talk to her best friend face-to-face, even if it was about something so gruesome. Elle threw her arms out, lacing them around her friend’s neck. “Oh, I missed you so much! This past year’s been awful without you.”
Grettel joined in the hug from behind and held on tight to both girls, while making sure not to smear any of the apple’s juice from her hand onto them.
“We worried about you, like, every second,” Elle exaggerated without shame.
“Girl time’s over, Blue. Time to learn,” Baird insisted without preamble. “Grettel, you can get the kitchen going while I show Blue a few things out here.”
Elle threw herself in the doorway, blocking Grettel’s path back to the kitchen. “You didn’t say please, Baird.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Elle.”
“I know. You were talking to Grettel, and I don’t like you barking out orders to her. Or me, for that matter. Or your sister. New era of manners starts today.”
“How’s this for manners? Get to work right now.”
Elle snarled at Baird, unwilling to move. She ignored Grettel’s whimper of confusion at being unwittingly caught in the middle. “Say please.” She was always the mother bear, protecting Grettel and Blue as best she could from the harsh winter that was Baird.
“Take my phone and call Master Joe. Let him know how high maintenance you’re getting.” When Elle gripped the doorjamb more firmly, Baird turned his glower on her. “I don’t beg, Elle. Grettel’s fine. We’re all fine without turning ourselves into beggars. But if you need it, sure. Please stop being a pain.” He sidestepped Grettel and stood in front of Elle, puffing his chest out to increase his intimidation factor. He placed his hands atop Elle’s and pried them off the frame easily. “Now, move. I’ve got things to do.”
Grettel squeaked past the two and made quick work of beginning her morning routine in the kitchen.
“You’re being a bully, Baird. Why can’t you just be nice?” Elle scowled up at the brusque man.
“I’ve got better things to do than play your little games, Elle. So do you, in fact.” He released her from his grip and turned his back on her. “Blue!” He clicked his fingers twice to summon his sister.
“Yes, Master Baird,” Blue answered, stony-faced. When her reply was met with narrowed eyes, Blue grinned. “What? You know, I can never tell if you guys are mad at each other, or if that’s just you flirting. Whichever one you’re doing, it’s not very good.”
Baird blanched, and then cringed at Elle’s bitter laughter. Elle went about her morning duties on the floor with a slight spring in her step, winking at Blue as she passed by.
“Real cute, Blue. Now, shut up.” First Baird showed his sister how to work the register, taking out three coins for her to examine. “Gold, silver and bronze brandishes. Most Vems pay with their bill cards, but some prefer actual cash. I know you learned about them in your Vemreaux Studies class, but I thought you might want a look at the real thing.”
She measured the coins’ weight and design as Baird handed her one of each paper bill to examine. Waywards had done so much work for suc
h small things. “So the cows make the scratch. The scratch makes the S-bricks. The S-bricks equal currency, which gives the Vemreaux this to spend?”
“Yup.” Baird did not look up from his pad of paper.
“I’ve got a question I didn’t want to ask Jack.”
“Why he didn’t pick a different profession?”
“No.”
“Why’s he so creepy?”
“He’s not creepy, Baird.” Blue huffed. “So there’s three countries, right?”
Baird winced as though her questions were causing him physical pain. “Congratulations. You now have a grade two education.”
“And King Sinclair made that law after World War Three when the Age of Peace was issued that all three countries’ value had to be equal when it came to currency. So my question is, who keeps track of the three countries to make sure they’re playing by the rules and only manufacturing enough money to equal each country’s worth?” she asked, handing the coins back to her brother.
“Do I look educated?” Baird was growing frustrated at her string of questions. “I don’t know, Blue. King Sin? The honor system? Why? Did you want to trade in all this for a government job counting brandishes and S-bricks? You might be the first A-blood type in government employment. That’ll keep you under the radar.” He gave her a sarcastic thumbs up.
Blue eyed his arrogant thumb, willing herself not to reach out and break it. All the freedom acquired in one day was making her a little unstable as far as controlling her emotions. “Fine. I won’t ask questions.” At least not to you.
“I hate when you explain things halfway and just expect her to connect the dots to make up the difference. Give her a break, Baird.” Elle took over to explain the different bill cards, which were not to be confused with paper bills. “They’re plastic and act like cash. There are three kinds of cards, and all take funds from a linked bank account. The most common’s the green one. It’s mainly carried by Vemreaux with enough cash in the bank to afford them a comfortable long life.” She sighed wistfully. “The red card’s for Vemreaux with barely any money in the bank. We get lots of those in here. Paycheck to paycheck. The third kind of bill card is black. It’s reserved for Vemreaux whose money is limitless.”
The Way Page 7