The Way

by Mary E. Twomey

  “So, you used to work here? I thought it was sort of a lifetime commitment.” Liam spoke with a hinted meaning that Baird did not understand.

  “No. I’m a Wayward. Bought for work at a diner a few years back, sir.”

  “Oh.” Baird could tell that Liam was holding back his true feelings about the explanation. With features so similar to his own, Baird did not have a hard time reading the prince. He was impressed at the breezy grin that coasted over the hiccup. Liam continued, “I just thought because of your eyes that you were Vemreaux. Never seen a Wayward with Original Vemreaux eyes before.”

  “No, sir. Your changed friends here can probably tell I’m A-blood.”

  The more serious, alert guard nodded.

  Liam clapped Baird on the shoulder. “None of that ‘sir’ business. We’re like, the same age probably.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” Baird responded without blinking. He did not correct the man by informing him that he was only twenty-one, while the prince looked nearer to his thirties.

  Liam exhaled, deflating at the impenetrable man. “Wow, they sure raise ’em right here, eh Alec?”

  Alec nodded, but cracked a miniscule smile at Baird’s feigned submission.

  “What do you think, Sam?” Liam asked the man who’d just hung up his phone.

  “Nice and robotic. Just like we ordered,” Sam agreed.

  “Do they have to make the lights this bright?” Liam rubbed his temples.

  Baird moved over to the wall and turned off half the lights. “Robotic and able to operate light switches. Just like a real Vemreaux.”

  Sam sized up the Wayward, and then sniggered. “I like you,” he declared.

  “Glad to hear it,” Baird mumbled.

  “Know of any good clubs around here? We hit Sit Seven and Headway, but I’m thinking something with less trance music and more local flavor for tonight.”

  Alec glared at the man. “Sam.”

  “What? He’s from around here. Good looking bloke. And Liam’s right, you could pass for Original Vemreaux if it weren’t for the smell. Have you tried cologne? Come on, Brody.” He turned his attention to the other guard. “You telling me that’s all you got in you?”

  Brody shoved Sam. “You know I could’ve taken that Fem back to the hotel last night if I wasn’t on duty. And you blocked me with the concierge, jerk.”

  “It’s okay to be impotent, Brode,” Sam kidded.

  “Fifty bills says I land a hotter Fem than you at whatever club this Wayward picks for tonight,” challenged Brody.

  “Deal.” Sam addressed Baird. “Alright, Wayward. Think. I need a club where the women appreciate men who can work with what little they’ve got. Give Brody a fighting chance.”

  Alec shook his head at Liam. “I used to guard your father, you know. Wasn’t subjected to this kind of inane chatter. May need a flu shot to keep from vomiting.”

  “Staying in Capital City?” Baird asked curtly.

  “Of course.”

  “Try Crowd. It’s on 147th and Freedom Way. I hear the Femreaux aren’t at all picky there. Wave your bills around, tell them you know a real, live celebrity. They’ll come crawling. Plus, country music. Not trance.”

  Liam laughed. “Not country.”

  “And no more clubs,” warned Alec. “I can’t take anymore non-music.”

  Brody scratched his dirty blond hair. “Trance is music. Techno is music.”

  Alec frowned. “No, music is music, and I miss it. Raise your hand if you don’t have a headache right now.” He was satisfied to see no hands go up. “Then we go to a normal place tonight. A place with chairs and a reasonable amount of exits to keep an eye on.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter what you all vote on, because I’ve got the keys, and I’m driving tonight.”

  “What?” Sam protested, sitting up.

  “You drive like a lunatic.”

  “You drive like you’re carrying a baby in the back seat.”

  “Not a baby, just a few grown-ass men who drink so much they almost throw up every time I turn a corner.” Alec tapped his phone and stared down Liam. “Your father’s team caught a few pictures online, and well, he’s asked for you to tone it down.”

  “What for?” Liam whined. “It’s not me what’s next in line for the throne. Killian’s on the straight and narrow now. I’ve agreed to no such thing.”

  “Father’s orders,” Alec sang, cracking a smile. “Chairs. Chairs and food. I’m tired of appetizers.” He turned to Baird. “You said you work at a diner? Do you serve pancakes?”

  Baird nodded and pulled out the order pad in his pocket and a pen. He scribbled down the address of the diner and handed it to Alec. “Chairs, food, and a jukebox from the 1980s. Plenty of women with low standards for them, as well. I’m the bartender, so stop by and I’ll set you up with a few drinks. ‘Bout twenty minutes outside Capital City. Enough out of the way that you won’t be bothered by press following this one around.” He glanced toward Liam, whose shockingly blue eyes stared into his.

  “Perfect. Thank you. Reservations for four at eight.”

  “Yes,” Sam deadpanned. “Thanks for the PG fun.”

  Baird rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to declass the joint.”

  Liam shook his head, and then regretted the painful action. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow, either. I got interviews tonight with Emperor Anders. Then all day golf with Emperor Cho tomorrow. Gotta at least pretend to look over the Wayward profiles they’re gonna be testing.”

  Alec raised an eyebrow. “Two whole nights to recover from a hangover? This is a sign you should slow down, old man.”

  Liam snorted. “Look who’s talking. You’re like, a hundred or something.”

  “Actual reason we can’t go to a real place tonight?” Alec asked.

  “I’m meeting up with the redhead from that bar at some club tonight. I think it had fighting or fists in the name.”

  Baird spoke up when no one filled in the blanks. “Fisticuffs.”

  “Yeah. That one. Her tonight and that brunette tester. What’s her name? Anyway, she’s taking me out tomorrow night.” When Alec glowered at him, Liam shrugged innocently. “What? I’m adorable.” Then he ramped up his accent to the level of a caricature. “Plus, they love me accent here, mate.”

  Alec rolled his eyes and turned to Baird. “Fine. Reservations for four at eight on Friday, then.”

  “I’ll be sure to roll out the red carpet for your monkey.” Baird jerked his thumb in Liam’s direction.

  Liam laughed loudly, and then winced. “Hey, you’re funny. Like I’m the monkey! I get it!” He grinned, happy to be in on the gag. “No one jokes about me like that to my face except this lot. Everyone’s always so proper around me. You made my morning, mate.”

  He had not counted on being taken in by the prince’s charm, but despite himself, Baird cracked a smile.

  Jack reentered the room, chasing the levity from Baird’s face. “Whoa,” Liam commented, still smiling. “This one does not like you, Uncle Jack.”

  Jack did his best to keep a pleasant expression plastered in place. “Baird? Your brother’s waiting in Holding Room Two.”

  Baird nodded to Liam as he moved toward the door.

  Jack raised his hand to give him a paternal pat on the back, but Baird stopped to turn and glare at him, unleashing every bit of his most terrible intimidation on Jack. Jack’s hand froze, not daring to touch the man who so obviously did not wish it.

  “Good to s-see you, Baird,” Jack said, his voice wavering under Baird’s strength.

  Baird did not respond, but nodded respectfully to the other Alpha male in the room, Alec, and exited down the hallway.

  It was the same amount of time he’d spent with Griffin on his previous visits, but this one felt immeasurably longer. Baird remained impassive as he endured his younger brother’s temper. Griffin was prone to fits. One of the many regrets Baird had in leaving The Way when he did was that he was not
able to toughen the tantrums out of his brother.

  Griffin’s left eye was swollen shut from a yard fight that he insisted “was nothing like his fault.” His good, cerulean eye leaked the occasional tear, which it always did when he got angry with Baird or Blue.

  “You shouldn’ta taken her yet!” Griffin raged, revisiting his initial argument. He pounded his fist on the table with unnatural strength for a fifteen-year-old. “It’s driving me crazy to be stuck in here when I know any minute she could be discovered or figure out her calling. I mean, ‘end the tyranny’? What does that actually mean? What tyranny are the Vemreaux even suffering from? And then what? She goes out, kills whatever the Vemreaux are so afraid of, and dies? That’s a steaming pile of scratch, that is! And how can you stand for it? Don’t you care about us?”

  This was the part where Griffin took a long enough breath in hopes that Baird would chime in a plea for his pardon. How he wished he didn’t need his brother’s approval.

  Instead Baird chose silence, as it suited him well for most occasions.

  “I’ve still got almost four years left in here before I can be purchased. Four years! You think my sister’s still gonna be alive when I get out?”

  “I can’t help that, Griffin. And it’s closer to three years. You’ll be sixteen in a couple months.”

  Griffin’s nostrils flared as he wiped at his wet cheeks. The tip of his peaked ear turned pink with anger. “Bring her with you next time! Bring her here so I can at least see her before she dies! I need to know you haven’t completely erased her. You with your lessons. She was funny when she left! She laughed a lot! How long till you groom that outta her? Bring her back here so I can make sure she’s still her! You owe me at least that much.”

  I owe you? Baird argued silently. Of course, he said nothing, refusing to engage with a child in pointless arguments. Despite the fact that Griffin was the largest and most well-built Wayward in his year, and two years above him, Griffin would always be a child to the brother who raised him. Baird kept his face impassive and remained seated, arms crossed over his heart to make sure his brother’s tears did not make their way into it.

  “Any message you want me to give to her?” Baird asked, loathing the way his brother looked at him, a mixture of hatred and hurt.

  “Yeah. Tell her that her older brother’s an ass. A message,” Griffin scoffed. “Anything I want to tell her, you’d never repeat. I’d tell her that it’s not the same without her here. That I don’t want to be the only one of us in The Way. That we kept each other sane, and now I don’t have that! No one’s here to calm me down. No one’s out there to calm her down, either!”

  “She’s fine. She’s got the girls.”

  “Bring her with you next time, Baird!”

  Baird stared at his brother, stony faced. “Alright. I’ll tell her you miss her.”

  “You’re a terrible messenger. We both know you’ll tell her whatever’ll keep her under control. Your control.” Griffin swore to himself that when he grew to be as big as Baird, he would not be as cold. They looked so alike, just separated by a few years of experience. Griffin quieted, since his arguing was getting him nowhere. He swiped at his nose as he searched out any tells from his brother. “Is she happy?”

  “Are any of us?” When this did not satisfy Griffin, Baird softened. “No. She’s not happy with me right now. She wanted to come see you, but it wouldn’t work with our job this time. She laughs a lot with the girls, who all miss you.”

  “They said that? They told you they miss me?”

  Baird rolled his eyes. “Elle said to tell you that you’re the hottest piece in your year, and she wishes she could be there to hit on you and make all the other girls your year jealous.”

  Griffin laughed whole-heartedly. Baird thought it looked good on him, and told himself that jocularity would not happen if the two men lived together.

  “And Grettel? She still jumping at shadows?”

  “Yeah. She told me to give you a hug from her.” He looked to his kid brother awkwardly. “You can imagine one, can’t you?”

  Griffin scoffed. “Been a while, but yeah.”

  “How’s George?”

  “Like you care about my friends.”

  “How’s the yard?”

  Griffin pointed to his bruised eye. “Keeps me on my toes.”

  “Who did that to you?”

  “Just some guys mouthing off about Blue again. Saying she was only picked for one thing.” Griffin swallowed, looking like he might be sick. “Lotsa rumors going around about that, Baird. Promise me there’s no truth to it. It’s…just wondering about it’s making me a little crazy.”

  Baird’s eyes bored into Griffin. “I promise I will never let that happen to any of the girls in my care. The Vemreaux we work around generally don’t pay attention to the wait staff. For the most part, they leave the girls alone. You don’t have to worry about that, Griff. And you don’t have to fight about it, either.” He leaned forward. “Now tell me who blacked your eye.”

  “I broke his rib, so we’re even.”

  “A name, Griffin.”

  “This time? Danyul got one over on me. But like I said, I broke his rib, so he knows he can’t mess with me or talk about Blue like that. I got solitary for a day and a decent beating from Supervisor Tum, and he got the infirmary for a week. So, yeah. I won.”

  “Let them think whatever they want, Griff. Fact is, there are bad masters out there who do buy Wayward girls for one thing. Stories like that keep girls from signing their lives away on the dotted line when it comes to it.”

  “I won’t let them talk about my sister like that. You should hear the things they say.”

  “I don’t care what they say, and you should only care what I say.” Baird took out a pen and spare bit of order paper from his pocket and scribbled “Danyul” on it, then drew a thin, ominous line through the center of the name. He’d used this signal to Marxus on more occasions than he would have liked. “Give this to Marxus from me. He’ll take care of it.”

  Griffin refused to touch the paper. “I can take care of things myself. It was just a yard fight. I’m Marxus’ second, now.” Griffin dared Baird with his eyes to object to the new regime. “Like I said, I laid Danyul out. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

  “That black eye reads like weakness, Griff. The others’ll spot it and pounce. Won’t matter you won one fight. Another’ll find you.”

  “I’m not having him killed, Baird. It’s a stupid yard fight. I’m not like you.”

  “No.” Baird shook his head disapprovingly as he stood. “You’re not. Take care of yourself, Griff. I’ll be back in a month.”

  “Promise me you’ll bring her next time?”

  “If I can.”

  The two did not hug or shake hands; they never did on these visits. Baird swallowed the advice he wanted to give, and Griffin choked down his need for approval. The two communicated all this through a single parting look before Baird left the holding room.

  Chapter Eleven

  A Brief History

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Blue asked Grettel for the fifth time that morning. The kitchen was humming with the various machines and simmering that was going on, but Grettel was a shadow, cloaked in fear.

  “I’m okay,” she replied as she reached for a heavy stock pot.

  “Let me,” Blue offered, lifting the pot with ease and pushing it onto the burner, noticing that Grettel flinched. “I know I freaked you out with the whole knife thing. I’m sorry.”

  Grettel put on a meek smile. “You said that already. There’s nothing to apologize to me for. You didn’t do anything to me,” she hinted.

  Elle sauntered in and flopped onto the only stool gracelessly. “That girl reading the poem is terrible. So boring. And she actually clicked her fingers at me like I’m her pet or something. You mind waiting on the table for a bit, Blue? There’s nothing to do, and I’m tired. Would you miss me too badly if I took a little nap back here?”
<
br />   “Go for it,” Blue agreed, still feeling guilty. “And I’m sorry for waking you guys up like that. I shouldn’ta lost my temper.”

  “Make it up to me by letting me sleep till we’re open for real.”

  “Done.”

  Blue picked up a water pitcher and entered the dining area behind Elle, the blonde’s million kilowatt smile ever at the ready. “Hello, gentlemen. This is Blue, and she’ll be taking over for a while. Blue, this is the Mayor of Capital City, David Anders,” she motioned to a Vemreaux in a gray suit. “Then the Dean of Students at Capital University, Professor Standwicke Anders.”

  The sandy-haired man smiled at the new waitress who hid behind her hair.

  Elle introduced her to the rest of the table, which consisted of the Assistant to the American Emperor, the head of the Non-Profits of America Group, the Peace Week Coordinator, and Lawrence, who was the leader of the Businesses of Capital City Committee.

  Tables had been cleared away so the theatre troupe could have the space to perform for the Peace Week Committee. Blue refilled their water glasses and took inventory of the table. Six men sat, displaying varying degrees of interest in the show.

  “Poem’s fine, Beth,” the mayor insisted when the actress asked for their opinion.

  “Thank you, Mayor David,” Beth cooed as she checked her itinerary. All the actors wore a different color scarf, except for Beth, who donned a red brooch on her low-cut black top, marking her as the leader. “English playwright John Bailey wrote A Bloodthirsty Conqueror and a Peace-Loving Blood Drinker. His account of Francis David Vemreaux’s split from the greedy Juan Ponce de León is one of the scenes our troupe will be performing on the main stage at the Peace Day festivities.”

  The Assistant to the American Emperor looked mildly impressed as he speared a forkful of haggis. “Can’t say no to a skit honoring our founding father.”

  Lawrence spoke for the group. “That’s fine, Beth. It’s all fine. You guys want something to eat or drink before you carry on?”

  Beth looked to the petite waitress and snapped her fingers twice.

  “May I help you?” Blue asked. She tilted her head forward, obscuring her eyes with her hair.