by A. J. Aalto
“Dreppenstedt. Jeez. Jean-Etienne Auguste Dufort Nazaire Dreppenstedt. That guy's name is fucking ridiculous.”
“All rev names are fucking ridiculous,” Batten murmured, but his tone was softened with something akin to tolerance. Rev not vamp. Baby steps. He sipped his beer and eyed Harry knowingly. Harry stared back at him through a lazy curl of cigarette smoke. The eye contact they shared was tentative, but when Harry made no effort to push any revenant mind control, the tension around Batten's eyes eased.
“I'm just going to call him Leprechaun.” I raised my espresso cup. “To the Leprechaun. May he find peace.” I remembered our Riverdance night, and his toast. “Best while you have it, use your breath. There is no drinking after death.”
We clinked cup to goblet to beer bottle and shared a moment of thoughtful silence while we sipped. Then Batten rose. “Don't know about you, but I've got paperwork.”
“Yeah, after I sleep for about three days, I'll get right on that,” I assured him.
“See you in the morning, Snickerdoodle.”
Harry tensed, and I patted his cool hand reassuringly. “Good night, Jerkface.”
Batten shot me a lopsided grin, shot Harry a two fingered salute off his brow, and let himself out.
I gave Harry's hand another pat. “Down, revenant.”
“I cannot imagine what you could mean, ducky, I am the very soul of civil restraint.”
“Mmhmm,” I murmured, smiling up at him.
“I am merely more comfortable when he calls you ‘nitwit’ or ‘knucklehead’.”
I tucked my head in the crook of his neck. That's when I noticed Declan's iPad amid our cell phones and Harry's Nintendo DSI and remote controls and other electronics scattered on the coffee table.
“He left it behind,” Harry said.
“He never went anywhere without that thing, except near the end. Maybe he was hoping you'd snoop and figure it out.”
“He knew that I could not resist reading about my favorite topic.” He tried to smile wryly, but it didn't come anywhere near to reaching his eyes. “I should have known, perhaps, by the direction of his questions, what he truly wanted to ask. All those questions about my first loves, my early relationships. Where I was, and when, and with whom.”
I nodded, and showed him the file in the iPad, the one he'd probably already read a dozen times. “This book was not about you, or the Dreppenstedts, it was about him. Declan was writing his autobiography. Life In Limbo: The Story of the Dhampir.”
“And yet, he places my history alongside his own, values my life stories as much as he values his own. He is, in a way, my brother, another soul made cold by my Master. I should have liked to know him better.”
“He never gave you that chance.”
“Perhaps I do not deserve that chance.”
Uh oh. The familiar opening strains of the Poor Me song. “If you're going to start singing the blues, can you start with Muddy Waters? I like when you do him.”
Harry's half-smile was full of affection.
“He searched the world over for you, Harry,” I said, “for answers about you and his mother, answers about death and life and immortality, answers about himself.” For a moment, I remembered Declan's arm around me at the fish camp as he eased us both back from the powerful surge of Earth magic during his moth-in-chains spell, and how he'd tried to keep me out of Malas’ house, and out of the mine, but supported me when I decided to go for it.
“Declan might be a monster, Harry, but he's a damn good one. I'm glad I got the chance to meet him. And who knows?” I stroked Harry's cool forearm fondly. “Maybe he has no intention of returning soon, but in a few years, he could change his mind and come looking for his bro again.”
Harry's chin jerked upward. “No, that won't do, my cricket,” he said primly. “That's a simply dreadful appellation; I think I should prefer sibling, or brother. Never bro.”
I grinned at him. “Whatever you say, bro.”
“Oh, do continue sassing me, ducky,” he said slyly, lifting me off his lap and setting me on my feet, “and I shall be ever so happy to remind you that you are also the mystical equivalent of family to that cheeky Irishman.”
I squawked, and followed him into the kitchen. “I need a nap.”
“What you need is a cookie, and I intend to bake your favorite: chocolate chip with caramel centers. No, do not fight me, MJ. I know what is best for my pet.”
“Batten's gruesome death-by-cookie?”
“I know this is a vow you made to the Dark Lady, but I am happy to inform you that Hecate cares naught for your eating habits,” Harry said, “though nothing would please me more than to see the end of your stubborn association with the hunter.”
“We're not going to fight about Batten, are we?” I asked.
“I'm not yet in a position to say, my love,” he said, tying the laces of his bright red apron around his back with a sharp jerk. “When it comes to you, matters of the heart are sometimes difficult to predict.”
“I wish I knew what Batten's little smirks were all about.”
“Possibly they are meant to indicate the degree to which he finds you ridiculous.” He aimed an indicting wooden spoon at me. “More likely, they are meant to indicate how ridiculous his feelings are for you. Why are there dark circles under your eyes?”
“Life's rough, Harry. I'm recuperating from corpsepox, a zombie ate my flip flops, and my brother's having a triple-X tryst with my bunny slippers.”
“I prayed that you'd dripped yogurt on them this morning at breakfast, but I see it isn't so.”
“Oh no!” I wailed. “That ain't right!”
“Such a fuss you make. What would you have me do for you, sweetheart?”
“I suppose laundry is out of the question?”
“Not for all the coal in Newcastle.”
“I don't know what that means, Harry.”
“I know, ducky.” He smiled tolerantly and began cracking eggs into his big ceramic bowl, one after another, with deft fingers. Vanilla and brown sugar went in next in a sweet, sprinkling symphony of busy work as I resigned to eat whatever Harry baked for me, and let the chocolate chips fall where they may.
“I disobeyed Three-Face, you realize,” I said tiredly, digging out Asmodeus’ ring. I plunked it on the table, where it glinted under the kitchen fluorescents. “He wanted Anne, and instead I melted her with diet soda and kitchen witchery…which turned out to be not at all lame, in the end.”
“Whom did you displease, now?”
“The Overlord.”
“Oh, dear,” Harry said. “I suppose we shall deal with that when and if He returns to object. Do keep in mind that He has many things to attend to, and time does not at all work for those in the Second Circle of the Dragon's Workshop as it does on Earth. It may be decades before He notices.” He licked something off his finger merrily.
“Be my rock, Harry?”
He glanced over his shoulder at me as his electric beaters began to hum. He must have seen something in my face, because he turned them right back off and whipped off his apron, tossing it on the back of a chair. “Come, chickadee. I have something to show you.”
* * *
The harvest moon was a massive pumpkin pie; from the very edge of the dock, surrounded by black sky and even blacker water, I felt like I could reach out and swat it, sending it tumbling into the universe, orange streaked with deep umber. Impossible to ignore, the Silver Lady had blossomed gloriously to gold, Mother aging to Crone, filling the night sky. Her enduring wisdom commanded attention, changing doubts and fears and disappointment in my head with the nurturing sweep of an old broom. Shedding demons gratefully left and right, I felt my cheeks turning up, pressed by a buoyant smile.
“I needed to see this, Harry, thank you,” I said thickly. “She's incredible.”
“Not here.”
I turned to frown at him, but complied to the offer of his outstretched hand, setting my gloved palm there. His grip was swift and unusua
lly firm; yanking me against his body, he took two running steps, set a boot against the boathouse and pushed off, launching straight up. Surprise yanked my gut and I clutched Harry in response, but before I could let out the startled yip in my throat, he had landed effortlessly on the roof of the boathouse, as easily as if he'd stepped off a porch step. When he was certain of my equilibrium, he let go of me.
“Ever think of competing in Olympic pole vaulting, Harry?”
He smiled with delight. “One hardly needs a pole.”
My answering smile was lewd. “Speak for yourself.”
“As always, obsessed with your loins. Now, stand here.” He led me by the shoulders to the edge of the peak.
I looked straight down: twelve feet beneath my toes was shallow, inky water lapping against jagged red rocks and trailing evergreen scrub. My tummy gave a warning quiver.
“Is this the part where you shove me to my death and call it an accident?”
When he didn't answer, I glanced over my shoulder to see him unfastening the mother-of-pearl buttons on his white shirt. His jacket was already carefully folded and laid to one side. The top button of his pants, he thumbed open. Stepping out of his Oxfords one at a time, he lined them up so that they wouldn't slide down the incline of the roof.
“Hey, Harry? I'd love to have sex with you,” I assured him, “but the roof of the boathouse isn't the best place for it, huh?”
“Do be serious, love,” he scolded, clucking his tongue, “and turn around.”
“Shy? You?” I laughed.
“You shall not enjoy watching this.”
“Seen you naked before.” Not often enough, though. “I enjoy it a whole lot.”
“Bezonter me, but you are impossible to surprise. Just do as I say, and press those honey-sweet lips of yours together, please. Your constant chatter is ruining this whole experience for me.”
I let out a long sigh. “Pardon my chattering ass.”
A shrill peep drew my interest, but I behaved and stared resolutely out at Shaw's Fist, the midnight black surface reflecting a wavy, pregnant sister of the harvest moon. I've never claimed to be good at resisting temptation, and when membranous, shifty noises joined the small squeaks, it was nearly impossible not to look behind me. After a minute or so, I was going nearly nutty with curiosity, and then Wesley's small repulsive bat form was a shadow at the side of my left foot, his distinctive waddling gait bringing a wry smile.
“How'd you get up here, Batface?”
“I stowed the vermin in my pocket,” Harry informed me, “where he bloody well shat, if you can believe it.”
“Careful,” I warned the wobbly revenant bat. “I don't want to fish you out of the drink.”
Wesley's wee brown head cocked at a painful-seeming angle, nearly all the way around, like he was listening to something behind us.
A flurry of feather exploded from behind my head and I ducked into the protection of my shoulders. A white-faced barn owl thrashed the wind, rising in a screeching swoop past the spotlight of the moon as though the motion were completely natural to him. My hand went to the soft hollow of my throat and I checked for Harry behind me. He was gone, just like that, and with an uncertain wobble of flapping wings, Wes lifted off to join him.
Like a baby following its parent, the tiny brown vampire bat flitted erratically in the wake of the owl, and as I watched Wes beating his awkward little wings to gain altitude and falling down through the climes, I thought: you wanted family, Harry. I wondered if he realized just how much Wesley needed him. My hand crept from my throat to cover my mouth, and soon laughter shook my belly, puffing out against my palm in a joyous rush. I dropped my hand, exposing a wide grin to the night.
Shooting one fist into the air, I shouted my brother's name through my laughter.
The little bat circled, wavering from side to side unsteadily, and dove right into my hair.
“No!” I flailed, lost my footing, letting out a surprised wuu-aaaaah as I toppled from my perch. I didn't see the barn owl change course, nor did I see him shape-shift in midair, but I felt the arms hit me: unflinching, solid, and immovably powerful. His timing was almost perfect. Almost.
We hit the ground; Harry took most of the impact in a naked, spinning roll. When we sprawled to a stop, my wail ended in an abrupt squeak. Harry propped himself on one elbow and looked at me dis-approvingly from under one arched brow, piercings twitching.
“Are you quite all right?”
“I fell off a roof,” I said.
“Such a fuss you make. You act as though you didn't know I'd catch you.”
“You were a barn owl!”
“I quite fail to see the relevance of that.”
I opened my mouth to retort when a figure over Harry's shoulder took my breath away. Wesley stood there, covering himself with one hand, rolling one shoulder under the other, a grimace of pain painted across the unscarred side of his face. The other was still angry pink, a dry riverbed of holy water burns, but better than the last time I'd seen it. His left eye was still puffed shut; Harry had been sure Wes would lose it, and I wondered what the future would hold for the eye.
I tapped Harry's shoulder and pointed.
Harry rolled off of me, making no attempt to cover his nakedness; he took in Wesley's face with a considering murmur. “Not bad.”
“Not bad? Dude, I did that shift mid-flight and landed on my goddamned feet.”
I elbowed Harry, who frowned at me and then said politely, “Ah, yes. Huzzah.”
“That's it?” Wes smirked at me. “That's all I get?”
“Hey, I've never gotten a ‘huzzah’ before, I'd take it,” I advised. “I could give you a hip-hip hooray if you promise not to uncover your junk; no one needs to see that.”
“If you two chinwaggers are quite finished,” Harry said crisply.
I mouthed at Wesley's grinning face, Chinwaggers? “Don't know about you, but I'm not nearly done. I plan on wagging my chin all night.”
Harry let out a long-suffering sigh. “As I was saying, each successful transformation should see a bit more fur on that side, and then flesh upon changing back, and more fur in future, and, given time…”
Wesley's lips quirked into a warped smile. “Kid'll clean up all right?”
“Indeed. You shall continue to improve, my lad,” Harry said, standing and offering me a hand. “As for your sister, well, one can hope irrationally against the odds, but those odds are perfectly bleak.”
“Hey!” I hauled myself up using Harry's iron grip. “You know, you're awfully cheeky for a hungry, naked, dead guy.”
“Speaking of hungry,” Wes said, cupping his nudity with both hands and hurrying ahead of us through the dark yard to the mudroom. “Let's get a pizza.”
“No!” Harry and I chorused.
“I meant for Marnie,” he corrected “I don't even care what toppings she gets, I'll just smell it. From across the room. Guys?” He stopped, glancing back at us.
Harry stood behind me, wrapped his arms around my body possessively, and tucked his chin on my shoulder. The faint smell of his 4711 cologne swam on the purl of otherworldly chill around him. Through the Bond, I felt his hunger stir, and my belly quivered with excitement.
Wesley's upper lip curled. “Oh, no. Oh, guys, don't do this to me.”
“Gotta learn how not to read people's minds, Telepath,” I advised my brother.
“I'm out!” Wes yelped, and ran into the mudroom. The screen door squeaked and then banged closed.
Harry nibbled my earlobe, his lips curling away from his extending fangs, until he was sure Wes was gone. “The gentleman would take you inside to his bed, now.”
“Oh?” I said, feeling my pulse kick into high gear.
“But the monster,” he murmured. “Oh, love, the monster would know if you prefer the hunt.”
Even if Harry didn't know exactly how I felt about that, my trembling left no doubt. He said, “Do require a head start, my only one?”
Somewhere to my l
eft, high in the trees, Ajax the debt vulture let out a hoarse, frustrated squawk. Wesley's vulture hiss-cackled in return. The wind rose with a moan through leaf and branch. I turned my head slightly to breathe in Harry's ear.
“Ten seconds?” I whispered.
He growled and swatted my ass like an old time gentry spurring a horse to bolt.
“You have five.”
Squealing, I flew into the darkness, pulling shadows around me and laying on the speed. There was a pale form behind me closing in fast, and it was laughing with delight.
I shivered with anticipation and ran harder.
THE END
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