Second Chance

by Heather Brewer

  As Joss watched, the color bled from Morgan’s face, and everything that made Morgan . . . well, Morgan . . . went away in a flush of shock. He turned around slowly, and when he and the owner locked eyes, the air left the room. Abraham sat back in his chair and smiled.

  Jacques glanced at each of Morgan’s tablemates before clapping his hands together—hands that might have been trembling in surprise, Joss didn’t know. “Champagne. The best we have. Excuse me. I won’t be a moment.”

  Once he’d left the table, some of the color returned to Morgan’s face, but not much. Joss leaned over to him and said, “Do you two know each other?”

  Morgan sipped his water, but pursed his lips, as if it tasted bitter. Something about the look on his face said that it had nothing to do with the water. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Joss furrowed his brow, confused. “It . . . just looked like you’d spoken before.”

  Morgan raised his glass then, and Joss had a feeling he wished that it were something a bit stronger than water. He set the glass down, a bit harder than was necessary. And when he turned his eyes to Joss, Joss could see the threat of furious tears lurking in Morgan’s baby blues. “Once upon a time, that man was my brother.”

  Joss looked over at the man at the bar. He could certainly see a resemblance. But Morgan’s use of past tense only confounded him further. “He’s not anymore? What happened?”

  Morgan followed Joss’s eyes to the man in question. Under his breath, he said, “He died.”

  18

  BLOOD BROTHERS

  Joss chewed each bite of steak carefully, and when Jacques asked if anyone wanted dessert, he ordered a slice of cheesecake, but truth be told, he wasn’t feeling very hungry. From across the room, he watched Morgan’s brother, who watched Morgan, who tried to act as if he wasn’t even aware that his dead brother was standing in the same restaurant as he. Dinner conversation was awkward, and glances across the table, full of concern and questioning, made it even more awkward. The only one who seemed completely at ease was Abraham, who had just wolfed down a big fillet and was looking forward to dessert like nobody’s business. Joss kept an eye on Morgan’s rocks glass, but it had been emptied a few times now, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t helping him feel any better about what was bothering him.

  Morgan stared forward, eyes glazed, and when Jacques asked what he’d like for dessert, Morgan growled, “A double.”

  Dessert came and so did Morgan’s drink, and all Joss could think about was getting out of this place, and getting Morgan away from the specter across the room. Jacques had no sooner set a new glass on the table than Morgan gripped the glass and lifted it to his mouth, emptying a third of it in a single swig.

  Joss exchanged glances with Paty, who seemed just as confounded as he felt. Morgan immediately lifted the glass to his lips again and practically inhaled a mouthful. Paty’s jaw hit the floor. “Wow, Morgan. Need a drink much? A few drinks? What’s that, your third double?”

  Morgan didn’t even glance her way before taking another swig. Something told Joss that it would be wise for him to keep his mouth shut, so he did just that.

  An enormous slice of cheesecake came on a plate painted with lovely images, created from strawberry glaze and berries, but Joss set it to the side, unable to eat even another bite. After devouring his dessert in two satisfied bites, Abraham sat back in his seat, carefully wiping his mouth clean with his napkin and setting it on the table before turning his eyes to Joss. There was an air about him that suggested that, for his uncle, anyway, the real dessert was about to begin. “Did you enjoy your meal, nephew?”

  Joss looked up, ripped from his thoughts. He looked at his plate, still full of uneaten food, and set his fork down beside it. “Absolutely. It was delicious. I’m just . . . not very hungry.”

  Of course he wasn’t hungry. It was hard to eat with waves of immense hurt and fury coming off Morgan like this.

  Abraham turned his eyes, setting his sights on the subject of Joss’s distracted thoughts. His words sounded like they’d been given through smirked lips, but Abraham’s expression held no such thing. “How did you like the service tonight, Morgan?”

  He drained his glass of amber liquid, leaving behind a few lonely ice cubes that rattled as Morgan slammed it on the table in front of him. When he looked at Abraham, his expression made Joss cringe. Everyone else at the table grew eerily silent. Morgan’s words seeped out of him in a hiss. “You have a sick sense of humor, Abraham.”

  Abraham seemed completely unaffected. “And you have a flawed sense of loyalty.”

  Morgan dropped his eyes to his now empty glass. It looked very much like he wished it were full again. “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “You know very well what I mean.” Abraham sat forward in his seat, eyes on Morgan the entire time. “How did you get into that club? What exactly is it that you’re hiding from us?”

  Joss’s heart picked up its pace. There was no way his uncle was going to let this go, let it slide away into the land of the forgotten. This battle of wills was apparently too important to him to lose.

  Morgan picked up his glass again and lifted it to his lips, as if he could coax more of the amber liquid to appear. When he set his glass back on the table—quieter this time—his voice was softer. “I am hiding nothing at all from the group, Abraham. And it sickens me that you would go to these lengths to try to uncover some fictional conspiracy that you’ve cooked up in your mind.”

  “To what lengths are you referring, exactly?” Abraham shook his head, toying with him. “Come, come. No secrets among friends and Slayers. Am I right?”

  Morgan’s jaw was so visibly tight that Joss was quite concerned that he might grind his teeth down to nothing, if he wasn’t careful. “You knew that Jack—or Jacques, as he’s calling himself now—was my brother. Before he . . . turned.”

  Abraham nodded. “By choice. Your brother chose to become a vampire. True?”

  Morgan looked around the table, at each face but Abraham’s, before offering up a response. When he spoke, a cloak of shame seemed to fall over his features. “It’s true. Jack came to me ten years ago, when I was fifteen, and told me that he’d arranged to become a vampire. He wanted my blessing, but I refused. Until tonight, we hadn’t spoken since that day. I vowed never to see him again.”

  Joss glanced at his fellow Slayers. Each of them darted a questioning look at Abraham, who folded his arms in front of him. “Don’t make this about pity, Morgan. I brought you here tonight to remind you that I’m well aware of your dishonest nature. When your father and I approached you at the age of eighteen and informed you that you were a Slayer, we asked if you knew anything at all about Jack’s strange disappearance three years prior. You shook your head and said that you had no idea what had happened to him. A lie, correct?”

  Morgan hung his head in response.

  Abraham nodded, as if answering for Morgan. All eyes were on him. “Yes. It was a lie. Because until you turned twenty-one, you and Jack were still in contact, albeit secretly. Even tonight you lie, stating that you’d never spoken to him after the night he confessed to you when in all actuality, you were quite close for several years after he turned. Correct?”

  Morgan had slumped in his seat. Joss couldn’t decide if he looked broken or relieved. “I kept his secret. He was my brother. What was I supposed to do?”

  “You were supposed to tell the Society.” As the words escaped Joss, they surprised even him. They weren’t full of accusation or superiority. He wasn’t judging Morgan in the slightest manner. His words were simply a matter of fact. In a situation like that, no matter how deep you are into the web of lies you’ve created, a Slayer is expected to confess all to the Slayer Society. And in a way, doing so unburdens the Slayer.

  Joss swallowed hard and looked at his uncle. The sudden, jolting urge to tell him all about Dorian seized Joss. Looking over at Morgan, the urge didn’t dissipate at all. Did he really want to be in the state that Morgan was in a few
years? Did he seriously plan to keep this secret hidden, when he had no proof that keeping it would help him in any way?

  Abraham met his eyes and the word no rang through Joss’s thoughts, loud and clear.

  “Something you care to add, Joss?”

  For a moment, Joss allowed his lips to part. He let the confession form on his tongue, where it sat like a bitter pill before he swallowed it down, its jagged edges scraping against his throat. He couldn’t escape the feeling that telling Abraham about Dorian would be a huge mistake even though he had no reason to think so. And he really disliked the way that Abraham was trying to bully a confession out of Morgan by involving the brother that Morgan had, for some reason, cut out of his life. So with the bitter confession trailing its way down his throat, leaving behind a nasty aftertaste that reminded Joss of old pennies, he looked his uncle dead in the eye and said, “What do you suppose the Society would think of what you’re doing to Morgan right now? Do you think they’d approve, be proud?”

  He didn’t mention the fact that the Slayer Society would likely want Morgan to kill his brother, Jacques, and hoped that Abraham wouldn’t either. “I don’t. I think they’d be pretty disgusted with the way you’re handling this. Neither Morgan nor I are keeping any secrets from the Society, Uncle. I suggest you make peace with that.”

  Abraham raised an eyebrow. “Or?”

  Joss plucked a cherry from his glass and popped into his mouth. “Or I’ll report you for needlessly harassing your fellow Slayers.”

  At this, the table grew extremely silent. It was a serious charge, and unless Abraham could somehow uncover their secret to support his defense, it was highly unlikely that he’d escape that charge punishment free. Abraham’s shoulders visibly tensed, though it was clear by the look on his face that the last thing he wanted was for his nephew to comprehend that he was feeling even slightly on edge at the notion of being formally charged by a fellow Slayer. Especially a fledgling Slayer like his nephew. He looked at the table for a moment before returning his gaze to his nephew. “All right. I can see how this is going. So I’ll ask once more and then drop it forever, Joss. Is there or is there not something that you and Morgan are keeping from me?”

  Joss tensed his jaw in irritation at Abraham’s persistence. “Uncle, if either of us had anything at all to tell you, I assure you that we would.”

  Joss wasn’t sure why he felt the need to keep Dorian a secret, or why Morgan felt the need to protect Joss’s secret. He just couldn’t bring up anything about Dorian. Not yet. Not until he’d learned why Dorian had given him his stake.

  Abraham watched him for a while before nodding. Whether it was in agreement or a way of saying that he knew the truth lurking in Joss’s expression, Joss had no idea. He only knew that the matter was settled for the moment, and they could return to base without continuing the argument.

  Abraham dropped cash on the table, and as the group made their way to the door, Joss couldn’t help but notice the distinct lack of Morgan’s presence. He looked back and found Morgan in a heated conversation with his brother at the table they’d just left. His brother reached out to grab him by the sleeve, but Morgan violently shook his sibling off and growled, “No, Jack! What part of never don’t you understand?”

  Morgan pulled away from him and brushed roughly past Joss. As he did so, Jack—the once-man who was the now-vampire Jacques—called after him, his voice full of heartbreak, “You came to me, Morgan! Remember that!”

  Then Jacques met Joss’s eyes. “Please. Watch after him.”

  “Morgan can watch after himself.” Joss set his jaw. He couldn’t believe that this was Morgan’s brother, despite the facial similarities.

  Jacques shook his head. “Not now. Not with all of Elysia out for your heads.”

  Joss looked at him, at this man who had been Morgan’s closest relative at one point in time. “Then help us end our stay here, Jacques. Do you know where the remaining brothers are?”

  Jacques grew quiet, his eyes flicking around the room momentarily. He whispered, “I cannot tell you. They would have my head. But . . . you’re right, young one. They are like animals.”

  Without another word, Joss nodded and moved out the door, joining his fellow Slayers half a block up. He walked in step beside Morgan, neither of them speaking, until the rest of the Slayers had filed into their base of operations in front of them. As soon as they did, Morgan stopped Joss with a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were red and moist, as if the tears that he’d been holding in were finding their way out against his will. “Joss,” he said, his voice shaking slightly, “thanks for sticking up for me. Your uncle . . . he can be difficult, y’know? Of course you know. If anyone knows, you do.”

  Joss nodded in response. He did know. Abraham wasn’t exactly the easiest person on the planet to get along with. It wasn’t like Joss disliked him. In fact, he greatly admired his uncle. But Abraham’s affections were not easily won. Not by a long shot. “No problem, Morgan. But hey . . . about your brother . . . you okay?”

  Morgan shook his head. “Whether I am or not is none of your concern, little brother. Don’t give it a second thought. Not even about your uncle. I don’t hold grudges and won’t start now, so it’s best we just leave my past in the dark where it belongs.”

  A hot pain passed through Joss’s center. “Morgan . . . you’re not the only person to have lost someone because of vampires, y’know.”

  Morgan nodded. He knew about Cecile. Of course he did. They all probably did. The idea of them all knowing his darkest secret made Joss’s stomach flip-flop. “You’re right, little brother. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to face having lost them. Am I right?”

  His stomach still doing a flip-flop, Joss nodded in agreement. Just as nothing that Morgan could say to him or share with him could ever ease the pain of losing Cecile, nothing at all that Joss could say or do could possibly make Morgan feel any better over losing his brother to the vampires. After a moment of shared silence, Morgan climbed the steps to the brownstone and soon after, Joss followed.

  As he passed the open library doors, Abraham called to him. “Oh, Joss. I was meaning to ask you over dinner. How do you propose we should proceed in our continued search for the two remaining vampire brothers? In other words, when are we taking a little field trip to Central Park, exactly?”

  Joss bristled. “Tomorrow night, Uncle.”

  Abraham raised his eyebrows slightly, as if he were mildly impressed. “Tomorrow night, nephew. Alert the team, if you would, over breakfast. Except for Morgan, who won’t be joining us.”

  Joss furrowed his brow in concern. “Why won’t he?”

  Abraham plucked a newspaper from the table next to the chair he sat in and smoothed it out in front of him. “Because. I’m not sure I can trust him on my team, or with my nephew. His brother, it turns out, is quite close to a vampire who tried to kill me twice now. And I fear that Morgan may be feeding him information.”

  “Uncle Abraham, Morgan is—”

  “Have you learned nothing from that whole experience with Sirus last summer, Joss?”

  Abraham’s words were so jarring that they hit Joss in the center of the chest like a fist. He stammered to speak. “Of . . . of course I have.”

  Abraham looked him over before turning his eyes to an article in the paper. “Good. Then alert the team over breakfast. Sans Morgan.”

  Joss’s chest still ached from his uncle’s jab. One thing was for certain about Abraham McMillan. He pulled no punches. If your baby was ugly, he was going to tell you all about it. “And if Morgan asks why he’s not invited? What should I say?”

  Abraham’s eyes were scanning the words on the page, as if he’d already completed his half of the conversation they were having. “He won’t. He’ll already know.”

  Joss didn’t want to question how Abraham knew this, but he suspected it was because he and Abraham had worked together for so long. Abraham knew Morgan better than Joss did. So if he said that Morgan wou
ld react in a certain way, then Joss was inclined to trust him.

  He nodded at his uncle and turned to leave the library. As he moved up the stairs, Joss’s footsteps felt heavy, growing heavier with every step he took. He didn’t much care for the fact that he had to tell everyone that they’d be doing a stakeout in Central Park, and he cared less that he’d have to be the one to tell Morgan that he wasn’t coming along. He liked Morgan. Despite the fact that Morgan’s brother was a vamp. And despite the weird sensation that maybe he couldn’t trust Morgan, couldn’t trust anyone.

  As he entered his room to get ready for bed, Joss had a terrifying thought.

  What if he would never be able to trust anyone ever again?

  It lingered in the forefront of his mind as he stripped down to his boxers. As he brushed his teeth. As he climbed into bed. As he pulled the sheet up to his waist. And when he closed his eyes and slipped off to sleep, his nightmares were not about Cecile, but about the immense, immeasurable length of his life that he might spend irrevocably and utterly alone.

  19

  AN EVENING IN CENTRAL PARK

  The next morning, Joss took his time showering and going through his morning routine. When he opened the bathroom door, Paty passed by, a mug of coffee clutched in her right hand. She grunted a g’mornin’ in his direction, and Joss stepped out into the hall. The smell of bacon filled the air, beckoning to him from the kitchen downstairs. Behind him, he heard footsteps.

  He turned to see Morgan coming down the hall. Morgan nodded to him, but said nothing. As he passed, Joss almost said something—hello, good morning, something—but then, for whatever reason, he didn’t. Instead he followed Morgan down the stairs and into the kitchen, joining the others at the table, which was filled with plates heaping with bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. The smells were so good that Joss wondered if the way the food tasted could possibly live up to it. He bit into a slice of buttered toast as Paty heaped a small mountain of scrambled eggs onto his plate, and its crunchy texture melted onto his tongue. An mmmm sound escaped him before he realized it was he who made it. Ash and Paty chuckled before Paty said, “Hungry much, kid?”