“It took six months to go through the whole adoption process,” I say heavily as I conclude the tale of my family. “It was such a different energy, I don’t have words to describe how much my life changed because of it. They were all such good people…”
“Were?” Riley asks in a quiet voice.
“When I was fifteen, I moved to the United States with Elijah. He sold his ranch in Texas; we went to his home in Rhode Island. He died about half a year after my sixteenth birthday. I later learned that Livvy and Edward also died around the same time. I know my parents are involved somehow, only I never figured out how, there was no definitive cause. I was still a minor, so I ended up in the system.”
“Fuck,” Riley whispers. “And your parents didn’t try and claim you again?”
“No, no one knew my ties to them because as far as everyone was concerned, my name was Henry Stone…My name is Henry Stone.”
We speak no further for some time, although I don’t count the minutes. Instead, I focus on Riley’s hand holding mine, his grip firm and reassuring. He doesn’t look at me, his eyes are trained on the chipped coffee table set before the couch, unseeing as he processes the story.
“I wish you’d told me,” he says after a slow breath. “Christ, I feel like such an asshole. I was always going on about my shit, because you always seemed like you didn’t have any.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” I reply. “I was afraid that if I did, somehow…my parents would know, and I would lose you too.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I did not know how much then,” I remind him. “I didn’t know about the Order. Besides, meeting Elijah, having a real family with him and the others, having something good, it helped me to…well, focus on the good rather than the negative.”
“There’s focusing on the good and there’s repressing, I know a lot about the latter,” Riley insists.
“It never felt that way, but it’s possible,” more than possible, if I am honest with myself. I never truly contended with the things my parents put me through. It’s easier not to think about it, and while I can never go so far as to pretend it didn’t happen, I long ago convinced myself that Elijah would not have wanted me to regress to the youth he met.
“I’m sorry,” Riley whispers. “I’m sorry you went through that hell. Fuck, Henry, how could they do that to you?”
“They were blinded by their ambitions, I think,” I sigh. “Whatever means necessary to succeed.”
“In what though?” I get the feeling Riley isn’t even asking me this directly, rather his frustration gets the better of him. “They didn’t accomplish shit! They just murdered people in a field and claimed it was all for the greater good!”
“They’re obsessed,” I say bitterly. “To them every ritual was a necessity, bringing them one step closer, but now they may have found a means for it to truly work, to truly fulfill the ritual for their unknown king. They believe the answer is within a relic, one that I now have in my possession. They had a book, Magicks & Alchemy, which referenced the relic…only I cannot remember what it said and I didn’t have a chance to read the copy in the Archives. Perhaps even more strange…I found the relic in a storage unit Billy rented. Castillo owns the place, I’m not sure if Billy knew that, but he had a copy of Magicks & Alchemy too, it was very damaged, however, but the Archivists were unpleasantly surprised to learn of its existence at all.”
“Wait. What the fuck? So, Billy had the same dark magic fuckery in his storage unit? One that Castillo owned? He never said anything about it.”
I nod, thinking of the odds and ends that made up the majority of the unit’s contents. “I don’t understand the connection,” I reply. “The only words I could make out in Billy’s copy were fair, north and in shadow…My parents fancy themselves as powerful, a witch and warlock to be feared. But they are not. Was Billy’s family?”
“He didn’t really talk about them,” Riley says, voice contemplative. He narrows his eyes. “I’m starting to think it may have been a similar situation to yours. I wish we could talk to him,” sadness fills his voice and he looks away from me, and I almost demand that he not hide his sorrow. Riley’s always tried to put on a brave face, however, even in front of me.
“Where is the relic?” he asks after some time in silence.
“In my room at Castillo’s.”
“I figured you might have been there, but I can’t go near the place,” Riley sighs. “This promotion has me bound a lot more than before, I think on purpose. Assholes. Can you bring it here?”
“I’m not comfortable involving the Order.”
“You’re not involving the Order, Henry. You’re just involving me.”
“I did not want to involve you either.”
“Yeah well, tough shit.”
I almost tell him no, absolutely not, but it’s fruitless. He’ll continue no matter what I say, and if I am honest with myself, I know that my confidence towards success depends on his help. As much as I wanted to, I cannot do this alone.
“There’s more…The Bishops have ties to Charlemagne,” I hesitate, feeling drained from sharing my past, even if I attempted to separate myself from the broken boy. “I have ties to Charlemagne…he is my sire.”
“What?!”
“Another piece of news recently learned.”
“Did he say why he turned you?” Riley demands.
“Only hints,” I admit. “He would tell me no more because I wouldn’t help him deal with Castillo.”
“This can’t get out, Henry. Charlemagne has never sired another vampire, there’s a long process between vampires and the Order before anyone can turn a human.”
“There is?”
“Well, there’s supposed to be. A vampire puts in a request to turn a human, the pair has to come in for a hearing after the request is made, then they come in for individual hearings, so the Order can be sure this is something the human actually wants, and if it is usually the request is approved. It’s a means to keep the vampire population in check. Although…most vampires don’t seem to be in a rush to pass down their power that way, so we don’t get a lot of them, but there’s never been any documented case of Charlemagne siring anyone.”
“What would happen if the Order did find out?”
“Knowing Sheldon? He’d probably use you to try and get to Charlemagne. Flippant as that asshole can act, if he turned you, there’s a reason and he wouldn’t want the Order to get in the way of that,” Riley sounds exhausted suddenly, and I gain a better understanding of just how often he’s butted heads with Sheldon lately.
“I cannot help but think that it is all connected…my parents, the rituals, Charlemagne’s decision to turn me. He says I am a key to the end, and I fear what end he means.”
“One that isn’t going to happen,” Riley says, his voice rough. “We’ll figure this out Henry, and it starts with figuring out what the fuck that relic is. Can you bring it here tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Hold on a second,” he gets up and leaves the living room. I hear him rustling through papers before he returns with a composition notebook and a pen. “Can you draw it? It doesn’t have to be perfect, just enough that I can do a little digging while I’m at work.”
“Sure,” I reply. I fill in the shape I draw with black ink, leaving behind unfilled lines to mimic those lightning streaks across the relic. At the top I draw the glowing sphere, and while the drawing is crude, I think it captures the item well enough.
Riley is quiet for a few minutes as he studies it, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I think it might be Fae in origin,” he says. “Especially with the words you could read from the book. Fair…maybe Fair Folk, North could point to the Unseelie side of things, shadow fits that Court too.”
I feel a pit open in my stomach. Did Muir lie to me then when he said he knew nothing about it? Or was it so obscure that he simply didn’t know? Is he involved in all of this too?
Riley glances towards the nearest window, where light is beginning to filter through. “It’s late. You can stay here until sundown,” he says.
“Okay,” I reply, coming out of my whirling thoughts, “thank you.” We both stand from the couch, and before I lose my nerve, I ask, “will you stay with me?”
Riley quirks a brow. “That depends, are you going to get handsy, Mr. Stone? Any more surprise kisses I should look out for?” I know his levity is forced, but I appreciate it all the same.
“I will be a gentleman.”
“Alright then,” he replies. “I could use the sleep too. Don’t be concerned if I’m gone before you get up, my shifts are criminal, but I’ll come back here around three to meet with you.”
We ready ourselves for bed, and the comfort it brings me to lay next to him would be enough to bring me to tears if I could still cry. Riley, like Elijah, is a light in my life that makes it possible to be as I am. To avoid the dark, to hold to the love of good people rather than the poison of hatred that filled my parents. We lay facing each other, Riley’s deep blue eyes on mine before he scoots closer to drape an arm over me and tug me in closer.
“I’m really sorry,” he whispers. “About what you went through…no one deserves that, and you least of all. You’re amazing, you know that? That you are so kind and giving despite where you came from. They won’t hurt you anymore, I’m going to make sure of that.”
I say nothing, for there are no words to describe to him my faith in what he says. I smile lightly and put my arm around him in turn. We lay that way for a while, I don’t bother counting the minutes, I simply enjoy him. The rise and fall of his chest, the scent of him, the crystalline blue of his eyes. I feel a desire for further intimacy, not the rushed blunder of overwhelmed emotion that had me launch myself at him at the door, but something akin to what we once shared. I stifle this desire, however, at least the physical motion of it.
“May I ask a potentially awkward question?”
“Well, you kind of have to ask it now, Henry.”
“Do you ever think about us?” I venture to ask.
Riley looks abased suddenly, a half-smile on his lips. “Probably an unhealthily amount, yeah,” he admits with a chuckle.
I suppose I was expecting him to say ‘no’ because the response leaves me speechless for a minute before I swallow thickly. “Would you ever…?”
“What, consider giving it another go?” Riley asks.
I shrug, losing the nerve to say it outright. Riley doesn’t look uncomfortable exactly, but nothing about him indicates he’s going to give an affirmative sort of reply either. He looks intensely thoughtful, playing out endless possibilities if I know him at all, although I hope these days his mind isn’t leaping to the worst-case scenarios like it was prone to do.
“I really don’t want to promise anything,” he finally says. “I love you, Henry Stone. I’m always going to love you, but there’s a lot of hurt between us, and I still have a long way to go with healing. I won’t ask you to wait because I don’t know how long it will take, and I don’t want to feel like I need to rush myself to get to the finish line for you either.”
I nod, taking in his words. It stings, but then I’m so proud of him for it too. “I love you too, Riley Averline,” I reply. “Thank you for being honest. Whatever the future holds, I take heart knowing you’re in my corner.”
Riley smiles. “Hell yeah I am,” he says, and I can hear the relief in his voice that I didn’t take his answer too hard. “Whatever it holds, you’re stuck with me.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Riley is gone when I wake, as I expected. There is an unexpected note left behind, however, reiterating that he’ll be back around three and he’ll leave his door open, so just come in. He signs it with a heart and I cannot help but smile to see it. In the meantime, I must determine how best to use my time. I could return to the market and take up my shift at Sanguine Sweet as if there’s nothing going on in my personal life, but I am wary about seeing Muir again. I want to know the answer to my earlier pondering, whether he lied to me or is unaware of the relic, but he’s so much to deal with that I’m not confident I’ll get that answer anyway.
Instead, I go back to Castillo’s, opening the door to be greeted once more with a mixture of fine scents that tells me he’s in the kitchen again. I go to him, and he greets me with a quick ‘hola, Santito,’ before focusing back on his meal. It’s a wonderful burst of colors and smells and once more I envy those who could enjoy it. He’s finished cooking in moments, serving himself a plate and moving to sit at the island nearby. I think about what Charlemagne wanted from me, to find a means to weaken Castillo, and I cannot help but wonder about their history together, but I have no heart to ask. It feels like a betrayal already that I’ve stayed here now that I know Charlemagne is my sire, and I feel selfish for knowing I will keep that information to myself.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asks suddenly. Or perhaps it is not sudden, and I am only being broken from my thoughts.
“Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”
“You are handling things?”
“Mostly.”
“Hm. You need anything from me?”
“You’ve done so much already,” I say genuinely. “But thank you.”
He takes a bite of his dinner, then seems to decide something as he gets up, takes his plate, and nods his head in a gesture for me to follow. I do so, never entirely sure what’s going through his mind, and find myself in the living room. Castillo sits in an armchair, taking the remote for the TV from the side table and flips it on to soccer.
“You know football?” he asks me as I sink onto the couch.
“Not really,” I admit.
“Then I’ll teach you, it’s always good to focus on something else now and then, hermano.”
I know enough Spanish to understand the term and I smile, feeling assured again by the connections I have, the bonds that keep me afloat in the storm still blowing over me. “That would be nice,” I reply.
I see another side to Castillo again as we watch the game. While he is highly skilled in stoicism, he is not a stoic man. I see this when he cooks and I see it when he engages in another passion. He does a good job of explaining everything, but as the match goes on, he abandons English for Spanish and shouts and gestures at the screen. I see what he means about shifting focus, and I can guess that these are his outlets, so that he can maintain that unreadable aura while dealing with business.
When the game ends, Castillo goes back to his office and I go to my bedroom. I retrieve the satchel and look inside it, ensuring the relic is where it ought to be. Since I have a few hours before I need to go back to Riley’s, I spend the time reading, permitting my mind to escape to another world.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Everdean Street is quiet when I return, not unusual given the time. There is a light on in Riley’s place, shining from the living room. My grip tightens on the satchel strap and I approach the front steps, going up them slowly. I hope that he’s found something during the day, to explain all of this, or at least to find a means to end it. I twist the doorknob and step into the familiar space, but there is something…off about it. I frown, shutting the door quietly and moving silently as a shadow around the corner into the living room.
A blast of light flares, one that makes my skin sizzle and pain erupt where it shines. I cry out and throw my hands up, to shield my face as best as I can. The light goes out, and I blink wildly, my vision impaired from the violence of it but still capable of discerning several shapes in the living room.
“Henry Stone, you are under arrest by the decree of the Order of Cerberus,” comes a cold voice. I recognize Joseph Sheldon’s voice from the confrontation at the dock a year ago. All is confusion as these figures approach me, one of them taking the satchel. I seize it to pull it from her grasp, but the light flares again and I fold in on myself trying to escape it. It’s off before it can do serious damage, but the message is loud and clear.
“Where’s Riley?” I groan.
“Mr. Averline has learned the importance of priorities,” Sheldon replies. “Check the satchel,” he says to the woman who took it.
She opens it and shows him the interior. He nods and takes the bag into his possession. “You are under arrest for the possession of a forbidden artifact,” I hear a slight tremor under his cold voice, as if he’s frightened of the relic. I may pay this more attention, but right now I can only think of Riley. I do not believe he would sell me out to the Order this way, it’s not in his nature, rather I am worried about what Sheldon has done to him. Did he find out Riley’s involvement? Perhaps he was caught asking about the relic, forced to reveal our prior meeting and the one for tonight.
Centurions close in on me again, and I feel strong hands wrenching mine behind my back and thick shackles closing around my wrists. A cursory tug tells me that even had I fed recently and had use of my full strength, they would not break. I see the one holding the large light, its lens still pointed at me so I do not resist. We leave through the back door, making for the neighboring street where a black van waits, flanked front and rear by black sedans. I am led to the van, shoved inside once the doors are opened and joined by fully armed Centurions.
“Is Riley okay?” I ask.
“Shut up, blood sucker!” a harsh voice demands.
“Mr. Averline is fine,” the same woman who took the satchel tells me. Now it’s been long enough for my eyes to recover, I realize I recognize her. She was also at the docks when Elena tried to open Paradise. I believe her name is Chiaki. I wish she would tell me more, but she looks away from me. I can only hope that she still has the same honor that had her help me and Riley in keeping Centurions from murdering Castillo’s pack, and wasn’t simply lying to me to avoid escalating the situation.
What escalation could there be? I notice the light is still pointed at me, and the Centurion wielding it is much closer than he was in the house, I do not want to see how I would fare against it now.
The drive is one of silence, and I dare not break it to ask any more questions. The Centurions do not speak to each other at all, as if the slightest conversation would put them at risk because of my company. It makes it almost unbearable, though the trip is only about 20 minutes by car, traffic is negligible at this time of day. The vehicles drive into a parking garage that dips under the street, and my hearing catches the beeps of an electronic keypad that tells me it’s a private lot. A few minutes later, the van stops again, this time for good, and the Centurions within begin to stir. The doors are opened, and most of them go out save for the one with the light, who gestures for me to get up and follow them. I do as he bids and while I give no sign I mean to flee, I am closed in by three Centurions once I’m out of the van.
There’s nothing special about the parking lot, save for notices marking it as private property. Our odd group, the Order all dressed in black, make for the heavy door that leads to the adjacent building. I will be going into Order headquarters for the first time tonight…I only hope I’ll eventually be permitted to leave.
