They musta passed a while ago, he thought as he walked over. Hed been the youngest of their seven kids, and both had been smokers.
The screen door had almost no screen and a frame that was rusted out. When he opened the thing, it squealed like a stuck pig, squealed like Big Tommy, just like the one back home had. Knocking on the second door didnt get him no answer, so he took off his cowboy hat and pushed into the house, using his hip and his shoulder to bust free the lock.
Inside smelled like cigarette smoke, mold, and death. The first two were stale. The death was fresh, the kind of juicy, fruity stuff that made you want to go out and kill something so you could join the party.
And there was another smell. The lingering sweet scent in the air told him the Omega had been here recently. Either that or another slayer.
With his hat in his hands, he walked through the dark front rooms and into the kitchen in the back. That was where the bodies was. Two of them on their stomachs. He couldnt tell the sex of either because theyd been decapitated and no one was in a dress, but the pools of blood from where their heads should have been mingled, kind of like they was holding hands.
It was real sweet, actually.
He glanced across the room, to the black stain on the wall between the harvest gold fridge and the spindly Formica-topped table. The bomb burst meant a fellow slayer had bit it and bit it hard at the hand of the Omega. Evidently the master had fired another Fore-lesser.
Mr. D stepped over the bodies and cracked the fridge. Lessers didnt eat, but he was curious what the couple had in there. Huh. More memories. There was an open package of Oscar Mayer bologna, and they were almost out of mayo.
Not that they had to worry about making sandwiches no more.
He closed the fridge and leaned back against the-
The temperature in the house dropped by twenty degrees, like someone had cranked a central-air unit on so the dial read, Freeze Your Nuts Off. The wind followed, roughing up the still summer night, gathering in force until the farmhouse groaned.
The Omega.
Mr. D came to attention just as the front door blew open. What came down the hall was an inky mist, fluid and transparent, rolling along the floorboards. It coalesced in front of Mr. D, rising up into a male form.
Master, Mr. D said as he bowed at the waist and his black blood raced in his veins out of fear and love.
The Omegas voice came from a vast distance and carried an electronic cadence with static. I am appointing you Fore-lesser.
Mr. Ds breath caught. This was the highest honor, the single most powerful position in the Lessening Society. Hed never even hoped for it. And maybe he could actually hang for a spell in the job. Thank-
The Omega misted forward and blanketed Mr. Ds body like a coating of tar. As pain took the place of every bone in his body, Mr. D felt himself get spun around and pushed face-first into the counter, his hat flying from his hands. The Omega took control, and things happened that Mr. D would never have consented to.
There was no consent in the Society, though. You had only one yes, and that was the one that got you into it. Everything else that came after, you had no control over.
When what seemed like centuries passed, the Omega stepped out of Mr. Ds body and clothed himself, a white robe covering him from head to foot. With ladylike elegance, the evil arranged his lapels, his claws having disappeared.
Or maybe theyd just been worn to stubs after all the ripping and tearing.
Weak and leaking, Mr. D sagged against the pitted countertop. He wanted to get dressed, but there wasnt much left of his clothes.
Events have come to a head, the Omega pronounced. The incubation is done. It is time now to shed the cocoon.
Yes, suh. As if there was another answer? How can I serve you?
Your task is to bring this male to me. The Omega extended his hand palm up and an image appeared, hovering in the air.
Mr. D studied the face, anxiety kicking his brain into high gear. For sure, he needed more details than this translucent mug shot. Where do I find him?
He was born here and he lives among the vampires in Caldwell. The Omegas voice was out of a sci-fi movie, echoing with eerie displacement. He is newly transitioned by but months. They believe him to be their own.
Well, that sure did narrow it down.
You may marshal the others, the Omega said. But he must be taken alive. If anyone kills him, you shall be accountable unto me.
The Omega leaned to the side and put his palm to the wallpaper next to the black bomb burst. The image of the civilian imprinted on the stretch of faded yellow flowers, burned there.
The Omega tilted his head and gazed at the image. Then, with a gentle, elegant hand, he caressed the face. He is special, this one. Find him. Bring him back here. Do this with haste.
The or else didnt have to be said.
As the evil disappeared, Mr. D bent down and picked up his cowboy hat. Fortunately, it hadnt been crushed or stained.
Rubbing his eyes, he counted the ways he was in it up to his buckle. A vampire male somewhere in Caldwell. It was gonna be like looking for a blade of grass in an acre of meadow.
Picking up a paring knife from the counter, he used the thing to cut around the image on the wallpaper. Peeling the sheet off carefully, he studied the face.
Vampires were secretive for two reasons: They didnt want humans interfering none with their race, and they knew that the lessers were after them. They did go out in public, though, especially the newly transitioned males. Aggressive and reckless, the young ones hit the seedier parts of Caldwells downtown because there were humans to have sex with and fights to get into and all kinds of fun things to snort and drink and smoke.
Downtown. Hed get a squad together and head to the bars downtown. Even if they didnt find the male right away, the vampire community was a small one. Other civilians were bound to know their target, and information gathering was one of Mr. Ds strengths.
To heck and gone with truth serum. Give him a claw hammer and a length of chain, and he was a machine with getting a pair of lips to babble.
Mr. D dragged his sorry, too-used body upstairs and took a careful shower in the dead peoples shitty bathroom. When he was done, he changed into a pair of overalls and a button-down, which were naturally too big for him. After he rolled up the shirt cuffs and cut three inches off the legs of the pants, he combed his white hair flat to his skull. Before he left the room, he put on some Old Spice from the guys bureau. The stuff was mostly alcohol, like the bottle had been sitting there for a while, but Mr. D liked to be classy.
Back downstairs, he swung through the kitchen and picked up the strip of wallpaper with the males face on it. Eating up the features with his eyes, he found himself getting bluetick hound dog excited even though he was still aching all over.
The hunt was on and he knew who else to use. There was a crew of five lessers who hed worked with on and off during the past couple years. They were good guys. Well, good was probably the wrong word. But he could deal with them, and now that he was Fore-lesser he could give them orders.
On his way out the front door, he tugged his hat into place and tipped the brim to the dead people. See yall later.
Qhuinn walked into his fathers study in a bad mood, and he sure as hell didnt expect to leave feeling all glowy and shit.
And there you go. The second he entered the room, his father let one side of the Wall Street Journal flop loose so he could press his knuckles to his mouth, then touch each side of his throat. A quick phrase in the Old Language came out in a mutter, then the paper was back up in place.
Do you need me for the gala, Qhuinn said.
Didnt one of the doggen tell you?
No.
I told them to tell you.
So that would be a no, then. Like asking the question in the first place, he pressed for the answer just to be a pain in the ass.
I dont understand why they didnt tell you. His father uncrossed then recrossed his legs, the crease in his slacks as sharp as the lip on his glass of sherry. I really only want to have to communicate things once. I dont believe that is too much-
Youre not going to say it to me, are you?
-to ask. I mean, honestly, the job of a servant is self-evident. Their purpose is to serve, and I really dont like repeating myself.
His fathers free foot tapped at the air. His tasseled loafers were, as always, by Cole Haan: pricey, but no more showy than an aristocratic whisper.
Qhuinn looked down at his New Rocks. The treaded soles were two inches thick at the ball of his foot and three inches at his heel. The black leather went up to the base of his calves and was crisscrossed by laces and three boss chrome buckles.
Back when hed been getting an allowance,before his change hadnt cured his defect, hed saved up for months to get these mean-ass motherfucking shitkickers, and hed bought them as soon as he could after his change. They were his prezzie to himself for living through his transition, because he knew better than to expect anything from the parents.
His fathers eyes had nearly popped out of his establishment skull when Qhuinn had worn them to First Meal.
Was there something else, his father said from behind the WSJ.
Nah. Ill get good and ghost. Dont you worry.
God knew hed done it before at official functions, although really, who were they kidding? The glymera was fully aware of him and his little problem, and those cobassed snobs were like elephants. They never forgot.
By the way, your cousin Lash has a new job, his father murmured. At Haverss clinic. Lash fancies becoming a doctor and is interning after his classes. The newspaper flipped around and his fathers face briefly appeared which was a curious killer, because Qhuinn caught the wistful cast to his old mans eyes. Lash is such a source of pride for his father. A worthy successor to the family mantle.
Qhuinn glanced at his fathers left hand. On the forefinger, taking up all the space beneath the big knuckle, was a solid gold ring bearing the familys crest.
All the young males from the aristocracy got one after they went through their transitions, and Qhuinns best friends both had theirs. Blay wore his all the time except when fighting or out downtown, and John Matthew had been given one, although he didnt put it on. They werent the only ones with the flashy paperweights, either. In their training class at the Brotherhoods compound, one by one the trainees were going through the change and showing up with a signet ring on their finger.
Family crest pressed into ten ounces of gold: five thousand dollars.
Getting it from your father when you became a true male: priceless.
Qhuinns transition had occurred about five months ago. Hed stopped waiting for his ring four months, three weeks, six days, and two hours ago.
Roughly.
Man, in spite of the friction between him and his dad, hed never thought he wouldnt get one. But surprise! New way to feel out of the fold.
There was another rustle of the paper and this one was impatient, as if his father were shooing a fly away from his hamburger. Although, of course, he didnt eat hamburgers, because they were too common.
Im going to have to talk to that doggen, his father said.
Qhuinn shut the door on his way out, and when he turned to go down the hall, he nearly bumped into a doggen who was coming from the library next door. The uniformed maid leaped back, kissed her knuckles, and tapped the veins running up her throat.
As she scampered off, muttering the same phrase his father had, Qhuinn stepped up to an antique mirror that hung on the silk-covered wall. Even with the ripples in the leaded glass and the blackened flecks where the reflective part had flaked off, his problem was obvious.
His mother had gray eyes. His father had gray eyes. His brother and sister had gray eyes.
Qhuinn had one blue eye and one green eye.
Now, there were blue and green eyes in the bloodline, of course. Just not one of each in the same person, and what do you know, deviation was not divine. The aristocracy refused to deal with defects, and Qhuinns folks were not only firmly entrenched in the glymera, as both were from the six founding families, but his father had even been leahdyre of the Princeps Council.
Everyone had hoped his transition would cure the problem, and either blue or green would have been acceptable. Yeah, well, denied. Qhuinn came out of his change with a big body and a pair of fangs and a craving for sex and one blue eye and one green eye.
What a night. It had been the first and only time his father had lost it. The first and only time Qhuinn had ever been struck. And since then, no one in the family or on the staff had met his stare.
As he headed out for the night, he didnt bother to say good-bye to his mother. Or to his older brother or sister.
Hed been sidelined in this family since the moment of his birth, set apart from them, benched by some kind of genetic injury. The only saving grace to his pitiable existence, according to the races value system, was the fact that there were two healthy, normal young in the family, and that the oldest male, his brother, was considered acceptable for breeding.
Qhuinn always thought his parents should have stopped at two, that to try for three healthy children was too much of a gamble with fate. He couldnt change the hand that had been dealt, though. Couldnt stop himself from wishing things were different, either.
Couldnt keep from caring.
Even though the gala would just be a bunch of stuffy types wearing gowns and penguin suits, he wanted to be with his family during the glymeras big end-of-summer ball. He wanted to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother and be counted for once in his life. He wanted to dress up like everyone else and wear his gold ring and maybe dance with some of the high-bred, unmated females. In the glittering crowd of the aristocracy, he wanted to be acknowledged as a citizen, as one among them, as a male, not a genetic embarrassment.
Not going to happen. As far as the glymera were concerned, he was less than an animal, no more suitable for sex than a dog.
Only thing missing was a collar, he thought, as he dematerialized to Blays.
Chapter Four
Over to the east, in the Brotherhoods mansion, Cormia waited in the library for the Primale and whoever it was he thought she should spend time with. As she paced from couch to club chair and back, she heard the Brothers talking in the foyer, discussing some upcoming fete of the glymeras.
The Brother Rhages voice boomed. That bunch of self-serving, prejudicial, light-in-the-loafer-
Watch the loafer references, the Brother Butch cut in. I have some on.
-parasitic, shortsighted motherfuckers-
Tell us how you really feel, someone else said.
-can take their fakakta ball and blow it out their asses.
The kings laugh was low. Good thing youre not a diplomat, Hollywood.
Oh, you gotta let me send a message. Better yet, lets have my beast go as an emissary. Ill have him rip up the place. Serve those bastards right for how theyve treated Marissa.
You know, Butch announced, Ive always thought you had half a brain. In spite of what everyone else has said.
Cormia stopped pacing as the Primale appeared in the library s entrance, a glass of port in his hand. He was dressed in what he usually wore to First Meal when he wasnt teaching: a pair of perfectly tailored slacks, cream tonight; a silk shirt, black per normal; and a black belt, the buckle of which was an elongated, golden H. His square-toed shoes were buffed to a shine and bore the same H as the belt.
Hermès, she thought shed overheard him say at one meal.
His hair was loose, the waves breaking on his heavy shoulders, some in the front, some down the back. He smelled of what the Brothers called aftershave, as well as the coffee-scented smoke that lingered in his bedroom.
She knew precisely how his bedroom smelled. She had spent a single day lying beside him in his room, and everything about the experience had been unforgettable.
Although now was not the time to remember what had happened between them in that big bed of his when hed been asleep. Hard enough to be in his company with a whole room between them and people out in the foyer. To add those moments when hed pressed his naked body to hers-
"Did you enjoy your dinner? he asked, taking a sip from his glass.
Yes, indeed. And you, your grace?
He was about to reply when John Matthew appeared behind him.
The Primale turned to the young male and smiled. Hey, my man. Glad youre here.
John Matthew looked across the library at her and lifted his hand in greeting.
She was relieved by the choice. She didnt know John any more than she knew the others, but he was quiet during meals. Which made his size not quite as intimidating as it would have been if hed been loud.
She bowed to him. Your grace.
As she straightened, she felt his eyes on her and she wondered what he saw. Female or Chosen?
What an odd thought.
Well, you two visit. The Primales brilliant golden eyes shifted her way. Im on duty tonight, so Ill be out.
Fighting, she thought, with a stab of fear.
She wanted to rush over to him and tell him to be safe, but that was not her place, was it? She was barely his First Mate, for one thing. For another, he was the strength of the race and hardly needed her concern.
The Primale clapped John Matthew on the shoulder, nodded at her, and left.
Cormia leaned to the side so she could watch the Primale going up the staircase. His gait was smooth as he went along, in spite of his missing limb and his prosthesis. He was so tall and proud and lovely, and she hated that it would be hours before he would return.
When she glanced back, John Matthew was over at the desk, taking out a small pad and a pen. As he wrote, he held the paper close to his chest, his big hands curling up. He looked much younger than the size of his body suggested while he labored over his letters.
Shed seen him communicate with his hands on those rare occasions he had something to say at the table, and it dawned on her that perhaps he was a mute.
He turned the pad to her with a wince, as if he were not impressed with what hed written. Do you like to read? This library has lots of good books.
She looked up into his eyes. What a lovely blue color they were. What is the difficulty of your voice? If I may ask.
No difficulty. I took a vow of silence.
Ah she remembered. The Chosen Layla had said hed taken such a pledge.
I see you using your hands to talk, she said.
American Sign Language, he wrote.
Its an elegant way of communicating.
It gets the job done. He wrote some more and then flashed the pad again. Ive heard the Other Side is very different. Is it true its all white?
She lifted the skirting of her robe as if to give an example of what is was like where she was from. Yes. White is all we have. She frowned. All we need, rather.
Do you have electricity?
We have candles, and we do things by hand.
Sounds old-fashioned.
She wasnt sure what he meant by that. Is that bad?
He shook his head. I think its cool.
She knew the term from the dinner table, but still didnt understand why temperature would have anything to do with an apparently positive value judgment.
Its all I know. She went over to one of the tall, narrow doors that had glass panes. Well, until now.
Her roses were so close, she thought.
John whistled, and she looked over her shoulder at the pad he was holding face-out. Do you like it here at all? hed written. And please know you can tell me you dont. I wont judge.
She fingered her robe. I feel so different from everyone. I am lost in the conversations, though I speak the language.
There was a long silence. When she glanced back at John, he was writing, his hand pausing every once in a while, as if he were choosing a word. He crossed something out. Wrote some more. When he was finished, he gave the pad to her.
I know what thats like. Because Im a mute, I feel out of place a lot of the time. Its better since my transition, but it still happens. No one judges you here, though. We all like you, and were glad youre in the house.
She read the paragraph twice. She wasnt sure how to respond to the last part. Shed assumed she was tolerated because the Primale had brought her in.
But your grace, I thought you had assumed the mantle of silence? As he flushed, she said, Im sorry, thats not my concern.
He wrote and then showed her his words. I was born without a voice box. The next sentence was crossed out, but she was able to get the gist. Hed written something like, But I still fight well and Im smart and everything.
She could understand the subterfuge. The Chosen, like the glymera, valued physical perfection as evidence of proper breeding and the strength of the races genes. Many would have viewed his silence as a deficiency, and even the Chosen could be cruel to those they viewed as beneath them.
Cormia reached out and put her hand on his forearm. I think not all things have to be spoken to be understood. And it is well obvious you are fit and strong.
His cheeks bloomed with color, his head dropping to hide his eyes.
Cormia smiled. It seemed perverse that she should relax in the face of his getting awkward, but somehow she felt as though they were on more level footing.
How long have you been here? she asked.
Emotion flickered across his face as he went back to the pad. Eight months or so. They took me in because I had no family. My father was killed.
I am so sorry for your loss. Tell me do you stay because you like it here?
There was a long pause. Then he wrote slowly. When he flashed her the pad, it said, I like it no more or less than I would any other house.
Which makes you displaced like me, she murmured. Here but not here.
He nodded, then smiled, revealing bright white fangs.
Cormia couldnt help but return the expression on his handsome face.
Back at the Sanctuary, everyone had been like her. Here? No one was at all. Until now.
So do you have any questions youd like to ask about stuff? he wrote. The house? The staff? Phury said you might have some.
Questions oh, she could think of a few. For instance, how long had the Primale been in love with Bella? Had there ever been any feelings on her side? Had the two of them ever layed together?
Her eyes focused on the books. I dont have any questions right now. For no particular reason, she added, "I just finished Choderlos de Lacloss Les Liaisons Dangereuses.
They made that into a movie. Sarah Michelle Gellar and Ryan Phillippe and Reese Witherspoon.
A movie? And who are all those people?
He wrote for quite a while. You know television, right? That flat panel in the billiards room? Well, movies are on an even bigger screen, and the people in them are called actors. They pretend to be people. Those three are actors. Actually, theyre all actors, when theyre on TV or in the movies. Well, most of them.
Ive only glanced into the billiards room. I havent been in it. There was a curious shame to admitting how little shed ventured out. Is television the glowing box with the pictures?
Thats the one. I can show you how it works if you like?
Please.
They went out of the library into the magical, rainbowed foyer of the mansion, and as always, Cormia glanced up to the ceiling, which floated three stories above the mosaic floor. The scene depicted far above was of warriors mounted on great steeds, all of them going off to fight. The colors were outrageously bright, the figures majestic and strong, the background a brilliant blue with white clouds.
There was one particular fighter with blond-streaked hair that she had to measure every time she passed through. She had to make sure he was all right, even though that was ridiculous. The figures never moved. Their fight was always on the verge, never in the actuality.
Unlike the Brotherhoods. Unlike the Primales.
John Matthew led the way into the dark green room that was across from where meals were taken. The Brothers spent a lot of time here; shed often hear their voices drifting out, marked by soft cracking noises, the source of which she couldnt identify. John solved that mystery, though. As he passed by a flat table that had a green felt covering, he took one of the many multicolored balls on its surface and sent it rolling across the way. When it ran into one of its mates, the quiet knocking explained the sound.
John stopped in front of an upright gray canvas and picked up a slim black unit. All at once an image popped up in full color and sound came from everywhere. Cormia jumped back as a roar filled the room and bulletlike objects rushed by.
John steadied her as the din gradually faded, and then he wrote on his pad. Sorry, I turned the sound down. This is NASCAR racing. There are people in the cars and they go around the track. The fastest wins.
Cormia approached the image and touched it with hesitation. All she felt was a flat, clothlike stretch. She looked behind the screen. Nothing but wall.
Amazing.
John nodded and put out the slim unit to her, jogging it up and down as if encouraging her to take it. After he showed her what to push among the multitude of buttons, he stepped back. Cormia pointed the thing at the moving pictures and made the images change. Again and again. There seemed to be an endless number of them.
No vampires, though, she murmured, as yet another broad-daylight setting appeared. This is just for humans.
We watch it too, though. You get vampires in movies-just not good ones usually. The films or the vampires.
Cormia slowly sank down onto the sofa in front of the television, and John followed suit in a chair next to her. The endless variation was enthralling, and John narrated each channel with notes to her. She didnt know how long they sat together, but he didnt seem impatient.
What channels did the Primale watch, she wondered.
Eventually, John showed her how to turn the images off. Flushed from excitement, she looked toward the glass doors.
Is it safe outdoors? she asked.
Very. Theres a huge retaining wall surrounding the compound, plus security cameras are everywhere. Even better, were insulated by mhis. No lesser has ever gotten in here, and none ever will-oh, and the squirrels and deer are harmless.
Id like to go outside.
And Id be happy to take you.
John tucked the pad under his arm and went over to one of the sets of glass doors. After he unlatched the brass lock, he swung one half of the pair wide with a gallant sweep of his arm.
The warm air that rushed in smelled different from that which was in the house. This was rich. Complex. Sultry with its garden bouquet and humid warmth.
Cormia got up from the couch and approached John. Beyond the terrace, the landscaped gardens shed stared at from afar for so long stretched out over what seemed to be a vast distance. With its colorful flowers and blooming trees, the vista was nothing like the monochromatic expanse of the Sanctuary, but it was just as perfect, just as lovely.
Its the day of my birthing, she said for no particular reason.
John smiled and clapped. Then he wrote, I should have gotten you a present.
Present?
You know, a gift. For you.
Cormia leaned her body out and craned her head back. The sky above was a dark satin blue with twinkling lights marking its folds. Wondrous, she thought. Simply wondrous.
This is a gift.
They stepped out of the house together. The flat stones of the terrace were chilly under her bare feet, but the air was warm as bathwater, and she loved the contrast.
Oh She breathed in deep. How lovely
Turning round and round, she looked at it all: The majestic mountain of the mansion. The fluffy, dark heads of the trees. The rolling lawn. The flowers in their orderly sections.