Father clarifies. “We’re about to take off from JFK, if the international air traffic will let up. New York was a frightful bore without you.”
He misses me! I feel a burst of confidence. “I read a feature story about you. It included a photograph of your human daughters. They were attractive girls, all of them.” The line goes silent a long moment, and I squeeze my eyelids closed. Regret floods my veins. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I’m sor —”
“Now, now,” Father interrupts. “We’re family, and you should know about our lesser, human relations. I drank down the youngest myself during my first bloodlust. The middle girl saw it happen and lost her mind. Then my eldest took her own life. My wife was heavy with another babe at the time, this one a boy. He went on to live to a right old age and father a new generation. My wife, however, died in childbirth.”
Not to sound selfish, but I’m grateful that I didn’t first rise in Dallas and that I’ve never harmed anyone who was precious to me.
It’s strange. I’ve never wondered before what Father’s immortality cost him on a personal level, at least not beyond the ability to chow down on southern-fried cooking with ease. He’s always seemed so formidable, so secure in who he is now. I’m not sure what to say. “We count the nights until your return. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
Father responds by asking me to host any incoming visitors to the castle. “Stick to the niceties on the social front. If you’re in doubt about a business or political matter, do an informational interview and then report to me. That said, I trust your judgment. Should anyone unduly vex you, respond swiftly and mercilessly. Don’t hesitate to use terminal force.” This he says in the same tone my mom would use to say: “Be sure to thank Lucy’s mother for dinner.”
First overseeing the estate and planning the gala and now this! It’s another exam — a final exam perhaps, the chance to confirm myself as a worthy heir.
Unfortunately, I already have to admit one complication.
“There was an incident last night,” I say. I fill him in on Elina’s bat-form spying and my less-than-terminal response. “Given that she’s an Old Blood —”
“Not all Old Bloods are created equally,” Father assures me. “Elina is too superficial and stupid to pose a real threat. That’s why I permit her to stay in town. She has nothing to gain by watching you. I suspect she’s merely jealous.”
“Of me?” I ask, glancing at the ornate battle-axe on the white rock wall.
The answering laugh is affectionate. “Sugar plum, you underestimate yourself. Don’t worry about that harlot. Once I return, I’ll deal with her myself. Meanwhile, you take care and keep in touch. I’ll look forward to hearing from you regularly.”
MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE I got lousy sleep on the Amtrak train or because I still can’t get into the flow of having an exclusively flesh-and-bone body or because of the shock of seeing Miranda. But it’s a half hour past sundown before I’m up and dressed and ready to confront her again.
Last night before going to bed, I hung up the other two blue shirts and black pants from Joshua in the bathroom off my suite. I still look rumpled, but the steam of three massaging showerheads did help smooth out the wrinkles.
When it comes to creature comforts, I’ve noticed, the perks of this reproduction castle are a lot more modern than the architecture that inspired it.
I’m careful not to cut myself shaving. This whole place is a shark tank. There’s no need to stir up chum for the predators. Truth is, I don’t know what would happen if a vamp bit me. But I’m in no hurry to find out. I mess with my hair for a couple of minutes. Until it hits me. I’m primping for her. For Miranda.
Ten minutes later, Harrison briefly intercepts me on the first floor, turning into the biz wing. He hands me a manila file. “You’re late and you’re
He misses me! I feel a burst of confidence. “I read a feature story about you. It included a photograph of your human daughters. They were attractive girls, all of them.” The line goes silent a long moment, and I squeeze my eyelids closed. Regret floods my veins. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I’m sor —”
“Now, now,” Father interrupts. “We’re family, and you should know about our lesser, human relations. I drank down the youngest myself during my first bloodlust. The middle girl saw it happen and lost her mind. Then my eldest took her own life. My wife was heavy with another babe at the time, this one a boy. He went on to live to a right old age and father a new generation. My wife, however, died in childbirth.”
Not to sound selfish, but I’m grateful that I didn’t first rise in Dallas and that I’ve never harmed anyone who was precious to me.
It’s strange. I’ve never wondered before what Father’s immortality cost him on a personal level, at least not beyond the ability to chow down on southern-fried cooking with ease. He’s always seemed so formidable, so secure in who he is now. I’m not sure what to say. “We count the nights until your return. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
Father responds by asking me to host any incoming visitors to the castle. “Stick to the niceties on the social front. If you’re in doubt about a business or political matter, do an informational interview and then report to me. That said, I trust your judgment. Should anyone unduly vex you, respond swiftly and mercilessly. Don’t hesitate to use terminal force.” This he says in the same tone my mom would use to say: “Be sure to thank Lucy’s mother for dinner.”
First overseeing the estate and planning the gala and now this! It’s another exam — a final exam perhaps, the chance to confirm myself as a worthy heir.
Unfortunately, I already have to admit one complication.
“There was an incident last night,” I say. I fill him in on Elina’s bat-form spying and my less-than-terminal response. “Given that she’s an Old Blood —”
“Not all Old Bloods are created equally,” Father assures me. “Elina is too superficial and stupid to pose a real threat. That’s why I permit her to stay in town. She has nothing to gain by watching you. I suspect she’s merely jealous.”
“Of me?” I ask, glancing at the ornate battle-axe on the white rock wall.
The answering laugh is affectionate. “Sugar plum, you underestimate yourself. Don’t worry about that harlot. Once I return, I’ll deal with her myself. Meanwhile, you take care and keep in touch. I’ll look forward to hearing from you regularly.”
MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE I got lousy sleep on the Amtrak train or because I still can’t get into the flow of having an exclusively flesh-and-bone body or because of the shock of seeing Miranda. But it’s a half hour past sundown before I’m up and dressed and ready to confront her again.
Last night before going to bed, I hung up the other two blue shirts and black pants from Joshua in the bathroom off my suite. I still look rumpled, but the steam of three massaging showerheads did help smooth out the wrinkles.
When it comes to creature comforts, I’ve noticed, the perks of this reproduction castle are a lot more modern than the architecture that inspired it.
I’m careful not to cut myself shaving. This whole place is a shark tank. There’s no need to stir up chum for the predators. Truth is, I don’t know what would happen if a vamp bit me. But I’m in no hurry to find out. I mess with my hair for a couple of minutes. Until it hits me. I’m primping for her. For Miranda.
Ten minutes later, Harrison briefly intercepts me on the first floor, turning into the biz wing. He hands me a manila file. “You’re late and you’re
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