room. He showered quickly and slipped
into the luxurious robe, which was large enough to drown him
in its silk and terry opulence. He poured a Bushmills and looked
out the window at the street below. The week before, even the
day before, this city would have seemed as familiar to him as his
running shoes. Warm, recognizable, and broken in to the shape
of his foot, molded for his comfort. Now it was as if those
same comfortable shoes had taken off running down the street
by themselves.
What was out there in this city, arguably his hometown, that
he never knew existed? How ignorant did he yet remain? Was
80 Z.A. Maxfield
there more lurking unnoticed in the alleys and side streets than
vampires?
As Adin watched the street below, he caught sight of a man
on the sidewalk who wore a dark suit and walked with a
briefcase. He walked at a brisk pace, like a million other
businessmen in the city at twilight doing the same. But when he
was exactly across the street from where Adin stood, he
stopped, looked up directly at Adin’s window, and smiled. With
shaking hands, Adin shut the shoji screens. It wasn’t the same
man, but like the others, he was beginning to sense the threat.
The man from the liquor store, the man from Chinatown, and
the man outside only moments before felt the same. Like
Donte. He sat quietly on the velvet chaise longue, neither
noticing nor caring that the light was fading, until he was left in almost-complete darkness.
A knock concussed the silence. Adin tied his robe more
tightly around him and answered it. Boaz stood there, a brown
paper shopping bag in one hand and a bottle in the other.
“Dinner, sir”—he smiled—“compliments of your friend
Edward.”
“Thank you,” said Adin, uncertain what to do. “Come in,
Boaz, unless you have something else to do. You could join
me.”
“Thank you, sir, that’s very kind of you,” said Boaz as he
placed the food on the low glass cocktail table. “I’m afraid I
can’t, though. You did say you wouldn’t require me this
evening, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I’m not going out.”
“Very good, then. I could open the wine for you, if you
like.” Boaz pulled a Swiss Army knife out of his jacket pocket.
“Thank you,” said Adin. “This is really quite the royal
treatment.”
Boaz remained distantly polite. “I find having a wine opener
useful, as no one can fly with one anymore.”
“I see. That’s good thinking.”
NOTTURNO 81
“I believe you’ll find I’m rather useful in lots of ways.” Boaz
gave him an enigmatic look and then started pulling out the
food Edward sent. “Edward believed you might enjoy some
seafood.”
“Did he?” Adin lifted the Styrofoam lid to uncover some
sort of fish with a citrus glaze and vegetables. “Oh, yeah. He
might have been right.” He grinned.
“And sir?” Boaz said, as he was about to open the door to
leave. “Don’t hesitate to call, even if…” He trailed off.
“Even if what, Boaz?” asked Adin.
“Even if a request sounds…crazy.”
Adin looked at him for a long time, wondering if he could
possibly know the dark turn his life had taken. He shook his
head. “All right,” he said, dismissing Boaz, and the thought, for
the night. “I’ll call if I need you.”
“Very good, sir.”
After he left, Adin decided Boaz’s formality was as much to
tease him as it was the professional demeanor he presented to
the world. Edward was right: Adin liked having a Boaz.
Much later that night, Adin dreamed again. He tossed
warmly in the extravagant bedding, listening to the music in his
blood. This wasn’t Donte’s song; it didn’t speak to him of sun-
warmed earth and sex. Of skin that smelled like herbs. It didn’t
feel like Donte, like swimming naked in the Mediterranean amid
a thousand silvery fish. The bloodsong this night was dark and
angry and reeked of death. Several times, Adin woke, only to
turn back over, disoriented, into that
into the luxurious robe, which was large enough to drown him
in its silk and terry opulence. He poured a Bushmills and looked
out the window at the street below. The week before, even the
day before, this city would have seemed as familiar to him as his
running shoes. Warm, recognizable, and broken in to the shape
of his foot, molded for his comfort. Now it was as if those
same comfortable shoes had taken off running down the street
by themselves.
What was out there in this city, arguably his hometown, that
he never knew existed? How ignorant did he yet remain? Was
80 Z.A. Maxfield
there more lurking unnoticed in the alleys and side streets than
vampires?
As Adin watched the street below, he caught sight of a man
on the sidewalk who wore a dark suit and walked with a
briefcase. He walked at a brisk pace, like a million other
businessmen in the city at twilight doing the same. But when he
was exactly across the street from where Adin stood, he
stopped, looked up directly at Adin’s window, and smiled. With
shaking hands, Adin shut the shoji screens. It wasn’t the same
man, but like the others, he was beginning to sense the threat.
The man from the liquor store, the man from Chinatown, and
the man outside only moments before felt the same. Like
Donte. He sat quietly on the velvet chaise longue, neither
noticing nor caring that the light was fading, until he was left in almost-complete darkness.
A knock concussed the silence. Adin tied his robe more
tightly around him and answered it. Boaz stood there, a brown
paper shopping bag in one hand and a bottle in the other.
“Dinner, sir”—he smiled—“compliments of your friend
Edward.”
“Thank you,” said Adin, uncertain what to do. “Come in,
Boaz, unless you have something else to do. You could join
me.”
“Thank you, sir, that’s very kind of you,” said Boaz as he
placed the food on the low glass cocktail table. “I’m afraid I
can’t, though. You did say you wouldn’t require me this
evening, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I’m not going out.”
“Very good, then. I could open the wine for you, if you
like.” Boaz pulled a Swiss Army knife out of his jacket pocket.
“Thank you,” said Adin. “This is really quite the royal
treatment.”
Boaz remained distantly polite. “I find having a wine opener
useful, as no one can fly with one anymore.”
“I see. That’s good thinking.”
NOTTURNO 81
“I believe you’ll find I’m rather useful in lots of ways.” Boaz
gave him an enigmatic look and then started pulling out the
food Edward sent. “Edward believed you might enjoy some
seafood.”
“Did he?” Adin lifted the Styrofoam lid to uncover some
sort of fish with a citrus glaze and vegetables. “Oh, yeah. He
might have been right.” He grinned.
“And sir?” Boaz said, as he was about to open the door to
leave. “Don’t hesitate to call, even if…” He trailed off.
“Even if what, Boaz?” asked Adin.
“Even if a request sounds…crazy.”
Adin looked at him for a long time, wondering if he could
possibly know the dark turn his life had taken. He shook his
head. “All right,” he said, dismissing Boaz, and the thought, for
the night. “I’ll call if I need you.”
“Very good, sir.”
After he left, Adin decided Boaz’s formality was as much to
tease him as it was the professional demeanor he presented to
the world. Edward was right: Adin liked having a Boaz.
Much later that night, Adin dreamed again. He tossed
warmly in the extravagant bedding, listening to the music in his
blood. This wasn’t Donte’s song; it didn’t speak to him of sun-
warmed earth and sex. Of skin that smelled like herbs. It didn’t
feel like Donte, like swimming naked in the Mediterranean amid
a thousand silvery fish. The bloodsong this night was dark and
angry and reeked of death. Several times, Adin woke, only to
turn back over, disoriented, into that
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