“I’ve finished my school work,” I say. I sit a little straighter, and push a little smile onto my lips. “But I’ve been wanting to learn more. I found this apprenticeship online. It teaches you all kinds of different embalming techniques. Mummification, desiccation, immersion. Things not commonly practiced anymore. Stuff I’ve been dying to learn.”
Mom’s expression sours. She hates it when I talk about my work.
“I applied,” I say, making myself smile a little wider, “and I was accepted.”
“Logan,” Dad says, raising his glass to me. “That’s great. Congratulations.”
“It’s just…” I hesitate. “It’s in Austria. The apprenticeship lasts a year.”
Cyrus’ hand goes to my knee under the table and squeezes. I’m not exactly sure how to interpret it.
“Austria?” Mom chokes. “As in Europe?”
I nod, once more making myself smile. “And they’ve already got an apartment for me there and everything. I’ll be studying under some really incredible people.”
“Wow,” Dad says, setting his glass down. “This sounds like an amazing opportunity for you, Logan.”
I nod. Smile bigger. “It’s really amazing. But…” I trail off, and everyone looks at me expectantly. “But I have to leave for it this coming weekend.”
“What?” Mom gapes. “So soon?”
I nod. “I know it’s sudden, and I’m sure going to miss everyone. But I’ll never get another opportunity like this. And it’s only a year. And then I’ll be back, and there will be so many more opportunities for me then.”
Dad smiles. It’s sad. Doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But still, he reaches across the table. “Good for you. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I smile.
Lies. All lies spewing from my mouth.
“And what does that mean for you two?” Mom asks, looking from me to Cyrus. “Surely the both of you know how difficult long distance is?”
“As it so happens,” Cyrus says, looking in my direction. “My work is taking me to Austria for a time. And from there, we’ll see what happens.”
He leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.
And my body rips with confusion and excitement.
“Gross,” Eshan says, shaking his head. “That’s my sister.”
And it was just what we needed. Cyrus laughs. Dad laughs. Mom laughs.
And so I do, too.
Cyrus is a freaking charmer.
A snake when he’s in the political arena.
A family wooing, compliment slinging, belly-laugh inducing charmer in my family’s house.
Where Dad was wary and unsure of Cyrus when we walked in, by the end of the night, he’s sitting on the couch and they’re both laughing about this or that like they’ve been friends for years. Even Eshan laughs and cracks jokes at my expense with them.
Mom and I sit at the dining table after the dishes have been loaded. She watches the boys, her feet propped up on a chair.
“I think you found a good one, Logan,” Mom says quietly. She watches Cyrus’ who laughs loudly at something Dad says. “Anyone who can make your father laugh like that… And I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him.”
I don’t know what to say. There’s so much she doesn’t know.
But Mom isn’t the first one to say this.
And hearing it… This is dangerous. I can’t fall for Cyrus. I just can’t.
“He’s done something for you, Logan,” Mom says. She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I don’t know what it is, but you’re just…lighter, in a way, than you have been in a long while. I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you so happy.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say through a tight throat.
The hour grows late. Nine o’clock. At ten o’clock my parents send Eshan to bed, which really means he’s just going to go watch TV in his room. I hug him goodnight. Goodbye.
I’m really going to miss the moody little prick.
For an hour the adults sit in the living room. Cyrus plays his part well, tucking me into his side, wrapping one arm around my shoulders, holding my hand. And it’s just a natural fit, sitting with my legs over his lap. He twirls a finger through my hair.
Every moment of the night is pain. Every connection of my skin to his. Every fake loving look he gives my way.
I fall. Down a dark well with no end in sight. But all that can wait at the bottom of it is sharp spikes.
“Are you tired?” Cyrus asks quietly as the night grows darker outside and the hour pushes past eleven.
I shrug, giving him a sleepy little smile for my parent’s sake.
“I know I am,” Mom says with a dramatic yawn. “As much as I love having you here, I think I’m going to have to give in and head to bed.”
Cyrus climbs to his feet and pulls me to mine, holding onto my hand.
“Thank you, so much, for having us over,” he says, smiling at my parents. Dad shakily gets to his feet, standing behind his wheelchair, bracing himself with it. Mom stands and hugs the both of us.
“It was a pleasure, Collin,” she says with a broad grin. “I expect pictures from the both of you when you get to Austria.”
“Promise,” I say, and realize it’s likely one I won’t be keeping.
With goodbyes that shred my heart into a thousand pieces, we end the night.
As we walk down the sidewalk to the car, I look back over my shoulder.
“It won’t be the last time,” Cyrus says quietly. “You’ll be able to see them again.”
I nod. “But it will never be quite the same again.”
Cyrus takes my hand and I look back at him. He raises it to press a kiss to my knuckles.
This one isn’t for show. Not for my family. Not for Amelia.
“It isn’t an easy thing, to have one’s life totally changed,” he says quietly, staring at me fervently with his green eyes. “Human’s thrive on normalcy. They crave it. You thought normal was going to be your life. Were you not born to a vast destiny, you could have lived this life.”
But in the back of my mind, the words echo, but then I never would have met you.
I give him a sad little nod, and together we climb into the car.
Chapter 19
Monday.
One final week.
Seven days.
I’m an emotional wreck. A ball of anticipation. Of wrecked feelings. Of racing thoughts and moments of numb despair.
“Get out of the damn way!” I scream at the car in front of me on the way to work. I lay on the horn, but it doesn’t make the driver any smarter. They continue blocking the lane they shouldn’t have pulled into with all this traffic.
Finally, ten minutes late, I pull into the parking lot of Sykes Funeral Home.
My hands quake violently as I walk to Emmanuel’s office. My voice shakes as I tell him I need to talk to him. I’m pretty sure I’m going to puke as I tell him about my fake apprenticeship in Austria.
He sits there silently for a minute when I finish telling him these are my final five days at work. He stares at me with hard eyes.
“Austria?” he questions. “Not the catacombs in Rome? Not the mummifiers in Egypt? Austria.”
My heart drops into my stomach with an acidic splash.
“Yes,” I say, forcing myself to sound confident. “At St. Margaret de Tod.”
Emmanuel keeps staring at me. But slowly, so slowly I’m pretty sure I’m going to die from dread that he’s going to see the holes in my story, his face relaxes.
“Well,” he finally says. “I can’t say I’m happy you’re only giving me a week’s notice.” He stands. “But I suppose you didn’t get much choice. And,” he stops in front of me, “it sounds like it will be an incredible opportunity for you.”
A smile breaks out onto my face, and I let out a breath of relief when he wraps his arms around me in a hug.
The next step in saying goodbye to my human life: check.
I text Amelia after work that day and ask if I can come over for a few minutes. Once more feeling sick, I head to her new apartment.
She cries. When I tell her, Amelia isn’t exactly happy for me and doesn’t understand why I’d want to learn how to completely desiccate a body to preserve it for centuries, because that’s just disgusting. She buries her face in my chest and just cries.
“It’ll only be for a year,” I comfort her. “I swear, when I’m done, we’ll go on an epic road trip. To California or Florida or somewhere warm with an ocean.”
“We better,” she sobbed.
Feeling hollow and tired, I head back to the house that night.
The moment I walk in the door, it’s obvious everything is wrong.
“Were there not security cameras installed before we purchased the home?” I hear Cyrus bellow.
I step into the living room, and my blood goes cold.
The house has been tossed. The furniture is all out of sorts. All the bookcases have been toppled. Everything from the kitchen has been drug out and the cupboards look like they exploded.
“What…” my voice shakes. “What the hell happened?”
Sharp eyes turn to me. Cyrus, glowing red. Mina, with fear and shame. Fredrick with just terror.
“Apparently the security here was not as up to par as we were led to believe,” Cyrus hisses. “It was what it looks like.”
Like someone broke in and went searching the house for…something. And dug through every square inch of the house to find it.
“What were they looking for?” I ask, looking around.
A low rumble echoes from Cyrus’ chest. I look over, to see him glaring with red eyes at Mina.
“Confirmation,” he says.
“Of what?” I question.
“That I am here!” he bellows. “That the King has indeed arrived once more in America and has been operating for weeks under little to no security.”
“Who?” I demand. “Who would do this? Why would they be looking for you?”
Cyrus swings, smacking a glass from the counter. It smashes against the fridge, denting the appliance, and sending shards of glass spraying throughout the kitchen.
“One does not rule this long without making hundreds of enemies,” he growls. Abruptly he turns and stalks toward me. “I am sorry, Logan, but I’m afraid I can no longer hold up my end of the deal. We must do this now and leave.”
I back up, but he’s too fast. He darts forward, grabbing my wrist. His eyes glow bright.
“No!” I scream. “You said you were a man of your word. Do you really want to destroy that now over someone I know you can hold your own against?”
Black veins slowly creep out over Cyrus’ face and his eyes flare brighter for just a moment.
Hot rage bubbles in my chest.
“Are you afraid?” I taunt.
He hisses, low and rumbling.
“The King may have many enemies, but he has not remained King by running with his tail between his legs over a tossed house.” I stand straight, yanking my wrist out of his grip.
Bravado. I gather it all up inside me to fight back the rising panic.
My death is seconds away at any moment. Cyrus is certainly capable.
If I’m going to fight for my last moments, I have to do it with certainty.
“Seven days,” Cyrus hisses. “You will die in seven days. But be prepared for some ugly, tumultuous ones.”
He turns, and yells at Fredrick and Mina in German. They go scurrying.
I turn, and head for my bedroom, which has been just as thoroughly ransacked as the rest of the house.
Chapter 20
Something has changed.
Where Cyrus used to look at me with want in his eyes, like he could will who he wishes me to be into life, he’s withdrawn. Hasty. He’s done waiting.
When I get home from work on Tuesday, he asks me if he can end it today.
I tell him no.
On Wednesday he asks me the same.
I tell him it isn’t yet time.
It’s fear that holds me back. It’s the uncertainty that I will indeed rise from the dead after lying there for four days.
What if he’s wrong?
He seems so certain. But what if I am the exception to this supernatural rule?
What if I just stay dead?
Only to forget everything, to be reborn somewhere else in the world?
On Thursday, I walk through the door. The house has been put back together, and Mina is nowhere to be found. Security from the House of Valdez arrived Tuesday morning. She’s been busy with them setting up perimeters and keeping watch for whoever it was that broke into the house.
So it’s just Cyrus who sits at the head of the dining table.
“You have said your goodbyes already,” he says darkly. I walk through the entryway, entering into the room, my jaw set hard. My eyes narrowed. “You’ve given your notice at work. What are these mere days at the end?”
I slam my bag down on the table. “They are my choice,” I growl. I put my hands on the back of the chair. “These last few days, they are my choice. After I die, I don’t know how much of a choice in my life I am going to have. I don’t know what my life is going to be like after. But I do know what to expect in the next few days.”
My breathing rips in and out, hard. My knuckles are white from holding onto the chair.
“People must have choice, Cyrus,” I say, forcing my voice to calm. “There has to be free will. You can’t take away all of my choice.”
Like I slapped him physically, Cyrus sits back in his chair, away from me. He stares at me with wide, surprised eyes.
We stare at one another in silence for a long moment. I won’t back down. I won’t apologize.
I know he won’t, either.
But I won’t be the first to bend.
Cyrus stands, his chair scraping the floor loudly as he pushes it back.
He looks over at me one more time. And then he walks to the stairs, and silently leaves.
Arrogant, bullying, bossy, hotheaded prick, I seethe as I stalk up the stairs a minute later. I change, throwing on stretchy, breathable clothes.
Don’t think, I tell myself as I plug my headphones in and walk out the front door a few minutes later.
I crank my music as loud as it will go, and I run.
It was bright when I left. Hot. Sweat pours down my back as I run and I run, and I don’t think about anything but the pounding and screaming in my ears.
It’s getting dark when I get back to the house. Keeping my head low, determined to tune all the drama out, I shower and go downstairs to find something to eat.
There’s half a pizza in a box, probably bought from one of the security people of the House of Valdez. But I take two slices and warm them up in the microwave.
Feeling moody and annoyed and sad and a little broken, I eat them while looking out over the back yard.
A plan.
I need to come up with a plan.
Because if Cyrus leaves me, I have to decide where I want to go.
Consider your mother, Edmond had said.
But I remember that card with my name on it upstairs in my room.
Considering what Cyrus said I will be like for the first few months, holding a job is going to be impossible. I’ll kill my coworkers, expose the vampires. I’ll have no choice but to live off of Cyrus’ money.
Travel. Maybe I’ll just travel non-stop. I’ll see the world.
But that sounds incredibly lonely. Having no one to share it with me.
The food in my mouth loses its taste. I toss the rest in the trash and put the plate in the dishwasher.
Feeling too heavy, but too empty, I walk up the stairs. I turn to head to my bedroom.
But the utter silence coming from the bedroom with the open door pulls my eyes to it.
The bedroom is meticulously clean and organized. The bed is made, and I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been slept in for over a week. The doors to the clo
set and bathroom remain propped open.
There, standing at the window, with only a towel slung around his hips, is Cyrus. He has his hands braced on the ledge of the window, slightly bent over.
He’s so quiet. So utterly still.
And the tenseness in his shoulders tells me this is a man with the weight of the world upon them.
“Cyrus?” I say quietly, taking half a step inside.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even take a breath in. Nothing that acknowledges my presence.
I take another step inside. “Are you…” I trail off. Because it’s a stupid question with a very obvious answer that he is not all right. I walk in, coming to his right side, his face coming into view.
His hair is wet, hanging down in his face. It drips, slowly, running down his face.
His entire body is wet, as if he didn’t dry any bit of himself off.
He doesn’t look at me, just stands there frozen, staring outside. His eyes are empty. Hollow. Mentally, he’s a million miles away.
And it cracks me.
I’ve been angry with this man the last few days. I’ve gotten tired of his demands for my death. I have no patience left for his commands that everyone but me jumps to fulfill. I’m tired of the way he’s been distant and removed ever since the dinner with my family. So I’ve put up a wall the last few days.
But seeing that look in his eyes.
My heart aches for him.
“Cyrus,” I breathe. I reach forward, touching his bare shoulder.
His skin is freezing cold. I wonder how long ago he got out of the shower and has just been standing here, dripping wet.
He tenses slightly, the only indication he knows I’m here.
“Cyrus, please talk to me,” I say. I push against his shoulder, breaking the grip of his right hand on the window, and pushing myself in front of him. He stands, and I remain there, face to face with him.
Emptily, he continues to stare out the window.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper. I raise my hands to his face, one on each cheek. Tenderly, I guide his head, trying to make him look at me. “Cyrus, please tell me what would make you happy.”
It fractures me further when his eyes well just a little with emotion. His face pales, but he doesn’t look away from the window.