The Gift (33 page)

When he lowered the knife back to the altar he was smiling. He turned to the doorway and waited.

"You're sure this is the right way?" August asked, tasting blood as his teeth worried away at his cheek.

Dawson frowned. "Do you have any idea how annoying it is for you to keep asking that?"

August sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I know. I'm just—"

"Worried," Dawson finished. "I know. We all are."

August tried to force a smile on too-tense lips. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Dawson stopped at the end of the corridor and then turned to the right, waving them forward. "This way."

There Doren stood, right
there
, just in front of Morana's altar. It had seemed fitting to lay the knife there. Now he wasn't so sure. To put a weapon within the reach of an enemy was a fool's move. And he was no fool. But then, perhaps … no enemy as well. Not if the game played out to his will.

"Doren! What a pleasure to find you here."

Doren lifted an eyebrow, his voice sarcastic. "Were you not expecting me?"

He shrugged. "You never know, right? I hoped, of course. But to expect, now that would be foolish. You are, after all, of your own mind, Doren. You are still free to make your own choices, hmm?"

"Where's August?"

Anton walked past Doren, sliding around him with caution, then skipped up the two stairs to the opposing side of the altar. He knelt behind it, dug underneath, and snagged two glasses and an open bottle of wine. "I was about to ask you the same."

He lifted the cork and splashed a couple of ounces into each glass. He handed one to Doren, who ignored the gesture, and Anton sighed heavily before setting the glasses down. "Perhaps he has left you? Run screaming into the night, so to speak?"

"I doubt that."

"Yeah, me too." He leaned against the altar, elbows propped under his chin. "So where, oh where could our little August be? Please," he gestured at the wine glasses, "do be cordial and share a glass with me, Doren. We have so much to discuss."

With a snarl Doren reached out and smacked both glasses to the ground, where they shattered into diamond-sized bits on the hard surface. "Fuck your damn wine. Give him to me."

Anton snarled at the broken glasses. "I'll have you know that was very expensive crystal."

"I don't care if they were made of gold. Answer my damn question." Doren's voice filled the room, the words echoing long after they had left his mouth and a twitch started in the corner of Anton's mouth that made him want to eat his lip right off his face.

"Oh, I'll answer your question all right." Anton lifted his chin, holding Doren's gaze with his own. "August isn't yours anymore. He belongs to me now. We had a little conversation in the car on the way here, you see. I … convinced him that I was the better man. He's actually very sweet when he wants to be, isn't he? Very … uh, let's say … giving." He licked his lips in a slow tease.

Doren laughed and shook his head. "You think I don't know by now when you're lying to me, you stupid old man?"

Anton stiffened, pride raging its derision at both adjectives. "Fine, enough games then. Let's just be truthful with one another, have our little talk, and then we can go on with our lives. Do let me get some more wine, though? To ease the conversation? Surely you have a moment for that? Surely you can spare me a second of your time to share a drink with me? What do you say, son?"

Every nerve in Doren's body tensed. "Don't you dare call me that. Don't you ever,
ever
fucking call me that."

Anton lifted his eyebrow, the barest smile cresting his lips. "Why not? Or should I say,
should
I not?" He walked around the altar, dragging his hand across the velvet. "Would you know if it was true? Could you know? You said you knew if I was lying. So answer this, then: am I lying to you now, Doren?"

He imagined he should not find Doren's distress so amusing. But watching the boy twist his face to find words, seeing him struggle to sort reason from fantasy, was just so much fun.

"Oh, you're lying all right."

He stopped, less than a foot away from Doren, eye to eye. "Funny. I don't believe that you believe that. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure you don't. I think even now you're staring at my eyes and recognizing tones and shapes while we speak. So stop and think about it, Doren. Think very hard. I gave you that attitude that you throw around like confetti: you drape yourself in my smugness; you perfume yourself with my prowess. It's true, isn't it? How very much alike we are when you start lining up the pieces, hmm? Your charm, your looks, your appetites," Anton leaned closer, whispering into Doren's face, "all mine!"

Doren backed up a step, his voice faltering. "You lie. You're nothing but a fucking liar."

"I lend you my car, you spend my money." He smirked at Doren. "You even fuck my women. But us fathers, you know, we do our best. We forgive. We forget. Eventually our prodigal sons return."

Doren shook his head again, and Anton lost his patience. "Come on, Doren! I can give you everything you've ever wanted: fame, fortune, a family! You, the lonely little nobody without parents, could finally have a
family
. Together we could rule this place, why … I'll even let you keep your pet. With you at my side, and he at yours, we can have anything we have ever craved."

"But that's not true, is it?"

Anton recognized August's voice immediately. And the look on Doren's face mirrored his own perfectly. It said: I knew you'd find me.

August's voice calmed his confused mind; it shielded his twisting heart. He turned and looked at August with a plea in his eyes and a prayer in his heart.

"You seem to be forgetting about the one thing that we all need, you crazy bastard." August walked into the room, timid steps belying the confidence in his voice.

Anton reached for Doren's arm. "Don't listen to him. I know you. And you know me. We
are
family. I even know who your mother is, son. Haven't you always wanted to know who your mother is?"

Doren's heart seemed to split inside his chest. He was sure he could feel it bleeding.

"Why would he?" August countered. "Even if all that bullshit you speak is true, which I highly doubt it is, why would Doren sell his soul to know the name of the woman who abandoned him? Her meaning is as empty as your offers. You offer fame but then you hide him away. You offer family but it's guised with betrayal. You offer power when you are the weakest man I have ever known. All your world can do is fail him. Because I know what Doren's soul needs for the same reason that I know why your heart is so black and frustrated. You just don't allow yourself to see it."

Anton laughed. "I want for nothing."

"But you do," August insisted. "It's love."

"Love? Love!" Laughter became outright hilarity and Anton wiped at his eyes, faking tears. "This is the fool you allow to lead your mind, son? This stupid boy? I can give you the world and all he offers you is
love
?" He chuckled. Once. Twice. He laughed. "Love is a child's dream, Doren, a dangling carrot suggested by poets and novelists and nothing else. You more than anyone should know that."

The room filled with silence. He looked at Anton. He looked at August. Then he looked at the ceiling. He let the emotions that cascaded through the room roll together; he weaved them; he sorted them into a symphony then let that sound wash through him, cleansing his mind—stripping away the fear and the doubt. He didn't open his eyes as the chords resounded. "Do you hear that, Auggie?"

August's voice was husky when he answered, "Yes. I do."

"What does it sound like?"

August didn't need to reach for him to touch him. He licked through Doren's body like he was a marble on ice. "It sounds like a love song."

Doren opened his eyes. He locked them with August's, green on blue, as two heartbeats sang the same song. August's eyes brimmed with tears and Doren smiled. "Kinda sounds like forever."

"Dor—"

"You know what?" Doren whispered, cutting August short while lifting his hand to the corner of August's eye. "I love you too."

Oh no, Anton growled low in the back of his throat, this was not going down this way. No, no, no, no, no. He was not losing to a simpering prick and his promise of love. God, he hated kids these days; all cock, no brain. As Doren reached for August's face, as their eyes met, Anton reached for the knife. Two steps, that was all he needed. Two. Simple. Steps.

Wait for it, he told himself, don't rush it. As the emotion melted August's eyes … one step more while Doren says the words, two steps and August reaches … Move now, now, now!

Anton lunged with one arm, grappled and held it tight around August's, lifting the other to hold the knife to August's throat … and oh, Doren, you pathetic creature—with your eyes so wide and your jaw hanging open—did you really think I was going to make it that easy for you? That all you had to do was make a choice and I would trip away with my tail slung between my legs? The defeated conqueror retreating to my broken castle?

Outright fools had known better not to take him for such a simple man.

"Geoff, no," Doren said without turning to look. "Stay back."

And who? Who was this now?

Anton backed against the wall and assessed their new arrivals. The boys in the band. Our all-time favorites. His shoved his jaw into August's hair to hold back his own laugh, sizing up each one of them, his eyes coming to a rest on Cooper. "You," he pointed with the knife, "you've been the one blocking me, you little fuck."

The sneer on the infidel's face was enough to incite riots in Anton's guts yet somehow brought to life a million mocking laughs as well.

"Yeah, it was. And by the way? It wasn't even hard, you pussy."

Anton turned his eyes to Doren, keeping his back to the wall and the knife against August's windpipe, "Well looky, looky. You've gone and brought yourself a gang to a fistfight. Doesn't quite seem fair now does it?"

"All's fair …" Dawson began.

"Yes, yes, yes." Anton waved him off with the knife, clucking his tongue in disgust. "In love and war. I know. Trust me, that one I know!" He threw another glare at Cooper. "And still! Still you block me! As if not being able to get into their minds will change anything here?"

Cooper glared right back. "Then I imagine that it shouldn't bother you that I'm doing it."

"Oh it doesn't," Anton confirmed, "it certainly does not."

He moved back to the altar, speaking to Doren. "So you think that was your big choice, hmm? You think that will turn me away? He loves you, you love him, blah, blah, blah, big fucking deal. I give you the choices around here, son. I make the rules. And the choice I offer you is a simple one. Life or death. How much do you really love him, Doren? How far will you go?" He spun, dancing to the right with the casual grace of a well-practiced performer. "Uh, uh, uh!" Anton brandished the blade in Geoff's direction. "You just stay right there, young man. You may all be able to rush me but I promise you this, and I promise it with all of me: August will end up dead. So quiet down now. Just let the game play out."

He looked at Doren again, smiling at the rage on Doren's face. "You have a decision to make, son. Go, leave now; save the world or whatever it is you think you'll be doing with that music of yours, and I slit August's throat open and we all watch him bleed to death. Nice and slow-like. Or, pledge yourself to me and the prick can live. Just like that, I let him go and he walks away. Your choice, boy. Make it."

August shook his head, struggling in Anton's arm. "Don't you dare, Doren. It's not worth it!"

Anton grinned. "Because you see, child,
that
is a moral choice. Anyone can choose to love. Love is easy. But prove your love at the cost of your own soul? That's a tougher one, isn't it? Come on, boy, we need a decision. Like I don't already know how this is going to end. Like your big black friend there doesn't already know how this works. On your knees, Doren, and say the words. You don't get to keep him, not anymore. But he'll live. Or, tell me to kill him and walk away."

There was no choice to make. He'd already made his decision when he'd confirmed his feelings with his tongue. This man would not die for him. "I love you," he said, the words for August alone, silent to the rest.

August's tears began to fall. He wanted to reach for them, wipe them away. Instead, Doren sank slowly to his knees.

"No," Curtis screamed. "I won't let you do this!" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol.

Doren didn't give Curtis time to aim. He lifted his hand and sent it spinning from Curtis' fingers. As though landing on ice, the gun slid out the doorway. "Just stop, Curt. I love him. I won't let Anton hurt him. I sure as hell won't let him get killed."

"Buddy … Doren …" Curtis pleaded, "why? After all this? After we got so far? Let us help you."

Doren shrugged. "There's no help left, Curt." He turned back to August. "I love you, Auggie. I will always love you. No matter what happens, no matter what I do, promise me that you'll remember who I was. That you'll remember you were the one I gave my heart to."

It spun to her feet as though it had been placed there. As though it was meant for her. As though it was meant for Morana.

There was no need to pause and think; she bent and picked up the gun. She heard them speaking but did not need the sounds to know them. He spoke to her, that boy, the shy thin one with the dirty blond hair. He told her everything she needed to know. She knew their placement before she even walked through the door.

"Move your friends," she whispered to the boy inside her mind.

Without even thinking about it Cooper reached for Dawson and pushed him. Surprised, the heavy man toppled against the wall, knocking Curtis with him. Turning quickly, Cooper grabbed Geoff and pulled the man to his chest, falling to his knees at the same time.