Vigil (19 page)

these people, however, he was determined to remain invisible,

and Adin wondered why.

As usual, there was an entire dimension of information

involved in the exchange that Adin wasn’t privy to. It made

sense that Adin wouldn’t enter Donte’s life and learn everything

immediately, but just
once
he’d like a heads up when he was going

to receive a visit from what was obviously vampire
fucking
royalty.

“I came for Donte.”

The way she said it gave Adin chills. She couldn’t possibly

know—or maybe she could—how much she sounded like the

witch in
Snow White
to Adin.

“He’s inside.” He moved in front of them. “You can’t go in.”

Boaz leaned over to hiss in his ear, but he held his hand up.

The tiny woman in black eyed him critically. “I could have

Peter tear you apart like fresh bread.”

“Right.” Adin didn’t move. “Like you’re the first person who’s

ever said that to me.”

Adin heard Donte’s rich laughter behind him. Donte stood

in the doorway silhouetted by the light from inside. “Isn’t he

marvelous? Look what I found, mother. May I keep him?”

“
Dios mio
, Donte, you look as old as I feel.” She shoved Adin

aside none too gently, and left him behind her.

Adin turned to Boaz. “His
mother
?”

Boaz shook his head.
“Not so loud.”

They watched as the odd little couple walked forward toward

Donte who came out of the house to welcome them. He kissed

the woman’s hand and warmly embraced the man, all the while

standing in the shade of Peter, the driver’s, umbrella. Adin

watched as Donte made small-talk, for all the world like he was

Vigil
125

greeting long lost relatives.

“What the hell?” Adin asked Boaz.

“
Adin
. You’ve never had a talent for wait-and-see, have you?”

His lips lifted in a tense smile as Donte casually ushered the trio

into the house.

“No, Boaz, I would say I have no talent for that whatsoever.”

Boaz turned to face him. “That woman is an elder. She’s a

shaman, of sorts.”

“He called her
mother
.”

Boaz shrugged. “He probably did that just to annoy you. She

isn’t his biological mother. Everyone calls her that.”

“I see.”

“She’s old as the hills and a highly skilled healer. You should

consider yourself lucky that Santos sent her to you. I imagine

you’re responsible for that. Since you forced Santos to read his

father’s memoirs he’s softened toward Donte considerably. He’s

most unhappy about it actually. I think he preferred to hate his

father’s lover and blame him for the catastrophe that befell his

family.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Adin couldn’t help the shiver that came

over him.

“If anyone can discover what is causing Donte’s weakness,

she can.”

Adin glanced up and to his complete shock, Bran flew out

of the doorway, literally and figuratively, to land on his ass on

the hard cobbled stone path. He still wore his sleep pants and

clutched a ball of what Adin thought was wrinkled clothing. It

was clear even from a distance that he’d been roughed up, blood

dripped from the corner of his mouth and nose and there were

deep scratches on his arms and bare torso.

“What the—” Boaz rushed forward and knelt beside him,

slipping his arms around the boy.

Adin ran for the door, where Peter stood, implacably blocking

126 Z.A. Maxfield

the way back into Donte’s home.

“Get out of my way,” Adin growled, but Peter effortlessly

gripped him around the shoulders to hold him fast. “
Donte
!”

Adin cried.

Peter poked a finger in the general direction of Boaz and

Bran as they stood by the car and spoke in Adin’s ear, “
That’s

your problem, human.”

“What?” Adin couldn’t comprehend.

“That boy. He’s what’s killing your lover.” Peter shoved Adin

so hard that he sprawled next to Bran. He still didn’t understand.

He reached over to where Bran leaned on Boaz’s arm and gripped

his shoulder.

“Bran?
You
caused this?”

“No!” Bran shrank from him. “No. I never… Donte’s…
No.

I didn’t. I couldn’t have.”

“Tell him what you are,
boy
,” Peter demanded.

“I don’t know what I am,” Bran shouted. “Adin, you know I

don’t know…”

Adin got up and ran at Peter again, trying to get inside to

Donte. Why was Donte allowing them to be treated like this?

In his mind, the only thing that made sense was Donte was too

ill to intervene, or… Adin couldn’t bear the thought. Powerful

anger and fear gave him more strength than Peter expected, and

he almost,
almost
, got by him. At the last minute, Peter grabbed

him by the arm and jerked it so hard he felt the bones above his

wrist crack. Searing, astonishing pain stopped him and he stood

motionless with shock.

“Donte!” He screamed, appalled by the sound of his own

voice. If Donte didn’t answer him… then it meant Donte
couldn’t

answer him. Fear twisted his gut, and the pain in his wrist made

him nauseous.

“
Adin
,” Boaz commanded, his voice suddenly inches from

Adin’s ear. “We need to leave.”

“I can’t leave Donte.” Adin wanted to rip Boaz to shreds.

Vigil
127

“
You
did this.”

“Adin, you need to come with me.”

“Donte’s in there. At their mercy… He...”

Boaz led him to the car without saying anything. He noticed

that Bran held himself up stiffly and was following painfully

along after them. He carried what Adin now saw were clothes

and shoes, and Adin wondered if he’d been interrupted trying to

dress when their guests arrived.

It hurt to see him like that, clutching the clothes he’d chosen

so proudly the day before. Something about it tore Adin’s heart

in two. From what he could tell Bran had lived with little and

suffered a lot in his short years.

“I’m sorry,” Bran whispered, when Adin finally coaxed him

to lift his head. “I didn’t mean you harm or nothing. You’ve been

so—”

Adin’s heart gave a painful squeeze. “I know,” he spoke

hoarsely. “I know you never meant to hurt Donte.”

“I don’t even know what I did!” Bran ran an arm under his

nose, the gesture so childlike Adin couldn’t help pulling him

closer. “If I did I’d have run away. I never would have—”

“Donte told me he wanted to protect you.” Adin told Bran

firmly. “He said he wanted you to be safe.
We
want to keep you

safe.”

Bran buried his face in Adin’s chest, pressing closer, until one

of his shoes dropped onto the damp ground. Adin waited while

he picked it up.

“We need to get out of here,” Boaz said grimly. “They’re

considering this vampire business and Bran—whatever he is—

appears to be some sort of a threat to them.”

“
Shit
.” Adin used his good arm, thankfully his left, to usher

Bran into their car. He was grateful they’d packed before the

outsiders arrived anyway. At least they had their clothes. “I’ll get

in back with you.” Riding in the back with Bran could serve

two purposes: it would reassure Bran and keep Adin from killing

128 Z.A. Maxfield

Boaz.

When Boaz keyed the ignition, Adin rolled his window down

and put his head out, tilting it so he could see the window of

the room he’d shared with Donte. He opened his mind and his

heart. All he got back was silence. Boaz waited. He seemed to

understand that Adin needed time.

Finally, Adin pulled his head back in and pushed the button

to raise the window. He felt Bran’s hand reach out and clasp

his, giving him strength. He would not cry, although he was

experiencing the deepest grief he’d known since his parents

passed away.

“Drive,” he told Boaz quietly. As they rolled away from

Donte’s house, he took one look back, trying again to feel his

lover’s presence.

Nothing. All Adin felt was silence as deep and empty as the

life Adin had lived without him.

Adin’s arm throbbed and swelled on the ride back to Paris,

becoming almost unbearable within an hour. Rain had begun

to patter down onto the roof of the car and Boaz switched

the wipers from intermittent to low. They made a slow and

languorous
swish-swish
sound, almost perfectly timed to the

music—Mendelssohn—Boaz played in the background. Soon,

Adin’s eyelids grew heavy. He could hear Bran humming, a

soothing, almost otherworldly sound that called him into sleep

and then to dreams. He went with little or no fight to escape the

pain of both his broken arm and frantic heart.

Adin put down the slide he’d prepared when the phone rang and got it,

tucking his pen back into the pocket of the lab coat he wore. “Hello?”

“How’s my favorite minion,” Charles practically purred.

“I don’t know who your favorite minion is,” Adin replied, “so how could

I possibly know?”

“Don’t be pithy. Of course you’re my favorite. Didn’t I make that clear

enough in Vermont? Shep was quite put out to be placed on the back burner.

Ordinarily he doesn’t ski much and he rarely drinks the way he did that

weekend.”

Adin closed his eyes. Shep had indulged entirely too much on their ski

trip. They’d ostensibly gone for a ménage à trois but their mathematical

equation ended up being more of a fractal containing three couples than a

balanced love triangle. He couldn’t help it; he just didn’t feel as strongly about

Shep as Charles wanted him to. Shep sensed—rightly—that Adin didn’t

find him particularly attractive, and it was this, Adin thought, more than

jealousy that caused their problems.

What started out as a simple weekend away turned into a poorly staged

road show of some sordid Albeesque drama, with Shep in the agonizing role

of aging gay man pitted against Charles’s bitter recriminations over what

he called bourgeois romantic fantasy, with Adin playing the part of hapless

130 Z.A. Maxfield

ingénue. In the end, no one was spared.

Shep and Charles were like children fighting over toys in a sandbox.

The whole academic community knew it, and he who died with the most

acolytes would win. Since they collected undergraduates like ceramic figurines,

boys—and to be fair—plenty of girls, lined up for the honor. Adin had felt

less honored than used by both men when he returned, and he didn’t intend

to allow them to play with him anymore.

He was hard pressed to keep the bitterness from his voice when he spoke.

“I’m just finishing the tests on the ink now. I wish I had access to electron

microscopy.”

“All in good time, my thorough friend. Did you get your tux from the

cleaners?”

“Yes, I did. I’m still not happy about celebrating this before we’re

absolutely certain that it’s—”

“You worry too much, Adin. Everyone who has seen those letters agrees

that they’re legitimate, and I’ve only assigned you these tests to broaden your

horizons and expand your authority.”

“Thank you,” Adin managed. He was aware Charles had everything

riding on these letters. So many experts in the field had already handled

them; he was certain what he would find.

That Charles was giving Adin this chance, placing his trust on Adin’s

slender credibility, was more for Adin than to vet the items in question.

Adin felt heat creep up his neck. He truly didn’t want to be singled out this

way, certainly not because of his relationship to Charles. On the other hand,

Charles assured him he’d been chosen for his scholarship, not their affair.

No matter; both he and Charles knew how others saw it.

“Don’t be late, Adin,” Charles admonished. “I’d like to have you there

when they toast our success. The department chair will be wanting to thank

the man behind the man, as it were, and I’d like you to be by my side.”

“I won’t be late,” Adin reassured him, although he knew that Shep, not

Adin, would be by Charles’s side, or there would be serious hell to pay. Adin

hoped Charles would see that. He glanced down and found the slide he’d been

examining and frowned. “I’m following up an interesting aberration in the

text, and I’d like to document it, though, before I leave.”

Vigil
131

There was a palpable silence. A pause before Charles spoke. “What

kind of an aberration?”

“Just some scratches on the vellum. I know they represent erasures, the

scraping off of ink from the surface with a knife, but I like to hypothesize