“That’s monstrous!”
Harwiche shrugged but wouldn’t meet Adin’s eyes. “I didn’t
do
it. I merely put the word out that I meant to purchase the end
138 Z.A. Maxfield
result.”
Adin wanted to wipe the look of satisfaction from Harwiche’s
fleshy face. He rubbed his temple, trying to prevent the headache
building behind his eyes. The very idea Harwiche advanced
twisted something inside his gut like a knife. “You should be
locked up
. What a terrible…will we
never
learn what Bran was?”
“Probably not, no.”
“But why do this? What can he possibly be that you—”
“Bran’s unique condition makes him very, very special.”
Adin waved a hand in the air. “I know about his ability to
probe my memories and screen them in my dreams, I know that
he can be in my head.” Adin suddenly wondered if that was
how he’d been so good at chess. “He told me once that he can
accompany a human into death, as if he were some sort of spirit
guide, and return once they…acclimated. What the fuck does any
of that matter? What can be so important to anyone that they’d
eliminate—”
“Bran was meant for me,” Harwiche growled.
“See here,” Adin sputtered. He grimaced when he realized he
sounded like Winston Churchill or something. Stodgy. “Bran is
an underage boy! I won’t allow—”
“Dear heavens, you’re obtuse.” Harwiche shook his head and
giggled
. “Fedeltà even told me so in a roundabout way, but I had
trouble believing him. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Donte
never
discussed me with you.” Of that, Adin was
certain.
“No, but he did say you wouldn’t allow him to turn you.”
Harwiche settled more comfortably in his chair, at home at
last, making Adin squirm. “Which is very wise, considering the
limitations placed on a vampire’s lifestyle. I for one would miss
fine dining and wine.”
Adin bit back the sharp reply that
he could see that
. “What has
that got to do with Bran?”
“
Everything
. It’s time to think outside the box. ”
Vigil
139
“That’s—”
“That’s the answer to your question.”
Adin shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Bran’s magical contract was interrupted, and therefore he
isn’t entirely, functionally human and he never will be. Each and
every cell in his body has the potential to differentiate into human
cells of any kind. He doesn’t have a blood type. But he still has
blood. He makes bone marrow. He’s a walking, living, breathing
stem cell donor.”
“Oh, my G—”
“
Yes!
” Harwiche seemed pleased with himself. “It’s a lot to
take in isn’t it?”
“He doesn’t have a clue—”
“No one does.”
Adin pulled back. “You bastard,” Adin ground out. “How is
it that he didn’t come with an outrageous price tag? Surely he’d
be worth more to a billionaire than a trip into space, which costs,
what? Twenty million? What are you leaving out?”
Harwiche reached for a button in the table beside him. “We’d
like whiskey, please. Are you still a Bushmills man?” Adin nodded.
Harwiche leaned into the intercom and clearly said, “Jameson’s.”
He smiled pleasantly from his odd modern chair, giving Adin
time to take it all in.
“I don’t suppose it will come as any surprise that I absolutely
loathe you,” Adin said finally. He couldn’t believe he’d been
civil at all. His upbringing, his conscience, his tendency to think
before he spoke, all of that finally snapped. “You’re Dr. Ned
fucking
Frankenstein. This is all speculation isn’t it? You know
absolutely nothing. You’ve pasted together ideas from medical
mysteries and cultural myths and you’ve caused an impoverished
homeless
teenager to be kidnapped and held in chains for months
on the off chance that it might be true. How the fuck are you
going to get a doctor to listen to your nonsense?”
“You really have no idea why this might be important to me?”
140 Z.A. Maxfield
A servant came in with a tray bearing the makings for drinks. She
didn’t speak, but with hand gestures and eye contact asked Adin
if he wanted ice. He declined, and she poured each man three
fingers of whiskey and served them. Afterward, she left the room
as silently as she came in.
Adin wondered if Harwiche required physically mute servants.
The drink wasn’t Adin’s usual choice, but it went down smoky
and delicious. He thought about everything he’d learned from
Harwiche until something teased at him and puzzle pieces finally
began to fall into place. His heart sank.
“You’re dying.”
“I am.” Harwiche deflated. “I had a malignancy and it spread.
There’s only so much the doctors can do.”
Adin looked more closely at Harwiche and realized he wore a
wig. A very fine one, but once he looked…
“Ah, Ned. I’m so sorry.” Adin found he almost meant that. He
finished his drink, downing it more quickly than he’d intended.
Boaz would have his head, given it had only been a few hours
since he’d taken pain medication. “But you have to see that using
the boy that way is wrong. What do you plan to do? Force him
into a marrow donation? Use him as your own personal Petri
dish? That’s the stuff of horror novels.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree. It’s possible a bone marrow
transplant will kill me. It will require destroying my immune
system, and doctors aren’t convinced I will survive that. If I do
an autologous transplant there is no guarantee that the cells from
my own body will be free of the cancer, so replacing them is
risky. Of course, Bran has no cancer and if I make it through the
preliminaries…a bone marrow transplant from your Bran comes
without with the risk of rejection. It could be done more than
once. Blood transfusions. Organ replacement. Virtual immortality
if one were able to set aside the moral implications. And I can…
However it seems that once again, you got there first.”
Adin put his whiskey aside, dropping it sharply on the table
in the silence. What Ned was saying nauseated him. Had he
Vigil
141
intended to keep Bran forever, like some living farm of human
cells? Harvesting organs and tissue and blood and bone marrow
until such time as one or the other of them died?
“And they call Donte and his kind monsters. I warn you, I’ll
kill you if you come after him again. If I don’t, Donte will. Bran
is under our protection now.”
“I won’t.” Harwiche struggled not to cry. “He might have said
something to that effect.”
“Who else will be looking for Bran? Who else knows?”
“No one knew why I wanted him, if that’s what you mean.
It’s possible the men who sold him will come after you for the
money now that they realize it wasn’t me who bought the boy. It
seems to have disappeared from their coffers very mysteriously.”
“Imagine that.”
“And…”
“What?”
“It’s possible they might have put all the pieces together.
Maybe they’ve realized what I conjectured and will try to get him
back to sell him to the highest bidder. I don’t believe they fully
understood when I began making my inquiries. If that’s the case,
they’ll be difficult adversaries. They’ll kill anyone who stands in
their way.”
“Who are
they
?”
Harwiche smiled. “Oh, hell no.” He chuckled. “That would
be more than my life is worth.”
Adin pursed his lips. “Your life is worth nothing to me, Ned.”
“Suffice it to say that if they realize that they can name their
price for the boy, and the world will come knocking at their door
to meet it, the only thing left for you to do will be get to get out
of their way, or die.” Harwiche shook his head. “If they were to
kill me that would only make the time fly. See him out,” he said
to no one in particular. A panel in the wall opened and a beefy
blond man came to stand by Adin’s chair.
142 Z.A. Maxfield
“Ned, you never fail to amuse me.” Adin rose and held his
hand out to stay Harwiche’s Bond-film minion. “You don’t have
to, I can see myself out.”
The blond shadowed him until he was on the sidewalk
heading for the car, and Boaz and Bran, who waited for him.
Both of them watched as he entered and slid into his seat. He
remained silent long after he buckled his seat belt. Eventually,
Boaz took his cue and keyed the ignition, pulling out into the
damp traffic of the sixteenth arrondissement, ironically close to
Santos’s Paris home.
“What did he say?” Bran appeared to have used up his
patience. “What did he tell you about why he wanted to buy me?”
“He told me…” Adin searched his mind for a way to put
it. “He told me that because your changeling process was
interrupted you’re able to move between this world and the next
at will. He told me that was the reason he wanted you. He didn’t
know what you were before.”
Bran looked crestfallen, but tried to hide it. Adin realized he’d
hoped for some definitive answers about what he was before he’d
been switched with a human child, and it occurred to Adin that
Bran might wonder about his real family.
“He also told me you’re the last of your line. Your real family
is all gone. I’m so sorry.”
“My biological parents? Everyone is gone?”
“I’m afraid so, Bran.” He’d never considered whether Bran
had biological parents per se. He hadn’t realized the boy might
be looking for his true family, a place where he belonged among
those who placed him with humans to begin with. And yet that
made perfect sense.
Except the entire world made no sense to Adin at all anymore.
He reached out to take Bran’s hand. He understood grief. Leaning
way over in his seat, impatiently pushing aside his shoulder belt,
he gave Bran a firm, one-armed hug. Everything hurt, yet he felt
better.
“You know, you have a family here if you want it. With us.
Vigil
143
With me.”
Bran shook his head. “I hurt Donte. I made him sick, that old
woman said so.”
Adin admitted the prospect looked bleak but held on to the
hope that Donte was still alive and that together, they’d be able
to find a solution. That he’d be all right eventually. “We’ll figure
something out. I know Donte wanted to help me protect you. He
told me so, and he won’t have changed his mind.”
Bran sighed unhappily but clung to Adin, even when he sat
back up and replaced his seat belt. Adin saw Boaz’s eyes in the
rear view mirror. They were unreadable but he knew Boaz liked
Bran. The boy would always have a home. He and Boaz would
see to it.
“Thank you.” Bran pressed his face into Adin’s shoulder.
Adin continued patting Bran with his good left hand,
thinking hard about what he’d learned from Harwiche. It was
all speculation, but enticing enough for a dying man to gamble
on it being true.
If
Bran was what Harwiche believed and
if
he
was some sort of Universal donor, then… Yes. That would make
him very valuable indeed. And the feeding frenzy would only
end when Bran was some greedy man’s experiment, because that
would be the only way to find out the truth.
Bran’s breathing grew deep and even as he fell asleep trustingly
against Adin’s good arm.
“We’ve got company.” Boaz interrupted his thoughts.
“What?” Adin didn’t understand.
“We’re being followed. I’ve been driving around for a while,
wondering if this person is following us or if we’re experiencing
a phenomenal coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in phenomenal coincidence.”
“Neither do I.” Boaz sped up a little, trying to find a way to
dodge around the cars in front, and put a cushion between them
and their tail. He was doing a magnificent job, one worthy of
any Parisian cabbie. Adin got a tighter hold on Bran. The late
144 Z.A. Maxfield
afternoon traffic was thick, the air punctuated by the constant
staccato blasts of horns.
Well,
shit
.
“Who do you suppose they are?” Adin asked.
“If I had to guess, I’d say they were the men who sold Bran.
Seeing as how they probably watched your money disappear
from their bank accounts like magic the next day.”
“I could have you put the money back,” Adin suggested. “If
it means we’d be safe.”
“I think that comes under the heading of too little too late at
this point.”
“I see.”
“There’s one place we could go…” Boaz reminded him.
“Boaz,” Adin warned.
“Hear me out. Santos has men at his compound who will help
us. All I have to do is call and they’ll open the gates and deal with
anyone who’s following.”
“How can Santos be so helpful all of a sudden when—”
“Eventually, I will run out of gas, Adin. I can’t keep driving
forever. Currently we have nowhere to go. Unless you made