DeVante's Coven (35 page)

Reed looked back at them, amazed that although he knew almost nothing about any of them, and he included Daniel in this thought, they would trust him.

Daniel nodded. “Yes, I know the feeling. Lily and I came to be here the same way, but I’m sure with much less care.” Reed let his eyes ask the question. “No, Reed, I cannot fly,” Daniel said, his eyes laughing, “yet.”

“We walk, then.” Reed announced, and led the way.

It was closer to dawn than midnight, and the street was quiet. It was eight or ten blocks to the place Reed was thinking of, and he didn’t consider that it was not an acceptable time of day to show up as a guest at someone’s door until he saw the actual door.

The door opened, and the face was different than the one Reed expected to see, although Reed felt in his gut that he should recognize this person. “Leather brother,” Reed said, offering his hand.

“Yes?” said the man, eyes still foggy with sleep. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Reed answered. “I seek shelter for myself and these that are mine until evening. Can you welcome us?”

***

Irony never ceased to amuse him, good or bad. Had he taken Reed early in the evening he would have had strength now to give Roderick… strength, and blood. And that something extraordinary and as yet unidentified that made Reed strong. As it was all DeVante could do was snatch some poor undeserving soul off the street and haul him flailing through the air.

And this he did. He was able to tuck the witless victim into a deep sleep to minimize his terror, but that was all.

In his own living room he dropped the victim in order to lay Roderick down gently, and then he was on the sleeper and drinking without pleasure or even thought—just sucking him dry as quickly as possible. The skylight slammed shut, the man died, and DeVante already held Roderick and was down the stairs and into his chamber. He hated to leave a corpse in the living room, but there was no choice because the dawn was that close.

He took Roderick into his bed and held Roderick’s face against his own. His fledgling’s mind was still a jumble of undecipherable thoughts and images.
Roderick. I am the Master. Drink!
He felt Roderick’s lips brush gently across the skin of his throat, but that was all.
Use your teeth. Bite. Tear. Do it. I give you myself.
With all his power and that of the blood they shared, he willed Roderick to obey.

Roderick’s first attempt was feeble, but the next better, and DeVante felt his flesh yield between Roderick’s fangs, heard a small moan, and then his dark son came to life enough to bite harder, latch on, and take the blood that DeVante hoped would bring him back.

He stroked Roderick’s hair, curled his body around his fledgling, and held on tight.

***

The man waggled his eyebrows, and Reed did a double take, recognizing him for sure, although with hair he looked like another person entirely. “Slave Peter,” Reed said, and felt amazed that the name came to his lips so easily. “It
has
been a long time.”

Peter’s smile was sweet and his eyes warm. “It was quite difficult at first. But we were lucky to have as much time together as we did. Lucky neither of us ever contracted the AIDS virus. We lost so many…”

Reed felt like an idiot. “I didn’t mean to sound insensitive… to belittle the deaths of so many.”

Peter ushered them into the sitting room. “Don’t think a thing of it, Reed. Sit, please. All of you. I’ll put some coffee on and we can catch up.”

Reed let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, “My companions do not… er… tolerate light well. May I settle them downstairs before we have coffee?”

Peter’s smile was gentle and a bit sad. “I can do better than that, Reed. Master created a sense-deprivation room. He’d take me to lay with him there, towards the end, and speak His expectations of me once He was gone.”

“It would honor us if my companions could sleep safely there.”

“Let me show you.” He led them to a door and flicked a light switch. “Leave your shoes here, please,” he asked, and frowned at Lily’s bare feet, then shrugged and gave Reed a small smile. They each shed their shoes or boots and left them on shelving meant for that purpose, then followed Peter down mocha-colored carpeted stairs to the basement dungeon. It was a wide open space that was also carpeted, their feet sinking into utter softness. The carpet hadn’t been here before, Reed was certain. The dungeon furniture was placed about the room in stations, Chinese-style screens near each one, should players have a desire for semi-privacy. Reed’s stomach flip-flopped as he looked around the room, memory and emotion trying to reach him in an overwhelming flood. The room was arranged differently, and there were a few contraptions he hadn’t seen before, but otherwise it was much the same. Peter led the way to a red door set into the far wall, gave it a tug, and it opened. “There’s no light in here,” he said, and went in, leaving the door open behind him. He picked up a blanket, folded it, then a pillow. He clutched them both to his chest. “And it’s warm—about ninety-four degrees.” He gestured, and Daniel and Lily went inside.

“We’ll be fine here,” Daniel said. He gently pushed the old man out of the room and closed the door.

Peter stood next to the red door hugging the pillow and blanket. He made as if to smell them and his shoulders shook. “I clung to Him in here, clung and cried and begged Him not to die. And He comforted me—that I should be left behind.”

“How utterly beautiful,” Reed said. “And fitting.”

They went to the kitchen, Peter, Tony, and Reed. Peter put the coffee on, then turned and wrapped his arms around Reed, who stood near him at the kitchen counter.

The old slave felt overwhelmingly fragile in Reed’s arms, and Reed leaned his head against the other man’s and whispered, “Sorry, old man,” then held him tight when Peter dissolved into sobs.

Reed glanced up at Tony. The boy had seated himself at the kitchen table and watched with quiet brown eyes, offering a gentle smile.

Peter stopped sobbing, but still clung to Reed. “Sometimes I’m so lost, adrift, I can’t explain it. It’s worst in these early morning hours—I promise you’re seeing the worst of it.”

Reed didn’t need to answer, just held the man and stroked his hair, smoothed his back, until the coffee maker sputtered the last drops into the carafe. Then he said quietly, “Coffee’s done,” and Peter pulled away to rinse his face, pat it dry, and open a cupboard door. He pulled three matching mugs out, sending a question at Tony with raised brows.

Peter stared into his cup, hands still and quiet in his lap. Tony spooned a comical amount of sugar into his empty cup, added a good deal of milk, then topped it all off with a bit of coffee.

Peter the Slave came to the fore, Reed noted, if he thought they needed anything at all. It was the role he was most comfortable with.

Reed chuckled. “That, I’m afraid, completely defies explanation. I believe we can talk lifestyle with Tony here, though he looks so very young. I suspect any friend of DeVante’s has a bigger story than one could ever guess.”

Reed wondered if he should redirect this conversation, wondered if it endangered Peter, but decided to let it go as Tony might have a clearer picture of DeVante (and Daniel) than Reed did at this moment. And besides, Tony’s story was his own to tell in whatever way he saw fit. “I hope Roderick’s okay,” Reed offered instead.

“He will be. DeVante will make him okay.” There was a plea of hope in his voice.

“Anyway,” Tony went on, “all I’m saying is I’m not as naïve as you probably would like to think. I’ve been in some bad spots and done some not-so-proper things. Although I’ve never seen a basement like yours before.”

“Years in the making,” Peter said. “And seldom used these days. But the parties in the old days, well… they were something. I was lucky—a lot more people fantasize about this life than get to live it. I’ve had an incredible life. No regrets.”

Chapter 38



How to heal

He woke early. He was waking earlier and earlier it seemed, some evenings the sun still holding onto the edges of the day. Roderick slept in his arms, cold and still in his vampire sleep, and DeVante could do nothing but wait.

The others, he knew, also slept, for none would wake before the Master.

Thoughts of them swirled in his head, that the little troop belonged to him, and for better or worse, he was their guide.

“We are none of us so very perfect,” he murmured into Roderick’s hair. “We only do the best we can at any given moment. I have wronged you, Roderick, in so many, many ways. Abandoned you, punished you beyond what should be my right, disregarded your worth. All these... I would take back.”

All he could do now was wait. The rest—the healing of vampire mind and spirit—were beyond his control.

Roderick stirred, then seemed to sink back into sleep, but periodic spasms quivered through his body and whimpers seemed to come wrested from his throat, as though he were having terrible dreams.

DeVante held him, breathed in the scent of his skin, his hair, and made an attempt to examine the wrenching wound he felt in his chest caused by Roderick’s being damaged. When he tried to look at the memory of Roderick’s torture full-on, his attention slid away, seeing, instead, a bed of mice in their dust bed behind a beam, the cooing pigeons in rows across the ceiling girders.

They had changed him, these children. Roderick, and most certainly Emily, who was of them all the easiest for him to love. And Daniel. Blessed Daniel who loved without reservation and with his entire being—filled with joy to love so much that loving causes pain.