Of Saints and Shadows (1994) (53 page)

He alternated looking out the window and looking into the fire as he puffed on his pipe. Sometimes he tried to read himself to sleep, but too often the insomnia took on a life of its own and he found himself rocking and smoking and thinking. He thought a lot in that chair in front of the fire.

Peter Octavian had also known that he smoked. They had shared all their secrets like little boys in a tree house or in the blind darkness of a sleepover night. Of course they’d been far from little boys, he an old Greek and his friend far, far older and for all intents and purposes the last ruler of George Marcopoulos’ ancestors.

Most of the time, when he couldn’t sleep and he rocked and smoked and thought, and gazed alternately out at the windy dark or in at the flickering blaze, it was Peter he thought about.

He puffed the pipe just to smell that wonderful pipe-smoking smell and set to rocking again and thought about friends that had left him. First Peter and now Henri Guiscard. Both men of great personal strength and intelligence, with whom he was proud to have been associated. He had not had much time to know Henri, and he felt some guilt at his death. In a way he had blamed Henri for Peter’s death, but he’d known that was foolish.

What happened was destined to happen, and he was sure that Peter had been destined to be a part of it. Even if Octavian had lived, their friendship would never have been the same. The new world order controlled every moment of the lives of his new friends, the lives of Meaghan Gallagher, Will Cody, and Alexandra Nueva. Peter’s life would have been affected as well. Nothing would ever have been the same.

It had to do with sharing secrets. Knowing another’s secrets was a power few could wield, a difficult burden to bear. A great power, which carried with it a great responsibility. Friendships were built on such power, and the closeness that resulted from it. Nations were destroyed by it. The intimacy of secrets was the basis of love, and friendship, far more than simple fondness had ever been . . . and all the secrets that Peter had shared with George had now been revealed. Everything Peter Octavian was had been violated, and yet he had freely chosen this revelation for a greater purpose.

Sharing secrets is never easy, George Marcopoulos thought as he rocked slowly and puffed long and lovingly and watched sparks fly on brick.

He was broken out of his reverie by the sound of his wife’s voice calling his name. His gaze turned from the fire and (here she was, shuffling into his study in the wee hours of the morning, his beautiful Valerie come to find her bed-furnace of a husband who ought not go off in the middle of the night leaving her to freeze.

He doesn’t have to tell her he can’t sleep, she knows already. She has seen him this way many times, smoking and rocking and gazing out at the night or into the fire. He doesn’t have to tell her he’ll be right up. At their age and after forty years of marriage, there’s little need for talk. She bends painfully, the cold does that to Valerie, and kisses George on the head, then shuffles back toward the stairs, which she’ll take quite slowly.

The fire is dying anyway, he sees, and the night is beginning to brighten a little.

The rocker stops, and he laps out his pipe in the ashtray.

Though he is saddened by Henri’s death, it is Peter he thinks of. Always Peter. He misses their conversations and the excitement of living vicariously through Peter’s adventures. He misses his visits and his humor, which few people had truly been able to appreciate.

He’s been told what Peter went through, his passage into
somewhere else
, and he wonders what he might have found on the other side. He’s also been told of the questions that haunted him at the end. Questions of nature and origin.

Find out what we are
, he had instructed his people.

George could have told them, for all the definition anyone might ever need was to be found in the grief of a loving heart.

Peter Octavian had been a man.

His friend.

And he was truly missed.

CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN is the bestselling author of such novels as
The Myth Hunters, The Boys Are Back in Town
, and
Strangewood.
He co-wrote the lavishly illustrated novel
Baltimore, or, The Steadfast Tin Soldier and the Vampire
with Mike Mignola, and the comic book series spin-off. With Tim Lebbon, he has co-written the Hidden Cities series, the latest of which,
The Shadow Men
, hits in 2011. With Thomas E. Sniegoski, he is the co-author of the book series
OutCast
and the comic book miniseries
Talent.
With Amber Benson, Golden co-created the online animated series
Ghosts of Albion
and co-wrote the book series of the same name. He is also known for his many media tie-in works, including novels, comics, and video games, in the worlds
of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Hellboy, Angel
, and
X-Men
, among others.

Golden was born and raised in Massachusetts, where he still lives with his family. His original novels have been published in more than fourteen languages in countries around the world. Please visit him at
www.christophergolden.com

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