Vigil (14 page)

“Why does he do that?” Bran asked. “Disappear like that. He

too good to eat with us?”

“Boaz likes to play the butler. I think it amuses him to pretend

he’s in Donte’s employ.”

“He doesn’t take orders well though, does he? For an imp he’s

remarkably useful.”

“He’s what?”

90 Z.A. Maxfield

Bran paused with a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth.

“You knew he was an imp, right? You can’t miss it.”

Adin tossed his fork to his plate. “Apparently I can.”

“You don’t seem much good at identifying otherworldly

beings.”

“What is that anyway, like gaydar?” Adin snapped testily.

“Where would I have developed that? Before or after graduate

school?”

“Don’t blame me.” Bran sulked. “Maybe it’s easier to spot one

if you are one.”

“Ya think?”

Bran’s hand tightened on his napkin, a sign he was feeling

nervous. “Do you want to know what an imp is or not?”

“I do.” Adin sighed and picked his fork up. Whether he liked

imps or not, he really, really liked pasta carbonara, especially

when Boaz used real Reggiano parmesan cheese and fresh garlic

and Italian parsley. And he liked Bran. There was no point in

blaming the messenger.

“In the old days, people thought imps were ugly little trolls

or that they served Satan or something. They’re all over those

old buildings, spitting water off the roofs and frightening off

demons, but most of the imps I’ve come into contact with are

regular blokes who are sort of small in stature and resent it.

It makes them testy. They’re marginally magical, like I am, not

one of the big cheeses paranormally speaking. They mostly do

mischief because they’re put out to be so small.”

“Really?” Adin had been called an imp more than once. What

the hell did that mean? Were imps like some supernatural nerds

that got sand kicked in their faces once too many times?

“They’re harmless, although you don’t want to be around one

when his heart’s been broken.”

“Why not?”

“They’re like the Irish aren’t they? There’s usually singing

involved and in the case of imps it isn’t pretty.” Bran scooped

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91

butter onto his knife for yet another piece of bread. The boy

could eat. Adin wondered if he’d ever had an appetite like that,

and if so how his mother had been able to keep him in food.

“I think you’re pulling my leg. I think the only imp around

here is you.” Bran’s eyes lost their sparkle then and Adin regretted

teasing him when he had no idea what he was.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not an imp.” Bran toyed with his fork.

“I’m sorry; I only meant to rib you.” Adin held his hand up

in the air, palm out, “You’ll be far taller than I am when you’ve

grown, look at your hands, see?”

Bran pressed his hand to Adin’s. Each of his fingers was a

half-inch longer. “Wow.”

“I’m not the tallest man. Donte’s called me an imp more than

once.”

“But he must know Boaz is an imp. Why didn’t he tell you?

What else do you suppose Donte hasn’t told you?”

Adin said nothing, but it was a very, very good question.

It hurt him to think that Boaz and Donte had been keeping

something like that from him. Santos knew. Probably Edward

and Tuan as well. It was difficult to imagine that every piece of

information he got about the world he now inhabited had to be

dragged out of Donte, or discovered the hard way. Suddenly he

didn’t feel much like eating.

“I’ll just take my plate into the kitchen.” He picked up his

flatware and made his way to the sink. He called, “Do you want

more?”

When he turned, he was surprised by Bran, who stood behind

him holding his own plate. “I’m sorry I said anything about

Donte.”

“It’s all right, Bran.”

Bran hesitated before he handed his plates over. “I wish you

had a human companion.”

“I’m with Donte.” Adin put the dishes into a bin next to the

single sink and asked, “What else do you wish?”

92 Z.A. Maxfield

“I wish you’d play chess with me,” Bran said quietly, leaving

the kitchen.

“You
bastard
!” Bran spat when Adin placed his king firmly in

checkmate. Their first game took Adin completely by surprise.

He’d only focused a small amount of attention on playing and

before he knew it Bran had him mated and was crowing with

triumph. The second game had required his full concentration,

and still Bran had put up a decent fight. Adin was no master

by any means, but he’d never been a pushover. Yet Bran, was

practically homeless, had neatly cornered him once and pushed

his limits the second game.

“Tie-breaker?” Adin asked, setting the pieces back on the

board. He had no idea what time it was, probably after ten, and

he was feeling relaxed, but not yet tired. He’d been working

his way through a bottle of Beaujolais L’ancien, loving its rich,

peppery taste and red fruit finish. The air was completely free of

sound. Not even the whispers of appliances, or Boaz working in

the background, marred the quiet of the evening. Bran moved

his first piece out, the standard king’s gambit, pushing the white

king’s pawn to e4. Adin began his own game by mirroring but his

mind was on other things. His eyes strayed time and again to the

window, where he could see the road and the pathway from the

door to where the car was parked.

Adin tried to keep his mind on the game but his attention

strayed, subtle as a dog waiting for its master to return from

work. He sent a wave of longing into the air, and felt a faint

frisson of response, like a whisper, almost as tangible as a kiss on

the back of his neck, and smiled. Donte was close, somewhere

in the darkness, on the road, maybe even on the property itself.

“What?” Bran tapped his finger impatiently. “Did I miss

something?”

“Donte’s coming.”

Bran took Adin’s knight. “If you miss him so much, why did

you leave him in the first place?”

94 Z.A. Maxfield

“I didn’t leave.” Adin frowned when Bran made the

unanticipated move. “Well, I did, but only to get breathing room

for a while. We were quite out of anything but arguments, and

there were two auctions I’d planned to attend, one in Paris and

one in Geneva. Where did you learn to play chess? You’re really

good at it.”

“I watched people play in the park sometimes.” Bran held his

glass up. Adin pursed his lips and poured a small amount of wine

into it, following it up with a big splash of water from a pitcher.

“Donte would frown on me giving you wine, but it’s not

hurting your game,” Adin remarked.

“It doesn’t seem to have much of an effect. Maybe that’s

because of my magicalness.”

Adin suppressed a laugh. “Yes, I’m certain your
magicalness
is

the very reason that you aren’t feeling the wine’s effects.”

Bran blinked up at him. “I am getting kind of tired.”

“Why don’t we let this rest until tomorrow then? You’ve had

a big day. I’ll stay up until Donte arrives.”

Bran stood and carefully pushed the game to the end of the

table, where it was less likely to be disturbed. “Do you mind if I

stay down here and wait with you?”

“Strange house?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Bran looked toward the stairs.

“I think Boaz’s room is on the first floor, unless he hangs by

his feet in the closet until Donte needs him again.”

“Imps don’t sleep like that.”

“Well then,” Adin teased, “maybe he crouches on the corner

of the roof and spits all night.”

Bran laughed out loud.

Adin grinned. “Of course, that would probably be one of the

more normal things I’ve seen him do.”

“Do you think he’s asleep?”

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95

Adin shrugged. “I don’t know.” Adin heard the door in the

kitchen open, then close again. He didn’t have to see Donte

to know he was there, a breath of
something
inexplicable and

marginally enchanting always entered a building with him. Adin

had lived with Donte, loved him, long enough to be aware of it

now whereas he’d been oblivious when they’d met. That Donte

could call Adin to him was pretty standard vampire fare, a trick,

a luring of prey using a simple suggestion planted into a human’s

mind.

That Adin could reach Donte the same way wasn’t something

either man expected. Donte had once told Adin that—only with

him—it worked both ways. At the time, Donte had not been

entirely pleased by the fact.

When Donte entered the dining room, Adin was on his feet

and moving to meet him. It never failed that his first instinct was

to leap into Donte’s arms, and he didn’t hold back. For Bran’s

sake, and propriety, he didn’t grind and Donte managed not to

push him into the nearest wall, but it was a near thing.

“Get. A. Room.” Bran growled, disgusted.

“We have a room.” Donte rubbed his face into Adin’s hair

and inhaled. “I felt you,” he whispered. “It pleases me that you

long for me.”

Adin bumped their cheeks together. “I was happy to feel you

that close.”

“Caro,” Donte sighed.

Adin stepped down and cupped Donte’s face between his

hands. “You look better. Relaxed and nearly pink-cheeked for

a vampire. Did you eat someone tranquil? A Buddhist monk?

Quick, what is the sound of one hand clapping?”

Donte fought off a smile. “While I love your silliness, I have

come a long way to be here, so if you don’t mind…”

Both men looked at Bran, who colored but took the hint and

headed for the stairway.

“Goodnight, Bran,” Adin called out. “I’m only down the hall

96 Z.A. Maxfield

if you find you need something.”

“Thanks, Adin,” Bran murmured. He lurched a bit and Adin

thought perhaps he was more tired than either of them realized.

He hated to think the wine had anything to do with it, but when

he’d poured it, it occurred to him that Bran could use a tiny bit

of something to relax him after his ordeal. He only hoped the

boy would sleep well.

Adin glanced back at Donte, who was gazing at Bran’s back

thoughtfully.

“What?”

Donte sighed. “Did you have fun shopping for your unknown

adolescent entity today?”

“Yes.” Adin took Donte by the hand and led him up to their

room. “We bought him some clothes that will scramble your

brains. I got you a gift but I’ll give it to you later.”

“A gift?” Donte brightened. “For me?”

Donte seemed so pleased Adin regretted he’d purchased the

opera glasses as a symbolic complaint, and vowed to give them

without implying that Donte wasn’t seeing him clearly. In fact,

given the look on Donte’s face, Adin made up his mind then and

there to give him gifts far more often. It had been a long time

since Adin had seen Donte surprised. He hoped Donte wouldn’t

bother probing his thoughts.

“Let me get it,” Adin said when they reached their room. He

walked to the small writing desk and pulled it from a drawer. “I

thought…” he began, but drifted off when he turned to find

Donte, hanging his jacket in the closet, his tie loose and his collar

unbuttoned.

“Is something the matter?” Donte asked when he caught

Adin staring.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Adin admitted softly. “I’m so

sorry I left. I wish I could make you understand.”

“Perhaps…” Donte held his hand out and Adin went to him.

“Perhaps I understand more than you think. I haven’t forgotten

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97

that you love me despite what I am. I haven’t forgotten that

you’ve forgiven me the unforgivable; accepted the unacceptable

to be with me.”

“You’re pretty easy on the eye, of course.”

“Ah. Certainly. You love me because of my looks. There’s little

else to recommend me.” Donte allowed Adin to help him out of

his clothing. He slipped on his dressing gown and a pair of silk

pajama trousers and relaxed visibly. A subtle knock sounded on

the door, and Donte answered it, allowing Boaz to enter with a

decanter of cognac and crystal glasses on a tray.

“I thought you might like a nightcap,” he said, leaving the tray

on the writing desk. When he turned, he looked satisfied that

everything was in order.

“No chocolates for the pillows?”

“I find I’m fresh out of chocolates at this moment, Dr.

Tredeger. As you know, Donte doesn’t eat it, but tomorrow I will

lay in a supply for you and the boy, if you like.”

“
Patrick Roger
, if you don’t mind. It’s my favorite.” Adin grinned

cheekily at Boaz, as he always did, but now he felt strange, as if

knowing Boaz’s inhuman status had changed things dramatically

between them and not for the better. Boaz left quietly, closing the

door behind him.

He turned to Donte. “Why didn’t you tell me that Boaz was