Vigil (21 page)

“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