More people meant more variables and opportunities for something to go wrong. I liked that you were contained within a controlled environment with plenty of supervision.
“He has you and Santiago and his nannies. He has me. What more does he need?”
“He needs to be around other children, Henri. In addition to speaking in Latin, he’s begun meowing.”
I laughed. You were such a quirky child. “Don’t tell me you got a cat?”
“No, we did not. You know I’m allergic.”
“It’s probably something he picked up from television. You let him watch too much of it.”
Xavier bristled at that. I shouldn’t have criticized him. They were doing a far better job of raising you than I ever could.
“The other day, I saw him licking himself.” Xavier drew his wrist to his mouth and pantomimed the motion of a cat cleaning its fur.
“Did he cough up a hairball?” I teased.
“Henri, I’m serious. I think we should take him to a neurologist. Maybe they can do an MRI to make sure everything is functioning properly.”
I had no idea how the scan of a Nephilim brain might appear similar or different to a human one, and I doubted there were even any samples to compare. Unless Santiago knew a divine being who moonlighted as a neuroscientist, it was out of the question to risk exposure. Xavier knew these complications already, so I assumed he was only looking for reassurance.
“I’m sure he’s fine. At least in regard to the cat role-playing. That seems like a relatively normal behavior for children.”
At that you tottered over. Your bathing suit, protruding belly, and legs were covered in wet sand, as were your hands and mouth. You must have been sampling your bounty. You glanced between us, and your tourmaline eyes settled on mine, regarding me with an uncanny intensity.
Another tell of bloodborn Nephilim was that we didn’t blink as often as our human counterparts. In addition to sharper sight, the surface of our eyes needed less frequent irrigation. It aided our seductions to be able to lock gazes with our target as part of the hypnotic aspect of our powers. Your unflinching stare reminded me of Lena’s stories of our matron Medusa.
“Onwee,” you said, and I knew immediately you were hungry for heme. It was partly the tone of your voice and also an instinct we shared when one of our kind craved blood, useful for hunting and feeding in packs.
Xavier reached into an insulated lunchbox and pulled out what looked like a metallic juice packet, a clever disguise for the human blood it contained.
“No,” you shouted and attempted to take the pack from your papa. Xavier lamented your grabby hands and your liberal use of the word no. Once the packet was secure in your sandy fists, you brought it to me and presented it as a gift. “Onwee,” you said again and placed the bag in my lap.
“Is this for me, Vincent?” I pretended to drink it while you watched intently. “Thank you. I was so very hungry.”
I rubbed my abdomen in a sign of contentment, and my stomach growled in response. Perhaps you knew I was hungry as well. I twisted the cap and gave the blood bag back to you. You sucked at the spout greedily, still scrutinizing me as if knowing I wasn’t quite satisfied. As you fed, your dark eyes flared as though catching the reflection of the sun, and your cheeks flushed pink.
“Here.” Xavier tossed me an additional bag. “You know I always bring extra, and apparently, I’m not allowed to have one. Am I, Vincent?”
You paused sucking to pat Xavier’s knee and announce, “Papa.”
Xavier smiled affectionately and attempted to reposition your hat again, taking the time to smooth down your thick black hair, damp from seawater and sticking up all over.
I twisted the cap and gave it a sniff. Blood from a bank had a chemical tang of preservatives and anti-coagulants I found distasteful. When I was working a job, it was impossible to reliably store blood, so I’d gone back to hunting—humanely, of course. But it was a sin to let good blood go to waste, so I tapped my baggie at yours in a gesture of solidarity and drank it down quickly.
“Like taking a multi-vitamin,” I said after I’d finished it. I licked my lips in an attempt to rid myself of the aftertaste.
“Well, we can’t have him biting every human he comes across, can we?” Xavier fussed.
“Has he done that lately?”
“Not since Isabel got her hand too close.”
That was an ordeal. They’d had to take the nanny to the hospital and tell the nursing staff a dog bit her. Not a stray, though, or they’d have insisted on testing her for rabies. We’d given her a generous bonus with paid vacation so that she could heal, and an all-expenses-paid cruise in exchange for her discretion.
You’d also gone through a phase where you were biting yourself. We’d had to place a rather cumbersome mouthguard over your teeth until it passed. I felt bad for you, not having the same access to fresh blood that I’d had as a child, but times had changed. My biggest concern was that you’d get ahold of warm human flesh, do what your instincts told you, and there’d be no one around to stop you.
“Are you—”
“Yes, we are feeding him plenty,” Xavier said. “And our new supplier hasn’t missed a delivery yet.”
“And you’re—”
“I label all of the bags with their expiration dates. I’ve been doing this for the past two years now, Henri. Please give me some credit.”
“And Santiago—”
“Santiago is fine. Work keeps him busy. And he’s very fond of Vincent. I only wish we could spend more time together as a family.”
That last bit bothered me. Of course, Xavier and I both overstepped our boundaries when we’d offered Santiago as the divine half of their parenting duo, but I worried the resentment he harbored toward our kind would spill over into his parenting.
Having finished your bloodmeal, you climbed into my lap and laid your warm cheek against my chest, settling in for a cuddle or maybe a nap. I wrapped a dry towel around your damp body as your little fist grabbed one of the shells in my hair. I rubbed your back until your heavy eyelids closed and a low rumble emitted from your chest.
“I think he’s purring,” I said to Xavier, who only nodded as if I’d proven his point.
“Do you know about Medusa?”
You posed this question to me when you were in your first year of primary school. We were at the park down the street from your house. I’d just pushed you on the swing for nearly an hour, and we were sitting down to lunch under the canopy of a large Banyan tree. Our conversations at this age reminded me of when I’d first met you in your previous life. I thanked the Principatus every day that I’d been given another opportunity to know you.
“I have heard some stories about Medusa, but why don’t you tell me yours?” I suggested.
In addition to Latin, Lena had been teaching you our family lore, which, by and large, contradicted the religious canon you were taught at school. I could only imagine how Lena felt about you being raised in the Catholic faith.
“She was very beautiful, and she had snakes for hair. Like Mater.”
Outside the earthen realm and in her bloodborn body, Lena’s hair was nested with snakes. My own locks tended to undulate as well when I was in Shade Vales, but they didn’t hiss or bite. I wondered if it would be similar for you.