“What do you think about having snakes for hair?” I asked.
“I’d rather have cats.”
Your obsession with cats had certainly grown. They were attracted to your energy, and wherever we went, there were always one or two that begged for your attention, including the strays who’d taken up permanent residence on Santiago’s property. It was one of the strangest phenomena I’d ever witnessed. Of course, you’d named them and insisted on feeding and nursing the wounded ones, much to your parents’ displeasure. When one of your brood died or disappeared, you held a funeral for them complete with “cat mass,” which seemed sacrilegious to me, but I left that determination to Xavier.
These cat funerals were special events with a growing guest list, refreshments, and solemn words spoken by all who’d known said feline. On one occasion, the cat we were mourning stumbled upon the affair, which then resulted in a jubilee of miraculous proportion. With the exception of that resurrection, I found these affairs rather gloomy. But Xavier felt the ritual helped develop your empathy.
I had a dress suit reserved specifically for cat funerals if there was any doubt as to my devotion.
“Cats for hair?” I asked incredulously. “I can only imagine the scratch marks.” I tweaked your nose then reached into the cooler Xavier had packed for us and pulled out two bags of blood, peanut butter sandwiches, and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
“Cats are smart. They see things.”
“Just like you,” I said, and you nodded in agreement.
“Anyway, like I was saying,” you said with a bit of sass. “Medusa didn’t turn people into stone like the stories say.”
“Oh no?”
“No. She froze them with her powers.” You held out your hands so that your whole body appeared rigid with your fingers outstretched and one hand still gripping your bag of blood. You resembled a resurrected mummy with your eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
“Why would she do that?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“She was hungry.” You glanced around and lowered your voice. “Then she drank their blood. All of it.” Your eyes grew alarmed at that. I mirrored your shock and dismay.
“That wasn’t very nice of her.” I was careful not to pass too harsh a judgement on a behavior that was sometimes necessary to our survival, but you needed to understand that the old ways were no longer acceptable.
“But yummy.”
I suppressed a chuckle.
“Yummy to drink someone’s blood?” I asked.
You glanced up at me, guiltily, then nodded.
“Do you think about that?” I asked gently. “Drinking people’s blood?”
These blood bags were tolerable, but they were nothing compared to warm heme fresh from its source. It was like comparing chlorinated tap water to the pure, sweet artesian spring water of our family’s homeland, not to mention the gentle resistance of flesh, that first tear of a vein, and the surge of warm blood across the tongue…
“Not my friends, but some of the boys in my class. I’d like to bite them.” You drew back your lips and bared your teeth. The casual observer might not notice how sharp they were, but I certainly did.
“That would hurt them, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” You sighed, disappointed. “They probably don’t even taste good.”
“Probably not.” I was sure they tasted delicious. One day when you were older, I’d teach you to hunt in a safe manner but until then… “Even if they were yummy, you can’t bite them, Vincent. Even if they say it’s okay.”
“You sound like Papa.” You groaned and nearly rolled your eyes.
“Papa’s right.”
You finished your bag and licked the remaining blood from your lips. Xavier was careful to feed you in the mornings and afternoons so that you’d not need to take your blood with you to school. Accidentally telling a classmate about your feedings was one thing, but having witnesses was quite another.
“Mater said Medusa is my grandmother.”
Medusa was the originator of our bloodline and the goddess in whose vision Lena was created, along with her twin sister Lilith and a few other bloodborn Grigori. But grandmother was an easier concept to grasp.
“That must be why you like these so much.” I held up the empty bag.
“Mater said she’s your grandmother too.”
I nodded. For whatever reason, Lena hadn’t told you we were half-brothers. Perhaps she was leaving that to me.
“I told you we’re a lot alike. Very special and unique. That’s why we have to keep our secret.”
“Is Mater your Mater too?” You asked with a little divot in the middle of your forehead.
I didn’t want to lie to you. Your existence was confusing enough as it was. “Yes, Vincent. You’re my half-brother. What do you think about that?”
Your face lit up with a breathtaking smile. “I like it.”
I was relieved you accepted it so readily. “We have one more brother as well. His name is Lucian.”
“Lucian,” you repeated, careful with your pronunciation. “Mater told me about him. She said he’s very handsome. Like Prince Charming.”
Lucian was as charming as his bite was venomous.
“Where is he?” you asked. “Why doesn’t he come visit me?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a while. You should ask Mater that.” I wouldn’t mind knowing Lucian’s whereabouts—I’d keep one eye open if he was nearby. “Did Mater tell you anything else about our family?”
“She said one day I’ll be stronger than you.” You ducked your head, embarrassed. “But I don’t think that’s true.”
“It could be true.” I reached over and roughed up your hair. Xavier kept it combed and tidy, but I preferred when it was messy and sticking up in soft peaks.
“Even Daddy can’t carry me on his shoulders like you can.”
“There are different ways to be strong, cucciolo.”
You grinned a little, perhaps imagining your future self. Selfishly, I wished you’d never grow up. At this age, I could shelter you from the world and keep you safe from harm, but with every year that passed, both your bloodlust and your powers would grow, making you more of a danger to yourself and others. Not to mention those who would covet your talent and seek to enslave you for it.
I recalled my own early years as a bloodthirsty half-demon. I’d had blood slaves, a battlefield as my hunting grounds, and wounded men to feast upon, while you were being raised in a tightly surveilled compound and attending a strict Catholic school with only these sanitized blood bags to sustain you.
This precarious bubble we’d created for you, how long could it last?
4
Henri
When you were still in your formative years, you sometimes fell into a mood where you stopped speaking altogether and only communicated in meows and hisses. Xavier thought the less attention we gave to this behavior, the sooner it would pass. But when you insisted upon crawling instead of walking and eating your meals out of a dish on the floor, Santiago put his foot down.