Greg-the-Vampire!
Okay! Welcome to the beginning of a horrendously long WIP. It contains: aaaangst, emo-vampires, mysterious villains, gore, gratuitous violence, comedy, outrageous puns, and pink frosted cupcakes. It is probably not for the faint of heart.
If this sounds like your cup of blood tea, then read on, you crazy diamonds.
(PS - The entire thing is rough and only marginally edited, so if you see anything that concerns you, do let me know, and I will endeavor to correct my many deficiencies.)
Greg the Vampire, Or, The Saddest Little Emo Vampire and How He Found Big Gay Love and Happiness Forever, Though Not Without Considerable Angst and Bad Punning Along the Way
Gregori Nicolaie Wilbur Dracula was bending down to feed his kitten Shub-Niggurath when the phone rang.
Greg frowned.
He straightened and picked up the receiver from the wall above the kitchen counter. Shub mewled and wove around his feet, unhappy at the interruption in her feeding schedule.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hello, brother,” answered a cool voice.
Greg paused and tried to remember if he had joined any cults recently. Last Saturday night was still hazy, but he didn’t have any new tattoos, bound acolytes in his bed, or membership cards.
“I’m sorry,” Greg said. “You must have the wrong number.”
“I do not think so,” said the voice. “This is Drake.”
Greg gripped the phone a little more tightly to keep his hands from trembling. “Drake? I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“I am sure you know me by reputation,” came the dryly-amused reply. “You have not been gone so long as to forget the existence of your younger brother.” It wasn’t a question.
Greg leaned against the kitchen counter on suddenly weak legs. “No,” he said.
“I am calling because I have a favor to ask of you,” Drake said.
“I haven’t talked to you in fifty years,” Greg said. He couldn’t keep the harshness from his voice.
“Nevertheless,” Drake said. “I need your help.”
“Why could you possibly need my help?” Greg asked. “All Father thinks I’m good for is lounging indolently in the Normal’s world, taking up space.”
“That is why I need your help,” Drake said. “It is Father. I need you to come to Monsterland as soon as possible. Father is dying.”
Greg had dropped the phone, flung the window open, and turned into a bat before Drake finished the last syllable.
In his haste, Greg knocked over the bag of kitten chow, spilling it across the floor. Shub began munching away happily on the scattered mess. She paused and, with feline calculation, regarded the window her master had leapt through; then she sauntered into the living room to claw the couch in anticipation of Greg’s return.
If she was lucky, he’d left a favorite pair of trousers out she could scratch up as well.
----
It didn’t take Greg long to obtain directions to Count Dracula’s manor. The inhabitants of Monstertown were remarkably well informed when it came to keeping track of the local vampires. A quick visit to the manor, however, proved unsuccessful because no one appeared to be home.
Greg shut his eyes briefly, bringing his balled up fist to his forehead and pressing it there while he collected his thoughts.
Stupid, stupid, he thought. I should have asked Drake where he was, I should have - he stopped himself.
He could find Drake. Just like in the old country, when he was still young and singing with blood, when he’d run with the wolves and let himself howl into night air sharp with the smell of gypsy campfires and cloying spices. He remembered catching a girl one night, her braids tangling in his teeth. He had always thought it was rude for victims to scream while his mouth was full. Weren’t they taught manners?
The hunt had been intense and satisfying in those dark times. It certainly hadn’t been plastic bags delivered at precisely eight o’clock in the morning to his front stoop every day.
Nowadays people noticed bodies with their throats torn out. Life wasn't so harsh that a disappearance in a dark forest went unremarked. The humans all had names and identities and numbers attached to them now; if they went missing, people questioned it.
And so Greg had been forced to change with the times. A sterile packet of blood every morning.
He made a face and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. There - a scent he faintly remembered. It was tangled with another scent, but it was still unmistakably Drake.
He opened his eyes, irises gone black, and observed the faint red trail he could see in the air above the sidewalk. It led west.
----
Greg found the house within the hour. It was two stories tall and painted a cheerful yellow. There were garden gnomes.
He avoided using the brass door-knocker shaped like a smiling fairy and settled for knocking, wondering what other sorts of horrors awaited him beyond the threshold.
A smiling, attractive young man with dark hair answered the door. He was shorter than Greg by several inches, and he had the mildly defensive air of a man who was painfully aware that he was shorter than most people and would they like to make something of it?
“That was fast,” the young man said. “Mom,” he called over his shoulder, smiling and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, “Dracula’s other kid is here.”
A short, thin woman with Medusa-like dark hair burst through what Greg assumed was the kitchen door, from the smells of cinnamon and baking that suddenly assailed his nose. The woman reminded Greg of a stalk of broccoli, if that stalk of broccoli had gone to Woodstock and decided to never color-coordinate its wardrobe again, ever.
“Oh, goodness, come in, come in!” she said, her hands flying to untie her red apron and smooth down the front of her teal and peach tye-dyed skirt. “We didn’t expect you so soon! Drake only just called.”
She paused and regarded him questioningly, adjusting a bright yellow headband that was slowly losing the battle against her curls. “Drake only just called,” she repeated.
“I flew,” Greg said.
“And boy, are your wings tired,” the dark-haired man quipped. Greg and the woman both turned to regard him. He grinned sheepishly. “Uh, Mom, would you mind telling Drake his brother is here? We’ll wait in the living room.”
“Oh! Of course, honey, I think he’s out back with the other guests.” She hurried away.
“That’s my mom, Maleva,” said the boy. “She gets like that whenever we have a barbeque. I’m Frank,” he said, shaking Greg’s hand quickly. “Nice to meet ya. C’mon, follow me. We’ll wait for Drake. Last time I saw him, he was hovering over my dad’s shoulder while he cooked and stealing blood sausages off the grill when he thought no one was looking.”
Greg followed Frank into the living room, trying to calm the bats in his stomach.
“Take a seat,” Frank said, gesturing toward an overstuffed loveseat. “Drake’ll be here any second. He’s been driving me crazy ever since he called you. I thought he was going to worry himself to undeath again.”
Greg took a seat.
“Not really a talkative guy, are you?” Frank pressed on. “Wish you could teach Drake that trick. He tends to babble. I tell him all the time, silence is golden, you know? But he’ll just babble all day long if I let him. Babbles like a brook, he does, haha. Babbles, much as I am doing now.”
Greg took pity on him. “My social skills are regrettably rusty. It has been some time since I have been invited to a home for a party.” This was true: technically, blood orgies didn’t count as parties. At least, he was fairly sure they didn’t.
“Right, you must be more the broody, Prince-of-Darkness type of vampire.”
“Taunting my brother already, I see,” Drake said, sweeping into the room.
“Oh, hey,” Frank said. “You didn’t tell me your brother was hot,” he said slyly, looking up at Drake with his lips quirked in a teasing smile.
“You did not tell me you had a death wish,” Drake replied, walking over to join them. He bent down and gave Frank a very thorough kiss in greeting.
Greg blinked.
“Ah, I see we have just given you a minor heart attack, brother,” Drake said. “I apologize if it offends your sensibilities. I should perhaps have warned you about my boyfriend beforehand.” His stare was challenging.
“I have no interest in whatever unfortunate creature you choose to bestow your affections upon, Drake,” Greg said.
Drake relaxed almost imperceptibly. “That is good.”
Greg felt more was required of him. “How long have you been partners?”
“Since high school,” Drake replied, sharing a look with Frank. Greg sensed a story there, but did not think it his place to ask. “That means it will be seven years this December.”
“I see,” he simply said.
One corner of Drake’s mouth tilted up. “Frank,” Drake said, flicking his glance sideways, “in case you were wondering, my brother has just very wholeheartedly congratulated us on our relationship and wishes us a warm, bright future.”
“He has?” Frank asked bemusedly.
“It may take you a while to understand the subtleties of Greg’s expressions,” Drake said wryly. “Several hundred years, in fact.”
Frank laughed. “Oh man, I can’t believe you invited the poor guy here. You know my mom is gonna smother him right away, don’t you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Drake said, mussing Frank’s hair in a fond way.
Greg cleared his throat to remind them he was still in the room. He also tried to convey his sense of impatience and his annoyance at being talked about as though he weren’t there. But it was hard to get all that into a cough.
“So, what do you do for a living?” asked Frank. Drake was seated next to him; he crossed his leg over his knee casually and leaned back in the couch.
“I liberate property from unworthy owners,” Greg said. “Then I transfer the property in question to the location and owners it rightfully belongs.”
“Greg steals things and fences them,” Drake translated. “He is what is more commonly known as a cat burglar.”
“Don’t you mean a bat burg -” Frank began.
“If you finish that sentence, I will hurt you,” Drake said calmly, placing a hand on Frank’s knee.
Frank sighed. “All right, all right. You’d think after all these years with me you could take a joke,” he said.
“After all these years I have become immune to them,” Drake said. “Not even a joke sledge-hammer could put a dent in the terrible pun armor you have provided me.”
“So,” Frank said, directing his attention back to Greg. “You’re disreputable. I can dig that.” He grinned and winked. Greg watched Drake’s fingers tighten on Frank’s thigh; his brother’s smile was brittle when he spoke.
“In a few moments the only thing you should be worried about digging is your grave, Franklin,” Drake said, baring his teeth in a less than pleased way.
Greg was surprised when Frank only laughed and leaned against Drake’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. “Man, it is so easy to wind you up, you possessive old bat.”
Greg allowed the barest smile at the expression on Drake’s face. His younger brother appeared to have finally met his match. If it made him feel a little sorry for himself, he didn’t let it show.
“Burgling stuff must be fun,” Frank mused. “I bet it’s a lot easier with that whole one-with-the-darkness thing you vampires have.”
Greg nodded. “It does occasionally make things easier. More than once I have been thankful that I can turn into a fine red mist with just a thought. Getaways are quite simple as long as no one turns on a fan.”
Frank’s eyes widened and he leaned forward. “You can turn into a mist? Drake can’t do that!”
“He’s a few hundred years younger. He will be able to do it in time.”
Frank swiveled to look at Drake. “What other cool things can’t you do?” he teased. “Can your dad do the mist-thing?”
“Yes,” Drake said. “Among many other things.”
Greg sat a little straighter in his seat. “Drake, to the purpose of my visit. You said you needed me to be here for Father.”
The smile died on Drake’s lips. “Yes, I did,” he replied solemnly.
“How long - “ Greg stopped and started again. “How long has he been dying?”
Drake’s eyebrows rose. “Dying? Whoever told you Father was dying?”
“I - you,” Greg said, brows furrowing. “That’s why I dropped everything and raced across the skies to come here.”
“I said Father was dying? Oh no, I cannot imagine I would say that. You must have heard wrong. I said Father is trying, Greg. You know how difficult he can be.”
Greg’s jaw dropped, and he wrenched his mouth closed with an audible click of teeth.
“What?”
“Trying, yes, very,” Drake said. Frank nodded sympathetically and patted his partner on the shoulder. “He simply refuses to help us with our latest endeavor.” Drake paused. “And that is of course why I called for your help, brother.”
Greg stood in one swift motion, his hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically. He watched alarm fill the faces of the other two men as they echoed his movement and rose from the couch opposite him.
Greg’s hands balled into fists at his side and very slowly he relaxed his fingers; he felt the stinging pain of half-moon crescents carved into his palm.
“Drake,” he said, once he had got himself under control, “I think I will be leaving.”
“You cannot go,” Drake said, a little desperately. He stepped closer and put a restraining hand on Greg’s arm. “Father will be here in a few minutes, and so will -”
“I fail to see how that would entice me to stay,” Greg said, looking pointedly at Drake’s hand until Drake released his arm.
“But you haven’t even listened to why we need your help!” Frank exclaimed.
Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever it is you want, it can’t be good. Drake tricked me into coming here. I don’t want to be party to anything strange or illicit.”
“Why would you care if it was illicit? You steal stuff! That’s why we need you,” Frank said.
“Frank,” Drake said warningly.
Despite himself, Greg was intrigued. “You need something stolen?”
“Not exactly,” Drake said. “Please, sit down.”
Reluctantly, Greg took his seat again and ran a hand over his buzz-cropped hair. He kept it short for his work: the less hair on his head, the less potential there was for any of it to be left behind at the scene of one of his repossessions.
He noticed Frank staring at him as Drake took a seat. “What?” he asked, more sharply than he’d intended.
“Nothing,” Frank said quickly. “It’s just . . . I just realized you look scarier than Drake. I didn’t think that was even possible. Nice scar, by the way.”
Greg rubbed a hand along his jaw self-consciously. He'd gotten the scar from a magically cursed blade wielded by a golem who really hadn't wanted him to steal a mystical grimoire bound in human tongues.
The scar annoyed him because it set him apart from other vampires. Vampires were supposed to be darkly seductive with flawless complexions; they were certainly not supposed to be hollow-cheeked men with scars and rough stubble because they kept forgetting to get up early enough to shave.
His severely cut dark hair, the small scar along his jaw, and his gaunt features made him look more like a recently released convict than a creature of lust and legend. He was not nearly as suave looking as his father or his perfectly coiffed younger brother.
“Thank you,” he said shortly. Frank shrugged.
"We need your help in dealing with the other end of your business," Drake said, placing his hand on Frank's thigh again. It seemed habit, as though he still could not believe the man next to him would allow it, and he needed the physical touch to reassure himself.
“What do you need fenced?” Greg asked, mood soured.
“A few gems and ancient artifacts,” Drake said. “They are quite old and valuable and would cause more than a few raised eyebrows if they were to suddenly appear on the market. We need them sold very discreetly.”
“I see,” Greg said. “They’ve been stolen from a high profile family?”
“Ah, no,” Drake said, looking nervous. “Actually, the phoenix family they belong to -“
“You’re dealing with phoenixes now?” Greg asked with a growl, flexing his fingers.
“Huh, your eyes go red quicker than Drake,” Frank said.
“Fascinating,” Greg said, hissing the word. Drake looked at Frank apprehensively.
“Perhaps you should leave, Frank. I will talk to my brother alone.”
“Like hell you will.” Frank crossed his arms over his chest, his expression mutinous. “Your brother is scary, but two of us could take him.”
Greg shifted in the chair, letting his fangs lengthen.
“Maybe,” Frank amended. “But the point is, I’m not going. What have you got against phoenixes anyway?” Frank asked, addressing Greg. “They’re monsters just like us.”
Greg allowed his lip to curl slightly. “They are nothing like us, just as you are nothing like us. You think Drake is a vampire? No, you appear to have collared and defanged him. My father has mellowed with his age. If you had been there at the beginning -“ Greg stopped, curled his fingers again, felt them press into his thighs like blunt claws.
“If you had been there at the beginning of the vampire, you would not want to stand in the same room with one,” Greg continued with a scowl.
He felt the familiar pain, his dead heart trying to twitch. “It is impossible to make you understand - for all that you’re the son of a monster, you do not know what real monsters are.”
Frank opened his mouth to interrupt, but Drake put a restraining hand on his arm. His eyes were trained on Greg’s face, searching and a little frightened.
“Phoenixes are life and rebirth,” Greg said. “And they cannot accept or even understand a vampire. Vampires are death and -“
“Rebirth,” said a loud voice.
Three pairs of eyes swung to the doorway where a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark auburn hair stood, his hands in his pockets and a pleasant expression on his face.
“At least, the way I figure it,” he said. “I mean, I die once a month on a fiery pyre and wake up sooty but alive the next morning. You died once and woke up the next morning underneath six feet of dirt, right? Rebirth. And,” he said, smiling, “A friendly gypsy can always resurrect you in the event of an unexpected staking.”
Greg wasn’t impressed. He’d heard pretty speeches before. It was usually right before a lover betrayed him and an angry mob arrived. But he tried not to dwell in bitterness.
“Ah, allow me to introduce my associate,” Drake said quickly, interrupting the tense silence that had settled over the room. “Lucian Fenix.”
“Luce, please,” the man said, voice deep and rumbling. He flashed them a brilliant smile, and they stood to greet him as he stepped further inside. The walls of the room brightened with his presence, the temperature climbing noticeable degrees.
Reluctantly, Greg was forced to admit Luce was an impressively large man with impressively large shoulders and impressively handsome, rugged features. Really, the only way to describe him was . . . what was the word?
“It’s a real pleasure to be here, thanks again for inviting me,” Luce said, slapping Frank’s shoulder. “Your mom’s the best cook.”
Luce turned to Greg.
“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,” he said, grabbing Greg’s pale hand with both of his much larger hands and shaking it forcefully up and down.
“I can’t imagine what,” Greg said, unable to keep the sneer from his voice. Luce’s hands were scorchingly warm, and he withdrew his hand as quickly as etiquette allowed.
Luce regarded him silently for a moment, and Greg resisted the urge to squirm. He came from a grand legacy of ancient evil, after all. He didn’t have to cower before a phoenix. Even if phoenixes were incarnations of the powers of light and could theoretically incinerate him.
Luce’s brown eyes were lit with flecks of gold and the air around him sizzled faintly. Greg wondered with vague unease if he was about to experience a fiery pyre firsthand.
Abruptly, Luce’s eyes cooled. “Only that you’re good at what you do,” he said.
“Yes,” Greg agreed with the same coolness.
“Do let us sit down,” Drake said weakly.
Greg eyed Luce suspiciously as the big man settled onto the loveseat next to him but did as Drake bid. He was now intensely curious to discover the reason behind all this.
“Well,” Luce said, stretching out his long legs. “If you can do this -“
“There is no question of if,” Greg said, spine stiffening. “Only will.”
“Of course,” Luce said with easy acceptance, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “It would be a great help if you would do us this favor. I need the capital for my investment. And naturally, there is no question of payment, you can take whatever your standard cut is.”
“Twenty percent,” Greg said viciously, wanting to eat into the profit for whatever Luce needed.
“I’d like to use the money to open an orphanage,” Luce said.
Well, Greg thought waspishly, it would be orphans.
“Or I could take ten percent,” he said, gritting his teeth.
Luce smiled at him, and this time it reached his eyes. “That’s generous of you, since Drake led me to believe you usually took fifteen.”
“My stocks are doing well at the moment,” Greg said, turning away.
“Are you gonna help us, then?” Frank asked, leaning forward.
Greg let the question hang in the air longer than necessary, then: “Yes.”
“Excellent!” Luce said, clapping him on the back. “Thanks for getting on board.”
Greg grunted, unwilling to speak and let Luce know just how much that friendly blow had winded him.
“We’re gonna open up an orphanage for monster kids,” Frank said, his face flushed and excited. “For magical kids, mythological kids, half-breeds, all of ‘em - there are more and more of these kids who need help, and no one wants to take care of them.”
“Some of the purists think the half-breed children ought to be exterminated, like they’re some sort of disgrace,” Luce said. His voice flickered white-hot and dangerous. “Obviously, we don’t agree.”
Greg found himself nodding along. “It’s a good idea. I’ve seen what happens to some of them in the city. In the normal world they run alone or in rogue packs because there isn’t a place for them here.” He refrained from mentioning that they usually met sticky ends as well, but the unspoken words still hung heavy in the air.
“Exactly,” Drake said. His shoulders sagged in relief. “We were afraid you would not agree.”
Greg stiffened. If the temperature had risen when Luce entered the room, now it dropped enough to make everyone but Greg shiver. “And why is that?” he bit out.
Drake faltered. “I - that is - well, you are from the Old World, more so than I ever was. Most of the purists are powerful older monsters or beings, fond of tradition - like Father. He does not think we should help. He thinks they should be left to their own devices. If they survive, then they survive.”
“Drake,” Greg said very deliberately. Luce looked at him sharply and tensed. “If you ever compare me to Father again within my hearing, I will kill you.”
Everyone was quiet for several minutes while the temperature slowly returned to normal. When Drake spoke, his eyes were clouded. “I apologize. Thank you again for your help.”
Greg nodded stiffly and stood up. “Very well. You can contact me when you’re ready.”
“We’re ready now,” Frank said, eyeing him with a little more fear. Greg was so very tired of that look. “We’d like it if we could meet again tomorrow and discuss things.”
Greg sighed mentally. “All right. I’ll look into getting a hotel nearby.”
“You will of course stay with us,” Drake said. His tone strove for bored and reminded Greg achingly of their father but he could see the way Drake’s fingers picked at the arm of the couch. Good, the little fanger was nervous.
“I cannot stay at the Manor with -“
“We do not live at the Manor. Frank and I have long needed our privacy. We have a small flat across town, near where we hope to build the orphanage.”
Greg winced. He had no interest in sharing a love nest with Drake and Frank. He would likely kill them in their sleep after enduring less than a day of domestic tranquility.
“Or you could always stay with me,” Luce offered. The curve of his lips suggested he was following the pattern of Greg’s thoughts.
“I couldn’t possibly,” Greg said.
“I will not hear of you paying for a hotel, brother. Not when either of us could lodge you at our home.”
“Nevertheless, it would be a terrible imposition and -“
“I don’t mind,” Luce said. “Might be nice to have company and not rattle around the place by myself.”
Greg felt that there might be some sort of supernatural forces at work because he had rapidly lost his grip on the situation. Luce was looking at him expectantly and he could think of no other way to politely refuse his brother’s request.
“If it’s only for a few days,” he found himself agreeing. “I can’t put you out for longer than that.”
From the corner of his eye he saw Frank and Drake share a look. “Oh, I am sure it would not require more than a few days to get everything properly sold and settled,” Drake said.
“Yeah, just a few days,” Frank echoed. Greg didn’t like the secretive smile on his face. “In the meantime, you can stay and enjoy the barbeque. One more body won’t make any difference, my Mom made enough food to feed a ghoul army. Except she isn’t serving body parts,” he added quickly.
Greg stifled a sigh. Did he really have anywhere else to be? “I’d be delighted,” he said.
“Right this way!” Frank beamed and grabbed Drake’s hand as he bounced to his feet. Drake rose more slowly, with an indulgent smile for Frank.
“You can meet the rest of the gang,” Frank said happily. “Flea and Gill, you’ll like them, I know because - “
“Frank,” Drake said, squeezing Frank’s hand.
“Oh, right,” Frank said, with a nervous laugh. “Um, I mean, I’m pretty sure you’ll like them. Yeah.”
Greg’s eyes narrowed.
“Sounds good,” Luce said, stepping in smoothly. “I’d love to meet your friends.”
----
Greg did like their friends, and this didn’t please him. He wasn’t used to enjoying the company of others.
The backyard was crowded with all manner of monsters. He saw ghouls milling through the crowd, the grass withering under their feet. An annoyed looking garden nymph followed them, coaxing the grass back to life.
Over by the picnic tables, (decorated with red and white checked tablecloths, Greg noted with an internal wince) a sable furred yeti was deep in conversation with a young woman half submerged in a water tank. Her laughter sounded like rain on water. Scattered next to her on the table were the remains of half a dozen fish bones.
He spotted the hulking figure of Frank’s father behind the grill. Frank Sr was expertly flipping burgers and hot dogs, along with blood sausages, severed fingers, and char grilled eyeballs. He was chatting with a smaller man, covered in white gauze.
Monsters were queuing beside the grill, and Greg watched as one naga drooled, his saliva hitting the ground with a tiny sizzle.
Maleva hurried by, her hair still waving like snakes, and handed him a drink before she was lost in the crowd again. He caught glimpses of her weaving beween her guests, smiling.
The others drifted away from him, and Greg found himself alone near the back of the Steins’ yard, leaning against a very white picket fence and trying to look unapproachable.
It didn’t work; people were always less frightened of him in the daylight.
A shaggy young man ran up to him, panting, and introduced himself as Flea. He was wearing a ragged Van Hellion t-shirt and faded cutoffs.
“Wow, another vampire!” Flea gushed. He grabbed Greg’s hands in his paws and pumped enthusiastically up and down.
“Awesome to meet ya! Man, do you guys always wear black? I mean, Drake used to, before Frank made him stop, but me and Gill, we think that’s only ‘cause Drake looked really good in black, and Frank didn’t like anyone else lookin’, and you look pretty good in it too, only I’m a married man so don’t worry.”
Amazingly, Flea managed it all in one breath. Greg felt dizzy, and not merely because of Flea’s strongly pungent, dog-like aroma. The young man was a force of nature.
“Black doesn’t show blood stains,” Greg said, sipping cautiously from the pink drink Maleva had pressed into his hand. Cold beads of perspiration formed on the side and dripped between his fingers.
“Oh,” said Flea, his face falling. He rallied himself.
“Is that the sorta outfit you wear on the job? ‘Cause Frank told me you’re a thief and stuff, that’s pretty cool, I bet you know all sorts of shady Underworld contacts and, like, mafiosos and assassins, do you guys have a secret handshake or anything?”
Greg snorted to himself. Only an inexperienced thief wore black. The night - despite what the flowery prose of certain authors led most to believe - was not black. The night was just dark. That’s why it was called the night. The colors didn’t disappear, they got less illuminated. In order to blend in with his surroundings, a real thief wore grey or brown, dark green or navy, stripes or spots. Special occasions might even require face painting.
“You watch a lot of . . . films, don’t you?” said Greg.
“Not really,” said Flea. “Hattie won’t let me. Says they give me too many ideas.”
“Hm,” Greg replied noncommittally, wondering, as Flea prattled on, what would be the appropriate amount of time to spend making polite conversation before he could leave.
“Sex on the beach?” Luce asked, walking up to stand next to him.
“Excuse me?” said Greg.
“Your drink,” Luce clarified, pointing to the nearly empty glass Greg was holding.
“No,” Greg said. “Blood and passion fruit, with wine spritzer.”
Luce made a face. “Honest men drink beer.” He held his bottle up in mock toast.
“Good thing I’m not an honest man,” said Greg.
A beautiful, dark-skinned woman swayed up to their group. She had the sort of body tailor-made for poetic metaphors. Her eyes were golden and thick-rimmed in khol. Gold bracelets jangled on her wrists. She held a wineglass loosely in her hand.
“Down boy,” she said in a smoky voice, touching Flea’s arm with her free hand.
“Hattie!” Flea exclaimed happily. He leaned up and kissed the woman on the mouth.
Greg was rather astonished when the woman, instead of slapping Flea in the face, merely smiled and tickled his furry chin with her long fingernails.
“This is my wife, Hatshepsut,” Flea said, placing a proprietary arm around her waist, and beaming. “Isn’t she a hottie? Sometimes I call her Hotshepsut.” He wiggled his hairy eyebrows.
His wife rolled her eyes. “Flea, my scruffy jewel of the Nile, don’t you have someone else to bother? And please, call me Hattie.”
“Call me anytime,” Flea leered, goosing Hattie’s rear.
“Darling,” said Hattie, and her voice was like a silk scarf wrapping around a throat. “How would you like to sleep in the sarcophagus tonight?”
“That’s not one of the fun games,” Flea said sadly.
“No,” Hattie agreed. “But I think I may have some four-ply gauze stashed in the car.” Her cat-like eyes glinted.
“That is one of the fun games,” Flea said, grabbing Hattie’s hand and dragging her away. Hattie dropped her wineglass; it hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled across the grass, spilling red wine. Hattie and Flea were both laughing.
Greg and Luce watched the couple until they rounded the corner of the house.
“Oh, to be young again,” Luce said. He took a swig from his bottle and wiped his hand across his mouth.
“I never liked being young,” Greg said.
“Yeah, I get the impression you were born old,” Luce said, smiling in a friendly way.
Greg ignored him.
“Mind if I ask how old you are?”
Greg took another sip from his drink and watched the party. Frank Sr was serving food. Two gargoyles argued over the last hamburger.
“Nine-hundred and twelve,” he said finally, and tried to keep the tiredness from his voice.
Luce whistled low. “Wow. You’ve been around the block a time or two.”
“Yes,” said Greg.
“What’d you think of the Dark Ages? I didn’t like them much myself.”
He looked over at Luce. “The Dark Ages? How old are you?”
Luce took another swig of beer. “Over a thousand, give or a take a decade or two.”
“Oh,” Greg said, in a very small voice. He took a sip from his drink to wet his suddenly dry throat, but he found his glass was empty.
“It’s all right, I don’t make a big deal over it. Sometimes being so old can be a burden, you know?”
Greg set his glass down on a nearby table with a thunk. “I have to go,” he said, excusing himself. “I’m sure there’s a dark corner I need to skulk in.”
This was why he hated parties, hated people. They always talked to him and ruined everything. And he never knew what to say; it was like a game everyone knew how to play except for him. He’d had nine hundred years to learn the rules and he didn’t think he’d be able to figure them out even if he had another nine hundred.
“Hey, wait,” Luce said, grabbing Greg’s arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything to upset you. I was just making conversation.”
“You’ll find I’m a terrible conversationalist,” Greg said, pulling his arm away. His hands felt cold. He shoved them in the pockets of his black jacket.
“That’s okay,” Luce said, laughing. “My mother tells me I have a knack for always putting a big, flaming foot in my mouth. So, no questions about your age - you realize that makes you a girl, right?”
Greg stopped himself from smiling, but it was a near thing. He thought Luce might have seen his lips twitch anyway, because he appeared heartened.
“I’m just trying to establish conversational topics,” Luce said. “You know, figure out what’s off limits. I don’t want to walk around my house on broken chimera eggs.”
“You’re right,” Greg replied, smiling thinly. His skin felt itchy and stretched tight. He didn’t think he could survive being with Luce in the same house for more than a day.
“I’m not really that sensitive about my age,” he said. “It’s just been a while since I strolled down memory lane.”
It was more like memory alley, dark and dirty, with shadowy figures dancing along crumbling brick walls, waiting to pounce. He didn’t like to visit because he was always afraid he’d get so lost he’d never be able to find his way out again.
“That’s the downside of living so long,” Luce said, as if reading his thoughts. “You get more time to make bad memories.”
“Tell me about your orphanage,” Greg said. He settled himself against the fence, using the shape of Luce’s body to block the bright autumn sun. He’d forgotten to reapply sunscreen before his flight to Monsterland, and he was worried his skin might blister. There was something wholly undignified about a vampire with a sunburn - it wasn’t exactly a dread-inspiring image.
“It’s not really my orphanage,” Luce said, ducking his head modestly. “I mean, I’m not in it alone. It’s a community effort thing. Your brother and Frank are helping me out a lot. I think they’re nearly as excited as I am.”
“It’s an inspired idea,” Greg said.
He was honestly impressed. He almost wished he’d thought of it himself.
In the cities, if he found a young half-breed runt trying to make ends meet, he tried to help wherever he could. Sometimes he stole shoes or clothes and left the items outside whatever run-down, deserted building the halfies were staying in.
It was never enough, but it was something.
He remembered once, years ago, he’d found a half-werewolf girl cowering alone near a dumpster. Her blouse was torn and there was blood on her face. A man’s body was lying on the ground in front of her, with his pants unzipped. His head was lying several feet away.
Greg had gotten one of his contacts to take the girl out of the city, to the home of a retired thief he was acquainted with. Harrison had worked with him on a few jobs. He was a trustworthy werewolf, and his wife was a halfie herself. The girl would be safe with them.
Then Greg had taken the decapitated body back to his apartment for a late night snack. No sense in wasting a meal.
“Thanks,” Luce said, breaking him from his reverie. “I really want to help these kids.”
“Why?”
“It’s not that complicated. My younger brother, he was always sort of wild. He got it in his head that love transcended everything, even monsterhood, and married a human girl. They had a kid, a little girl, and then they got themselves killed.
"My parents - especially my father - didn’t want to take Summer in, because they thought she was a freak. Eventually, they relented, and Summer came to live with them. She’s happy now. But I couldn’t stop thinking about all the other halfie kids nobody wanted. Kids who didn’t have grandparents willing to raise them.” Luce shrugged.
“How old is Summer now?” Greg asked.
“She’s eleven,” Luce said, smiling fondly at some memory. “She’s a peach. Bright, curious, and in to everything. Her experiment with tissue reanimation won first place in this year’s science fair. Frank’s dad helped her,” Luce admitted. “But I couldn’t ask for a cuter niece.”
“Sadly, it seems I am never to know the same joy,” Greg said, waving his hand to indicate his brother and Frank. They sat side by side at a picnic table on the patio, heads bent in whispered conversation. As they watched, Drake tucked a piece of hair behind Frank’s ear, and Frank leaned in and kissed him.
Greg fought back a blush, caught witnessing such an intimate moment.
“Oh I don’t know,” Luce said thoughtfully. “I’m still trying to get them to consider adoption.”
Greg coughed to cover a choked laugh. “I thought you wanted to help the orphans, not sentence them to life without parole.”
Luce chuckled. “Can you imagine Frank being all motherly? Wearing an apron, driving a minivan, toting the kids to school? Oh, man, Drake would unkill himself laughing.”
Greg shook his head, finding it harder and harder to remember why he couldn’t allow himself to smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know Frank well enough to pass any judgments. He might be a fine soccer-Monster.”
“Don’t let Frank hear you say that,” said Luce. “He’s sensitive enough about being a bottom.”
“I’ve never found being a bottom prevented me from controlling a sexual situation,” Greg said absently, still watching the way Drake and Frank so obviously adored one another.
Luce coughed and swallowed his beer hard. His throat worked, and he coughed again. “Ah, ha, right. Let me - uh, let me freshen your drink. Be right back.” He grabbed the glass from Greg’s hands and took off like a bat out of - well, very fast. He made a beeline across the yard, to where one of the picnic tables had been setup as a makeshift bar, and got in line behind a harpy. The harpy was already swaying on her claws.
As he watched Luce patiently help the harpy up from the ground, Greg noticed a large man approaching him from the corner of his eye. He turned to get a better look.
The man was huge, bigger than Luce; he stood nearly a head taller than Greg. His body rippled with corded muscle, and his skin was very faintly blue-green, glistening in the afternoon sun.
Greg went instantly alert, preparing himself for a fight in case the man tried to attack.
“Good day to you,” said the shiny man. “A splendid fête, is it not?”
Greg relaxed his shoulders. “Sorry?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gilliweed B. Lagoon, but my friends know me as Gill. It is a singular pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Gill executed a neat little bow.
“You’re one of my brother’s friends,” Greg said. “They mentioned you.”
Gill beamed at him. “How nice of them to remember me to you! They are endlessly more considerate than they lead people to believe. So, what is your impression of the gathering? Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes,” Greg replied, very surprised to admit it.
“Wonderful!” Gill said. “May I assume, since you have agreed to stay for the festivities, that Frank and Drake managed to persuade you to their cause?”
Greg nodded briefly. “Are you in on it too?” he asked.
“Yes,” Gill said. “Though I find I have little spare time to dedicate to the cause. My wife has recently spawned, so it is quite chaotic at the home-pond. But I try to do what I can.”
Greg nodded. “Good to hear. They’ve invested in a wonderful thing.”
Gill blinked, and looked a little taken aback. “Why, yes. Yes, they have. And do let me extend my thanks to you for your help.”
“No problem,” he said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. It wasn’t like he had a job or a family to go back to - his thoughts stopped dead.
“Shit!” he swore, and took off running, ignoring Gill’s startled exclamation.
If his damn cat hadn’t clawed up half the house by now, he only had to give her a few more hours. Shub was notoriously quick-clawed.
He was halfway over the fence, ready to leap into the air, when a heavy weight hit him from behind and tumbled him over. He hit the ground face-first and skidded. The weight on top of him rolled off.
Greg got up, wiped his face, and spat out a glob of dirt. He was very angry.
Luce had picked himself up as well, and was dusting off his trousers. He looked nearly as angry as Greg felt.
“Drake warned me you might try to run,” Luce said ominously. He stalked forward, invading Greg’s personal space.
“He what?!” said Greg. His voice sounded like it was getting bad reception; it had started to hiss and crackle.
Luce backed off. “You said you’d help us. Why are you running away?” His golden eyes were angry and accusing.
Greg ground his fangs together, trying to get his teeth to shrink back to normal. They doubled in size whenever he was pissed off, and they made it hard to talk.
“I wasn’t leaving,” he finally said, slowly and distinctly. “I was rushing home to make sure my cat hadn’t shredded every piece of furniture or article of clothing I own.”
“Your . . . cat?” Luce said hesitantly.
“Yes.”
“Oh,” Luce said. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“Of course you didn’t know I had a cat,” Greg snapped. “We just met a few hours ago!”
“Right, yeah,” Luce said, with the same sort of evasive look Frank had worn earlier. “You can bring the cat to my place. It’s fine.”
“Shub is a very difficult animal,” Greg replied.
Luce muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Pets often resemble their owners,” and Greg narrowed his eyes.
“It’ll be fine,” Luce said hurriedly. “Just bring him. If we’re going to knuckle down for the orphanage stuff, you’ll need to stick around here. You can’t focus on your job if you’re worried about your pet, right? So bring him here.”
“Her,” said Greg.
“Her, whatever,” Luce said through gritted teeth. It sounded like his patience was wearing as thin as an old pair of underwear.
Greg felt much better.
“She really is a difficult animal,” Greg repeated. “And she likes to chase the birds in my yard, so she might think a phoenix is a sort of decadent treat.”
Luce’s sigh huffed out in a laugh. “I think I can take one measly cat.”
“We’ll see,” said Greg.
----
Part Two
If this sounds like your cup of blood tea, then read on, you crazy diamonds.
(PS - The entire thing is rough and only marginally edited, so if you see anything that concerns you, do let me know, and I will endeavor to correct my many deficiencies.)
Greg the Vampire, Or, The Saddest Little Emo Vampire and How He Found Big Gay Love and Happiness Forever, Though Not Without Considerable Angst and Bad Punning Along the Way
Gregori Nicolaie Wilbur Dracula was bending down to feed his kitten Shub-Niggurath when the phone rang.
Greg frowned.
He straightened and picked up the receiver from the wall above the kitchen counter. Shub mewled and wove around his feet, unhappy at the interruption in her feeding schedule.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hello, brother,” answered a cool voice.
Greg paused and tried to remember if he had joined any cults recently. Last Saturday night was still hazy, but he didn’t have any new tattoos, bound acolytes in his bed, or membership cards.
“I’m sorry,” Greg said. “You must have the wrong number.”
“I do not think so,” said the voice. “This is Drake.”
Greg gripped the phone a little more tightly to keep his hands from trembling. “Drake? I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“I am sure you know me by reputation,” came the dryly-amused reply. “You have not been gone so long as to forget the existence of your younger brother.” It wasn’t a question.
Greg leaned against the kitchen counter on suddenly weak legs. “No,” he said.
“I am calling because I have a favor to ask of you,” Drake said.
“I haven’t talked to you in fifty years,” Greg said. He couldn’t keep the harshness from his voice.
“Nevertheless,” Drake said. “I need your help.”
“Why could you possibly need my help?” Greg asked. “All Father thinks I’m good for is lounging indolently in the Normal’s world, taking up space.”
“That is why I need your help,” Drake said. “It is Father. I need you to come to Monsterland as soon as possible. Father is dying.”
Greg had dropped the phone, flung the window open, and turned into a bat before Drake finished the last syllable.
In his haste, Greg knocked over the bag of kitten chow, spilling it across the floor. Shub began munching away happily on the scattered mess. She paused and, with feline calculation, regarded the window her master had leapt through; then she sauntered into the living room to claw the couch in anticipation of Greg’s return.
If she was lucky, he’d left a favorite pair of trousers out she could scratch up as well.
----
It didn’t take Greg long to obtain directions to Count Dracula’s manor. The inhabitants of Monstertown were remarkably well informed when it came to keeping track of the local vampires. A quick visit to the manor, however, proved unsuccessful because no one appeared to be home.
Greg shut his eyes briefly, bringing his balled up fist to his forehead and pressing it there while he collected his thoughts.
Stupid, stupid, he thought. I should have asked Drake where he was, I should have - he stopped himself.
He could find Drake. Just like in the old country, when he was still young and singing with blood, when he’d run with the wolves and let himself howl into night air sharp with the smell of gypsy campfires and cloying spices. He remembered catching a girl one night, her braids tangling in his teeth. He had always thought it was rude for victims to scream while his mouth was full. Weren’t they taught manners?
The hunt had been intense and satisfying in those dark times. It certainly hadn’t been plastic bags delivered at precisely eight o’clock in the morning to his front stoop every day.
Nowadays people noticed bodies with their throats torn out. Life wasn't so harsh that a disappearance in a dark forest went unremarked. The humans all had names and identities and numbers attached to them now; if they went missing, people questioned it.
And so Greg had been forced to change with the times. A sterile packet of blood every morning.
He made a face and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. There - a scent he faintly remembered. It was tangled with another scent, but it was still unmistakably Drake.
He opened his eyes, irises gone black, and observed the faint red trail he could see in the air above the sidewalk. It led west.
----
Greg found the house within the hour. It was two stories tall and painted a cheerful yellow. There were garden gnomes.
He avoided using the brass door-knocker shaped like a smiling fairy and settled for knocking, wondering what other sorts of horrors awaited him beyond the threshold.
A smiling, attractive young man with dark hair answered the door. He was shorter than Greg by several inches, and he had the mildly defensive air of a man who was painfully aware that he was shorter than most people and would they like to make something of it?
“That was fast,” the young man said. “Mom,” he called over his shoulder, smiling and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, “Dracula’s other kid is here.”
A short, thin woman with Medusa-like dark hair burst through what Greg assumed was the kitchen door, from the smells of cinnamon and baking that suddenly assailed his nose. The woman reminded Greg of a stalk of broccoli, if that stalk of broccoli had gone to Woodstock and decided to never color-coordinate its wardrobe again, ever.
“Oh, goodness, come in, come in!” she said, her hands flying to untie her red apron and smooth down the front of her teal and peach tye-dyed skirt. “We didn’t expect you so soon! Drake only just called.”
She paused and regarded him questioningly, adjusting a bright yellow headband that was slowly losing the battle against her curls. “Drake only just called,” she repeated.
“I flew,” Greg said.
“And boy, are your wings tired,” the dark-haired man quipped. Greg and the woman both turned to regard him. He grinned sheepishly. “Uh, Mom, would you mind telling Drake his brother is here? We’ll wait in the living room.”
“Oh! Of course, honey, I think he’s out back with the other guests.” She hurried away.
“That’s my mom, Maleva,” said the boy. “She gets like that whenever we have a barbeque. I’m Frank,” he said, shaking Greg’s hand quickly. “Nice to meet ya. C’mon, follow me. We’ll wait for Drake. Last time I saw him, he was hovering over my dad’s shoulder while he cooked and stealing blood sausages off the grill when he thought no one was looking.”
Greg followed Frank into the living room, trying to calm the bats in his stomach.
“Take a seat,” Frank said, gesturing toward an overstuffed loveseat. “Drake’ll be here any second. He’s been driving me crazy ever since he called you. I thought he was going to worry himself to undeath again.”
Greg took a seat.
“Not really a talkative guy, are you?” Frank pressed on. “Wish you could teach Drake that trick. He tends to babble. I tell him all the time, silence is golden, you know? But he’ll just babble all day long if I let him. Babbles like a brook, he does, haha. Babbles, much as I am doing now.”
Greg took pity on him. “My social skills are regrettably rusty. It has been some time since I have been invited to a home for a party.” This was true: technically, blood orgies didn’t count as parties. At least, he was fairly sure they didn’t.
“Right, you must be more the broody, Prince-of-Darkness type of vampire.”
“Taunting my brother already, I see,” Drake said, sweeping into the room.
“Oh, hey,” Frank said. “You didn’t tell me your brother was hot,” he said slyly, looking up at Drake with his lips quirked in a teasing smile.
“You did not tell me you had a death wish,” Drake replied, walking over to join them. He bent down and gave Frank a very thorough kiss in greeting.
Greg blinked.
“Ah, I see we have just given you a minor heart attack, brother,” Drake said. “I apologize if it offends your sensibilities. I should perhaps have warned you about my boyfriend beforehand.” His stare was challenging.
“I have no interest in whatever unfortunate creature you choose to bestow your affections upon, Drake,” Greg said.
Drake relaxed almost imperceptibly. “That is good.”
Greg felt more was required of him. “How long have you been partners?”
“Since high school,” Drake replied, sharing a look with Frank. Greg sensed a story there, but did not think it his place to ask. “That means it will be seven years this December.”
“I see,” he simply said.
One corner of Drake’s mouth tilted up. “Frank,” Drake said, flicking his glance sideways, “in case you were wondering, my brother has just very wholeheartedly congratulated us on our relationship and wishes us a warm, bright future.”
“He has?” Frank asked bemusedly.
“It may take you a while to understand the subtleties of Greg’s expressions,” Drake said wryly. “Several hundred years, in fact.”
Frank laughed. “Oh man, I can’t believe you invited the poor guy here. You know my mom is gonna smother him right away, don’t you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Drake said, mussing Frank’s hair in a fond way.
Greg cleared his throat to remind them he was still in the room. He also tried to convey his sense of impatience and his annoyance at being talked about as though he weren’t there. But it was hard to get all that into a cough.
“So, what do you do for a living?” asked Frank. Drake was seated next to him; he crossed his leg over his knee casually and leaned back in the couch.
“I liberate property from unworthy owners,” Greg said. “Then I transfer the property in question to the location and owners it rightfully belongs.”
“Greg steals things and fences them,” Drake translated. “He is what is more commonly known as a cat burglar.”
“Don’t you mean a bat burg -” Frank began.
“If you finish that sentence, I will hurt you,” Drake said calmly, placing a hand on Frank’s knee.
Frank sighed. “All right, all right. You’d think after all these years with me you could take a joke,” he said.
“After all these years I have become immune to them,” Drake said. “Not even a joke sledge-hammer could put a dent in the terrible pun armor you have provided me.”
“So,” Frank said, directing his attention back to Greg. “You’re disreputable. I can dig that.” He grinned and winked. Greg watched Drake’s fingers tighten on Frank’s thigh; his brother’s smile was brittle when he spoke.
“In a few moments the only thing you should be worried about digging is your grave, Franklin,” Drake said, baring his teeth in a less than pleased way.
Greg was surprised when Frank only laughed and leaned against Drake’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. “Man, it is so easy to wind you up, you possessive old bat.”
Greg allowed the barest smile at the expression on Drake’s face. His younger brother appeared to have finally met his match. If it made him feel a little sorry for himself, he didn’t let it show.
“Burgling stuff must be fun,” Frank mused. “I bet it’s a lot easier with that whole one-with-the-darkness thing you vampires have.”
Greg nodded. “It does occasionally make things easier. More than once I have been thankful that I can turn into a fine red mist with just a thought. Getaways are quite simple as long as no one turns on a fan.”
Frank’s eyes widened and he leaned forward. “You can turn into a mist? Drake can’t do that!”
“He’s a few hundred years younger. He will be able to do it in time.”
Frank swiveled to look at Drake. “What other cool things can’t you do?” he teased. “Can your dad do the mist-thing?”
“Yes,” Drake said. “Among many other things.”
Greg sat a little straighter in his seat. “Drake, to the purpose of my visit. You said you needed me to be here for Father.”
The smile died on Drake’s lips. “Yes, I did,” he replied solemnly.
“How long - “ Greg stopped and started again. “How long has he been dying?”
Drake’s eyebrows rose. “Dying? Whoever told you Father was dying?”
“I - you,” Greg said, brows furrowing. “That’s why I dropped everything and raced across the skies to come here.”
“I said Father was dying? Oh no, I cannot imagine I would say that. You must have heard wrong. I said Father is trying, Greg. You know how difficult he can be.”
Greg’s jaw dropped, and he wrenched his mouth closed with an audible click of teeth.
“What?”
“Trying, yes, very,” Drake said. Frank nodded sympathetically and patted his partner on the shoulder. “He simply refuses to help us with our latest endeavor.” Drake paused. “And that is of course why I called for your help, brother.”
Greg stood in one swift motion, his hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically. He watched alarm fill the faces of the other two men as they echoed his movement and rose from the couch opposite him.
Greg’s hands balled into fists at his side and very slowly he relaxed his fingers; he felt the stinging pain of half-moon crescents carved into his palm.
“Drake,” he said, once he had got himself under control, “I think I will be leaving.”
“You cannot go,” Drake said, a little desperately. He stepped closer and put a restraining hand on Greg’s arm. “Father will be here in a few minutes, and so will -”
“I fail to see how that would entice me to stay,” Greg said, looking pointedly at Drake’s hand until Drake released his arm.
“But you haven’t even listened to why we need your help!” Frank exclaimed.
Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever it is you want, it can’t be good. Drake tricked me into coming here. I don’t want to be party to anything strange or illicit.”
“Why would you care if it was illicit? You steal stuff! That’s why we need you,” Frank said.
“Frank,” Drake said warningly.
Despite himself, Greg was intrigued. “You need something stolen?”
“Not exactly,” Drake said. “Please, sit down.”
Reluctantly, Greg took his seat again and ran a hand over his buzz-cropped hair. He kept it short for his work: the less hair on his head, the less potential there was for any of it to be left behind at the scene of one of his repossessions.
He noticed Frank staring at him as Drake took a seat. “What?” he asked, more sharply than he’d intended.
“Nothing,” Frank said quickly. “It’s just . . . I just realized you look scarier than Drake. I didn’t think that was even possible. Nice scar, by the way.”
Greg rubbed a hand along his jaw self-consciously. He'd gotten the scar from a magically cursed blade wielded by a golem who really hadn't wanted him to steal a mystical grimoire bound in human tongues.
The scar annoyed him because it set him apart from other vampires. Vampires were supposed to be darkly seductive with flawless complexions; they were certainly not supposed to be hollow-cheeked men with scars and rough stubble because they kept forgetting to get up early enough to shave.
His severely cut dark hair, the small scar along his jaw, and his gaunt features made him look more like a recently released convict than a creature of lust and legend. He was not nearly as suave looking as his father or his perfectly coiffed younger brother.
“Thank you,” he said shortly. Frank shrugged.
"We need your help in dealing with the other end of your business," Drake said, placing his hand on Frank's thigh again. It seemed habit, as though he still could not believe the man next to him would allow it, and he needed the physical touch to reassure himself.
“What do you need fenced?” Greg asked, mood soured.
“A few gems and ancient artifacts,” Drake said. “They are quite old and valuable and would cause more than a few raised eyebrows if they were to suddenly appear on the market. We need them sold very discreetly.”
“I see,” Greg said. “They’ve been stolen from a high profile family?”
“Ah, no,” Drake said, looking nervous. “Actually, the phoenix family they belong to -“
“You’re dealing with phoenixes now?” Greg asked with a growl, flexing his fingers.
“Huh, your eyes go red quicker than Drake,” Frank said.
“Fascinating,” Greg said, hissing the word. Drake looked at Frank apprehensively.
“Perhaps you should leave, Frank. I will talk to my brother alone.”
“Like hell you will.” Frank crossed his arms over his chest, his expression mutinous. “Your brother is scary, but two of us could take him.”
Greg shifted in the chair, letting his fangs lengthen.
“Maybe,” Frank amended. “But the point is, I’m not going. What have you got against phoenixes anyway?” Frank asked, addressing Greg. “They’re monsters just like us.”
Greg allowed his lip to curl slightly. “They are nothing like us, just as you are nothing like us. You think Drake is a vampire? No, you appear to have collared and defanged him. My father has mellowed with his age. If you had been there at the beginning -“ Greg stopped, curled his fingers again, felt them press into his thighs like blunt claws.
“If you had been there at the beginning of the vampire, you would not want to stand in the same room with one,” Greg continued with a scowl.
He felt the familiar pain, his dead heart trying to twitch. “It is impossible to make you understand - for all that you’re the son of a monster, you do not know what real monsters are.”
Frank opened his mouth to interrupt, but Drake put a restraining hand on his arm. His eyes were trained on Greg’s face, searching and a little frightened.
“Phoenixes are life and rebirth,” Greg said. “And they cannot accept or even understand a vampire. Vampires are death and -“
“Rebirth,” said a loud voice.
Three pairs of eyes swung to the doorway where a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark auburn hair stood, his hands in his pockets and a pleasant expression on his face.
“At least, the way I figure it,” he said. “I mean, I die once a month on a fiery pyre and wake up sooty but alive the next morning. You died once and woke up the next morning underneath six feet of dirt, right? Rebirth. And,” he said, smiling, “A friendly gypsy can always resurrect you in the event of an unexpected staking.”
Greg wasn’t impressed. He’d heard pretty speeches before. It was usually right before a lover betrayed him and an angry mob arrived. But he tried not to dwell in bitterness.
“Ah, allow me to introduce my associate,” Drake said quickly, interrupting the tense silence that had settled over the room. “Lucian Fenix.”
“Luce, please,” the man said, voice deep and rumbling. He flashed them a brilliant smile, and they stood to greet him as he stepped further inside. The walls of the room brightened with his presence, the temperature climbing noticeable degrees.
Reluctantly, Greg was forced to admit Luce was an impressively large man with impressively large shoulders and impressively handsome, rugged features. Really, the only way to describe him was . . . what was the word?
“It’s a real pleasure to be here, thanks again for inviting me,” Luce said, slapping Frank’s shoulder. “Your mom’s the best cook.”
Luce turned to Greg.
“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,” he said, grabbing Greg’s pale hand with both of his much larger hands and shaking it forcefully up and down.
“I can’t imagine what,” Greg said, unable to keep the sneer from his voice. Luce’s hands were scorchingly warm, and he withdrew his hand as quickly as etiquette allowed.
Luce regarded him silently for a moment, and Greg resisted the urge to squirm. He came from a grand legacy of ancient evil, after all. He didn’t have to cower before a phoenix. Even if phoenixes were incarnations of the powers of light and could theoretically incinerate him.
Luce’s brown eyes were lit with flecks of gold and the air around him sizzled faintly. Greg wondered with vague unease if he was about to experience a fiery pyre firsthand.
Abruptly, Luce’s eyes cooled. “Only that you’re good at what you do,” he said.
“Yes,” Greg agreed with the same coolness.
“Do let us sit down,” Drake said weakly.
Greg eyed Luce suspiciously as the big man settled onto the loveseat next to him but did as Drake bid. He was now intensely curious to discover the reason behind all this.
“Well,” Luce said, stretching out his long legs. “If you can do this -“
“There is no question of if,” Greg said, spine stiffening. “Only will.”
“Of course,” Luce said with easy acceptance, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “It would be a great help if you would do us this favor. I need the capital for my investment. And naturally, there is no question of payment, you can take whatever your standard cut is.”
“Twenty percent,” Greg said viciously, wanting to eat into the profit for whatever Luce needed.
“I’d like to use the money to open an orphanage,” Luce said.
Well, Greg thought waspishly, it would be orphans.
“Or I could take ten percent,” he said, gritting his teeth.
Luce smiled at him, and this time it reached his eyes. “That’s generous of you, since Drake led me to believe you usually took fifteen.”
“My stocks are doing well at the moment,” Greg said, turning away.
“Are you gonna help us, then?” Frank asked, leaning forward.
Greg let the question hang in the air longer than necessary, then: “Yes.”
“Excellent!” Luce said, clapping him on the back. “Thanks for getting on board.”
Greg grunted, unwilling to speak and let Luce know just how much that friendly blow had winded him.
“We’re gonna open up an orphanage for monster kids,” Frank said, his face flushed and excited. “For magical kids, mythological kids, half-breeds, all of ‘em - there are more and more of these kids who need help, and no one wants to take care of them.”
“Some of the purists think the half-breed children ought to be exterminated, like they’re some sort of disgrace,” Luce said. His voice flickered white-hot and dangerous. “Obviously, we don’t agree.”
Greg found himself nodding along. “It’s a good idea. I’ve seen what happens to some of them in the city. In the normal world they run alone or in rogue packs because there isn’t a place for them here.” He refrained from mentioning that they usually met sticky ends as well, but the unspoken words still hung heavy in the air.
“Exactly,” Drake said. His shoulders sagged in relief. “We were afraid you would not agree.”
Greg stiffened. If the temperature had risen when Luce entered the room, now it dropped enough to make everyone but Greg shiver. “And why is that?” he bit out.
Drake faltered. “I - that is - well, you are from the Old World, more so than I ever was. Most of the purists are powerful older monsters or beings, fond of tradition - like Father. He does not think we should help. He thinks they should be left to their own devices. If they survive, then they survive.”
“Drake,” Greg said very deliberately. Luce looked at him sharply and tensed. “If you ever compare me to Father again within my hearing, I will kill you.”
Everyone was quiet for several minutes while the temperature slowly returned to normal. When Drake spoke, his eyes were clouded. “I apologize. Thank you again for your help.”
Greg nodded stiffly and stood up. “Very well. You can contact me when you’re ready.”
“We’re ready now,” Frank said, eyeing him with a little more fear. Greg was so very tired of that look. “We’d like it if we could meet again tomorrow and discuss things.”
Greg sighed mentally. “All right. I’ll look into getting a hotel nearby.”
“You will of course stay with us,” Drake said. His tone strove for bored and reminded Greg achingly of their father but he could see the way Drake’s fingers picked at the arm of the couch. Good, the little fanger was nervous.
“I cannot stay at the Manor with -“
“We do not live at the Manor. Frank and I have long needed our privacy. We have a small flat across town, near where we hope to build the orphanage.”
Greg winced. He had no interest in sharing a love nest with Drake and Frank. He would likely kill them in their sleep after enduring less than a day of domestic tranquility.
“Or you could always stay with me,” Luce offered. The curve of his lips suggested he was following the pattern of Greg’s thoughts.
“I couldn’t possibly,” Greg said.
“I will not hear of you paying for a hotel, brother. Not when either of us could lodge you at our home.”
“Nevertheless, it would be a terrible imposition and -“
“I don’t mind,” Luce said. “Might be nice to have company and not rattle around the place by myself.”
Greg felt that there might be some sort of supernatural forces at work because he had rapidly lost his grip on the situation. Luce was looking at him expectantly and he could think of no other way to politely refuse his brother’s request.
“If it’s only for a few days,” he found himself agreeing. “I can’t put you out for longer than that.”
From the corner of his eye he saw Frank and Drake share a look. “Oh, I am sure it would not require more than a few days to get everything properly sold and settled,” Drake said.
“Yeah, just a few days,” Frank echoed. Greg didn’t like the secretive smile on his face. “In the meantime, you can stay and enjoy the barbeque. One more body won’t make any difference, my Mom made enough food to feed a ghoul army. Except she isn’t serving body parts,” he added quickly.
Greg stifled a sigh. Did he really have anywhere else to be? “I’d be delighted,” he said.
“Right this way!” Frank beamed and grabbed Drake’s hand as he bounced to his feet. Drake rose more slowly, with an indulgent smile for Frank.
“You can meet the rest of the gang,” Frank said happily. “Flea and Gill, you’ll like them, I know because - “
“Frank,” Drake said, squeezing Frank’s hand.
“Oh, right,” Frank said, with a nervous laugh. “Um, I mean, I’m pretty sure you’ll like them. Yeah.”
Greg’s eyes narrowed.
“Sounds good,” Luce said, stepping in smoothly. “I’d love to meet your friends.”
----
Greg did like their friends, and this didn’t please him. He wasn’t used to enjoying the company of others.
The backyard was crowded with all manner of monsters. He saw ghouls milling through the crowd, the grass withering under their feet. An annoyed looking garden nymph followed them, coaxing the grass back to life.
Over by the picnic tables, (decorated with red and white checked tablecloths, Greg noted with an internal wince) a sable furred yeti was deep in conversation with a young woman half submerged in a water tank. Her laughter sounded like rain on water. Scattered next to her on the table were the remains of half a dozen fish bones.
He spotted the hulking figure of Frank’s father behind the grill. Frank Sr was expertly flipping burgers and hot dogs, along with blood sausages, severed fingers, and char grilled eyeballs. He was chatting with a smaller man, covered in white gauze.
Monsters were queuing beside the grill, and Greg watched as one naga drooled, his saliva hitting the ground with a tiny sizzle.
Maleva hurried by, her hair still waving like snakes, and handed him a drink before she was lost in the crowd again. He caught glimpses of her weaving beween her guests, smiling.
The others drifted away from him, and Greg found himself alone near the back of the Steins’ yard, leaning against a very white picket fence and trying to look unapproachable.
It didn’t work; people were always less frightened of him in the daylight.
A shaggy young man ran up to him, panting, and introduced himself as Flea. He was wearing a ragged Van Hellion t-shirt and faded cutoffs.
“Wow, another vampire!” Flea gushed. He grabbed Greg’s hands in his paws and pumped enthusiastically up and down.
“Awesome to meet ya! Man, do you guys always wear black? I mean, Drake used to, before Frank made him stop, but me and Gill, we think that’s only ‘cause Drake looked really good in black, and Frank didn’t like anyone else lookin’, and you look pretty good in it too, only I’m a married man so don’t worry.”
Amazingly, Flea managed it all in one breath. Greg felt dizzy, and not merely because of Flea’s strongly pungent, dog-like aroma. The young man was a force of nature.
“Black doesn’t show blood stains,” Greg said, sipping cautiously from the pink drink Maleva had pressed into his hand. Cold beads of perspiration formed on the side and dripped between his fingers.
“Oh,” said Flea, his face falling. He rallied himself.
“Is that the sorta outfit you wear on the job? ‘Cause Frank told me you’re a thief and stuff, that’s pretty cool, I bet you know all sorts of shady Underworld contacts and, like, mafiosos and assassins, do you guys have a secret handshake or anything?”
Greg snorted to himself. Only an inexperienced thief wore black. The night - despite what the flowery prose of certain authors led most to believe - was not black. The night was just dark. That’s why it was called the night. The colors didn’t disappear, they got less illuminated. In order to blend in with his surroundings, a real thief wore grey or brown, dark green or navy, stripes or spots. Special occasions might even require face painting.
“You watch a lot of . . . films, don’t you?” said Greg.
“Not really,” said Flea. “Hattie won’t let me. Says they give me too many ideas.”
“Hm,” Greg replied noncommittally, wondering, as Flea prattled on, what would be the appropriate amount of time to spend making polite conversation before he could leave.
“Sex on the beach?” Luce asked, walking up to stand next to him.
“Excuse me?” said Greg.
“Your drink,” Luce clarified, pointing to the nearly empty glass Greg was holding.
“No,” Greg said. “Blood and passion fruit, with wine spritzer.”
Luce made a face. “Honest men drink beer.” He held his bottle up in mock toast.
“Good thing I’m not an honest man,” said Greg.
A beautiful, dark-skinned woman swayed up to their group. She had the sort of body tailor-made for poetic metaphors. Her eyes were golden and thick-rimmed in khol. Gold bracelets jangled on her wrists. She held a wineglass loosely in her hand.
“Down boy,” she said in a smoky voice, touching Flea’s arm with her free hand.
“Hattie!” Flea exclaimed happily. He leaned up and kissed the woman on the mouth.
Greg was rather astonished when the woman, instead of slapping Flea in the face, merely smiled and tickled his furry chin with her long fingernails.
“This is my wife, Hatshepsut,” Flea said, placing a proprietary arm around her waist, and beaming. “Isn’t she a hottie? Sometimes I call her Hotshepsut.” He wiggled his hairy eyebrows.
His wife rolled her eyes. “Flea, my scruffy jewel of the Nile, don’t you have someone else to bother? And please, call me Hattie.”
“Call me anytime,” Flea leered, goosing Hattie’s rear.
“Darling,” said Hattie, and her voice was like a silk scarf wrapping around a throat. “How would you like to sleep in the sarcophagus tonight?”
“That’s not one of the fun games,” Flea said sadly.
“No,” Hattie agreed. “But I think I may have some four-ply gauze stashed in the car.” Her cat-like eyes glinted.
“That is one of the fun games,” Flea said, grabbing Hattie’s hand and dragging her away. Hattie dropped her wineglass; it hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled across the grass, spilling red wine. Hattie and Flea were both laughing.
Greg and Luce watched the couple until they rounded the corner of the house.
“Oh, to be young again,” Luce said. He took a swig from his bottle and wiped his hand across his mouth.
“I never liked being young,” Greg said.
“Yeah, I get the impression you were born old,” Luce said, smiling in a friendly way.
Greg ignored him.
“Mind if I ask how old you are?”
Greg took another sip from his drink and watched the party. Frank Sr was serving food. Two gargoyles argued over the last hamburger.
“Nine-hundred and twelve,” he said finally, and tried to keep the tiredness from his voice.
Luce whistled low. “Wow. You’ve been around the block a time or two.”
“Yes,” said Greg.
“What’d you think of the Dark Ages? I didn’t like them much myself.”
He looked over at Luce. “The Dark Ages? How old are you?”
Luce took another swig of beer. “Over a thousand, give or a take a decade or two.”
“Oh,” Greg said, in a very small voice. He took a sip from his drink to wet his suddenly dry throat, but he found his glass was empty.
“It’s all right, I don’t make a big deal over it. Sometimes being so old can be a burden, you know?”
Greg set his glass down on a nearby table with a thunk. “I have to go,” he said, excusing himself. “I’m sure there’s a dark corner I need to skulk in.”
This was why he hated parties, hated people. They always talked to him and ruined everything. And he never knew what to say; it was like a game everyone knew how to play except for him. He’d had nine hundred years to learn the rules and he didn’t think he’d be able to figure them out even if he had another nine hundred.
“Hey, wait,” Luce said, grabbing Greg’s arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything to upset you. I was just making conversation.”
“You’ll find I’m a terrible conversationalist,” Greg said, pulling his arm away. His hands felt cold. He shoved them in the pockets of his black jacket.
“That’s okay,” Luce said, laughing. “My mother tells me I have a knack for always putting a big, flaming foot in my mouth. So, no questions about your age - you realize that makes you a girl, right?”
Greg stopped himself from smiling, but it was a near thing. He thought Luce might have seen his lips twitch anyway, because he appeared heartened.
“I’m just trying to establish conversational topics,” Luce said. “You know, figure out what’s off limits. I don’t want to walk around my house on broken chimera eggs.”
“You’re right,” Greg replied, smiling thinly. His skin felt itchy and stretched tight. He didn’t think he could survive being with Luce in the same house for more than a day.
“I’m not really that sensitive about my age,” he said. “It’s just been a while since I strolled down memory lane.”
It was more like memory alley, dark and dirty, with shadowy figures dancing along crumbling brick walls, waiting to pounce. He didn’t like to visit because he was always afraid he’d get so lost he’d never be able to find his way out again.
“That’s the downside of living so long,” Luce said, as if reading his thoughts. “You get more time to make bad memories.”
“Tell me about your orphanage,” Greg said. He settled himself against the fence, using the shape of Luce’s body to block the bright autumn sun. He’d forgotten to reapply sunscreen before his flight to Monsterland, and he was worried his skin might blister. There was something wholly undignified about a vampire with a sunburn - it wasn’t exactly a dread-inspiring image.
“It’s not really my orphanage,” Luce said, ducking his head modestly. “I mean, I’m not in it alone. It’s a community effort thing. Your brother and Frank are helping me out a lot. I think they’re nearly as excited as I am.”
“It’s an inspired idea,” Greg said.
He was honestly impressed. He almost wished he’d thought of it himself.
In the cities, if he found a young half-breed runt trying to make ends meet, he tried to help wherever he could. Sometimes he stole shoes or clothes and left the items outside whatever run-down, deserted building the halfies were staying in.
It was never enough, but it was something.
He remembered once, years ago, he’d found a half-werewolf girl cowering alone near a dumpster. Her blouse was torn and there was blood on her face. A man’s body was lying on the ground in front of her, with his pants unzipped. His head was lying several feet away.
Greg had gotten one of his contacts to take the girl out of the city, to the home of a retired thief he was acquainted with. Harrison had worked with him on a few jobs. He was a trustworthy werewolf, and his wife was a halfie herself. The girl would be safe with them.
Then Greg had taken the decapitated body back to his apartment for a late night snack. No sense in wasting a meal.
“Thanks,” Luce said, breaking him from his reverie. “I really want to help these kids.”
“Why?”
“It’s not that complicated. My younger brother, he was always sort of wild. He got it in his head that love transcended everything, even monsterhood, and married a human girl. They had a kid, a little girl, and then they got themselves killed.
"My parents - especially my father - didn’t want to take Summer in, because they thought she was a freak. Eventually, they relented, and Summer came to live with them. She’s happy now. But I couldn’t stop thinking about all the other halfie kids nobody wanted. Kids who didn’t have grandparents willing to raise them.” Luce shrugged.
“How old is Summer now?” Greg asked.
“She’s eleven,” Luce said, smiling fondly at some memory. “She’s a peach. Bright, curious, and in to everything. Her experiment with tissue reanimation won first place in this year’s science fair. Frank’s dad helped her,” Luce admitted. “But I couldn’t ask for a cuter niece.”
“Sadly, it seems I am never to know the same joy,” Greg said, waving his hand to indicate his brother and Frank. They sat side by side at a picnic table on the patio, heads bent in whispered conversation. As they watched, Drake tucked a piece of hair behind Frank’s ear, and Frank leaned in and kissed him.
Greg fought back a blush, caught witnessing such an intimate moment.
“Oh I don’t know,” Luce said thoughtfully. “I’m still trying to get them to consider adoption.”
Greg coughed to cover a choked laugh. “I thought you wanted to help the orphans, not sentence them to life without parole.”
Luce chuckled. “Can you imagine Frank being all motherly? Wearing an apron, driving a minivan, toting the kids to school? Oh, man, Drake would unkill himself laughing.”
Greg shook his head, finding it harder and harder to remember why he couldn’t allow himself to smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know Frank well enough to pass any judgments. He might be a fine soccer-Monster.”
“Don’t let Frank hear you say that,” said Luce. “He’s sensitive enough about being a bottom.”
“I’ve never found being a bottom prevented me from controlling a sexual situation,” Greg said absently, still watching the way Drake and Frank so obviously adored one another.
Luce coughed and swallowed his beer hard. His throat worked, and he coughed again. “Ah, ha, right. Let me - uh, let me freshen your drink. Be right back.” He grabbed the glass from Greg’s hands and took off like a bat out of - well, very fast. He made a beeline across the yard, to where one of the picnic tables had been setup as a makeshift bar, and got in line behind a harpy. The harpy was already swaying on her claws.
As he watched Luce patiently help the harpy up from the ground, Greg noticed a large man approaching him from the corner of his eye. He turned to get a better look.
The man was huge, bigger than Luce; he stood nearly a head taller than Greg. His body rippled with corded muscle, and his skin was very faintly blue-green, glistening in the afternoon sun.
Greg went instantly alert, preparing himself for a fight in case the man tried to attack.
“Good day to you,” said the shiny man. “A splendid fête, is it not?”
Greg relaxed his shoulders. “Sorry?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gilliweed B. Lagoon, but my friends know me as Gill. It is a singular pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Gill executed a neat little bow.
“You’re one of my brother’s friends,” Greg said. “They mentioned you.”
Gill beamed at him. “How nice of them to remember me to you! They are endlessly more considerate than they lead people to believe. So, what is your impression of the gathering? Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes,” Greg replied, very surprised to admit it.
“Wonderful!” Gill said. “May I assume, since you have agreed to stay for the festivities, that Frank and Drake managed to persuade you to their cause?”
Greg nodded briefly. “Are you in on it too?” he asked.
“Yes,” Gill said. “Though I find I have little spare time to dedicate to the cause. My wife has recently spawned, so it is quite chaotic at the home-pond. But I try to do what I can.”
Greg nodded. “Good to hear. They’ve invested in a wonderful thing.”
Gill blinked, and looked a little taken aback. “Why, yes. Yes, they have. And do let me extend my thanks to you for your help.”
“No problem,” he said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. It wasn’t like he had a job or a family to go back to - his thoughts stopped dead.
“Shit!” he swore, and took off running, ignoring Gill’s startled exclamation.
If his damn cat hadn’t clawed up half the house by now, he only had to give her a few more hours. Shub was notoriously quick-clawed.
He was halfway over the fence, ready to leap into the air, when a heavy weight hit him from behind and tumbled him over. He hit the ground face-first and skidded. The weight on top of him rolled off.
Greg got up, wiped his face, and spat out a glob of dirt. He was very angry.
Luce had picked himself up as well, and was dusting off his trousers. He looked nearly as angry as Greg felt.
“Drake warned me you might try to run,” Luce said ominously. He stalked forward, invading Greg’s personal space.
“He what?!” said Greg. His voice sounded like it was getting bad reception; it had started to hiss and crackle.
Luce backed off. “You said you’d help us. Why are you running away?” His golden eyes were angry and accusing.
Greg ground his fangs together, trying to get his teeth to shrink back to normal. They doubled in size whenever he was pissed off, and they made it hard to talk.
“I wasn’t leaving,” he finally said, slowly and distinctly. “I was rushing home to make sure my cat hadn’t shredded every piece of furniture or article of clothing I own.”
“Your . . . cat?” Luce said hesitantly.
“Yes.”
“Oh,” Luce said. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“Of course you didn’t know I had a cat,” Greg snapped. “We just met a few hours ago!”
“Right, yeah,” Luce said, with the same sort of evasive look Frank had worn earlier. “You can bring the cat to my place. It’s fine.”
“Shub is a very difficult animal,” Greg replied.
Luce muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Pets often resemble their owners,” and Greg narrowed his eyes.
“It’ll be fine,” Luce said hurriedly. “Just bring him. If we’re going to knuckle down for the orphanage stuff, you’ll need to stick around here. You can’t focus on your job if you’re worried about your pet, right? So bring him here.”
“Her,” said Greg.
“Her, whatever,” Luce said through gritted teeth. It sounded like his patience was wearing as thin as an old pair of underwear.
Greg felt much better.
“She really is a difficult animal,” Greg repeated. “And she likes to chase the birds in my yard, so she might think a phoenix is a sort of decadent treat.”
Luce’s sigh huffed out in a laugh. “I think I can take one measly cat.”
“We’ll see,” said Greg.
----
Part Two