“It is perfectly safe,” Nirgal reassured. “This stairway leads to my private crypt. It is the final living area of the château.”
Peat was positive there was nothinglivingregarding the château but kept those thoughts to himself. For now. Eventually, he would need to tell Nirgal why he couldn’t accept the job.
Wary, Peat took the first step, and then the second. The space was cool. It was damp as was to be expected but didn’t leave him feeling wet. It was a comfortable dampness. Each step took him farther down into a black hole. The trip should have increased Peat’s discomfort. But that’s not what he felt. It was…odd.
That sickeningly empty feeling left Peat. He wasn’t sure what filled it, but there was…something. Focusing on the feeling, Peat thought it was like a heartbeat—so slow it was nearly nonexistent. That wasn’t quite the right phrasing. Homes didn’t have a circulatory system, but they did vibrate. It was difficult to parse this feeling out. It was even more difficult to tell if it was truly there. Peat had almost convinced himself he was mistaken when that thrum sounded again—deep, resonant, and mournful.
The feeling hit Peat so hard he stumbled. Nirgal was there to block his fall as Peat fell into the vampire’s waiting arms.
“Are you well?” Nirgal asked. “Did you trip? Forgive me. I’ve walked these steps so many times I hardly pay attention. I fear they may not be as even as they once were.”
Peat shook his head as a fresh shiver wound its way down his spine. “N-No. It’s not that. I…” He hardly knew what to say or how to phrase it. With a wane smile, Peat pulled out of Nirgal’s hold. “I’m sorry. Please, lead on.”
“If you are certain.”
Peat was sure he saw concern in Nirgal’s bloody eyes. “I am. Thank you.”
Nirgal’s hands left Peat’s shoulders but momentarily hovered, waiting to see if Peat would falter. When he didn’t, Nirgal turned and continued their descent. A few more steps and Peat found himself standing on flat, solid ground. Limestone covered the floor, lined the walls, and held the ceiling at bay. Dim light filtered in from the stairway.
“Here we are,” Nirgal said when he came to the only door in the alcove. “This is where I stay.” Nirgal’s hand hovered over the door, hesitating. “I am afraid this room is not as beautiful as the château above. So few have been allowed entry I hardly saw the need for…more.”
“I am not impressed withthings, Nirgal.”
Nirgal’s lips twitched. “Then how am I to impress you? I am afraid I have been a vampire far too long to contemplate another method.”
“I suppose we’ll simply have to figure it out as we go,” Peat answered, uncertain where that response came from. He still wasn’t at all sure he was going to accept this job.
This time, Nirgal’s lips did more than twitch. They spread into a wide grin. Most vampires didn’t show their teeth unless they meant to intimidate or threaten. Peat didn’t think Nirgal had a choice. “A challenge. How delightful.” With an effortless push, Nirgal opened the door and said, “Welcome to my personal dwelling.”
Peat barely took a single step into the room when a gasp fell from his lips. It wasn’t what his eyes saw that took his breath away, but the deep thrum of the home desperatelyreaching out to him. “Goddess,” Peat exhaled. “It’s so lonely.” Grasping the fabric over his heart, tears filled Peat’s eyes. “So very alone,” Peat whispered and felt the château pulse with pain. Peat had thought anything would be better than the emptiness he’d felt earlier. Not for the first time, Peat considered just how wrong he’d been.
Nirgal
Simply standing there, doing nothing, was difficult. Nirgal wanted to reach out, to hold this gentle pixie in his arms. Peat’s scent was overwhelmingly pleasant. It was as if he’d known it all his life instead a handful of minutes. Peat’s presence permeated every cell and dug down into what might still be left of Nirgal’s soul. Many questioned whether vampires retained their souls when born into their second lives. Nirgal began doubting long ago, but Peat’s presence made him wonder if his might still be present.
The genuine heartbreak Peat radiated was unquestionable. Peat felt Nirgal’s home keenly, reflecting a suspicion Nirgal had been nursing for centuries. That suspicion had only intensified upon returning from his trip across the sea.
Nirgal remained still as Peat tripped across the room, laying his hands on the limestone wall. Peat’s body shuddered, and he leaned his cheek against the cool rock. Tears leaked down his face, dripping to the rocky floor below.
“Peat?” Nirgal finally spoke, that single word whisper quiet.
Nirgal waited as Peat inhaled several times. The beautiful pixie didn’t sob. His tears were nearly as silent as the tomb they stood within. Time was unimportant and had long ago lost all meaning. Nirgal was content to stand there, waiting.
“I thought it was dead,” Peat finally said. Waving a hand in the air, Peat half-ass pointed upwards, indicating the château. “There was nothing. I’ve never had that happen before. I mean, there’s alwayssomething. What I feel isn’t always pleasant, but every home has personality.”
“And the château did not?”
“No.” Peat tried to shake his head but simply wound up rubbing his cheek against the rough limestone surface. “It made me feel sick.”
Nirgal’s heart thudded. Peat could not leave. The very thought nearly sent him into a rage. And yet, if that was Peat’s wish, Nirgal knew he would not stop him. He could not and would not do anything that would cause this pixie physical or emotional harm. There was no questioning the thought. It wasn’t speculation. It was simply fact.
And yet here he was, watching as tears continued streaming down Peat’s face. Was he not, in fact, allowing harm to come to the pixie?
Nirgal’s fingernails turned into unsheathed talons. They clicked together as his fingers twitched. His vampiric side waged war within him, desperate to keep this pixie here and yet just as desperate to keep Peat safe. Those two intentions were seemingly at odds with each other, and Nirgal wasn’t handling it well.
Words little more than a guttural growl, Nirgal asked, “And now? You are crying.”
Peat didn’t appear frightened of Nirgal’s slipping control. “I am. I was so very wrong. Your home isn’t dead, Nirgal. In some ways, it’s close. I think a lot of it is resting. Or maybe it just gave up a long time ago.” Peat’s left hand splayed out against the limestone, his lavender nails bright against the faded gray. “But this is the heart. Down here with you. This part hasn’t given up. It’s tired and hurting, but it’s still there, clinging to life.”
