Quin looked at the boy. “Who are you?”
The boy glanced askance at the others. “I don’t like other vampires,” he said in a very small, very young voice. It reminded Quin of when a child whispered a precious secret in your ear; a truth to be treasured and kept close.
“I understand that,” Quin said, nodding. Considering everything, he had a good idea why the boy would hold such an opinion. “Are you going to tell me your name?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me.”
The boy narrowed his eyes, taking Quin in. “It does, doesn’t it?” He hummed. “Fine. I’m Jack.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jack.” Quin sat down in the armchair opposite Jack, glad the furniture didn’t crumple under his weight. The vampires drifted closer, but none of them interrupted the conversation.
Jack laughed, light and airy, like the tinkling of wind chimes. It sent a shiver through Quin’s entire body. “You wanted the others to know my name, didn’t you?”
Quin smiled sheepishly. “Can you blame me?”
Jack scrutinised him. Whatever he saw, he seemed content. “I suppose not. I don’t want them to see me, though.”
“That’s okay. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to.”
“You’re kind, aren’t you, Quin?”
Quin’s face heated. “I would like to think so, yes.”
“Which is why I don’t understand. Why would you bring him back here?” Jack asked.
“You mean Kit?” Quin asked, and Kit’s eyes widened in alarm. “We needed to?—”
“Not him. Our creator. Why did you bring Lawrence back here?”
Quin swallowed, his throat clicking. “We’re going to get rid of Lawrence. For good, this time.”
Jack met Quin’s gaze. “Really?”
“I promise.”
Jack tilted his head. “We’re inclined to believe you.”
“We?” Quin asked, alarmed.
“My brothers and I,” Jack said, giving Quin a sad smile. On cue, two figures appeared behind the armchair, flanking the boy.
Quin jumped up from his seat. The other boys were older, but they had the same gold-spun hair and round faces as Jack. The tallest boy appeared to be on the cusp of adulthood. But in Quin’s eyes, they were still just kids. He rubbed a hand over his queasy stomach.
Kit came up beside him, pressing in close, looking at the spot where the boys stood. “What’s going on?” he asked. The others wore matching expressions of confusion.
“You can tell him if you want,” Jack said. His brothers remained silent, sharp eyes boring holes into Quin.
“There’s three of them. Brothers. They were Lawrence’s creations, too. But they’re”—Quin swallowed—“younger than the rest of you. Only boys. Children.” His voice broke on his last word.
“Oh my god,” Shaun said, his eyes filling with red tears.
Kit turned his head to the bay window. He walked over, peering out through the smashed glass. “Scattered in the garden,” he whispered.
Jack appeared directly by Kit, following his line of sight. “We were,” he said.
Kit jumped a foot in the air. “Fuck!”
