Seeing Vrath again, slightly hunched, and moseying out from the shadows—it’s like having to sit still while spiders tiptoe across my bare skin. Is it the flaking paint on his face or the insect-like mannerisms that feel violating to look at?
My father stands, hands in his pockets, at first relaxed—but now dissociating.
“I have been privy to your existence too many times, though I do not think I am frightened of you. Perhaps of you as an older man,” Vrath speaks slowly, as if the more words he says in front of my father means the more danger he will be in.
I tremble at the fever invading my immune system. My bones are cold. Each muscle aches and throbs. Puking or coming down with a massive migraine are two realistic options right now. His presence is an infection that pulses like a dying heartbeat within these walls. He’s making me sick…
I look to Kane and am struck with terror.
No! What if he dies from being near Vrath?
My lungs rattle from sticky phlegm between each labored breath. Whatever sickness he drags behind him like a cloak hits the air around us hard and fast.
“You will behave, orhewill die a very young man of pneumonia and—some other peculiar disease I do not recognize.” Vrath puts in a little too much effort to ignore my father and descend toward me. “I need your blood. I have had enough of chasing you and will not tolerate your inconsolable desire to be away from me.”
My father is unresponsive. In the time it takes him to finally turn in our direction, Vrath is already too close. Each white blood cell in my body is under attack. My skin is molten. The instinct to put as much distance between us is feral and sending SOS signals to get me to listen.
“Does it usually work?” It’s my father’s voice, only different. The same young man. A raspier, sarcastic inflection. “I bet it feels pretty good, huh? Making people sick.”
Vrath doesn’t answer, he just peers back at my father, who is lounging in the nearest loveseat, legs crossed and left arm propping his chin up.
“And what would happen if you came across, ah I don’t know, a devilishly good-looking man with an immunity to that sort of nonsense? Eh?” Kane smirks at Vrath, then winks in my direction.
“You have split a new alter,” Vrath comments, though there is a splash of concern there.
I blink, long and slow, trying to see Kane more clearly.
“Don’t you wanna know my name, dickhead?” the alter asks.
“That is an irrelevant fact to me.”
“It’s Church. I’m immune to disease, plagues, illness…etcetera.” He flashes a big smile.
Vrath twists back to me mechanically, deciding to ignore Church and continue his pursuit of me, assuming my father’s new alter isn’t very threatening.
“Have I mentioned that I’m a savant of moving through time? Yeah yeah, every piece of literature and textual evidence in this library and elsewhere, I have read. It’s all I’ve really retained. No, but it gets better.” Church sits up excitedly, tucking his feet under his backside. “The low hanging fruit is that I learned a bit about the Short-Haired Windilas. But what’s really interesting is that if they draw blood, even once, they’ll forever be attracted to it if it’s drawn again.”
Church springs from his chair and flicks his wrist near the lower half of Vrath’s face. The swipe is so quick, I’m shocked when I see a fast trickle of dark blood spill from Vrath’s severed bottom lip.
“I’m willing to bet they’ve nicked you once or twice.”
Vrath stumbles back, tapping at his lip with a black-gloved hand and pulling it back to inspect the blood.
“Do you think they’ll come running?” Church plays with the bloody razor between his fingers. “Oooh,I wonder if they’re fast. Are they fast, Vrath?!”
This alter reminds me of a unique blend of Uncle Niles and Dessin. He uses irony and quick wit to deal with these challenges he’s split in response to.
For a moment, Vrath pivots to me with a pathetic, creepy look that asks for help.
Help.
I laugh, then cough so hard, my eyes water hot tears.
“If you were afraid of Dellilian, I can’t imagine how frightened you’ll be of her pack,” I say with wheezing breaths.
Vrath breathes heavily behind clenched teeth, scurrying off to the back of the library. He crouches low to the ground, lifting something heavy behind a writing desk and dragging it out to the main light of the crystal chandelier.
With choppy steps, the white tights and modest, black-strapped heels are revealed. Vrath’s hands hook around the ankles as he takes three more steps to the open hardwood floor. Her feet hit the floor with a thud. Her cream-colored lace dress with ruffles and a navy sash bow is sopping wet with blood. A deep red streaks behind her, saturating her blonde hair, and gently gushing from an open wound in her chest with each aggressive form of contact Vrath has with her.
