I rolled my eyes. Yeah, he was busy. Busy enough that I had to schedule time with him, his own son. Whenever I see him, the rules are simple: stand up straight, say what he wants to hear, and try to entertain him. Like I’m a fucking clown. As a reward, he’ll lock me away for another year.
I stepped out of the shower, the heat of the water still on my skin, and roughly dried my black hair before sweeping it to the side. Wiping away the misty film on the mirror, I patted a tinted moisturizer over my cheekbones and forehead, and the cool metal of a cologne roller glided under my sharp jaw. Adding a light pink balm to my thin lips, I smiled at my reflection, but my eyes immediately went to my fangless mouth. Not having them set me apart from the other vampires. It was like a sick joke.
I slipped into a cream-colored turtleneck, tucking it into gray plaid pants. Fixing the sweater around my neck, my gray eyes flickered as I grazed my sharp chin. “I’m ready.”
We exited my penthouse, and the sleek chrome of the elevator doors remained closed before Gabe swiped his key card. I wish I could have one—to be able to go anywhere in Elysium by myself. Stepping into the cold, metallic box, his finger brushed a glowing button, and the elevator shuddered to life, carrying us to our destination.
You’d think annoying elevator music wouldn’t be a thing after an apocalypse, right?
My thoughts are permeated by the lilting music coming through the speakers built into the corner of the box. I hatedgoing to my father’s office—The Room of Empty Promises, I called it. Despite my love for my father, I knew his pronouncements were often designed to please me, regardless of their truth.
Typical parent, right?
Once pressed, the elevator buttons glowed an eerie white, casting a dim light in the otherwise dark space. The mirrored walls reflected my face as I shaped my lips into a smile, a bitter, rehearsed expression for the vows my father would soon break. Despite the legends, a funny thing about vampires is that our reflections are perfectly clear. The whole farce was nothing more than fiction.
Gabe’s gaze lingered on the noticeable bulge from my pants before quickly looking away when he realized I caught him. A smirk crossed my lips. “I was going for a hot teacher vibe with my outfit.”
“Then call me your student.” He shook his head, trying to recalibrate his thoughts. “I have to stay focused.” He straightened his stance and placed both hands behind his back. The elevator made the familiarbing, indicating we reached our destination.
The elevator opened, revealing a small, dimly lit lobby. A lone man in a tuxedo and black bow tie stood at the far end, his arms crossed, silhouetted against the dark wood of the two doors beyond. As we strolled toward him, I shook my head at the overly formal uniform he makes his staff wear.
My heart leaped as a massive painting came into view. The canvas was alive with a ship tossed and turned by a raging sea, its colors vibrant and full of movement. I’d loved this painting since I was a child; each viewing revealed new details. Most recently, I noticed a tiny green bird perched subtly atop the crow’s nest, its green feathers almost blending into the background.
“We’re here to see Mr. Asposito.” Gabe reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crisp white card, flashing it at the guard.
It seemed as if the guard’s eyes hadn’t moved from their spot, but a flash of light glinted in his pupils before he turned. The hinges of the large doors groaned as he opened them. A shaft of brilliant white sunlight cut through the foyer’s cool fluorescent light, revealing the dark, opulent grandeur of my father’s office.
We trudged through the doorway, the ceiling lifting higher than the room we’d just left, revealing a breathtaking expanse of painted frescoes and intricate carvings. My father’s office, designed as a pre-apocalypse grand study, boasted wooden walls lined with overflowing bookshelves, the scent of aged paper and leather filling the air. A small, plush velvet settee and armchairs sat beside a bar overflowing with every imaginable liquor, the crystal cocktail glasses gleaming regally in their display case. Sunlight streamed through the large, outward-slanting windows on the far wall, illuminating a massive mahogany desk. Its exterior was intricately carved and dominated the center of the room.
My father sat behind the desk, never once looking up from a pile of papers he was reviewing.
We walked toward him, and as we reached the marker used to indicate guests to stop, Gabe cleared his throat. “Sir, I’ve brought Vincent to see you.”
When he heard my name, my father froze, his head snapping upwards, a look of surprise and excitement washing over his face. He had a timeless look about him—a thin man in his mid-fifties with high cheekbones and dark-rimmed circular glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, just below his arched eyebrows. The first thing anyone noticed about my dad was his impeccable style—a perfectly tailored suit, always complemented by a brightly colored bow tie and socks to match, creating a vibrant, eye-catching ensemble. Today, he wore a mustard-colored jacketwith a brown Burberry vest and a blue collared shirt underneath. The deep navy of his pants echoed in a subtle border on the pristine white pocket square peeking from his coat.
My dad rose from his desk, the chair legs scraping against the wooden floor, and outstretched his arms. “Vinny! My boy! Happy birthday!”
He walked over and embraced me in a warm, affectionate hug. The familiar scent of musky cologne, mixed with the faint sweetness of bourbon, enveloped me. “Hi, Dad.”
His thin lips disguised the bottom row of his crooked teeth, and his green eyes twinkled in the light within the room. Crows’ feet line his temples, each ridge telling a tale of a time that has long since passed. “How are you, my boy?”
His words are soft and meaningful. He loves me. A noticeable pressure builds behind my forehead, and I brush away the wetness gathering in the corner of my eyes. Though time apart sometimes hazes my memories, his presence when I see him again is like a magnet pulling me in. The sound of his voice was nostalgic, bringing me back to simpler times. “I can’t believe I’m finally twenty-one; it feels like it took forever to get here.” I laugh at my comment because it truly did take too long to reach this age.
“Well, you look amazing,” he cooed with a proud smile. “Since you’refinallyof legal age, would you like a cocktail?”
We both smirk, sharing an unspoken memory of the old days when the legal age for the consumption of alcohol was twenty-one and how long ago that actually was.
“It is truly a blessing how fortunate we are to have each other in our lives for so long.”
I nodded, knowing what was coming next.
“Do you remember how all of this started?” His eyes became glassy. “Time has an interesting way of fading memories. Do you remember her?”
Of course I do. My mother was the light of his life and my best friend. She introduced me to the best songs of the ‘90s and showed me how to bake the perfect batch of chocolate chip cookies. Even now, the mere scent of their sugary sweetness brings an involuntary smile to my face. Her laughter was as bright as the sun, and her smile could light up a room.
The haunted look on my mom’s face as she frantically scanned the backseat, searching for me right before she died, is an image seared into my memory, still haunting my dreams. It was the last time I ever saw my mother, and a piece of me and my dad died with her that night.
Since then, my father spent countless hours hunched over his workbench in the lab, the only light the eerie glow of his equipment as he examined my blood, a crazed look in his eyes while he studied how it healed him. Over the next few years, he healed those affected by the pandemic, primarily politicians, world leaders, and influential celebrities.
