Dustin cringed. There didn’t seem to be a correct way to induct the unaware into the passel. Would Seth hate Tiffany? Would he blame Dustin for not warning him of the dangers?
With less enthusiasm than previous trips, Dustin arrived at the farmhouse far faster than he’d hoped. He needed more time to work things out.Oh well, no help for it now.As passel leader and Seth’s lover, he couldn’t conveniently pass this task to another. He fully believed if he left it up to her, Monica would barge in, yell, “You’re a damned possum, get the hell over it,” and leave.
Seth answered the door, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a welcoming smile, effectively shoving the knife further into Dustin’s heart. His news was certain to wipe the smile right off the man’s face. “Hey, Dusty. I’m glad you made it tonight. I hope you don’t mind leftovers, but I made too much the other night, and since you weren’t able to come over, I put it away.”
“Leftovers are fine.” Dustin’s throat felt packed with cotton, the words emerging distant and slurred. He stared down at the floor, unable to meet Seth’s eyes.
Seth’s chipper demeanor fell. “Is something wrong? Oh my God! You didn’t find anything with my blood test, did you?”
“Other than borderline high cholesterol levels? No. But, we need to talk.” He hazarded an upward glance.
The color drained from Seth’s face. “Sure. Let me turn the oven off; I had everything reheating.”
Dustin engaged his inner animal’s acute hearing, listening to Seth’s footfalls, incoherent mumbling, and then the sound of the stove knob clicking off. Seth called out, “Make yourself at home. Would you like something to drink?”
“Beer, if you have it.”Or something stronger. You might need one too,went unsaid.
The soft padding of Seth’s bare feet across the kitchen linoleum sharpened when he stepped onto the hardwood flooring of the hallway and then into the sitting room. “Here.” He handed Dustin an opened beer; Dustin guzzled half of it before easing down onto the settee.
“Seth,” he began. “How much were you told about your family history?”
Instead of joining Dustin, Seth settled with his own beer in an adjacent chair. “Not much. My grandfather died in Vietnam, and my grandmother passed during Dad’s senior year of high school. He came here to live with Aunt Irene.”
“Your direct ancestor, Braden McDaniel, was one of the town’s founding fathers.”
“Seems I remember my daddy saying something about a greatgreat something or other named Braden. But your family’s been around as long as mine, right?”
Dustin shook his head. “No. My family settled here in the early 1900s—relative newcomers in the eyes of more established residents.” He tried and failed to keep his disgust to a minimum, the constant reminders from folks like Junior that he wasn’t “old blood.”
Seth voiced Dustin’s exact thoughts. “What a stupid prejudice! Anyway, what does any of this have to do with my family? They didn’t give yours grief, did they? Were we Georgia’s version of the Hatfields and McCoys?”
Taking a deep breath, Dustin ventured out onto a slippery slope. “No. None of the recent McDaniels and Livingstons quarreled, at any rate. Case in point: Irene picked me to be her second-in-command.”
“Second-in-command?” One of Seth’s brows quirked at an odd angle. “What do you mean? Like in the military?”
Dustin didn’t want to do this. Hereallydidn’t want to do this. Everything he’d rehearsed on the way over vanished from his mind. He decided to wing it. “You’ve heard that your aunt was a leader in our community, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
Dustin ran his fingers through his hair, gauging his words carefully. He’d only get one chance to do this right, and if he fucked up, he might lose Seth for good. He’d barely survived the last time. What was he thinking? Seth lived in Chicago, and had stated from day one his intentions of going back there. “Your family believed they were unique, and sought out a place where they could live quietly, free of persecution.”
“Are you saying they were part of a cult or something? Some kind of religious group?”
“No. Back in the 1700s, though, they probably were viewed as outside the norm. Modern medicine cracked the mystery. It seems they carried a genetic anomaly, a virus, passed from one generation to the next for as long as the family kept a history. We haven’t figured out why, but some family members were merely carriers, never showing the full symptoms like others did.”
“Symptoms? Like some kind a genetic disease?”
“Not a disease. A virus that works on the central nervous system, making the host stronger and faster. It improves the senses and speeds healing. Bottom line: the virus survives if the host survives. It’s in its best interest to take good care of the host. Your father displayed all the major symptoms, while at the time of your birth, your mother wasn’t infected.” Dustin hated the word “infected.” The majority of those with the changeling virus considered themselves “beneficiaries.” Blessing or curse, possessing two forms set them apart from the rest of the world, made them special, at least in their own eyes. Some, like Junior, viewed themselves as superior.
“And I have it.” Seth’s words sounded flat, lacking any emotion.
Dustin rose from the settee. Pacing the room allowed him to focus while giving him an excuse not to meet Seth’s eyes and witness the expected revulsion. “Many in town do. You, me, Monica, your neighbors, the Johnsons.”
“My aunt?”
“Definitely your aunt.”
“It’s contagious? Is this why my grandmother didn’t want me to come here?”
