Heart’s blood.
No, his life wasn’t creepy.
Not creepy at all.
When Piers laid his head back on his pillow, the light outside dimmed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Five years later— Human Realm
“You’ll be eighteen next week.” Jess rested her head on Piers’ shoulder. “What will you do then?”
They lay on the rooftop, wrapped in a blanket, watching the night sky. They’d been coming up here for years now, to dream, to plan. There'd be hell to pay if anyone in the group home knew they snuck off together. One of those weird situations where, if Piers really wanted something, it happened. No one else in the home noticed them climbing to the attic late at night or their absence during lights-out bed checks.
The group home guardians needn’t have feared for Jess’s safety. Piers would die to protect his best friend, the only stability in his life since his uncle died. Though despite being friends since they’d first met, there were some truths he’d not yet told her.
“It’s not really my actual birthday, you know. My uncle guessed a date.” Piers kept his voice even. Everyone around him had constants in their lives: their names, their birthdays, where they came from. Some spoke of a family; others didn’t talk about life before they arrived at the home. A few left for foster situations; some went back to their families. Some were adopted.
Not Piers. Not Jess. Any foster parents who took them always brought them back.
Your real name isn’t Piers Adams. It’s Pieravor Gimitri.How was such a mouthful of a name even spelled? He’d tried multiple possibilities on the Internet. Nothing ever resulted from his searches.
Jess lifted her head to stare down at him, her riot of dark curls tumbling around them, a citrus-scented curtain. “How could your own uncle not know when you were born?”
You are not from this human realm we live in. I came here with you to keep you safe.
Piers never told anyone his doubts about his uncle being his actual uncle or about the name Uncle Lee told him moments before sending Piers away and presumably dying. Uncle had been Piers’ only relative. He refused to give up even tentative connections.
Jess opened and closed her mouth a few times. Then, finally, out came, “Really? No one knows your birthday?”
“No. I went to live with Uncle Lee when I was only a few months old.”
“Didn’t you see any of your other family after that? Do you remember them?”
Piers averted his gaze. How he hated retelling the pathetic story of his existence. He’d told her some about his life, living with his uncle, shying away from any other questions—an all too familiar occurrence for the kids they came into contact with. “Two cops found me on the street. Our apartment building burned down. The fire inspectors or whatever thought my uncle died in the fire.”
“Thought? Then they never found his body?”
“No.” Sometimes Piers dreamed of his uncle. Most were happy dreams: playing in the park, Uncle teaching him to fence, using sticks as weapons, or hand-to-hand combat. He wished he could’ve continued those lessons to keep the bullies at bay once he’d entered a group home. But, then again, if Uncle lived, Piers wouldn’t have wound up in a group home.
Which would’ve left Jess alone, to face the past she refused to talk about without hugs and a shoulder to cry on when needed.
Family didn’t necessarily mean blood relation; family was who cared about you. In Piers’ life, Jess and Uncle Lee.
Whether or not they’d been truly related didn’t matter. The man who’d raised Piers, protected him, would always be Uncle. His kind uncle, who’d tried his best, poor domestic skills notwithstanding.
“You were what, seven or eight when he died? Didn’t you celebrate your birthday with him?”
“No.” Piers stared at the night sky, lying on his back on the roof of the place he called home—for now. “He said where we were from, they didn’t celebrate birthdays, but birth seasons. Instead of seven years old, he said I’d seen seven winters, which meant I was born in the fall. We’d actually get takeout sometime in November to celebrate.”
Jess cuddled close, pulling the blanket tighter around them both. Her breath fogged in front of her face. “Too weird. Where did he come from anyway?”
“He never said.” Piers had considered the omission odd at the time but took Uncle’s words at face value. In hindsight—no photos, no old family stories, no mention of family, not even distant cousins. The one friend Uncle Lee talked about never came around. Piers remembered a few details, however. “He’d been a soldier, he said. He had lots of scars.”
Jess bolted upright, nearly bouncing in place with her excitement. “Oh! Maybe he was an international spy, hiding in plain sight! And… and… he kidnapped you to save you from kidnappers.”
Piers rolled his eyes. Kidnapped him to save him from kidnappers? Dramatics. Jess had ‘em. “And decided to tie himself down with a random kid?” You’d never find one of the heroes in her precious books shackling themselves in such a manner. “Besides, Social Services investigated. No missing kids matched my description.” They’d found no record of him at all. Or Uncle. The papers Uncle used to get Piers into school turned out to be fake but provided a name and an estimated birthday.
