A werewolf killed his brother. That shouldn’t be a surprise—Cody knows their kinds’ history. He just isn’t used to meeting people who experienced that history directly. Simon’s brittle words cut deeper than the old pack legends.
In those legends, vampires are cold all the way through. Cold flesh, cold blood, cold hearts. Death smothers their last spark of morality. They trade favors and grudges because friendship is foreign to them. Certainly they have no respect for their prey—the living.
Real life is more complicated than legends. Cody knows this, in theory. His old pack’s lore doesn’t regard humans much better than vampires, but Cody didn’t let that stop him from befriending them. He left his backwards-thinking pack for one. It makes sense that vampires might be more complicated, too.
Cody isn’t concerned with vampires in general, though. Just Simon.
“Not a therapist, not a friend,” Tobias emphasizes, then laughs. “Speaking of work friendships—how are you holding up? Any… furry problems?”
Cody groans. “I hate you so much. I’ve been fine.” The truth surprises Cody as he answers. He’s spent so much time thinking about Simon, he hasn’t been worried about his own problems. “I’ve been good, actually. The full moon’s still three weeks away, and I haven’t had any early issues.”
“Glad to hear it,” Tobias says. “Your last job is all covered up now. If this vampire thing goes well, we can talk about rotatingyou back onto short jobs. Unless you want a break. Aditi is always talking about this work-life balance nonsense.”
“I’ll tell her you called it nonsense,” Cody warns.
Tobias laughs. “If you don’t hear from me in three days, she has me chained in the basement.”
“Good for her,” Cody says, and Tobias laughs again.
“Fuck you.” From Tobias, that’s high praise. “Keep up the good work.”
After they hang up, Cody lingers in the sunlight. The wooden boards are warm under his palms, a grounding contrast to the worry in Cody’s heart. Tobias never quite understands the constant, cyclical threat of Cody’s wolf. He seems to think Cody just has to power through and control it, once and for all.
But the moon waxes every month, and Cody will always be a werewolf.
***
Cody is constructing a multi-tier sandwich when Simon joins him in the kitchen. The vampire’s arrival is silent, his scent the only sign. Pressing the sandwich down so it adheres properly, Cody asks, “Need something?”
Simon leans in the doorway, a dented toolbox in hand. He’s in another of those soft sweaters, green this time, looking like he just rolled out of his coffin. “I’m going upstairs to stare at a wall.” Simon glances at the sandwich. “You can bring that behemoth with you.”
“Thanks,” Cody says, bemused, and grabs a paper towel beforefollowing.
He’s barely seen Simon over the past few nights. If Simon’s learned anything from their visit to Lawrence’s apartment, he hasn’t shared it.
When new acquaintances ask about Cody’s job, they want exciting stories. Cody has a few of those—even a few he’s legally permitted to tell—but usually, guarding is boring. If everything goes well, there’s nothing to do but watch and wait. Some people find the constant alertness exhausting, but Cody finds it natural. Werewolf thing.
With Simon mostly staying below ground, this job is even slower than usual. All Cody has to do is watch the cameras and inspect the perimeter a couple of times a day. The most excitement was yesterday’s grocery delivery. Eggs and orange juice: officially cleared, not a threat.
Now, Cody follows Simon to the second floor above ground. Their destination is a small, dusty room set up as a reading parlor. There are books on glass-door shelves, comfortable chairs, a towering brick fireplace, and boarded-up windows.
Simon flicks the light switch, revealing the mural covering the walls.
Cody had seen it, along with similar murals in other rooms, when he first toured the house. This mural has a rough style that might be painterly or impressionistic—art styles aren’t Cody’s area of expertise. Definitely not cubist, at least. An evening-blue cityscape surrounds the room with a strange mix of buildings. A neon night club sits between a chapel and a smithy. A horse-drawn carriage parks on one wall. An early twenties car parks on another. The city is inhabited with shadowy sketches of people. Blurred by movement or distance.
Most striking are the large patches of blank white wall.
Simon crouches in the center of the room and opens his toolbox. The scent of paint is clear even before he starts setting out tubes and a palette.
“You paint?” Cody asks, which sounds stupid and obvious as soon as he says it.
“Sometimes.” Simon sits cross-legged and leans back on his hands. “Sometimes I just stare at the wall. That’s the important part.”
Cody doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He picks a spot with a good view of Simon, the door, and the boarded-up window. Then he eats his sandwich and stares at Simon, while Simon stares at the wall.
Simon’s pale face tips towards one of the blank patches. Cody hasn’t considered his profile delicate before. Sometimes Simon looks ancient, sometimes no more than twenty. Tonight, every aspect rests in balance. Deceptive serenity, unmarred by the passage of time.
Cody envies that balance. Better than fighting his own nature for control. Maybe balance is contagious, though. Watching Simon in silence is weirdly soothing.
