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By the time I got home, showered, shaved, doctored my foot, and dressed in something suitable for work, it was close to ten. Devouring a bowl of cereal—unsure when I last ate—I went through my emails and responded to everything imperative. Before heading to the office, where Dany was sure to grind my ass and call me a delinquent, I called my mother to put her mind at ease.
“Hey. Hi,” I blurted the instant she answered. “I spent the night with Mordecai. I’m sorry I missed our phone date and didn’t text.”
Since my faux-illness-turned-memory-lapse two weeks ago, I’d avoided mentions of Mordecai or discussions of our previous dates, since the abnormality of the situation didn’t feel like something I could explain without her checking me into the nearest institution.
My mother, likely assuming things hadn’t ended well, never pushed.
“Oh?” The uptick in her voice made me wince. “So, your handsome foreigner is in the picture again, is he?”
“He was never out of the picture. Not exactly. We just… It’s… new.” And unlabeled, I wanted to add. And he’s a four-hundred-year-old vampire, so it’s complicated. But there weren’t enough hours in the day to get into that conversation.
“It’s going well, I assume?”
Considering the morning’s perils, I almost laughed.
The absence of my necklace sent me up the ladder to the loft where I searched the pockets of my dirty jeans until I found it. I’d worn the thing every day since my father died and promised my mother I would never take it off. Her superstitions outweighed my own, and she was convinced the St. Christopher pendant would protect me from harm.
Considering it caused my undead-vampire-maybe-boyfriend severe pain, she was likely onto something.
“It’s going well. Things are… going well. He’s… good. He’s very good.” Instead of putting on the necklace, I stowed it safely away, then felt instantly guilty.
“You should bring him this weekend. I’d love to meet him.”
“Why? What’s this—” I stilled, eyes widening. Shit. It was the twenty-ninth. My father’s memorial was in two days. “Mom, I—”
“Don’t you dare tell me you can’t come. I need you here, Ensley. You promised.”
I had. In a moment of weakness, after too many days of odd behavior when I feared she would make the trip to Owen Sound to check on me, I’d promised to come home for the memorial.
“Besides, I want you to meet someone.”
Sighing, I submitted. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll be there.”
“Good. Saturday. The service is at eleven. Lunch after.” Before I could end the call, she added, “Bring Mordecai. I’d love to meet him.”
Only after we hung up did something she said register. I want you to meet someone. I wasn’t stupid. Those words could only mean one thing. Sadness filled my chest. Since leaving Strathroy, I’d witnessed my mother’s happiness return. She had slowly moved on with her life. She’d developed friendships, went out several times a week, and had become an active member of the community.
It was what I wanted for her. I should have been happy. She shouldn’t mourn my father forever. She shouldn’t be chained to the root cause of her pain, and I was that root cause. It was why I’d left. I was a constant reminder of her loss. A stain she couldn’t wash out, lingering and disrupting any chance she had at living a good life.
If she’d found love again, maybe I could let go of some guilt.
I returned to the mansion at five as the autumn sun kissed the horizon, softening the landscape with a diffused, honey-toned light that cast long, stretching shadows across the road. Under the trees, prisms danced across a blanket of rotting leaves.
Antsy and worried about Mordecai, I’d struggled to focus at work all day. Dany hadn’t disappointed and gave me a thorough lecture about responsibilities. I’d escaped the office and spent the day taking pictures of two new properties going on the market and meeting with a young couple looking to buy their first home. I scheduled a few open houses, spoke with an investor, and arranged showcase furniture in an empty house, so it looked more attractive to potential buyers.
The guys weren’t happy when I canceled a dungeon run. They complained that finding a healer on short notice was a pain in the ass, and what was up with me lately? I had no defense and couldn’t explain my reasoning except to say I had pressing obligations. Mars asked about Mordecai, but I artfully dodged the inquiry by changing the subject.
I parked at the ruined fountain and lingered outside, stoking myself up for what I might find in the basement. Would Mordecai still be there? If so, in what condition? What would I do if he didn’t wake up? What would I do if he did?
All questions I couldn’t answer.
By that point, I was convinced the only reason I didn’t run screaming was because I’d spent years desensitizing myself with video games, so I was operating with that mindset. Mordecai was the key quest component. I either played nice with the ancient vampire, and we remained lovers and friends, or I pissed him off, and he killed me.
“I need new hobbies,” I said to the cherubic angel, who smiled brightly despite his missing limbs and unsightly moss beard.
As I was about to enter the house, a scuffling in the trees drew my attention. I peered among the brush, convinced it was a squirrel or another creature, foraging for dinner—the wildlife was active at this time in the evening—except something about the noise held a different quality.
Pausing, I strained and listened. Again, the rustle of undergrowth. Too uniform, like someone was walking in the forest. I panned the area, alert for movement or out-of-place colors, but the waning light was its own camouflage.
