Author's Preface
Michael raced beneath the darkening sky.
He jogged across the stone bridge, sped past the big tree, and spotted Zariah’s house down the hill by the water’s edge; he quickly headed down the gravel driveway, staggering to a skidding stop just when he noticed a black car with its headlights on, parked crookedly beside the house with a man in a trench coat standing just beside it.
Michael slid loudly on the gravel rocks and caught his footing, squinting at the man.
Virgil, who had just started to walk over to the side door of the home, paused and stared back at him.
“Aha… um… hi, hello,” Michael stammered, straightening up and offering him a wave, attempting to smile. “Sorry, I just… I’m here to see Zariah.”
Virgil’s eyes narrowed.
Michael squinted as well, taking a step forward and only just noticing that this man looked familiar.
“Wait… have we met before?” he uttered.
Virgil nodded. “Yeah… yeah, we have.”
Michael stared at him open-mouthed for a second, then took in a sharp breath and began wagging his finger at him.
“Ohhh… you’re the detective!” he realized. “Oh, wow, are you Zariah’s father?”
“Mhm,” Virgil mumbled.
There was a brief, awkward pause.
“Well… I’m not staying,” Virgil remarked, motioning loosely over to his home. “Just need to grab something before I head to a job thing. She’s in there.”
“Oh… okay,” Michael nodded, reluctantly walking toward the house.
He moved past the detective, then made an odd face and turned back to him.
“You have work to do this late?” Michael asked.
“Yeah… mainly just scoping certain people out, long story,” Virgil replied, stepping toward the house and waving for him to step inside. “Go ahead…”
Michael pulled the door open, and both of them walked inside, only to see Zariah sitting on the couch in the living room, surfing through several movies on Netflix, bags of chips and a round plate of food placed on the coffee table.
Instantly allured by a scent, Michael moved toward the couch, standing beside it and staring longingly down at the coffee table—seeing a plate of two fresh steaks there.
Virgil, however, stepped into the kitchen, collected something from one of the drawers, and walked toward the door again, already prepared to leave.
“Dad!” Zariah called after him. “What, are you working late again? Can they not leave you alone?!”
“No, not tonight,” Virgil said, grabbing the doorknob.
Zariah stood from the couch, glimpsing at Michael, then back.
“Um… this is—”
“I know who he is,” Virgil cut her off. “I told you… we’ve met before. You two have fun. Just not too much… and definitely not in my living room.”
“Ew… go,” Zariah griped, swatting him out the door. “Get!”
Virgil let out a chuckle before he walked out of the house.
After the door swung shut, Zariah plopped down on the couch again, patting the cushion beside her and smiling at Michael.
“C’mooon,” she said. “Movie time!”
Michael blinked and finally tore his gaze from the fresh and bloody steaks, stepping around the couch and sitting beside her. For a moment, he merely watched in silence while she browsed the different movies on the screen, the smell of the steaks invading his senses and drawing his attention…
Zariah turned to him, then glanced down at what had him so captivated, laughing and waving for him to help himself.
“Oh yeah… those are yours,” she told him. “I already ate, so that’s all you. Have at.”
Michael turned and gave her a look of surprise, then faced the steaks again, resisting the urge to snatch up the plate and devour them in an instant. He gulped and bit his lip, his stomach rumbling hungrily.
His arm raised, and he reached out to the plate—then suddenly stopped, lowering his hand and coiling it into a fist atop his knee.
Michael sighed, his brow hardening, still staring at the steaks, but no longer with hunger. The sickness he’d felt during family dinner seemed to be trying to fester inside him again, though he wasn’t quite sure why.
But, the longer he stared at the steaks, the more nauseated he seemed to feel.
Zariah turned and examined him, then turned on her cushion and faced him a little more.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Michael continued gazing into the steaks for a second longer before meeting her eyes, his expression noticeably troubled.
“I, um… I don’t know,” he muttered. “Just feel sick…”
Zariah made a nod. “Okay. Any idea why…?”
Michael fell silent for a moment, pondering on this and thinking of his father again.
He opened his mouth to explain, but then he hesitated, knowing for certain that his mother would be very unhappy with him if he shared such sensitive information with anyone outside of their household.
“It…” Michael uttered, pausing and letting out another sigh. “It’s hard to explain. I just found out something… kind of disturbing… and it won’t get out of my head…”
Zariah nodded quietly, making a thoughtful face.
“And it made you feel sick enough to not wanna eat? ” she said, sounding somewhat surprised. “With the way you eat steaks? That’s kinda shocking.”
“Yeah,” Michael mumbled grimly. “It really is…”
There was another pause in the air.
“Well… hey… you can talk to me about it, if you want,” Zariah offered, patting him on the leg. “I know we don’t know each other super well yet, but… sometimes it’s easier to get a good perspective from somebody who’s totally objective.”
Michael stared at her, contemplating it for several quiet seconds. Then, after what felt like an hour of silence, he finally huffed out a breath and relented.
“Okay… just… please don’t tell anyone,” he requested. “I think this is the kind of thing that could get my entire family in some serious trouble… and definitely don’t tell your father.”
Zariah made a slow, strange nod. “Okay…”
Michael faced her more, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath, trying to assess his thoughts before he continued.
“My mother told me today… in confidence… that she gets death row inmates delivered to the house,” Michael told her, whispering very lowly and discretely, despite that he and Zariah were the only two people in the house. “And, that… that’s… apparently… how my father gets fed.”
Zariah took slightly back, nodding once more and making a mild little shrug.
“Okay,” she said, sounding almost unfazed. “Well… I mean, that’s morbid, but… I kinda figured he had to be doing something like that, if he really was a vampire.”
Michael merely stared at her wordlessly. He expected her to be more shocked, or perhaps even appalled, but she was hardly reacting at all.
“I’m not gonna lie… that’s definitely dark,” Zariah added. “But… y’know… it’s actually kind of a good system. Do you know what kind of people end up on death row? Serial killers, and rapists, and child molesters. I mean… it kinda sounds like they have a system to get rid of really evil people in exchange for your dad getting to feed. I know it’s disturbing, but… it kinda works. It’s not like any innocent people are getting killed… and the people on death row are gonna die anyway… so they might as well do some good before they go.”
Michael nodded at his lap, feeling as if he agreed, but he couldn’t shake the churning of his stomach, the deep, gnawing perturbation he felt at the situation.
“I know… you’re right, I know,” he muttered. “But it still just really bothers me…”
“Well, yeah… it bothers you because it’s still killing people,” Zariah said simply. “And you don’t like that.”
Michael met her eyes and nodded again. “Yeah.”
Zariah flashed a smile at him. “I think… you’re just too sweet and innocent of a person to not feel bothered by the idea of killing a person and drinking their blood, no matter what the circumstances around it are.”
Michael opened his mouth to reply, instantly drawing a blank, and he glanced down at his lap.
“And… if I can theorize… I also think that’s why you’re in this position of responsibility a lot,” Zariah remarked. “It’s because you have the biggest conscience, and the most empathy. You know where are all the lines are that you shouldn’t cross… and that’s why you feel like you have to babysit your family all the time.”
“That’s why they put me in charge,” Michael murmured.
“What?” Zariah asked.
Michael turned to her again and explained everything that had happened back home today. When he was finished, Zariah was smirking again, wagging her finger at him.
“Yeah… see? Your mom sees it, too,” she commented. “Ooo… do you know where you’re gonna take them on their field trip? Not back to the nightclub…”
“God, no,” Michael laughed. “Although… I feel like Zander is gonna fight me on that. It seemed like that place was his new stomping grounds. He’s gonna want to go back there…”
“Well… we have other things to do in town, too,” Zariah informed. “There’s more than just a nightclub.”
Michael raised his brows at her. “Like what…?”
Zariah smiled even wider.
“I think I should be your tour guide,” she said. “Because there is so much. There’s the lake, and the beach, and the skating rink, and like ten different restaurants that I think all of you guys would love… I mean… there’s a lot. And I think you all need someone to show you around.”
Michael squinted at her, cracking a smirk. “Do you want to go with us…?”
“I can ,” Zariah laughed, smacking him lightly on the arm. “I definitely wouldn’t say no … but only if you and your family are totally okay with it.”
“Oh… I don’t care what they’re okay with,” Michael snickered. “The only one who’d complain is Zander, but he complains about everything…”
Zariah giggled. “Well… what about your parents? Are you sure they wouldn’t mind you having an outsider around?”
Michael looked down and pondered on this, gently tapping his fingers to his chin.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But… I can bring you over for dinner sometime. They might be more comfortable with it if they can meet you.”
Zariah grinned. “That’d be awesome.”
She began searching through the movies on the screen again.
After the two of them discussed some of the movies on the screen—they landed on Shrek, which Michael had apparently never seen before.
As the movie began, Zariah leaned back with a bag of chips, and Michael eventually overcame his feelings of sickness enough to claim the plate, picking up the juicy steaks and eating them by hand, which made Zariah laugh. The two of them sniggered at the funny moments of the movie, occasionally commenting on them, and—as the night grew later, and as Michael sank more comfortably in the couch, he felt incredibly at ease, delighted in a peaceful sort of way, simply glad to be where he was now.
It still felt rather strange to be anywhere aside from Voltaire Manor—but it was nice, and he enjoyed it.
The two of them ended up watching the first two Shrek movies and half of the third before Zariah finally admitted that she was too tired to carry on. So, she said her goodnights to Michael, and they planned to meet again tomorrow.
Michael then walked home under the night sky, with a full stomach, a sleepy smile, and a sense of serene contentment like he’d never felt before.
He approached the gateway, waved two fingers at it, and stepped through it when it gently creaked open, turning and making a nod at it before he marched off toward the front doors. The gateway sealed itself behind him.
Michael then opened the double-doors very slowly and quietly, peering around inside before sliding into the building, easing the doors shut as softly as he could.
Then, he turned toward the stairs—swallowing a gasp and halting mid-step.
Someone stood directly beside the rounded stairway, just in the shadows of it, only just stepping out and coming fully into view—and it wasn’t who he had expected. He thought that William might have waited up for him—but it was his own father staring back at him now, hand atop his cane, and expression unreadable behind his crimson lenses.
Michael stood in frozen silence for a moment, merely staring at him as his heart gave a nervous jolt.
Orville returned his gaze, then took a step forward, lightly thumping his cane along the floor.
He stopped in front of his son, and he inhaled a single sniff.
Michael’s brow wrinkled, eyeing him strangely.
Orville stared for a moment longer before he spoke.
“I can trust you,” he said lowly. “Just don’t tell your brother… or your sister… or your mother, for God’s sake.”
Michael remained perplexed. “Don’t… tell them what?”
“That you’re leaving the house,” Orville replied, waving lazily at the doors. “I don’t care, but they will.”
At that, he turned on his heel to leave, shuffling over toward the stairway.
Michael gave him a deep, intense stare from behind, wrestling with his thoughts for a second before he decided to voice what was on his mind.
“Dad…” he said.
Orville reached the stairs, placed a hand on the railing, and turned back to face him.
Michael sighed. “Does it ever… bother you?”
Orville stared vacantly at him. “Does what?”
Michael fidgeted with the edge of his shirt, huffing out another cloud of breath.
“Drinking blood… and killing people,” he managed.
Orville fell silent for several seconds thereafter, slowly gazing off to the side and stroking softly along his chin.
“Not anymore,” he murmured. “It did… long time ago.”
Michael approached him, squinting at him curiously. “How did you get over it…?”
Orville turned his head and opened his mouth slightly, hesitating for a moment before answering. He spared a second to stare off into space, looking as if he was having a difficult time of remembering, as much of it had happened long ago.
“Well… imagine, right… you’re on Mt. Everest,” Orville began, gesturing while he spoke. “You and your best mate go up there… and you climb straight to the bloody top. You both feel like kings, y’know, and you feel like you’re winning, and conquering life, and all of that. But, then… time passes… and you get lost. Bit more time passes… and you get too cold. And then… more, and more, and more time passes… you’re both too cold, and too hungry, and too bloody frozen to find your way back down… and it’s just you and him there. You and him… and nobody or nothing else.”
Michael nodded quietly.
Orville raised his eyebrows and held up a finger, seeming to stare fixedly into him from behind his lenses.
“How much time would you allow to pass before you did what you had to do?” he asked his son profoundly.
Michael didn’t reply, wearing a perturbed visage.
“As much as possible,” Orville resolved, lowering his hand. “You’d let as much time as possible go by before you resorted to that… waiting to see a trail, or a sign of life, or a rescue team… but… eventually… if you wait too long… it might get hopeless. You might run out of time, waiting for something that just isn’t gonna come, about to die of starvation, knowing that you can’t wait around anymore. That’s when it becomes evident… that either someone can survive… or no one can. So… you look to your mate… and you eat him. And then… you’ve gotta live with that for the rest of your bloody life.”
Michael grimaced, his stomach feeling queasy again.
“Back in the day, Michael… that’s what them situations were like for me,” Orville disclosed. “But, that’s not how it is now… so… I can’t say it bothers me much anymore.”
At that, he turned and stepped onto the stairs.
Michael looked up and watched him walk away, pondering deeply on everything he’d said. Truly, he couldn’t help but feel disturbed by his family’s secrets—as anyone naturally would—but Orville Voltaire was a very old man, and he’d been around for an incredibly long time. Michael never spared much thought to how difficult his life must have been in the past, back before he had a system for remaining fed.
Orville had never revealed many details of his past, aside from certain stories from his rock star life. He always seemed to speak in metaphors, or general ideas. That was his way of conveying whatever message he was trying to get across—just as he’d done now—and Michael let out a sigh, nodding mildly to himself and feeling as if he got the message loud and clear.
Maybe it was grave and morbid—but Orville and Zariah were both certainly right. The people on death row were going to die one way or another—so they might as well do something useful before they go. And it wasn’t as if they were just innocent victims who’d been targeted by some vampiric monster, robbed of the rest of their life due to Orville’s need to feed; no, the people whose lives contributed to his sustenance now were people who had already thrown their lives away. Perhaps this was simply the best way it could all be done—and it definitely sounded better and more humane than whatever had happened before.
Feeling more or less at peace with it, Michael ventured up the stairs and went to bed for the night, dwelling on the week to come before he eventually drifted off to sleep.
For the rest of the week—a new routine came to be.
Michael, Zander, and Verity spent the weekdays in a dreamlike wonder; they read books, listened to music, flipped through magazines, and fantasized about what their new lives would be like on the outside—although Zander was mostly daydreaming about returning to the questionable life that he’d already started out there—and when the evenings came, they met in the dining room, shared a family dinner, and spoke a bit about how they would conduct themselves outside.
Verity seemed quite pleased and accommodating to all of her mother’s rules, but Zander was always sure to make a snide comment about it. Regardless, he didn’t outright argue with his mother again, and everyone was grateful for that.
Once the dinners concluded—Michael would slip away, sneak out of the house, and leave Voltaire Manor, creeping off to Zariah’s house and watching movies with her for a few hours before bedtime. Then, he’d make his way back home and sneakily make his way to his bedroom, his siblings and his mother never any the wiser.
The more he indulged in this new routine, the happier he felt; Michael found himself walking home grinning late into the night, pausing to gaze up at the stars, and wanting to do even more. He felt thoroughly delighted to be leaving home—and to have a new friend—but the more he went to her home, and the more he saw her, as well as seeing her father come and go from the home, always busy with work—the more he began to want to do more himself.
He mulled over it endlessly; he was a good artist, fantastic at drawing and painting, and he thought himself a good dancer, too. Plus, he was certain he could make a good bouncer, or a good detective. Michael had psychic abilities that no one else in town had, and he could see especially well in the dark. He could work nights, and he could fend off danger in ways no one else in those professions could. He began to wonder exactly what kind of job he should eventually get, and he even considered asking Zariah’s father what it was like to be a detective. The thought of starting a life path and having a job—and his own money—was positively enthralling to him.
He simply wanted to do more.
And—beyond that, and as a more immediate issue—he also wanted to make sure that Zariah could accompany him into town whenever he took Zander and Verity there.
So, Friday afternoon—the day before the planned field trip—he texted Zariah throughout the day, and he traveled the manor in search of his father, wanting to ask his permission to invite his friend over tonight. He wasn’t sure what his mother would say, and he worried that his siblings might complain about it—but Orville would likely be the most understanding.
Michael was striding down the hallway of the second floor when he slowed to a stop, seeing Zander’s door ease open, music echoing out from his room, and he swaggered out in a sleek black suit with an open jacket, a white button-up underneath, his short stringy hairs styled upright, and a pair of dark sunglasses on his face.
Zander nodded along to his music, spinning once in place and smoothly running his palms back over his hair.
Michael sputtered out a laugh. “The hell are you all dressed up for…?”
Zander turned and stared at him, cocking his head slightly and pocketing his hands.
“Because… I’m ready… to leave,” he replied smugly, sauntering past him and flicking his collar. “I have to look good for my girl. You wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“You can’t go tonight ,” Michael called after him, making a face. “And I’m the only one seeing a girl today, so shut up.”
He suddenly stopped, biting his lip and sighing.
Zander stopped in the center of the hallway mid-step, turned perfectly around on his heels, and stared blankly at his brother from behind his black lenses.
Michael resisted the urge to wince, his jaw twitching. All week long, he’d been doing a spectacular job of keeping his nightly escapes a secret—and he hadn’t yet told anyone that he wanted Zariah to come over for dinner—but he’d just blurted out a bit too much in front of his brother.
Zander took slow, deliberate steps toward him, stopped directly in front of him, and lowered his sunglasses, eyeing him very intently.
“Um. What did you just say?” he asked.
Michael gave him a grave, conflicted look, clenching his teeth and frowning.
Zander read his face, then cracked a smirk. “My dearest brother. Could it be that all of your holier-than-thou bullshit is in fact bullshit? Are you sneaking around just like I am? After preaching and bitching at me non-fucking-stop over it?”
“I don’t have to worry about me getting into trouble,” Michael said in a low, quiet voice. “It’s not the same.”
Zander’s eyes narrowed, his smirk widening. Then, he turned and marched away again.
Michael stared at him oddly from behind. He’d expected more of an argument, or perhaps a threat to expose his secret—but his brother was doing neither.
“What… that’s it?” he uttered thoughtlessly.
“M’yeah,” Zander called without stopping, waving loosely into the air as he walked off. “I’m not a snitch, unlike some people in this house.”
Michael watched him go, letting out a breath and thinking it didn’t really matter. Even if Zander did decide to tell on him—he was planning to bring Zariah up to his parents today, anyway. It was time for them to meet her.
So—he broke into a brisker stride and began traversing the entire manor again, searching high and low for his parents, but he found them nowhere. They weren’t in the lounge, the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, or the hot tub room.
Michael then made his way up to the top floor—where he rarely visited, as it was where his parents’ bedroom was, along with a couple of their storage rooms—and he trekked down the darkened hallway, heading toward the mahogany doors at the very end. He knocked on them thrice before slowly pushing them open and stepping inside.
The inside always felt like a taboo and forbidden place to him in childhood, the territory of the adults, the bedroom of the masters of the household—and it still had a bit of that vibe now. The room was enormous, high, and rounded, with an elegant design to match the rest of the manor, a tall, shapely, and stain-glass window on the other side of the room with dark curtains covering most of it, sunlight peeking inside through the middle. In the center of the room was the massive king-sized bed with the standing canopy overtop of it, silky black drapes hanging down all around the bed, though they were almost entirely transparent, and a single lamp was powered on beside the bed, where Rose sat atop her comforters, quietly flipping through an old book.
Michael stepped toward the bed, just able to hear the soft melody playing from the old radio on the nightstand. He approached his mother, politely waiting for her to close the book and set it down before he spoke.
Rose folded the page she was on, placed the book to the side, and looked up at him. “Yes, dear?”
“Um…” Michael mumbled, glancing around the room. “Where is Dad…?”
“Oh… he’s down in his music dungeon,” Rose uttered, swatting at the door. “I believe he’s partaking in a twenty-year-old marijuana stash he keeps down there… and I hope that’s all he’s got down there…”
Michael nodded and turned to leave. “Okay…”
Rose peeked out from the silky black drapes, eyeing him from behind. “You can talk to me too, dear.”
Michael stopped and faced her again, gnawing his bottom lip and feeling hesitant. He was sure that Orville wouldn’t mind Zariah coming over for dinner—but he suspected his mother might have an issue with it. Rose Voltaire was always the one making the hardest and most demanding rules, after all.
Then, like magic—as Rose was always somehow able to do—she noted every detail of his face, and she was able to tell precisely what he was thinking and feeling.
“Do you want to ask him something that you don’t want to ask me?” Rose inquired, her mouth curling into a knowing sort of half-smile.
Michael stared, a touch of guilt etched across his face now.
“You do know that you’ll have to get permission from both of us eventually… no matter what it is,” Rose laughed. “It’s not as if I’ll never find it out.”
Michael looked down and sighed.
“Come here, sweet pea.” Rose patted the comforters. “Come and talk to me.”
Michael wandered back over to her bedside and sat next to her, clasping his hands and giving her a thoughtful look.
“You are really psychic,” he remarked.
Rose chuckled. “That’s not my being psychic, dear… that’s just my being your mother. Besides… all of us can be a bit psychic. Even your father. Vampires have a touch of that too, you know… although, it’s in more of a strong kind of way…”
She paused and observed him, then leaned over and patted him gently on the leg.
“Tell me what’s the matter, dear,” she urged him.
“Well, I jus…” Michael started, sighing and shrugging. “I have this friend on the outside, and I was thinking about… inviting her over for dinner.”
Rose stared at him for a second.
“That girl you met… the day you went out,” she said. “Sweetheart, you only knew her for a day…”
“No, I…” Michael paused again, huffing out a breath and deciding to simply be honest. “Actually, I’ve known her all week. I’ve been spending time with her and getting to know her a little bit… and she really helps me out a lot.”
Rose’s eyes narrowed. “I thought I heard the gates creaking open and shut late at night…”
“Mom… she just… she helps me understand a lot about the world,” Michael tried to explain. “It’s a lot easier to be out there when she’s there. You know what I mean?”
Rose’s eyes wandered down, making a slow, understanding nod, and looking as if she was deep in thought.
“And I know what you’re thinking,” Michael continued. “I know you don’t want anybody finding out too much about us, or telling anyone else, or anything like that… but she’s different. She’s unique. She won’t do that.”
Rose scoffed out a laugh, smiling and shaking her head. “You sound like a teenager feeling love for the first time…”
“No… I’m not… I’m not just saying that because I think she won’t,” Michael uttered with frustration. “I’m saying that because she’s already proven she won’t.”
Rose’s expression suddenly fell deathly still, her eyes homing in on him like a pair of cerulean missiles.
Michael nodded, affirming her thoughts. “Yeah. She already knows. She figured it out a long time ago, before she ever met me… and she never told anyone, even after she did meet me, and even after she found out for sure it was true. She’s known about it for a while… and she still hasn’t told anyone.”
Rose leaned slightly back, now giving him a deep, peculiar stare, looking graver than she usually ever did.
“Who is this girl?” the mother breathed in a soft, serpentine rasp. “Who does she work for…?”
“What? No… nobody,” Michael stammered, tossing up a hand. “She said she’s just an… influencer. I don’t know what that means , but… she mostly just works from home, hosting her own live shows for entertainment. She doesn’t work for the government, or the police, or anything… she just works for herself. There’s nothing to be paranoid about. Trust me.”
Rose fell momentarily silent again, gazing down at her lap and looking a million miles away.
“Well… you’ve certainly backed me into a corner with this one,” she mumbled. “Now we’ll have to bring her here.”
Michael paused, feeling a spark of hope for a split second, but it quickly faded, and his eyes narrowed skeptically at her.
“Why?” he asked warily.
Rose’s gaze ventured back up to his, her expression distant.
“You’re not gonna… threaten her… are you?” Michael muttered worriedly, looking perturbed.
“Threaten…?” Rose said, her voice hitting a high note. “Goodness, no… I wouldn’t jump straight to threats, sweet pea. I’d only do that if it became necessary.”
Michael stared at her with chagrin.
“Michael… darling… I just need to make sure she’s the right type of person to befriend this family,” Rose assured, placing her hand on his knee and giving it a shake. “Meaning… I need to know that she is the type of person who is loyal, kind, and not a gossip in any way. We cannot have a gossip in our home, running back out to the world and reporting anything about us to the public. You must understand that.”
“I do… I really do,” Michael insisted. “I just… I need to make sure that you guys aren’t gonna scare her off… or hurt her, or something…”
“Oh… come now,” Rose said, tilting her head and scooting closer, coiling her arm around him in a sideways hug. “You know me, darling. You know I’m not a monster.”
Michael nodded and returned her embrace, sighing and feeling a touch of conflict inside. No, he never thought of her as a monster—he loved his mother very much, and always had—but ever since he’d started learning a bit more about his family’s secrets, he’d felt a bit of paranoia gnawing at the back of his mind, worried that they might have been capable of wickeder things than he’d ever thought of them.
But—this was his own mother, Rose Voltaire, the woman who always sought him out and comforted him after every nightmare as a child, always cared for him every time he’d ever gotten sick or hurt, and always gone out of her way to ensure that he was safe, and felt undeniably loved. He knew she was not a monster—at least, not to her family.
Still, it was difficult not to consider that she and Orville were capable of different and darker behavior than he was used to. In fact—the more he thought about it all week long—the more he realized that he knew very little about their pasts. He’d only ever heard their stories from the Villy V rock star days, never any stories from before then. He could only imagine what kind of people they once were, before they were simply his parents.
Michael leaned back and shook the troubling thoughts from his mind, trying to smile.
“Bring her over, dear,” Rose said, stroking along his back. “We will be perfectly cordial with her. Well… I will.”
Michael breathed out a laugh. “Okay…”
He stood to leave the room, then turned back to her.
“You think Dad will mind?” Michael thought to ask.
Rose flashed a curt sort of smile. “I think he’s probably stoned out of his bloody head by now, darling. He may not even notice she’s here.”
Michael snickered, nodding and marching out of the master bedroom. Just when he reached the hallway, he slid his phone out of his pocket—quickly texting Zariah to let her know that their dinner plans were set in stone now.
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