Chapter 26 Quin
TWENTY-SIX
Quin
In the parlour, the first thing that caught Quin’s attention was the painting above the mantelpiece: a full-length portrait of a blond man, standing tall and exuding pride.
Even through the layers of dust and grime, and the graffiti spray-painted across the bottom, Quin could make out that he was wearing a blue three-piece suit, accented with gold buttons.
A matching gilded chain of a pocket watch looped down from the centre of the man’s chest.
Quin didn’t need to be a genius to figure out it was Lawrence. The others’ collective reactions were enough. Rake, Shaun, and DJ stilled, staring up at the portrait with such intensity that Quin half expected it to burst into flames. One of them—Quin wasn’t actually sure who—hissed.
Kit, however, went blank. He avoided looking at the portrait at all, instead letting his gaze slide past it and focus on the rest of the half-destroyed room.
The looters must have been here as well, but they hadn’t lifted the painting.
Quin took another long look at it, committing to memory the image of the vampire.
He wondered if the artist had made Lawrence so handsome on his instruction, or whether he’d been that elegant in real life.
The glimpse he’d caught of Lawrence in the mirror sprang to mind, telling him that the painter didn’t have to be kind.
It was odd to know that such depravity lay beneath the beautiful visage.
“Fuck,” Kit muttered. “There’s not much here.”
“What about the painting?” Quin suggested, pointing to it.
“And give him the chance to live out some sorta Dorian Gray fantasy? Yeah, no thank you,” Shaun said.
Quin glanced his way. Shaun stood shoulder to shoulder with Kit, the two of them riffling through ripped-out pages from books that had fallen from a bookcase.
DJ picked up a fire poker and looked like he was considering using it to smash something.
Rake hovered near the door, his gaze flitting between his boyfriends, concern furrowing his thick brow.
A half-destroyed armchair next to the hollowed-out fireplace caught Quin’s attention. Golden hair peeked out from the side of the chair that faced away from them. “Does anyone else see the person in that seat?” he said.
The vampires turned as one towards him. “There isn’t anyone there,” Kit said slowly.
Quin steadied himself and walked closer to the armchair, giving it a wide berth, but needing to glimpse the face of whoever sat in it.
He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw a boy sitting in the seat, looking over at Quin like he’d been expecting him.
The boy’s edges blurred with the room around him, like his lines hadn’t been filled in.
“Hello there, Quin,” the boy said. His accent was similar to that of an old-school radio news presenter: English, but of no specific region. The telltale sight of pointed fangs jutted from the boy’s upper lip.
“Hello,” Quin said back, his voice unsteady.
“If you’re wondering how I knew your name, it’s because I’ve been listening to you all tromp through my house.” The boy—he couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen—had a lopsided smile on his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Quin, who are you talking to?” Kit asked from the other side of the room. He hadn’t moved a muscle. None of the vampires had. Rake and DJ were the closest to Quin, DJ with one hand grasping Rake’s wrist.
Quin looked at the boy. “Who are you?”
The boy glanced askance at the others. “I don’t like other vampires,” he said in a very small, very young voice. It reminded Quin of when a child whispered a precious secret in your ear; a truth to be treasured and kept close.
“I understand that,” Quin said, nodding. Considering everything, he had a good idea why the boy would hold such an opinion. “Are you going to tell me your name?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me.”
The boy narrowed his eyes, taking Quin in. “It does, doesn’t it?” He hummed. “Fine. I’m Jack.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jack.” Quin sat down in the armchair opposite Jack, glad the furniture didn’t crumple under his weight. The vampires drifted closer, but none of them interrupted the conversation.
Jack laughed, light and airy, like the tinkling of wind chimes. It sent a shiver through Quin’s entire body. “You wanted the others to know my name, didn’t you?”
Quin smiled sheepishly. “Can you blame me?”
Jack scrutinised him. Whatever he saw, he seemed content. “I suppose not. I don’t want them to see me, though.”
“That’s okay. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to.”
“You’re kind, aren’t you, Quin?”
Quin’s face heated. “I would like to think so, yes.”
“Which is why I don’t understand. Why would you bring him back here?” Jack asked.
“You mean Kit?” Quin asked, and Kit’s eyes widened in alarm. “We needed to—”
“Not him. Our creator. Why did you bring Lawrence back here?”
Quin swallowed, his throat clicking. “We’re going to get rid of Lawrence. For good, this time.”
Jack met Quin’s gaze. “Really?”
“I promise.”
Jack tilted his head. “We’re inclined to believe you.”
“We?” Quin asked, alarmed.
“My brothers and I,” Jack said, giving Quin a sad smile. On cue, two figures appeared behind the armchair, flanking the boy.
Quin jumped up from his seat. The other boys were older, but they had the same gold-spun hair and round faces as Jack. The tallest boy appeared to be on the cusp of adulthood. But in Quin’s eyes, they were still just kids. He rubbed a hand over his queasy stomach.
Kit came up beside him, pressing in close, looking at the spot where the boys stood. “What’s going on?” he asked. The others wore matching expressions of confusion.
“You can tell him if you want,” Jack said. His brothers remained silent, sharp eyes boring holes into Quin.
“There’s three of them. Brothers. They were Lawrence’s creations, too. But they’re”—Quin swallowed—“younger than the rest of you. Only boys. Children.” His voice broke on his last word.
“Oh my god,” Shaun said, his eyes filling with red tears.
Kit turned his head to the bay window. He walked over, peering out through the smashed glass. “Scattered in the garden,” he whispered.
Jack appeared directly by Kit, following his line of sight. “We were,” he said.
Kit jumped a foot in the air. “Fuck!”
“Hello, Kit,” Jack said. Quin detected an odd note of amusement in his tone.
Kit pressed a hand to his chest, staring wide-eyed at Jack.
“Welcome back,” Jack said.
“Some fucking welcome,” Kit said. “You almost shocked my heart into beating again.”
Jack gave that high, ringing laugh again. “It’s been a while.”
“We’ve never met.”
“I watched you. We all did.”
“So, can everyone see and hear them but me?” DJ asked. Quin had almost forgotten he was there. DJ had never been so quiet for so long in the short time he’d known him.
“I can’t see them either,” Rake said.
Jack addressed his brothers. “I think they’re friendly.” The boys all disappeared and then reappeared in the centre of the room.
DJ stumbled backwards into Rake, the poker he’d been holding clattering to the ground. “Yeah, okay, I can see them now,” he said.
“Matthew is the eldest,” Jack said. “And Tom is the middle one.” The shorter of the boys gave Jack a sharp glare. “Thomas,” Jack corrected, with a roll of his eyes.
“Do they not speak?” Kit asked.
“No,” Jack said, providing no further explanation.
“Why did you not show yourselves to me when I was here before?”
“You were human,” Jack said. “You wouldn’t have been able to sense us.”
“What about Lawrence?” Kit asked.
Jack’s form wavered, like static on the television. “We hid from him.”
“How did you know about the garden, Kit?” Quin asked.
“Lawrence told me it was why the flowers didn’t grow there.” Sure enough, when Quin joined him and Jack at the window, there was shrubbery and wildflowers everywhere but the patch he was staring at.
“It’s a shame,” Jack said. “I always liked daffodils in the spring.”
“It’s my national flower, did you know that?” Quin asked.
Jack brightened, his form appearing lighter than before. “I didn’t! How serendipitous.” Quin wasn’t entirely sure what serendipitous meant, but he knew one thing. He was going to buy a hundred daffodil bulbs the second they left the cursed manor. He’d plant each one in Jack’s memory.
“Why are you still here, Jack?” Kit said.
The boy dimmed. “Because he’s still around.”
“Not for much longer,” Kit said. “But we need something of his. Something small, personal. An item he had a connection to. Does anything like that still exist in the house?”
Jack’s face screwed up, and he turned to his brothers. The oldest one—Matthew—nodded.
“There’s a gold locket,” Jack said. “Lawrence stole it from our mother when he took us, and he wore it for years.”
“Do you know where it is?” Kit asked.
“After we—” Jack broke off, his form wavering. Both of his brothers reappeared beside him, and he seemed more solid as he continued. “He kept it in the safe after that. In his bedroom, at the back of the wardrobe.”
“I’ll go get it,” Shaun offered.
“We should all go together,” DJ said. “Or do I need to go over again why Scooby-Doo isn’t the blueprint we should follow?”
“What’s Scooby-Doo?” Jack asked.
Quin’s stomach lurched. How long ago had the boys lived there?
As DJ explained who the mystery gang were, Quin focused his attention on the portrait of Lawrence.
The vampire didn’t look like someone who was sorry for having done unspeakable things to the person Quin loved with his whole heart, or to Shaun, or to the boys who hadn’t even been close to seeing a second decade of life.
Incandescent rage built up in Quin’s chest, ripping through his entire body like a hundred-degree fever. He wanted to destroy Lawrence’s image, tear the canvas apart with his claws. But it wasn’t the full moon, and he felt helpless without the power of his beast.
Quin’s finger throbbed, the borrowed ring seeming to heat in response to his anger. He flexed his hand, studying it. The metal was almost black with tarnish, and was getting hotter by the second.
Something flickered at the edge of Quin’s sight. He narrowed his eyes at the painting. There it was again, something moving, but he couldn’t figure out what caused it. He walked towards the mantel, needing to get closer, the ring now so hot it felt like it would melt right off.
“Quin?” Kit’s voice sounded far away.
It was Lawrence, Quin realised. Two fingers curled, beckoning him. Quin’s feet moved of their own volition, entranced, even as his brain screamed wrong, wrong, wrong.
A firm hand took hold of his arm, but Quin couldn’t stop.
The painting changed again, Lawrence fixing his gaze right on Quin.
He felt pierced by its bright, searing blue.
Lawrence’s lips parted, forming unheard words of encouragement.
All Quin wanted in that moment was to comply with the request, to get to the painting, to—
“Quin!”
He blinked as pain spread through his arm. Kit withdrew his claws from Quin’s flesh, the cuts welling with blood.
“What happened?” Kit asked. The other vampires hovered around, the coiled tension in the set of their shoulders telling Quin they’d all seen whatever had come over him.
“I…” Quin looked up at the portrait. It appeared stationary once more. “It moved,” he said, pointing.
“It fucking what?” DJ said.
“A trick of the light?” Shaun suggested hopefully.
The ring flared with searing heat, and Quin wrapped his other hand around his finger, hoping it would staunch the fire that was licking through it. No change. He tilted his head as he took in the painting again, sure that Lawrence was smirking down at him.
Deciding enough was enough, Quin strode forwards, picking up the fire poker to use as a weapon. He drew back his arm, ready to destroy the painting, but Kit grabbed him around the middle, stopping him.
“Stop,” Kit pleaded.
Despite everything in him wanting to do what Kit asked of him, Quin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the painting.
He swore he could smell burning flesh and wondered absently if it was his own.
Kit held Quin in place, but Lawrence’s image seemed to swell and move, stretching out.
Quin—unbidden, unwanted, unwilling—held out his throbbing hand for Lawrence’s grasping fingers.
Quin heard Kit’s words, though they sounded like they’d been shouted from a distant mountaintop. “Help me stop him!”
One of the others said something, but Quin couldn’t discern their words. Voices clamoured together as blackness crept into the corners of Quin’s vision. He let it happen, any fight he had left fleeing his body.
Force yanked the ring from his finger. Quin lurched forwards. Just before the darkness overtook him, a small, scared voice cut through the din.
“He’s here.”