5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Delilah
F aye munches on my chips, which she had the good mind to order on the go, as we make our way home.
“What a dick,” she says. “What a sexy, sexy dick.”
“He says he’s not bringing anyone here and I think he bought my story,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. “I don’t think he’s a dick.”
‘It doesn’t say so ,’ she parrots in a poor rendition of a British accent, which doesn’t fail to make me laugh. “So we believe him? Because I’ve been itching for a reason to look into sharks to keep unwanted attention from town.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I smile. I know Faye hides her worry for my safety beneath the humor. And because I, albeit occasionally, also worry about my safety, I will not point out how sweet it is of her .
“Anyway,” Faye starts, “Want to join me for an Interview with the Vampire rewatch?”
If there’s something Faye loves more than her family and me, it’s vampires. Mr. Ellis, a grouchy man who lived on the other side of Fern Port, is the only vampire either of us have ever met (that we know of, at least). I don’t suppose that’s where Faye’s fascination with them started, given how unlikely he was to speak more than four words in a row to us; still, I remember how shocked Faye was when he passed, about a year ago. She didn’t think it possible, which led her to question everything she thought she’d learned about them. And there’s little that lights Faye up more than a challenge.
I’m about to agree to her offer as I hate dampening her enthusiasm, but she waves her hand as she cuts in, “Or maybe a rewatch of Innocent Blood.”
“Is that the one where she blows people apart?”
“Right, you hate awesome things,” she says, patting my shoulder. “Another time, eh?”
I nod solemnly, which makes Faye snort.
We get to the fork between our houses, and I blow Faye a kiss before heading down the graveled path that takes to the cottage.
I step inside, the promise of a steaming infusion luring me in. I put my bag down and crouch to greet Blaine, who paws toward me excitedly. He licks my hands and I place a kiss on top of his fluffy head, grateful for his constant presence in my life. He makes the whole werewolf ordeal a bit more bearable; I wonder, as I scratch his chin, if there’s any part of our kinship that is stronger because of what I am.
Once Blaine is both fed and satisfied with the amount of cuddles, something tugs me toward the kitchen window. I pull it open and look up at the crescent moon bleeding its yellow tint into the black sky. It’s funny how something so beautiful can mean so much fear. Pain. But as long as I feel those things, then I’m still human.
I’m still me.
Cedric
I’m rubbing the dents my watch always leaves on my wrist when my phone buzzes with an incoming call.
I get up with a sigh, dreading the prospect of talking to my father–and am pleasantly surprised, though suspicious about the lack of contact, when I see that it’s not him who’s calling.
“How’s Brighton treating you?” I say by way of greeting.
“Lovely, thank you very much. Lots of sun and lots of pastels. How’s–well, wherever you are?” my brother asks in turn, a rare wary edge to his tone.
“Like a child after you’ve fed them,” I say. “Small and quiet.”
Marcus barks a laugh on his end, and I instantly feel better.
“Look, Ced, I know it’s my fau–”
“Do not say the f word, Marcus. I mean it. I’ve had this conversation with you over and over, and I am not doing it again.”
“You sound a bit angry, to be fair,” he says.
“I’m not. I am just jet lagged, hungry, and frustrated.”
“Ooh. You mean sexually?”
“Marcus.”
“Cedric.”
“...That, too, I suppose.”
“You know, my friend Maribel is a perfectly good–”
“Your ex, Maribel?” I sigh .
“Ex is such a strong word,” he says breezily. “I wouldn’t be jealous, you know.”
“Doesn’t she smoke? In addition to being your ex, that is.”
“Don’t be narrow-minded.”
“I’m not. I just hate cigarettes, as you well know.” The silence that follows my words is bitter enough to make me mentally kick myself. It’s nobody’s fault our father is a chain smoker and I’ve come to associate the slightest whiff of nicotine with him.
“Sorry,” I say as I collapse on the creaky hotel bed.
“Don’t be. But in all seriousness, is this situation going to be what makes you crack? Because honestly, Cedric, we can’t let–”
“It’s already a done thing, alright? Stop worrying about it. I insisted on coming here myself. You won’t have to worry about him again.”
“Right,” Marcus says, unconvinced. I truly am too tired and strung out to have this type of conversation, and so, though I’m glad I heard my brother’s voice, I tell him I need to shower and get some sleep.
“Text me if anything nice happens,” he says before ending the call.
My thoughts immediately stray to Delilah’s warm honey-green eyes, her pretty smile, the openness she seems to carry herself with. That’s a nice thing, alright, but I know my brother. The second I mention I’ve met someone, he’ll strike up the third degree interrogation and prepare his best man speech, and the call we just had proves exactly how invested he is in my love life.
I am much more concerned about all the levels of trouble he might be getting himself into while I’m gone.