Chapter 5 #3
From the look he gives me, that’s not as comforting as I thought it would be.
Just as well. It would have been a huge sacrifice on my part—Gideon’s grandmother and I worked together for a few decades a long time ago, and she’s really hard to deal with.
I believe I once told her she was “an intolerable bitch.” Then she tried to kill me. We stopped working together after that.
David leans over and gently takes the knife from Sam’s hand. “I wouldn’t have let Gideon murder you,” he says, a slight note of hurt in his voice as he cuts himself a piece of cake with one hand and accepts the plate Noah silently hands him with the other.
Way to miss the point, David.
But Sam smiles at him. “I know, David. Thank you. I can’t imagine being in the team without you.”
I clear my throat pointedly around a mouthful of cake. Sam turns his smile on me. “You either, Andrew. But for different reasons.”
Was that an insult? I feel like I’ve been insulted.
“Want more cake?”
Pah, who cares about insults? I nod and extend my still half-full plate for Sam to pile more on.
“Noah was just telling me he had a bit of a breakthrough this afternoon.”
Oh, fuck. I shovel in some more cake and jerk my head toward David, who gives me a look that promises dire vengeance. I’m not worried. David’s the nice one, remember?
“Uh, yeah, Andrew told me too. Noah, do you think you’d be able to demonstrate for me and Percy tomorrow? I’ll set up a time.”
Noah shrugs. “I can try. No guarantees—I haven’t had much practice yet.”
David just nods along. “Of course, no pressure.”
“Sammy!” Alistair bounds up, his injured hand wrapped around a bottle of brew. He’s holding a six-pack of it in his other hand. “Time for you to chill so we can get the party started.”
“I’m plenty chilled, thanks,” Sam says. “Are you using that bottle as an ice pack?”
Alistair plonks the six-pack onto the cake table and pops one out to give to me. “Yep. It’s always cold, because I have to keep replacing it.”
“Oh no,” Sam says faintly. Alistair hands another bottle to David, who’s biting his lip in an attempt not to laugh.
“Don’t worry, Sam, I’ll make sure this party is talked about for weeks.”
“Please don’t,” Sam replies as he accepts a bottle for himself. “I promised Noah a quiet gathering.”
“Pshaw,” Alistair scoffs. “Quiet is for the dead. What we have here is a select gathering of awesome people who are going to have a wild time! Well, except maybe for David.”
“I really resent the way people keep saying that,” David says to no one in particular. “I’m fun.”
We all ignore him.
“Whadda ya say, Noah? Ready to turn up the music?” Alistair offers him a bottle of brew, a wicked gleam in his eye, and Sam, David, and I shout, “No!”
Sam snatches the bottle away. “Al, that is not okay.” He turns to Noah. “It’s shifter brew. Humans don’t react well to it. A few mouthfuls, and you’d pass out drunk.” He whirls back to Alistair. “How could you think that was okay, giving him a drink without telling him what it is?”
Alistair rolls his eyes. “Relax. Noah knows what it is. He asked me earlier. I offered him one then, too, but he said no.”
I just happen to be looking at Noah when Alistair says that, and I don’t think I’m imagining the fleeting expression of distaste and… fear?
“Although,” Alistair muses, “if we’re looking for dormant vampire genes, seeing how he metabolizes brew would be a pretty easy thing to check.”
“No,” I snap, while David sputters lame reasons why it would be a bad idea. And that fear flashes across Noah’s face again. “Getting drunk to ‘check metabolism’ is for college kids. If Noah decides he wants to try brew, he can. Otherwise, no way.”
“No, Noah can’t .” Sam sounds exasperated. “He’s twenty, not twenty-one.”
David, Alistair, and I exchange confused glances.
“Uh… so?” Alistair asks.
“ So , as a human, he’s not legally allowed to drink!”
David frowns. “I thought eighteen was the legal age of adulthood for humans in this country.” He shakes his head. “The laws have changed so many times over the decades, it’s hard to keep up.”
“It is,” Sam says through gritted teeth. “For everything except drinking alcohol.”
It’s my turn to frown. “Is that everywhere? Because—”
“Just in this country!”
Alistair puts his hands up defensively. “Thank you for explaining it to us, Sam.” He hesitates. “Although… would we really say Noah is under the jurisdiction of the human government anymore?”
I take a step back. Sam looks like he’s going to go on a murder spree.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Noah interrupts, putting a hand on Sam’s arm. “I don’t want any. But thanks.”
Alistair beams at him. “You’re welcome! And you know, since it’s your birthday and all, you should choose the music!” He turns to Sam. “Drink up, Sammy. You’re looking kind of tense, and we all know drunk Sam is fun Sam.”
Sam glares at him, then knocks back half the bottle in one go.
“Whoa,” David exclaims. “It’s not going to affect you like it did when you were human, but it’s still going to have an impact.”
“Will that impact include making Alistair go away?”
The dumbass hellhound just laughs. “I’m going. Come on, Noah. Let’s get the music going.”
Noah looks like he wants to protest—based on what I know about him, he was probably planning to slip out and head home soon—but Alistair drags him away.
I go back to my cake.
“Did you notice,” David murmurs, leaning in so Sam and I can both hear, “that Noah looked worried about drinking brew?”
I nod, but my mouth is full.
Sam sighs. “Yeah. And when he fell and sprained his foot a couple months back, he refused to take any painkiller stronger than ibuprofen. I think it’s some form of PTSD from the way they used to drug him at the bunker.”
“Avoiding anything that could possibly affect his awareness or lower his inhibitions?” David sounds thoughtful. “That makes sense. Have you mentioned seeing a therapist?”
“A couple times, but he always changes the subject. I don’t think he’s ready.”
I swallow my cake. It hurts a little, because I’m not done chewing, but I really need to butt into this conversation.
“He’s not hurting himself with this decision,” I say firmly.
“Electing not to drink alcohol or take prescription painkillers is not a bad thing. His reasons might not be great, but he’s working through this at his own pace.
It hasn’t been that long, and he’s doing great.
He knows you’re here for him, Sam, so we need to treat him like the adult he is. ”
Sam bites his lip. “He’s just so young.”
That makes me laugh. “Tell me, Sammy, what were you doing at his age?” Sam ran away from home at fourteen and lived on the streets for a while. By the time he was twenty, he’d been on his own for years.
A sheepish smile stretches his mouth. “Yeah, you’re right. And he’s strong—so strong. He’s going to be fine, whether he wants our help or not.”
That sounds a little like Sam’s threatening the universe, but I let it go. Loud nineties pop music blares through the room, accompanied by Alistair shouting, “It’s Britney, bitch!”
Time for the fun to begin. As David and Sam exchange terrified glances and sidle toward the door to the kitchen, I scrape up the last of my cake, savor that final bite, set down the plate, and launch into my dance routine.