Chapter 19
Nineteen
Claire didn’t mean to arrive at the café ten minutes early, but her whole body hummed with eagerness to hear about Tai’s meeting with Peter.
She ordered an Americano and a chocolate croissant, then claimed one of the soundproofed booths.
Tai would, of course, order sweeter items both from the coffee counter and the case of baked goods.
She smiled as she thought of it, of him, and tugged at one end of the croissant for a buttery bite.
She didn’t close the partition, which was similar to those in the booths at her bar.
This café wasn’t designed specifically for vampires, so the music was a little loud, the air conditioning a little too enthusiastic.
But the proprietors recognized that they had customers both human and vampire, and they’d opted to provide privacy for anyone who wanted it.
The bell above the door tinkled, and she looked up out of habit.
Tai was early too, looking—what had Ember called him?
Yes, unnaturally gorgeous—in straight-leg blue jeans, a watermelon-red Henley shirt, and charcoal-gray slip-on shoes that looked casually expensive.
Several heads turned as he crossed the café to Claire’s booth.
Ignoring the rest of the room, he slid into her side of the booth, took her hands in both of his, and kissed her. The kiss was light, brief, but it held more than a simple greeting. He squeezed her hands before he let go.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It went well?” She’d hardly dared to hope, could only imagine the difficulty of discussing something so private with a stranger, even one who struggled the same way.
“I have a lot to tell you.”
“Want to order first?” She tipped her head toward the front counter.
“Not really, but yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Be right back.”
She watched him while he ordered. She watched him tilt his head at something the barista said, offer her a smile that made her beam in return.
He pointed to something in the baked-goods case, paid with his card, and shoved his wallet into his back pocket again.
The red Henley fit him just right, hinting at the toned muscle of his shoulders and back, his narrow waist. Claire wasn’t the only one to notice.
Two women in line behind him shamelessly ogled as he brought his purchases to Claire’s booth.
This time he sat across from her. She slid the clear partition across their space, though at the moment they were the only vampires in the building.
“What is that?” Claire pointed at his iced latte.
“One of my favorites, and not a flavor you can find everywhere.” Tai grinned. “Butterscotch.”
She made a gagging noise, and he laughed.
“And this is, of course, an orange zest scone.”
“Much more reasonable.” Then she glanced again at his plastic latte cup, which bore in marker the name Ty. “Oh my gosh, I just realized your name is probably misspelled everywhere you go.”
He shrugged. “Pretty much. In professional settings, for a nametag or whatever, I make sure it’s correct. I don’t bother baristas about it, though.”
She tried not to make a face.
And clearly failed. Tai cocked his head. “What? I’m used to it, Claire. I got used to it in grade school.”
“You’re just so not a T-Y.”
He laughed. “Definitely not.”
“But you’re clearly not scarred by it, so we can move on. Tell me everything. Or, you know, everything you want to tell me.”
“All of it. I want you to know all of it.” He took a sip of his latte and gave a satisfied hum. “Peter taught me more about our condition in a few hours than I’ve taught myself in twenty years. Did you know my metabolism’s faster than yours? Measurably, significantly faster.”
He’d said our condition without the usual tripping on his words. He sounded almost excited to share his new knowledge. This was what Peter’s support had done in the course of one afternoon.
Instead of bursting into song, Claire kept chill, held space for him to keep talking, said only, “I didn’t know that.”
“I’ve kept rigid control for so many years, exactly twenty-four hours between slaking. Usually twenty-four hours and one minute.”
“One extra minute? To prove your control to yourself?”
“Right, and apparently it’s the worst thing a bloodfiend can do, like trying to treat a broken leg by running a marathon.”
His approach wasn’t only flawed; it also felt kind of extreme, a form of punishment. His revulsion for his condition ran deeper than she’d realized. She hid her grimace behind a sip of espresso.
She said, “What should you be doing instead?”
“When I feel thirsty, I’ve got to slake as soon as possible. It’s that simple—and that hard. In the beginning at least, it’s going to feel like giving in.”
He was quiet a minute, borrowing her cue of sipping his latte to shield a surge of feeling she couldn’t help seeing anyway. He tasted his scone and nodded his satisfaction. Claire let the silence settle and hoped it bolstered him.
“So,” he said after a moment. “I, uh, I thought it would be easy to say everything I want you to know, but it’s…”
Claire reached across the table and took his hand. He looked up and met her eyes, and his were glinting as always, now with a furrow of disquiet between them.
“Take your time,” she said. “I’m here.”
He nodded. “Um, another thing… I never say anything, but I have a hard time keeping warm. Not like ‘don’t we all, vampires are basically reptiles’ but like…too cold to think sometimes. Peter said this is a bloodfiend thing too.”
He went on to describe an entire lifetime of ignoring his discomfort, his needs, of berating himself for something as simple as being the coldest person in the room.
He didn’t seem to realize he was describing deliberate self-neglect, and Claire waited for him to complete the picture he was painting, to tell her at last why he had never allowed himself the simplest solution.
She wanted to hug Peter Updike for all but ordering her boyfriend to invest in a whole lot of blankets.
“Ignoring the cold makes the attacks worse,” he said. “According to Peter.”
“Thank goodness for Peter,” she said.
He smiled.
Claire finished her espresso, popped the last bite of croissant into her mouth, and pushed aside her napkin and mug to take both his hands. She leaned across the table, propped on her elbows.
“Tai, where did you learn to ignore the cold?”
He gripped her hands so hard, if she were human he’d have cracked her bones. She gripped with equal strength.
“I’ve never talked about this part,” he said. “Never said the words aloud. To anybody.”
“Until today, to Peter?”
“No,” he said. “Not this, not to Peter. Even Ryker knows only an overview, no specific details.”
“But you want to tell me?”
He nodded. His gaze was fixed on hers, intent, intense. His lips pressed tightly together.
She took a reasonable guess. “You don’t know how to start.”
He shook his head.
If he wanted, needed to free his story, then she would find a way to help, find a key to the lock that held Tai’s story inside him. Maybe he needed an opening question. “I think maybe you’ve dealt so badly with your condition because of something that happened when you were young. Is that right?”
He nodded again, opened his mouth to speak, and he truly did seem to freeze. Statue mode, a vampire’s response to a threat he might not be able to beat in a fight. But then he said hoarsely, “When I was twelve, my mom died.”
It was the one thing she never would have guessed. A vampire who died…his own mother… “I’m so sorry, Tai. Was she…? How old was she?”
“Forty-six.”
An accident, then. Something awful, if a vampire didn’t survive it.
“Yeah,” he said as if reading her thoughts, though they wouldn’t be hard to guess. “A car accident, no survivors. It’s always been a reminder for me. No matter what humans think, instant death can still take us.”
Claire had no idea what to say, but he didn’t seem to need words from her. He needed to be heard. She held onto his hands, kept her mouth shut, and listened.
“One split second difference and she’d be here.
One split second. I can’t understand it.
Our reflexes, she should’ve been able to…
So I can’t let it go, in my head. By now you’d think…
but I still can’t.” His eyes grew shiny, and he blinked a few times until the tears dried without falling.
“Anyway. I didn’t know how bad their marriage was until Mom died.
She’d made a will, on the infinitesimal chance something happened to her.
It was worded precisely, witnessed and notarized and fortified every possible legal way, because she knew he’d try to have it thrown out—which he did, but it was air-tight.
Mom brought old money to their marriage, and she willed every penny of it to me. ”
Claire felt the shock take over her face. “That’s why you’re…?”
“So wealthy I can work for Josie Strong and take a quarter of my salary? Yeah.”
“Wait, you do what?”
“Seventy-five percent of my salary goes back to the organization. My boss Holly won’t let me return all of it. I tried, and she threatened to fire me.”
“That’s…really good of you.”
“Stop it. It costs me nothing, Claire. When I say I’m wealthy, I’m understating by a lot.”
For so long she’d thought he was an entire galaxy of contradictions, but he wasn’t contradictory at all. Each piece of his personality explained all the others. Claire couldn’t sort through the thoughts and feelings that filled her chest.
“Tell me about your mom.”
“She was great. She loved baking; her decorated cakes looked professional. She let me be…” He shrugged. “Myself. Especially my music—he thought it was a waste, but Mom loved it.”
He. It was the only thing he’d called his father. Not Dad, not so far.
Tai drew in a breath that shook, then let it out. Then he did it again.
“Tai?”
He glanced to the partition, to the corners of their booth. “Can we go outside?”
“Of course we can.”
They exited the café and stood on the sidewalk, bathed in sunshine and the random chatter of pedestrians, the coasting tires of cars searching for parallel parking in front of clustered downtown businesses and restaurants.
Tai walked over to a tree and stood under it as if he needed a shield, and Claire followed.
“Hey,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine now.” He pressed his palm to the trunk of the tree, then rocked in place a few times. “Sorry. Trying not to be dramatic, but I think I need space to move.”
Claire scanned her mental filing cabinet for ideas. “I’ve got just the place. I’ll drive.”
Tai went quiet on the drive away from downtown.
Within twenty minutes, Claire was winding her car along the tree-lined drive into the state park they both knew well.
Tai had been less than a mile from here at the waterfall with Peter.
When she struck out on an uphill trail, he followed silently. Soon he was hounding her heels.
“Claire.” The first thing he’d said since they got into her car.
She turned back to face him. “Want to run?”
He nodded, and the hint of a smile tugged his mouth.
“We’re headed to a particular destination, so don’t outpace me, Speedy.”
“I won’t.”
Then they were darting at full speed, easily avoiding the few humans on the trail by slipping into the trees, then slipping back onto the path when they were truly alone.
Claire took him up a sheer cliff, free climbing, propelling themselves higher, using the full power of their bodies.
A climb that would take humans all day took them less than an hour.
They weren’t dressed for it, but their ease of movement—not to mention their lack of sweat—kept their clothes mostly pristine.
At the top of the cliff, Claire spread out her arms. “Here you go. Space to move.”
No human hikers could make it up here without major equipment. They were too distant to overhear anyone on the trail, much less be overheard. And the view… Well, Claire hoped it would speak peace to Tai the way it always had to her.
“Oh,” he said quietly as he gazed out on the vista. Endless trees below them in every direction, a lake far off to the right that glittered diamond-like in the sunshine, mountains at the horizon, wreaths of clouds.
Tai sat on the edge, dangling his legs, swinging his feet in spite of his slip-on shoes. Claire removed her canvas wedges, which were equally likely to slip off and fall hundreds of feet. Barefoot, she sat beside him and set a hand on his thigh.
“Can we check in? You’ve been quiet for a while.”
Tai covered his hand with hers and met her eyes. “Thank you.”
“I hoped the climb would help you get through whatever that was.”
“It did. And this… How’d you find this place?”
She grinned. “Are you trying to tell me you always stay on the human paths when you come here?”
“Fair point.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s beautiful. It’s like…like this place has its own music. I can hear the melody in my head that matches”—he gestured to the entire panorama—“all of this.”
“Will you play it for me sometime?” she said.
“I’d like that a lot.” He drew a deep breath and let it out. This time, unlike his attempt at the café, the breath seemed to lift a weight from his back. “I think I can say the rest now.”