Alexander (Vampire Morsels) Page 2

discussed your choice of playmates before?”

  “Yes?” Alexander answered uncertainly. Perhaps he could say he’d forgotten?

  His father cleared his throat loudly and looked at the little girl crouched down next to him. She hid her face with her skirt, as if that would make her invisible. “Go back to the kitchen, child,” he ordered. “And Alexander, you will accompany me to the drawing room to see your mother.”

  The words filled the small boy with an unreasonable amount of dread, but there was nothing to be done except to follow orders. Eucey stood quickly. She curtsied and nodded all over herself before she turned and ran back towards the safety of her mother.

  Alexander climbed to his feet and squared his small shoulders in an effort at bravery. “Father, I know Mother doesn’t want me to be friends with any of the slaves, but there’s no one else to play with. Aunt Torina said-”

  His father scowled darkly. “I care not for what your aunt said. You’ve been warned about appropriate company, before. Now, come.”

  Alexander trailed behind the three men to the house. They wiped their feet and the two guests took off their hats and traveling coats and left them with Martha. Then, the four of them made their way to the drawing room where Alexander’s mother and aunt Torina were already seated. His mother held his baby brother, Tristan, in her arms, but at the sight of guests she stood and quickly deposited him in the small rocking crib nearby.

  Alexander’s father moved to his wife and offered her his hand. “We have guests, Jesslynn,” he said quietly.

  She allowed him to help her stand, her face all politeness. Though, for just a moment, Alexander thought he saw a dark look pass between her and his father. “Yes, I see that we have guests. Good evening, gentlemen.” She eyed the third man suspiciously. He offered her a polite smile that revealed a pair of fangs. The sign that he was one of them; appropriate company.

  With that gesture the tension in the room dissipated. Torina stood and eyed the dark haired Mr. Smit. “Yes. A lovely evening to you, sirs.” Though she spoke to all of them, Alexander had the distinct impression that her greeting was only meant for the one.

  The men made the appropriate replies, and soon everyone was seated stiffly in the ornate furniture. His mother ordered refreshments brought, and welcomed Mr. Smit back from his trip. “What news do you bring?”

  The dark haired man cleared his throat. “It is not news for a lady.”

  Torina pouted prettily behind her beribboned fan. “Oh, come now. I am sure our delicate sensibilities will be able to handle it.”

  From his perch in the chair, Alexander‘s feet didn’t reach the floor, and it was with great effort that he refrained from swinging them. All of the adult niceties bored him. He wished his mother would scold him so he could go find something else to do.

  “Perhaps,” Mr. Smit agreed. “But there are children present.” His eyes met Alexander’s briefly, and then moved away again. Mr. Jorick Smit had never been unkind to him, but neither had he been particularly friendly. He was simply there, like the leaves in the autumn or the snow in the winter. There was no malice in him, but neither was there love, just the ever present “there-ness”.

  The third man, introduced as a Mr. Riley, also turned his attention to Alexander. His eyes registered surprise. “Upon my soul, is he?”

  Before he could finish Jesslynn was on her feet. She snatched Alexander from the chair. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen? Perhaps this is not the place for children.” She shot a commanding glance to her husband, and then dragged the small boy through the shadowy house and into the dining room.

  “What have you been doing?” Jesslynn demanded, but before Alexander could answer, his father appeared, and she turned her unhappiness on him. “Who is that man, Riley, Oren? Can he be trusted?”

  “He’s a friend of Jorick’s,” Oren answered.

  “A friend?” Jesslynn questioned sarcastically. “I didn’t think he was capable of friends.”

  “An acquaintance then,” Oren said impatiently. “If he were not trust worthy, Jorick would not have brought him to our home.”

  Jesslynn didn’t look convinced. “And what news do they bring that is unsuitable for our ears?”

  Alexander tried to remain as quiet as possible. Inconspicuous children could find out all kinds of interesting things, including news they were too young to hear.

  It worked.

  “There was a slave uprising, in Southampton County. They killed 50 or more.”

  “Mortals?” Jesslynn demanded.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then why would we care?” she asked haughtily.

  Oren stared at her incredulously. “Southampton County is only seventy miles south of us, Jesslynn. If they can rebel there, what is to stop them from doing so here? What is to stop them from creeping into the cellar while we sleep?”

  “Fear.”

  Oren shook his head. “Fear will only go so far. Would it not be best to simply free them and send them on their way? We don’t need the plantation, anymore-”

  She met his eyes challengingly. “Why do you say that? Do you think the neighbors will simply ignore it if our fields go wild? Do you think they won’t question?”

  Oren ground his teeth together angrily. “Do you think they do not already question? They have neighbors that they never see, and when they do, we never change! For the love of God, we have children that never age!”

  Alexander caught his breath, and the sound reminded them that he was there. Oren stepped back quickly, and his face fell to his usual cool, impassive expression. “We have guests waiting.” He started for the doorway, but stopped and looked back. “Alexander, go to your room and study your reading. Stay away from that slave child.”

  He wanted to argue, but his mother’s sharp tone silenced him, “Slave child?” She grabbed Alexander’s arm, and bent to stare him in the face. “Have we not discussed this?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He could argue about Eucey another time. “What did Father mean children that never age?” She pressed her lips tightly together and he stared into her eyes, willing her to answer, but her dark gaze overwhelmed him and he was forced to look away, defeated.

  “We will not discuss this further,” she snapped. “Do as your father says.” She straightened up and swept from the room, her long skirts rustling behind her.

  Alexander sighed heavily and did as he was told, though the prospect was a bleak one. He’d read the primer from start to finish more times than he could count and had most of the stories memorized. It was the same with his other studies; the same books, the same lessons, over and over and over. His days were a long circle of the same rituals repeated again and again with seemingly no progress.

  He was sitting at his desk, the worn books spread out before him with a flickering lamp for light, when the clock struck twelve. Moments later, he heard his father’s footsteps in the hall, and he paused from his daydream to wait for him. He appeared uncertainly in the doorframe and then plunged into the room, his hands held stiffly behind his back and his face unreadable. “Have you done your lessons?”

  Alexander pointed to the opened book on the desk. “Yes, sir.”

  Oren nodded crisply and turned back for the door. “Good. When you’ve finished, come down and have your meal. Your mother is planning for your birthday, tomorrow.”

  “How old will I be?”

  Oren stopped on the threshold and Alexander could feel him cringe. “You know very well.”

  He nodded to himself because he did, or he suspected that he did. He’d noticed something wrong several birthdays ago. “I’m never going to grow up, am I, Father?”

  Oren’s shoulders tightened like a clenched fist and then he relented and turned back. He met his son’s dark doe eyes and answered calmly, “No, no you won’t.”

  “And Tristan?” Alexander pressed.

  Oren sighed heavily and nervously smoothed his long, tawny hair. “No,” he said at last. “Tristan will never grow up, eit
her.”

  Alexander looked at his small hands folded in his lap and struggled to come to grips with his father’s words. Suspecting the truth and knowing it were two very different things. He’d watched slave children grow up, but they were different than him; their skin was darker and their teeth weren’t pointy. They ate the food that was cooked in the kitchen. He’d accepted that they grew up differently than he did because they were different. He just hadn’t realized how different.

  “Eucey,” he began, but his father cut him off.

  “Eucey will grow up. She will have children, she will grow old, and she will die. Her children will have children, and they too will grow old and the cycle will continue. But not for us. We are removed from their cycle, my son. We stand outside it.”

  Alexander swallowed hard. “How long do we stand outside it?”

  Oren drew a tight breath and released it slowly. “Forever, Alexander. We will continue as we are, incorruptible and whole, forever. Do you understand?”

  He nodded slowly, though the concept was one he only half understood. When he spoke his voice was barely audible. “How many birthdays have I had?”

  “Fifteen,” Oren answered without hesitation. “Tomorrow will be the sixteenth.”

  Alexander nodded again and turned to the stack of books on the desk. “I see.”

  Oren waited, but Alexander had nothing else to say. What else could he ask? “Why are we different? What are we?” He already knew the answer. They were vampires. That was why he must stay away