Nigel Bennett & P.N. Elrod-Ethical Vampires 02 by His Father's Son

Author:His Father's Son [Son, His Father's]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-10-09T17:57:05+00:00

Chapter Eight

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He sat up fast with a sharp intake of air, heart thumping, his right hand crossing to his left hip as though to draw a sword.

Old habits…

He listened in the cool confines of the dark room. He heard only Michael’s soft breathing from the bed and the distant hum of the air conditioning.

What had awakened him? He concentrated and finally determined it had been nothing at all. He’d simply slept enough, and it was time to face the day, or what was left of it. His watch told him it was almost noon. It might have been midnight in this dim sanctuary.

He felt better. Getting up was not an effort. The aches in his body were gone, and he sensed his final restoration was complete… at least on the physical level.

Michael was exactly where Richard had left him. The covers were kicked off, but he still slept deeply. Maybe too deeply, but surely it would help, it would heal him, and God knew Michael needed healing. Richard replaced the bedspread, quietly chose fresh clothes, then left the boy alone, closing the door softly behind him.

In the living room, Richard dressed slowly. It was time to deal with responsibilities and he had no spirit for it.

Going back to stand watch over the child in the easeful dark was more preferable than facing reality. He sat heavily at the desk, a bleak stare for the telephone as he put things off for one more minute. No matter how much he wanted to avoid this, he couldn’t. Waiting would not make things better. He picked up the receiver and, since it was Saturday, punched in Bourland’s home number. A woman answered, the live-in housekeeper, and at Richard’s request went to fetch her employer.

“Hallo?”

Bourland’s voice was polite yet puzzled. Richard had not said who he was, and few people had this particular number.

“Philip… it’s Richard.”

“Richard, how are you? It’s been months. What on earth have you been up to?” Such warmth in Bourland’s drawled greeting. Richard could not make himself respond. The words stuck in his throat and an uncomfortable silence stretched over the lines.

“Hallo? Are you there? Is something wrong?”

Yes, my old friend, I’m about to put a knife in your heart and twist it.

“Richard?”

“I have very bad news, Philip. Please sit down.”

“What—” Bourland bit off the rest. Along with the ominous words, he’d have picked up on those subtleties of tone that indicate something truly serious had happened.

“I’m in Dallas.”

“What is it? Is Stephanie—”

“I’m sorry, Philip.” There was no way to make the news less brutal. Best just to say it, get it over with. “Stephanie is dead, and so are Elena and Seraphina.”

A very small strangled sound came over the line, cut short. “What… what happened? An accident?”

“No. Not an accident. They were murdered.”

There came a soft exhalation of breath, not quite a word, not quite a sigh, then a long silence, and Richard could sense his friend bowing under the sudden burden. He heard the scrape of wood against a bare floor.

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