By M'Lyn, for Cathyrne.
James shuffled into the house through the back entrance, dragging his bookbag to its customary spot beneath the kitchen island, and slouched his way onto a stool. He made cow eyes at his mother, who was pouring a frothy red shake from a blender into a pair of glasses.
"Why'd I hafta come home early? Poppy and I were--"
"Your father wants to spend some time with you. Now take these to his office with you." Maddy handed him a tray with the glasses on it. Smelling the blood in the drinks, saliva pooled in his mouth, but he made himself to take the tray and walk to his father's office at the far end of the ranch house.
The door was slightly ajar, and James thought that he could just use the tray to tap it open. But before he was close enough, he heard his father's voice.
"Come in, James. Close the door behind you."
He did as he was told, and set the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa where his father sat.
The office was as imposing as it had always been, even though at twelve, James was old enough now to understand everything about his family's lifestyle. But he couldn't shake the disquieting effect of deep mahogany and black modern furniture. Coming in here, with the windows shuttered and a clock ticking quietly, was like falling into a pit. It didn't help that Jasper Rasmussen was all business in this room.
His dad patted a spot beside him. The patting gesture, in its sweet harmlessness, was a joke. The sofa was a collection of rectangles so sharp that they hardly looked like cushions. James went over and sat gingerly.
His father took a glass and lifted it toward his mouth. James reached for the smaller glass, but Jasper caught his hand and held it.
His father drank deeply, not stopping with just a sip, throat working as he drained the glass. James felt his whole upper jaw ache as he watched.
"There, that's nice." Jasper licked his lips as he set the empty glass down. The silver started to fade out of his eyes.
James whined, dog-like. It was a bad habit from his childhood. Grown lamia didn't whine when they were hungry. "Dad--"
Jasper ignored him and picked up the second glass, draining it like the first. He still held James' hand, in an ever-tighter grip as James shifted restlessly. Then he squeezed James' hand extra hard, and James forced himself to sit still.
Jasper put the second glass back on the tray. "Let's go for a drive."
Jasper drove to the bad part of town, to the Black Iris. He wasn't old enough to go in yet, except when they had youth nights, but he knew there wasn't a youth event tonight.
Jasper went up to the entrance, but he didn't knock and wait. He just went in. James followed, picking up his pace just in case his dad changed his mind and closed the door on James.
Instead the door closed behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Some shadow that looked kind of like a werewolf settled by the door, crossing its arms.
James kept looking around as he walked through the club. There were other shadowy figures, too, standing around the edges of the room, mostly near the bar. That one looked like the freaky Elder he'd seen at his dad's parties--
He bumped into his father, who had stopped, and he curled his nails into his palms. Stupid clumsy...
"James, come here." His father brought him around to stand in front of Him, with his hands on his shoulders.
"What's going on?"
"Just a little lesson for you. Look there."
The doors to the kitchen banged open, and light flooded the dark dance floor. Two men came out, dragging a big garbage bag between them.
No--not a garbage bag. A person.
He was a vagrant James had seen around the Black Iris before, a harmless older guy who poked around in the dumpsters and talked to himself. James felt his mouth turn down and tears prick his eyes as he watched the man struggle.
And at the same time, he could smell him. Smell it: the rich blood flowing in his veins. His teeth throbbed particularly hard.
"Come along, James." His father and the Elder James didn't know had gone to the man, now kneeling in the middle of the floor, held by the two other men. The Elder pulled his collar away from his neck. There was a ring of grime around the man's hairline, but the neck was clean.
Before James knew what he was doing, he was on his knees next to the man, his teeth in his neck.
The man didn't struggle or cry out. He must have been under someone's thrall. James didn't care. He had blood in his mouth; rich, life-giving blood, thick and sticky and with an odd taste that reminded James of egg nog his parents served to humans at Christmas parties.
Brandy. The man had a lot of alcohol in his veins. It went straight to James' head, making him even more dizzy, but also happy and warm. He laughed and the sound gurgled through the mouthful of blood. Some of it spilled down his chin. He leaned back and wiped his face on the back of his hand.
"Sure you don't want more?" Jasper asked. He was standing a few feet away, watching.
James shook his head. He'd had enough.
"Just a few more drops," his father continued, his tone sweet. "It's all right."
James looked at his father, but he couldn't see him clearly. His vision was blurry and he couldn't focus. He also didn't care. He shrugged and went back to the bite.
This time he noticed that he had to pull harder to get a good drink. Not very good blood pressure. And now, concentrating, he could hear the man's heartbeat slowing.
He pulled back, startled. But as he did, he didn't pull his teeth out right. He could feel the tissues give, and swore in his mind. If the artery didn't have clean punctures, it would heal more slowly, and that was dangerous.
Looking at the wound now, he saw blood ooze out. Shoot. Shoot shoot shoot. Dad and the Elder were going to be pissed. Plus, it was just embarrassing.
The blood surged out with one more heartbeat, and then it stopped. James's mouth fell open in horror.
"Dad?"
"Don't worry, James."
"Dad, do something." James looked up at the Elder's white, emotionless face. "You have to help him!"
"Shh." Jasper pulled James around to face him, his deep blue eyes piercingly intense. "He's gone, James. Look there."
James looked. He didn't want to, but it seemed like he had no choice, no control over his movements.
He saw the man's eyes, open and staring, saw them go flat and dull. His skin was waxy and totally white under the grime. "Dad," he said again, his voice cracking and going thick with tears. "Daddy." His vision blurred with tears.
Then he saw the man's neck. The other side, with a clean set of puncture marks.
He'd already been fed on, earlier.
"You needed to see how this happens," Jasper said quietly. "It's something everybody must learn."
"You made me kill him!" He didn't mean to be so loud, but he was crying openly now. He couldn't help it.
"You didn't kill him. You just fed. But now you see how easy it is, and what happens after."
The two men laid out the vagrant on his back. His face had relaxed, mouth open slightly, but he didn't look peaceful. He looked like he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open. He looked dead.
"You're sick," James sobbed.
"Hush now. Wipe your face and stop this sniveling." Jasper lowered his voice and took James roughly by the shoulders, shaking him a little. The shock of the movement made James's tears stop. "You're lamia. He was human. This is the way things are. Everyone must learn how it is."
James bit his lip, not saying anything. There was no way to argue.
Jasper took James home. Neither of them spoke during the drive and while walking into the house. James went straight to his room and closed his door.
He looked at the knob for a few moments, then went to his closet and pulled out his favorite sweatshirt. He wanted to be warm. Even in southern California, the nights got cool in December.
Sneaking out of his room and going to Poppy's house was easy, he'd done it so many times. It was raining lightly, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, even though the cold didn't affect him. It made him feel better, with the rain making an eerie mist under the streetlights and depressing wetness on the roads.
"Jamie?" Poppy pushed her window open so James could climb in. "What's wrong?"
"I just...had to come over. My dad."
"Aw." Poppy was at a loss. It was okay. She never knew what to say about Jasper Rasmussen. There was nothing to say.
"Can I just stay for a little while?" James shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pocket again.
"Of course. Yeah." Poppy went to her stereo, a movement that was soothing in its familiarity. She picked up the new CD they'd been listening to that afternoon before. It was kind of weird, but Poppy liked it, and that's what mattered. It made James feel like he was returning to normalcy, to what they'd been doing before he'd gone home.
As the first track started, James climbed onto her bed, kicking off his sneakers. Poppy followed, curling her legs under her and pulling a pillow over her lap. At the unspoken invitation, James laid his head on the pillow, closed his eyes, and breathed in the sweet, innocent smell of his best friend's room.
Fin.
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