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July, 1987
Armand sat on the sofa in the den watching the television in the dark. It was tuned to a home shopping channel of some kind and the man on the screen was demonstrating how it was impossible to damage the frying pan he was selling by running it over with a car.
For a moment, Daniel flashed back to Brooklyn, to the days when Armand would fill their apartment with As Seen On TV products, insisting they test them all before learning most were cheap plastic that rarely worked as promised. Still, he’d buy them in massive quantities, filling empty apartments like storage units. Daniel wondered what became of those apartments. Maybe they were still there, full of unopened mail-order boxes.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to start ordering this crap again,” Daniel said. He was joking but neither of them laughed. Armand didn’t even react. He might have been a statue.
Daniel picked up the remote and shut the television off.
Finally, Armand turned his amber eyes on Daniel with a slight turn of his head. “I was watching that.”
“Like hell you were. What do you care about frying pans? You don’t cook.”
Armand turned back to the television, staring at its blank screen as if it were fascinating.
Frustration whirled in Daniel like a tornado. It had been like this for weeks. They’d had a fight—nothing major, not by their standards—but they’d both said some shitty things.
Daniel had called him a parasite, for one, and that had struck a nerve. Then Armand had hissed something about regretting making him a vampire, and that had struck a nerve with Daniel. Both of them were wounded, but they made up. And then things were good again, or so Daniel thought.
Only shortly after that night, Armand began avoiding him entirely or sitting silently in rooms, refusing to react to anything he said or did.
Yelling hadn’t worked. Neither had breaking things. Last week, Daniel broke one of his damned sculptures in anger. Armand had merely stared. When Daniel got back later that night, the mess had been cleaned up but Armand didn’t say a word. It was like living with a ghost. An irritating, infuriating ghost.
Daniel stood in front of the television. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
“Nothing.” Flat, no emotion. His face was stone.
Daniel rubbed his temples. He didn’t get headaches anymore, not unless he went without blood for far too long, but he could feel one forming anyhow. “You know what, forget it. I’m done.”
He met Armand’s eyes. Stared straight into them. Missed when Armand could read this thoughts because oh boy, he was having some thoughts right now. He willed Armand to say something. Anything.
Got nothing.
He growled. “Fuck this. And fuck you.”
He stormed out of the room. Grabbed a coat. Reconsidered. Went downstairs and packed a bag with one eye on the bedroom door. He half-expected Armand to come stop him, or at least start an argument about him leaving. But he didn’t come.
Daniel paused at the doorway of the den, where Armand had turned the television back on. He hadn’t moved otherwise.
He slammed the door on his way out for good measure.
Paused on the dock, just in case. But nothing happened. No one emerged from the villa. Daniel got in the boat and drove toward Miami. After that, he’d pick up one of their cars and head anywhere else.
September
Daniel sat on a dingy bed in a motel room in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He’d stayed there once before, years and years ago, while on the run from Armand. But he couldn’t remember the details. Had Armand found him here or in the next city? How long had he remained? He wasn’t sure.
It was after they’d moved to Night Island, he knew that. He vaguely remembered Armand finally coming for him in Arizona, but maybe that was a different time.
Incredible how he’d spent so many years running away from the same person. And the irony was that he never wanted to be running, not really.
Even now. He remembered how pissed off he’d been at the villa, how Armand had just sat there, frustratingly silent and still.
Daniel hated him. Loved him. Missed the bastard.
He picked up the phone. Dialed the number to the villa. It went to the machine. There was no message, just a beep.
“Pick up, asshole, I know you’re there.” He could picture Armand standing there, watching the tape in the machine spin as it recorded. He waited a beat to see if he’d answer. He didn’t. “Guess we’re still doing this, huh?” Another pause. He sighed heavily into the receiver. “Whatever. Forget it.”
He hung up.
Immediately regretted the call and the message. But then for all he knew, Armand had left Night Island, too. Maybe he really had been talking to an empty house.
October
Daniel walked through the casino. He wore jeans, a t-shirt, and sunglasses meant to conceal his eyes. The constant clanging of slot machines along with the ever-present music drowned out his thoughts. Casinos were planned chaos: ugly patterned carpet, minimal windows, and a maze of tables and games, all designed to disorient.
He liked how dizzying it was. The colors, the lights, the noise. He could lose himself there if he wasn’t careful. Maybe that was part of the appeal.
He stopped and put a nickel into a slot machine, pulled the lever. The symbols spun around, and then landed on three mismatched icons: a lemon, a cherry, a bell. It played a jaunty little tune of defeat.
He reached in his pocket for more coins. In his periphery, he saw a flash of pale skin and auburn hair. Blinked. It was gone.
Probably just imagining things. Besides, there were lots of pale dancers and drag queens with auburn hair running around the casino.
He put in another nickel and spun the wheel again. Won ten cents. Tried again. After several rounds, he felt eyes on him. Turned.
No one there. All in his head.
He stepped away from the machine and headed along the path to the elevators. He pressed the call button and waited.
A woman in dress suit came rushing up to him. She had a casino name tag. “Mr. Brown!” That was the alias on the credit card du jour. “There you are. Didn’t you hear your name over the intercom?”
Daniel stared at her. He hadn’t. But then, he hadn’t been paying attention and it wasn’t really his name. “No, sorry, perhaps I was outside.”
She frowned. They had speakers outside. But she always wasn’t going to argue with a VIP high roller—he’d lost a couple of thousand at black jack just the other night—so she just nodded. “Okay, well, I just wanted to make sure your friend was able to get in the room and everything.”
“Friend?”
She looked even more flustered now but was doing her best not to show it, even as sweat beaded on her upper lip. “Yes, your friend, the one meeting you? Red hair, nice suit?”
Of course. Who else?
The woman was starting to panic. “He is your friend, isn’t he? I gave him a room key but only because he had your credit card number and name and all of your information. I normally wouldn’t do that.” She frowned, clearly confused as to why she had, but Daniel knew exactly why: Armand had gotten into her head. “But if he’s not, we can—”
“He is,” Daniel said. “I guess we haven’t crossed paths yet. It’s fine.”
Relief washed over her and her shoulders relaxed. “Oh, good. Well, let me know if we can do anything else.”
The elevator dinged. Daniel got in, now eager to get upstairs. By the time it let him out on the 15th floor, blood was thrumming in his ears.
He rushed to his suite at the end of the hall, fumbling with the key and pushing the door open. The room was dark. He shut the door behind him. The suite had a front room with a kitchenette and couch, and then a bedroom and bathroom. The front room was empty.
He went to the bedroom and flicked on the light.
Empty.
Disappointment washed over him. For good measure, he checked the bathroom but Armand wasn’t there, either.
Maybe he was somewhere else in the casino? But why not find him? Why demand a key from the front desk and then not use it?
He leaned against the bathroom wall. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, skin inhumanly pale, the blue veins starting to pulse. He hadn’t fed tonight. He pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and his violet eyes shone monstrously bright back at him.
Here you are, Molloy, everything you wanted to be. Is it everything you expected?
He sighed and went back into the bedroom. On the bed near the pillows was a thin, silver box hadn’t noticed. He looked around the room again, tempted to check the closet, except he knew he was alone. Armand wasn’t there.
He opened the box, half-expecting to find a finger or eyeballs or something morbid. Instead, inside was a nice watch. Designer, fancy, silver. Probably cost a small fortune. He held it up. On the back, it was engraved in small letters that said, “Oct 1985” and below that in bigger letters, “Forever.”
A rush of emotions washed over him: love, annoyance, anger, betrayal. Anger won and it took all of his willpower not to smash the watch into pieces.
He left it in the box on the bed and went back downstairs. But a search of the casino turned up nothing. Armand was gone and the damned watch was the only indication he’d even been there at all.
December
Daniel saw him first.
Armand stood on the edge of the shopping plaza on Night Island, watching the crowds move through open-air mall and ride the escalators up and down. The plaza was decorated for Christmas, with a giant tree in the middle that had enough ornaments on it that it might have doubled as a disco ball. Pine garlands and Christmas lights wound around the railings.
Armand wore modern clothes, denim and sneakers, his hair almost brushing his shoulders. He skin was pale but radiated with freshly drunk blood. Daniel could smell it, along with his shampoo and the faintest hint of cologne.
Daniel wore jeans and a leather jacket he’d bought in Vegas to celebrate winning back some of the money he’d lost. And he wore the damned watch. He had worn it since he’d found in the hotel room six weeks ago, not that he’d admit it.
Armand looked genuinely surprised to see him.
“You're still here,” Daniel said. It wasn’t a question but in truth, he wasn’t sure Armand would be on the island at all. The villa had been dark, so he’d walked past it to this place on a hunch. Lucky guess.
“I come and go,” Armand said.
A little of the tension eased out of Daniel’s shoulders. He was speaking, at least. That was something.
“So I noticed. You know, it’s fucked up to chase me to Vegas and not even say hi.”
“I let you know I was there.” Armand glanced at the watch on Daniel's wrist. “I let you make the choice.”
Daniel clenched his fists to keep himself from throwing something. Had Armand always been this goddamn maddening?
“I didn’t even see you.” Not really a lie. A tiny glimpse in the periphery hardly counted. “How was that fair?”
“You would have found me if you’d wanted to.”
He remembered frantically searching the casino floor. “That’s bullshit. You were fucking with me.”
Armand said nothing. But notably, he didn’t deny it.
Daniel sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. Debated if it was a better idea to turn back around and get back in the boat, and get over to the mainland before it was too late and he was stuck here for the day. He glanced back in the direction of the dock.
Armand titled his head, examining Daniel as if trying to read his thoughts. Sometimes Daniel wondered if the loss of that connection was part of their downward spiral. Armand had spent a decade always knowing what was Daniel was thinking and now he had to guess. Sometimes his guesses were spot on. After all, he knew Daniel, knew how his mind worked. But still. It wasn’t the same as having a direct line.
Finally, his words so soft they were barely audible, Armand asked, “Why did you come back?”
Because he was bored. Tired of bouncing around aimlessly. Because he hadn’t intended to leave for so long, or expected their silence to stretch out so far. Because he had a fucking watch on his wrist ticking away the hours and reminding him of the exasperating lover he’d left behind. Because if he called one more time and got the goddamn machine again, he was going to explode.
“Ran out of money,” he lied.
Armand gave him a look that said he didn’t buy that. After all, he had the credit card statements. There was no running out, not really. There were always more cards, more money. Of course, Daniel still lost wallets, lost track of cards, forgot PIN numbers. He never had been good at keeping track of those things, and being a vampire was as distracting as being drunk in some ways.
“If you’re only here to replenish your funds…”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Daniel said. Daniel turned and headed for the path that led back to the villa.
“Where are you going?” Armand asked.
“Back to the house.” Daniel kept walking.
After a moment, Armand fell into step beside him. They walked in silence. Once they reached the front of the villa, Daniel ran down to the dock and pulled his bag out of the boat. When he got back to the villa, Armand was there waiting.
He walked in, hung up his jacket, and surveyed the the foyer and the parlor that was visible. It all looked exactly the same. Not surprising, but still, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. It had only been six months and Armand had never spontaneously redecorated the villa before, but there was a first time for everything.
He went into the den, where he’d last seen Armand before leaving. It, too, looked exactly the same. He dropped his bag on the floor. Waited to see if Armand would comment about him flinging belongings everywhere. He didn’t.
Daniel leaned against the back of the sofa.
Armand was watching him like he was a loose canon. Daniel almost laughed. He felt exactly the same way, as if they were both on thin ice that might shatter if they said or did the wrong thing.
“Did you ever order that frying pan you were so enamored with?”
“What?” Armand’s brow furrowed.
“On the television. The night I left.”
Armand shook his head. Came closer. Touched Daniel’s cheek, which made the hair on the back of his neck rise and all his nerve-endings take notice. “I wasn’t paying attention to the television.”
Daniel did laugh then. “God, you’re such an asshole.”
Armand let his hand fall, fingers tracing over Daniel’s neck and down to his collarbone beneath his t-shirt. “Do you really think so?”
Daniel met his eyes and smirked at him. “I think you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever known.”
“Oh?”
Daniel pulled him closer and kissed him.
Armand’s lips were soft and the kiss was gentle at first, but then passion prevailed. Fangs cut into tongues and blood filled their mouths. The heat of it set Daniel on fire and he tightened his grip on Armand, not wanting to let go.
Armand moved his lips down Daniel’s jaw to his throat.
A jolt of pain shot through him as fangs pierced his neck, followed by the soft rhythm of lips moving gently against his skin, drinking. His veins tightened and pulled. Daniel didn’t have much blood in him, hadn’t fed that night, but he didn’t care. Let Armand drink him dry.
When Daniel felt like his veins could take no more and might collapse in on themselves, Armand’s mouth left his throat. He kissed Daniel again, the blood tingling on his tongue.
Daniel straightened and grabbed Armand’s hand, pulling him around the sofa. He pushed him down on the cushions and then crawled on top of him.
He caressed Armand’s cheek and neck, and then his lips found Armand’s throat. Armand’s fingers threaded into his hair. He could feel the heat of the artery under his tongue, pulsing with life. His fangs pierced the skin and blood exploded into his mouth, hot and thick, a salty ambrosia. The blood burned through him, lightning electrifying his veins.
And with the blood came a torrent of images from Armand’s mind: memories of Daniel, of the Night Island, Miami, Vegas. Too chaotic and random to gleam a meaning, but he didn’t care. The blood rekindled that mental connection, however briefly. He wanted to drown in it.
He drank, heart pounding, until Armand gently eased him away from the wound. Daniel almost whimpered as he was cut off from the blood and the whirlwind of thoughts. Armand looked a little strained but smiled at him. Reached up and smoothed his hair.
They sat up. Daniel put his arm around Armand’s shoulders and they stared at the nothingness on the blank television screen because the remote was out of reach and neither of them wanted to move.
Why the hell couldn’t it always be like this?
After a while, Daniel pulled himself from the sofa, a little shaky as he vibrated with blood. He grabbed his bag and headed downstairs to their room. He dropped the bag on the floor near the dresser and collapsed onto the bed, still in his jeans.
From upstairs, he heard the clanking of the shutters that would keep sunlight out of the house during the day, and then the beeping of the security system being set.
Armand came into the room and shut the door. Frowned at Daniel.
“Take off your shoes, at least.”
Daniel groaned, sat up, and kicked off his shoes before laying back down. Armand sighed but didn’t force him to get up and put on pajamas or anything, which was good. Daniel could feel the pull of sunrise and didn’t want move.
***
The next night, Daniel awoke alone in bed, still in his jeans and t-shirt. Armand, who woke earlier than he did, was gone. For a moment, panic shot through him, wondering if things had somehow gone bad again while he slept.
But after showering and changing, he found Armand upstairs, waiting for him. He had the keys to one of the speedboats in his hand and impatiently shoved Daniel’s jacket at him.
“Where are we going?” Daniel asked.
“There’s an art show I want to see. It closes at midnight and we both need to hunt first. Come on.”
Daniel followed him out the door, glad that things seemed to be on solid ground for now. He didn’t know how long it would last this time, but he didn't want to think about it too hard. Might as well try to predict the next earthquake.