#adelaide writes

It was 3am – no, really, 3am, when the latest fire drill sounded through Tregarren Hall. Darren Tyler groaned, long and loud, a hand thrown over his eyes. “Oh God, make it stop.” He’d only gotten in an hour beforehand and while not as drunk as before, he was on the wrong side of buzzed for standing in the freezing cold with 60 or so strangers in the middle of the night. Most of his friends lived in Fenton; all probably fast asleep, he reflected bitterly.

Right. Slippers. Coat. Keys, Darren, he cursed, blearily stumbling around with the shrill alarm still blaring. Dressing gown in hand, ready to pull on, he ran out of his room and down the stairs. Outside, most people had broken off into groups, huddled together for warmth like half-drunk, irritable penguins. Darren gave his name to the attendance officer and started moving around to keep warm. Minutes later, he realised he was still carrying his dressing gown, and wound it round his neck like an extraordinarily big scarf (as he’d already pulled his coat on.)

“What’s going on?” A familiar voice asked next to him. Darren yawned.

“Fire alarm.” On closer inspection, the face was familiar too. Darren felt his bad mood worsen. “Oh. Hi, Spencer.”

“Dan, right?”

“Darren.” Which you bloody well know, you tosser, he thought viciously. Though Darren hadn’t made many, or any, close friends at university yet, the acquaintances he did have were forever moaning about Spencer Williams; filthy rich with an obnoxious personality to match. The last time they’d met was in the cafeteria one breakfast-time. Spencer had looked him up and down; taken in his old, worn pyjamas and ratty dressing gown, (hey, it had been a long night,) and had smirked nastily and moved along without a word. Darren wasn’t embarrassed of his scholarship status, but the blatant disregard from the rich kids around campus drove him mad. “Did you want something? What are you even doing on campus this late?”

Spencer fidgeted, and didn’t say anything. With a jerk of his head he gestured to the building in front of them. The one that was definitely Not On Fire, but still closed to its residents.

“… You live in Tregarren Hall? What the fuck?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, and Darren blamed the fourth or fifth vodka shot Jenny had pressed on him that evening. “Is that a problem?” He asked in his arrogant, lazy drawl, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re kidding me, right? I thought you had a flat somewhere. Or at least, you know; Fenton.” Fenton Hall had nice rooms, mostly shared, but with en-suites and kitchens. Darren had a bed, a sink, and some shelves. He had to store his guitar and amp on his small desk for lack of space, and do his work sitting on the bed. Try as he might, he just couldn’t picture Spencer Williams in Tregarren; making do with the least the university had to offer- using a communal bathroom, for God’s sake!

Spencer just shrugged at him. “Dad’s idea. I get the flat next year, once I’ve suffered through a year of this.”

“Oh, poor baby.” Though, right now, Spencer did look like he was suffering in the cold night air. Clearly just back from a night out, he was dressed in a thin black shirt with stars on and dark jeans; hair slicked back, collar open, looking thoroughly exhausted, (and more than a little bit… lickable.)

Darren mentally shook his head. No. He’s still an arse. But his abuela hadn’t raised him to be inconsiderate. “Um- here, take this.” He pulled the dressing gown off from round his neck and then shrugged off his coat, handing it to Spencer. “I brought a spare,” Darren said, indicating the dressing gown.

Spencer stared at him inscrutably, and then took the dressing gown.

“No, no-“mortified, he tried to clutch it back, (the thing had holes in,) but Spencer merely scoffed at him and pulled it on. “Keep your coat, it’s warmer. And- well. You need it more.”

Darren was glad for the fact it was night, because he was pretty sure he just went bright red. He wasn’t the smallest person he knew- but next to Spencer, everyone looked like a dwarf. He stifled a laugh at the sight of Spencer in his fleecy dressing gown, decorated with rainbows and clouds. (Darren’s philosophy on being newly out of the closet was “hey, go hard or go home.”) The sleeves ended somewhere near his elbows, the hemline just above his knees. “Very nice.”

“It’s a big help, thanks. Blast this. Any idea when they’ll let us back in?”

“You’ve never done this before?”

Spencer shook his head. “No, I missed the first one.”

“Oh.” Darren couldn’t help himself. “At a girlfriend’s house, or something?”

Spencer gave him another one of the looks he’d received in the cafeteria that day. Except, this time it seemed a little more… fond. Like he thought Darren was just adorable for asking.

Darren wondered whether he’d misread the initial smirk, after all.

“Sleepover with my little brother,” he answered. “He got a bit freaked out when I left; thought I wasn’t coming back. He’s very protective. So I went home for the weekend, made a bit of a fuss of him. He’s only eight.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s really sweet, actually.”

“Relieved?”

“Yes,” Darren answered immediately- and then blushed again. “No, I mean- I’m relieved that you’re not a total prat, not that you don’t have a girlfriend.”

Spencer’s smile was indecipherable. “… I see. Thought I never actually said I didn’t have a girlfriend. You hang out with the crystal club, don’t you?”

Darren self-consciously fiddled with the yellow jasper in his leather bracelet. Mia, (beautiful, hippy Mia,) had gifted it to him a few weeks earlier. He’d been so shocked at being included that he hadn’t taken it off since. “So what if I do?”

To his complete surprise, Spencer held out his right wrist, on which there was an identical weave of leather. “Peridot.” An almost-sheepish smile. “She’s very persuasive. And I don’t have a girlfriend, by the way, in case you’ve heard the rumours. We’re just friends.”

“Oh.” Darren shrugged, and tried to play cool. “Okay. I don’t either.”

Spencer looked down at himself and fingered with one of the fleecy rainbows. “That much was obvious.”

Darren opened his mouth to- retort? Defend? But was cut off by the announcement that the building had been opened, and residents could wearily troop back in. The crowd around them started to mill toward the entrance.

“Keep it,” Darren said quickly. The hallways weren’t exactly toasty either. “You can give it back to me in the morning. He heard a quick “thanks, really-“ before they were both jostled by the throng of people and separated. He craned his neck to look around for him, but couldn’t spot even Spencer’s tall frame.

His bed was cold now, and the beginnings of a hangover were starting to set in. Darren managed to shrug his coat off before falling face-first into the pillows and falling asleep; slippers and all.

*

When he woke in the early afternoon it was with a headache and a desperate need for water. Darren staggered out of his room, ignoring the giggles of passers-by, and was on the way to the loo when something caught his eye, and he stopped. Hanging on his door was his dressing gown, and there was a note on the little whiteboard where Darren usually had his name.

Darren-

Thanks for the loan. Let’s do this again sometime- preferably somewhere warmer, with drinks, and mood lighting.

- Peridot

x

Darren frowned at the signature, before remembering Spencer’s bracelet, and the fact that not everyone was at rainbow apparel levels of being ‘out’. He picked up the dressing gown and held it close, childishly trying to breathe in the scent before remembering he didn’t really know what Spencer smelled like.

If the people of Tregarren have taught Dax anything, it’s that those from Fenton are not to be trusted. They’re tricksters, they say. Spies and illusions are their work, and they are never happier than when there is magic and mischief being done.

Dax doesn’t believe this, or, he doesn’t want to. True, there’s a huge difference between the two cultures; Tregarren folk are as honest and true as the salt of the sea they live by, and their actions are just as rough and unpretentious. The Fenton people, however, are from woodland. From deep, dark forests, with all their twists and turns and hiding places.

  The people Dax met in the first few hours of Spencer’s visit backed up this belief completely. So, he was relieved beyond measure when he spotted the most mysterious, shrouded figure in the company roll his eyes almost out of his head when the foreign king put on airs and graces and practically drawled his terms and conditions of peace at Gideon.

  The man wasn’t carrying a weapon; or- anything, really. He was dressed in expensive-looking coloured silks, and wore a little jewellery- an extreme contrast to the plain, homely clothes that Gideon’s people favoured. Dax was forced to wear turquoise, as a mark of his status, but he wore it in simple, practical garments. He was sure the man was a bodyguard of some sort. Dax was introduced to Mia, the other king’s sword, but not the man who was staring at him now.

  ... Staring at him now. Dax almost coloured with embarrassment, but still, he was too curious to let it go. He looked quickly at Gideon, and knew by his expression that the peace talks would go on for hours. The man seemed to agree, as he nodded his head towards his king and rolled his eyes again, smiling, as if to say, I know what you mean.

Before he fully knew what he was doing, Dax made the silent, subtle gesture of “take over for me” to Owen, and slipped out of the room. He didn’t have to look behind to know that the man was following him.

  “Darren Tyler,” the man said as soon as they were alone and out of earshot. “I’m sorry; I wanted to introduce myself earlier- but, well. Spook’s protective,” he explained, looking guilty.

  “Spook?”

  “Oh- the king. It’s just my nickname for him.” Dax’s confusion clearly showed on his face, because Darren was trying, and failing, to hide his laughter. “Oh, you really don’t know who I am.”

  Dax studied him unashamedly. He could see, even from this distance that he wasn’t a fighter- at least, not a physical one. His dark skin was soft and unmarked, his mouse-brown hair a little long and curling at the ends. Clearly a man who was concerned with appearance, Dax thought. He’d say a magician, though he was as different to their own court sorcerer as water to a stone.

  “So? What do you make of me?”

  “You’re... rich,” Dax finally said, though he was still unsure. “A nobleman.”

  Darren laughed again. “I haven’t a penny- to my own name. Any other guesses?”

“A magician?” His style and personality would match that of a sorcerer from Fenton, Dax supposed. The guess got him a little nod.

  “I dabble, in illusions mostly. Little tricks.”

  So, not in an official sense, Dax thought. “I give up.”

  “The tenacity of Tregarren,” Darren mocked, though not spitefully. “I’m his consort. Did they really not tell you?” He added, “Clearly not,” after an awkward pause. “My apologies. I know it’s outdated here, I didn’t mean to offend-”

  “You didn’t,” Dax said quickly, and then consulted what he liked to call his “inner Owen.”

(He then, a little guiltily, did what he usually did with the real Owen; admired him from afar, listened to him patiently and attentively, and then did the exact opposite of whatever he said.)

  “Darren,” he said, “If I’m allowed to call you that, which I hope I am-” he wasn’t versed in the ways of consorts and their masters- “I think I’m going to need your help.”

  *

  “You’re spending a lot of time with King Spencer’s...” Clive fished for the right word. “Companion?”

  “Consort,” Dax corrected, though the word still felt strange to him. “We used to have them, years ago. Long before Gideon.”

  “You’re not answering the question,” Clive noted. “Though I suppose it wasn’t a question, more of a statement I’m expecting you to confirm. Because you have been. Spending time with him.”

“I thought that was the point of this visit? Co-operation, alliance, knowledge?”

  “Mm. I’m supposed to be doing that. The kings are supposed to be doing that. You are supposed to be protecting our king in case this all goes horribly, horribly wrong. Not giggling in the shadows with the other king’s husband-consort-person.”

  Dax raised an eyebrow, but let it slide. He could see how flustered his childhood best friend was, forced to ‘show off’ as a court sorcerer to match up to the wizards and witches brought from Fenton. Clive was a simple person; preferred potions and intricate but subtle spells to flashy tricks and dances and ceremonial robes. He didn’t look much, but he had been indispensable in protecting the city with his inventions and was highly valued by everyone, even if they didn’t say it as often as they should.

  “We don’t giggle. We’re just talking, that’s all. Trying to make this meeting go as smoothly as possible.”

  “By placing all your attentions on someone else’s lover?” Clive asked, looking somewhat concerned. “A very proud, short-tempered someone?”

  Dax thought back to the way the King had shouted in the throne room the last time one of his conditions had been rejected, and felt a little foolish. But neither of them were flirting- Dax couldn’t remember a  time he’d ever been interested in someone in that way, and was sure he never would be;  and Darren, he knew, was devoted to his husband, (as much as he teased him.)

  “I’m not placing attentions on anyone,” Dax said finally. “I’m just making a friend. Like we all should be.”

*

  “I see you’ve been making friends,” Spook noted, and Darren couldn’t quite work out his tone. The two of them were taking a break from the goings-on of the court to take some time out for themselves. Spook was ready to collapse into bed and sleep for a few blessed hours away from the heat and bustle of the assembly, but Darren had dragged him out onto the beach, and they were walking along the sand.

  “Isn’t that the point?” Darren answered. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  “Defensive,” Spook countered. “I don’t mind. I just don’t like the way they look at you.”

  Surprised, Darren stopped walking to stare at his husband. “The way these people look at me?” When they travelled within their region, Spook would complain about how both men and women flirted with his consort, and made it plain wherever they went that such behaviour wouldn’t be tolerated.  He was possessive, sometimes to the extreme, and though it didn’t often bother Darren, he was surprised and a little irritated at how quickly his husband jumped to jealousy in Tregarren, of all places. The people here gave him a genuine, (if slightly confused) respect, and he’d never felt so normal in his life. Not lusted after, or teased, or sneered at- just treated as an equal.

  “Yes, these people,” Spook said. “I think they really have the wrong idea about us; they look like they pity you. Not- the other thing.”

  “The other thing being-“

  “You know what the other thing is. Your favourite Sword does it too.”

  Darren sighed. “I know, I know. He doesn’t mean to. The practice is- it’s outdated, here. They just don’t understand. They assume I was forced into this, when I chose it.” He emphasised ‘chose’ just a little, just enough to assuage those annoying, lingering, irrational feelings of guilt he knew Spook had about the whole thing. “Maybe, it’ll be less of a shock to them next time, now we have this alliance.”

  “Next time,” Spook grumbled, “it won’t be an issue. We’ll have abolished the whole damned practice once and for all, and you’ll just be my husband.”

  *

  “So, are they actually married, or-“

  “Gideon, let it go,” Dax sighed.

  “Gideon, you’re favouring your left side too much,” Owen added, and chuckled as the two boys whirled around in surprise. He felt a huge rush of affection for the both of them as they sheepishly laid down their weapons. Gideon had only been king for a little under a year, and Dax had been promoted from under Owen’s own tutelage at the same time. Desperate times had called for desperate measures; but they were both so young. “I brought some more light,” he said, needlessly, as he hung it up on the fence they were sparring next to.  “You shouldn’t strain your eyes.”

  “Thank you. Will you come join us? Or are you here to send us to bed?” Dax teased, and Owen felt a pang as he remembered once again that Dax was no longer his ward; no longer lived in his house, even. As the King’s Sword, Dax had moved into the antechamber of Gideon’s quarters, but he suspected the two boys (men, he reminded himself forcefully) lay awake and chatting in the same room more often than not.

  “Neither,” Owen said, content to just watch. He’d just come from seeing Luke; and although both boys insisted they didn’t need help of any kind, he still felt it his duty to keep an eye on them. “Letting off some steam?”

  “You can get bored of all this diplomacy nonsense,” Gideon grumbled, turning back to the wooden and straw dummy they’d been practicing on earlier and striking it, hard. “I don’t see why we can’t just sign the damn papers and be done with it. They can all go home, then; I’m sick of the creeps.”

  “Our noble and diplomatic king, ladies and gentlemen,” Dax observed. “They’re not so bad, really.”

  “Owen,” Gideon sighed, “would you please tell your son to stop making eyes at the King’s consort before he puts us at war?”

  “Dax,” Owen started to say; and then stopped, because Dax wasn’t laughing like he and Gideon were. He was staring at his feet, turning his sword over and over in his hands for something to do. It wasn’t the comment on the flirting, it couldn’t be. He knew Dax wasn’t interested in that, and was confident enough in it to not be affected by teasing. So… “You boys should get some sleep,” Owen said, feeling almost sick. “It’ll be an even longer day tomorrow.  If you don’t mind, I’ll take my leave.”

  “Owen-“ Gideon started, looking surprised,  but was cut off by Dax wishing them both goodnight as well, and walking off in the opposite direction.  “What’s with him?”

  *

  “I get it,” Darren said a few nights later, as they sat on the sand bathed in moonlight. “You want to be taken seriously. Don’t we all?”

  *

  “One more day,” Mia said calmly, catching Darren’s eye and trying not to laugh. “Then this will all be over and we can go home.”

  “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be,” Darren said soothingly. “Dax thinks so too; you both are. Just sign it and make the peace.”

  “I know you feel like you have something to prove,” Mia continued. “Because you’re both new at this. But if you can both walk away from this with a new alliance, people will remember it. That’s all you need to do.”

  “And then we can come back and visit,” Darren said cheerfully.  “Yes?”

  It took a while, but Spook eventually smiled. “Yes. Of course, if it would make you happy.” He kissed the top of Darren’s head and brought him in a little closer, so he was snuggled into Spook’s left side on their large bed in the guest quarters. They lay there in silence for a little while, breathing in time with each other, content.

  “It would make me happy too.” Mia broke the silence and Spook, hearing the pout in her voice, laughed and pulled her in closer to his other side.

“Of course, my sword. Of course.”

  *

  “So,” Dax murmured, “your King seems calmer.”

  Darren grinned. “I wore him out. And so does yours.”

  “I wore mine out too,” he admitted, “but not in the same way. You think we can get through the last day without them declaring war?”

  Darren watched fondly as Spook rolled up his star-patterned robes and signed the peace treaty with a flourish of his quill. “3… 2… 1… and we’re at peace. We did it, Dax.”

  “That we did,” Dax agreed, and then stopped as he saw Owen surveying the scene from the back of the room.  “Will you excuse me? I need to fix one last thing this week.”

  Darren started to say, ‘of course’, but then found himself moving- no, being dragged towards the centre of the growing celebrations, where his king beamed at him and Darren forgot all about what he was going to say, or indeed, who he was saying it to.

  Outside of the hall, Dax caught up with Owen.

  “Wait-“ and Owen stopped, looking surprised, and (Dax hated himself) hopeful. The last few nights he’d tried making the short journey to home- Owen’s house, and chickened out at the last minute every time. He’d been awful; he couldn’t even really explain why.

  “Is there something wrong?” Owen asked, mildly. He read Dax like a book, always had.

  “I was-“ Dax felt all of twelve years old again. “You know I’ve been really busy, uh, seeing as this is my first official royal function, and I let other things slip. Do you have the time- would you train with me tonight?”

  Owen nodded. “Meet me at the usual place,” he said simply. “After all of today’s events are tied up, we’ll have time for a few hours practice.”

  Owen was captain of the King’s guard. Years of training and loss had made him weathered, and hard, and he could arrange his face like the most concealing of masks. When Dax was younger, he’d often had trouble reconciling his warm, friendly guardian and the ruthless, efficient captain as one person.

The first words Owen heard from his slayer were, “you mean Dax, right?”

He looked at Gideon; tall, blonde, all of sixteen years old, fresh-faced and anxious. He could see all the reasons why he was scared, yes- but he could see the potential, too.

“He doesn’t mean me,” Dax said gently, stood beside them. “It’s you, Gid. It’s always been you.”

“But- but, your mum-”

“It’s not hereditary,” Owen reminded them both, while guiltily concealing the fact that it was Dax he’d sought out originally. “Gideon, this is your destiny.”

“Me? No, not me. It was you, it was supposed to be-” he stared at Owen wildly with those clear, blue, innocent eyes. “I’m destiny-free, really!”

“No, you’re not.” Owen looked at both children and silently prayed forgiveness for what he would do to their lives. “You are the slayer.”

*

Dax toyed absentmindedly with a stray piece of kindling he’d picked up from Owen’s desk. He was sat on a workbench, legs swinging, determinedly not looking at his new teacher and best friend’s new watcher.

“I’m okay, I guess,” he finally answered. “Relieved, even. I’ve known it was gonna be him for years.”

“And?” Owen prompted.

“Worried,” Dax added, after another long pause. “No, terrified. He’s my best friend. I don’t want him to be in this kind of danger.”

“The kind of danger you’ve been in before?”

“I wasn’t a slayer, I was just a kid. My job was to be protected, not to... well, to protect.” Dax looked up, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Mr Hind, did you know my mum?”

“No,” Owen shook his head, “but I knew of her. She was well-respected, talked about often.. I only joined the watcher’s council a few years before she-” “Died,” Dax answered for him, when Owen trailed off. “You can say it, it’s okay. I know she’s dead, I was there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t let it happen to him.”

*

Another day, another demon, Owen thought, as he lay on the dusty floor of the workshop. At least this time he’d gotten away with nothing more serious than a flesh wound, from a claw that had ripped through his trousers to scratch his thigh. Mia ran over, white as a sheet from shock of, and Owen tried to lift up his head to tell her that it was okay, not as serious as it looked- but strangely enough, he couldn’t seem to gather the energy to do it. He could only look up enough to see the blood running down his leg. Quite a lot of blood, in fact.

“Oh, God-” Mia gasped, trying to put pressure on the wound with her hands, but shaking too badly to make any real effect. “You said- in woodshop, you said, the femoral artery-”

You’ll bleed to death, he warned her, the first time she’d put a knife to wood.

“Mia, it’s-” “Hold on,” she instructed, and pushed down harder. She looked at him one last time, expression unreadable, before she muttered to herself and closed her eyes.

When she had finished, and Owen had sat up, he could only stare. Her hands were covered in his blood, but he was no longer bleeding; no longer tired, even. She returned his gaze, and he knew she was thinking, he’s figuring out how he can use this.

Owen only thought, what will this do to you, in the end?

*

It was a strange, strange moment, when Gideon first realised he trusted Lisa. For all their history; the fights, the spells, the blood, she’d become a sort of stable point in his life. Enough that he trusted her to come into his home, be around him and his dad, fight together, even. (He didn’t know how to explain to his dad that she was a vampire. Honestly, the subject had never come up- and he intended to keep it that way.)

Sometimes, he called her angel, because of her long, blonde hair. Sometimes, she bared her teeth and threatened to drain his body dry. They learned to co-exist, for the most part.

He trusted Lisa, but not with his best friend.

“If you hurt him-”

“You’ll do what?” She practically giggled, moving towards him, past the candles that littered her underground home. “Put a stake through me?”

“Yes.”

“Could you, though? Really?”

He thought back to the night before, coming across Dax and Lisa in the cemetery. He’d yelled, thinking she’d gone for his throat, before he saw hands in her blonde hair- pulling her closer, not pushing him away. She’d gone for his lips, not his jugular, (though Gideon had spotted the mother of all lovebites on Dax’s neck the morning after.) They broke away, flushed and panting, as they saw Gideon running towards them with his stake raised.

Dax had stepped in front of Lisa, and Gideon almost stumbled trying to stop in time.

“What- what are you doing?”

“Kissing,” Lisa called over his shoulder. “What’s it to you?”

“Kissing?”

“Kissing,” Dax confirmed. “Look, could you-” he gestured with his hands like he was throwing an invisible ball, and a moment later Gideon realised he was trying to say give us some space.

“Are you serious? Dax, she’s-”

“Standing right here,” Lisa interjected, practically hissing at him. “So could you please leave?”

*

“She’s a vampire!”

Across the table from Gideon, Clive looked around at Owen and Mia, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“You knew that, right? Tell me you already knew that,” Mia finally said, with half a smile.

“Of course I did, but I didn’t know that they were snogging!”

“I think it’s more than that,” Owen said, thoughtfully. “I do think there’s genuine feeling between them.”

“You knew?”

“You knew?” Clive echoed, and not for the first time, Gideon wondered why they’d brought him into the gang in the first place. “You knew and you didn’t say anything?” Owen shrugged. “It wasn’t my place. I think you’re overreacting. Lisa’s proved herself worthy of our trust more than once.”

“I like her,” Mia added, smiling warmly. “If she makes Dax happy...”

“And I suppose weirder things have happened,” Clive joined in once more, having got over the initial shock. “I mean, Mia dated a werewolf, honestly-”

There was a sudden silence, and Clive floundered, while Mia looked at the floor. Her boyfriend had been hit by a car and died two months earlier, around the same time she’d become involved with the group.

“I’m sorry, Mia, I didn’t mean-” “It’s perfectly all right.” Mia smiled again, but it had lost the warmth of before. “You were right, it’s not so weird.”

“It is weird,” Gideon grumbled, though mindful of the slightly awkward atmosphere they’ve stumbled into. “It’ll only end in tears, as my dad would say.”

*

The last thing Lisa saw when her soul was returned to her was Gideon, holding back tears, with a stake in his raised fist.

The last thing Gideon saw before he killed his best friend’s girlfriend was Dax himself, running towards him- obscured, for a moment, then clearly visible through a cloud of dust.

*

The first day of the autumn term was hot and almost humid. Sun streamed in through the windows of Owen’s workshops and dust motes and sawdust were clearly visible in the thick air. Gideon smiled at the familiarity of it all, trailing his hand across the rough wood of Owen’s favourite workbench. His watcher looked up from paperwork (school or council, Gideon could never tell,) and smiled warmly at him.

“Welcome back.” “You too.”

They’d seen each other all summer, of course, but there was something about being back at base that made them both feel like they were coming home.

“So,” Owen said, with an air of someone who wanted to get bad news over quickly. Gideon knew exactly what. “I saw Dax this morning, walking to class.”

Gideon nodded. “So did I. Did he talk to you?”

“No, he didn’t stop. Have you two talked at all, over the summer?”

“I didn’t know his dad’s number, and he never answered his mobile. Do you think... God,” he sighed, “he hates me. I can’t even blame him.”

“He can’t blame you for doing what needed to be done.”

“There should have been a different way.”

“There should. But there wasn’t.”

“I miss him. He’s- what is it?” For Owen had stopped looking at him, and instead was looking at the doorway with a surprised, but fond expression. Gideon whirled around to see his best friend leaning against the door frame, a little self-conscious.

“Dax-”

“I forgive you,” he said, simply, “but I don’t want to talk about it. Ever. Okay?”

“Okay.” Gideon found his voice almost weak. “That’s- okay.”

“You two should go get some lunch,” Owen interjected, “and we’ll meet up after school. There’s a lot to go over.”

“Yeah,” Dax almost smiled. “I’ve missed the gang. Clive and Mia doing all right?”

“They’re fine. And Luke, he’s fine too.”

Owen didn’t miss the confusion that flit past Dax’s face, but if something was wrong, the boy didn’t mention it.

*

Owen couldn’t help but notice how quiet Dax was, during that day’s meeting. He was happy enough to see Clive and Mia, giving both of them hugs and listening to them chat about how their summer was. He seemed positively relaxed, until Gideon and Luke walked in, side by side. Gideon kept his distance, but Luke, though not saying anything, seemed baffled as to Dax’s coldness. The meeting ended more quickly than usual, the frosty atmosphere proving hard to break once everyone was there.

When they were filing out, Owen called for Dax to stay behind. He stayed, clearly reluctant, hovering by the door.

“I was going to help Gid with patrol.” “There’s plenty of time.”

“I need to-” Dax stopped, and Owen could see the tell-tale signs of how he dealt with his anger, pushing it down and making it solid. Owen waited patiently, until Dax finally burst out- “look, am I going crazy, or what?”

“Crazy? Why?”

“Luke.”

That threw Owen for a loop. “What about him?”

“Who is he? Look, I know I’m out of the loop, but- what are you doing?” Owen had crossed the room and had laid a hand to Dax’s forehead. “I am not ill!”

“You’re not ill, but you don’t remember Luke?”

“Why should I?” Dax yelled. “Who the hell is he?”

“Luke,” Owen answered, growing increasingly worried. “Luke Reader, Gideon’s twin... Dax, you’ve been friends for years.”

Dax stepped back, growing cold again. Distant.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Sorry. I guess I’m just adjusting. Don’t worry about it.”

“Dax-”

“It’s fine. See you tomorrow.”

“Dax.”

But Dax had gone, had practically ran through the door. Owen leaned back against his bench, and sighed deeply. Another day, another demon, he thought- but somehow, this time, it rang less true.

*

If Luke was aware of Dax treating him differently, he didn’t show it. Weeks went by, and while Gideon and Dax became slowly closer again, Dax watched Luke like a hawk. He seemed less comfortable with leaving the twins alone together; would always volunteer to help patrol in place of Luke, or do homework, research- whatever would put him in Luke’s place for a few hours. Luke kept quiet, cracked the occasional joke that fell flat, and eventually, accepted the new order of things. He found himself hanging out more with Mia and Clive, letting the other two get on with it.

“Did I do something?” Luke eventually complained, one day, as they studied out on the school field in the sunshine. Or, Clive studied- Mia was poring over a book of spells and Luke lay down on the grass, head in her lap. She absentmindedly stroked his hair with her free hand.

“Sorry?”

“To Dax. Did I do something to him? Did I black out and, I don't know, punch him in the face? Did I kill Lisa?” He was almost amused at the surprised looks on their faces. “Yeah, strangely enough, I have noticed what’s going on. Clive? Anything?”

Clive sighed, putting down his notes. “I’m afraid I have no idea. I’ve tried talking to him about it, but he just looks at me oddly and changes the subject.” “Same here,” Mia agreed. “I’m sorry, Luke, I really don’t know. Are you sure nothing happened between you?” “Nothing. I was hardly even involved in Lisa’s death, was I? And we used to be- well, close. You know, since the beginning.” He refrained from saying, and I was here before you lot, but knew the meaning was clear.

“I think, maybe” Clive started, taking off his glasses to clean them, “I think Lisa’s death did something to him. More than the running away- some kind of memory loss, perhaps?”

“How do you mean?”

“Those first few days he was back... there was one time, when he asked me what ‘was up’ with you. As if he’d never met you before.”

“But-”

“That’s right,” Mia added, suddenly frowning. “I remember, he asked me that too. Or rather- I don’t know. He was very shadowy about it all, like he didn’t want us to be...” she searched for the right word. “Suspicious?”

Clive nodded. “That’s right. We should talk to Owen about it.”

“You guys go ahead,” Luke said, heaving himself up into sitting position and gathering up his things. “I’ll grab Gid so we can all talk together.”

Minutes later, when Mia and Clive made it to the door of the woodshop classroom, they found Dax just leaving. Owen followed him out, saying, “Dax- wait,” but he’d taken off at a run, scowling. Owen leaned against the doorframe and let out a long, tired sigh.

“Are you two here about Luke?”

Mia and Clive nodded, mutely. Owen sighed again.

“Come in.”

*

Lisa greeted him, pale and weak, from her bed in the crypt. Dax smiled, momentarily forgetting his anger, and went over to brush her hair back from her face. He kissed her hello, briefly, and murmured, “you should be asleep.”

“It’s noisy outside. You’re here early,” she pointed out, and made room for him to curl up next to her. “Did you skip out on the cola club?” She’d named them that as a joke, a reference to their habit of re-fueling on cola from the school vending machines on long nights of research sessions.

“Kinda,” he admitted. “Got in a fight with Owen.” “Ah. Cuckoo still going strong?”

“His name’s Luke,” he said, feeling a sudden, strange flare of protectiveness. “And yeah, it was about him. Owen still thinks I’m crazy. Mia and Clive are suspicious. I can’t tell Gideon.”

“Why not talk to the- to Luke, himself?”

“Yeah,” came a voice from the doorway. Luke stood there, looking almost frightened, having decided to follow Dax when he’d come rushing past him at school. “Why don’t you talk to me?”

Lisa drew herself up so she was sitting straight, and looked on at him, fascinated.

“God, you were right.” She spoke softly. “They’re identical.”

“Of course we’re identical,” Luke said harshly, anger almost obscuring the shock at seeing Lisa alive, (or, as alive as the living dead can be.) “We’re twins. Lisa, you- come on. You know me.” He paused, and then continued, “how are you even here?”

“Dimension stuff,” she answered, flicking her hair back nonchalantly. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving soon.”

Dax turned to her. “Get some rest. We’ll take this outside and I’ll come back later, okay?” When he’d kissed her on the forehead and let her get settled back under the covers, he took Luke roughly by the arm until they were both outside, away from the crypt. Luke wrenched himself away, looking hurt and confused.

“What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Dax almost laughed. “What are you?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m Luke.”

“You don’t exist!” He yelled back, finally releasing some of the frustration he’d been holding tight since he got back. “I looked you up, alright? Your school records, birth certificate- there’s nothing. You didn’t exist until this summer and for some reason, I’m the only one who can see it.”

Luke took a step back. “You’re crazy.”

“I am not crazy. You need to tell me what the hell you’re doing-” he was interrupted by a snarl, and they both turned. “Oh, great.”

“You can finish yelling at me once we’re done with this guy,” Luke advised him, and Dax found himself back in the swing of it- no weapons, no plan, just brawling with some lowlife from the sewers, by the smell of him, who didn’t know who he’d taken on. They’d almost finished with him when he evaporated- and they saw Gideon standing behind, stake raised. He looked at Dax almost coldly.

“Right,” Gideon said, when the silence had gone on for just too long. “I think the three of us need to have a chat.”

*

“So, you’re leaving?” Spook asked. He watched Lisa pack what possessions she had left in her crypt, while he unhelpfully lounged on the the bedclothes. “For where?”

“Thought I’d go find Darren,” she answered. She didn’t look at him, but could practically feel him tense up, becoming that little bit colder.

“He was heading to America, last time I heard,” he finally said. His voice was careful and controlled, but didn’t fool her.

“Come with me.”

“What, bring the family back together?” He scoffed. “Yeah, right. Once he sees you’re alive again he’ll forget I even existed. More so than he already has.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please. You’ll always be his angel.” The tone of bitterness on his voice grated on her nerves, and she slammed the lid of her suitcase down and gripped it, staring down and breathing hard.

“You know I can’t help it. And you know he loves you, it’s just-”

“You’re his sire.”

“Exactly. Don’t act like you’re not the same with him.”

“I’m not the same. I’m not crazy. And he’s getting worse- I hope you’re prepared for what you find.”

She picked up the case, and turned to face him. “Someone’s got to look after him,” she answered, trying not to sound accusative but knowing he’d take it the wrong way no matter what.

“I tried-”

“It’s fine. Spook, I don’t want to talk about this any more.”

“Why are you leaving?”

“I told you.”

“No, why are you leaving him? Jones?”

Lisa stilled, and for a moment, thought she could see Dax; leaning in the doorway, straightening up her things, laughing softly. She shook her head to clear the image.

“It’s what’s best for him,” she said, and started walking towards the doorway. “You can have this place, if you want. I won’t be coming back.”

“I’ll keep an eye on them, if you want. The whole kiddie club.”

“Cola club,” she corrected, firmly, and then walked out of the crypt, for good.

*

“What did you say she wants? This Catherine chick?”

“The key,” Spook snarled, patience thin. “Like I said before. And no, before you ask, again, I don’t know what that means.”

Gideon narrowed his eyes at him, and leaned back against the cold stone wall of the mausoleum. “You know, I think I much preferred Lisa as our vampire guide.”

“Me too. Shut up and be grateful.”

*

“So,” Owen said, presiding over the table of the Cola club, (and Mia’s new girlfriend, Jenny.) “Let’s recap what we know.”

“Gideon’s not here,” Luke pointed out.

“I know, he’s on his way back from patrol. Clive?”

“The key,” Clive started to recite. “Mystical energy hidden in the form of- well, it could be anything, really.”

“Do we know what it does?”

“Do we know what it opens?” Clive corrected, in that schoolteacher way of his. “No idea.”

“And Catherine? What do we know about her?”

“Demigod, really set on finding this thing... batshit crazy,” Jenny supplied. “That’s about it.”

“Great,” Owen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just... great. How about- Gideon?” For Gideon had just run in. “What’s wrong?” His slayer was breathing heavily, a shocked, almost dazed look on his face.

“Had a run-in with a monk,” Gid said, “and, the key-” he stopped. For a moment, he stared at Luke, as if it was the first time he’d ever seen his twin. Dax sat up straighter, looking from twin to twin.

“Is human,” Dax finished for him. Gideon nodded, and slowly, painfully, the room turned to look at Luke. The silence that followed, Owen thought, could have been cut with a knife.

From the bench furthest away from the window, Spook laughed. “I say we let her have it,” he said.

*

“Is this blood?” Luke asked, numbly, watching drops of scarlet fall onto pictures of birthdays, awards evenings, holidays. “Am I real?”

*

Now Dax knew exactly what Luke was, he found it much easier to be around him. He’d taken a vow, with Gideon, to protect the innocent. He knew without a doubt that Luke was.

“I’m sorry,” he said one day, while they pored over research to find some hint of Catherine’s weakness. “For how I treated you. I was- I was scared,” he finished, somewhat lamely. “I wasn’t in a good place, head-wise.”

“I understand.” Luke was quiet. He was always very quiet, in those days. “I could have been a threat, for all you knew.”

“You’re not. Hey-” Luke had turned away, back to the books, and Dax took his arm. “We’re going to protect you, okay? All of us.”

“Even Spook?” He asked, with half a smile.

“Well... most of us. Gid and I won’t let anything happen to you,” he corrected. “And Owen, Clive, Mia, Jenny- we’re all here for you.”

Satisfied with Luke’s answering smile, he moved away to grab another volume, and missed Luke’s soft whisper.

I can protect you, too.

*

“Luke,” Gideon shouted, trying to get away from the fierce grip his mirror image had on his arms. “I have to go- I have to-”

“No. Gideon, you can’t-”

Gideon pulled him into a fierce hug. With Luke’s head buried in his shoulder, he found time to murmur into his ear, before he wrenched away and set off at a run. On the ground, Dax, Mia and Clive were still fighting, still trying to prolong the inevitable. Gideon didn’t stop at the edge of the tower but kept running and fell until the portal swallowed him up.

Silence reigned.

*

“Luke, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it.”

*

Owen got off the train from Tregarren to London and walked the short route from the station to his house. He hadn’t seen it in a few years, and though cleaners had been in once a month, the place seemed musty and stale. He lifted off enough tarpaulin from the furniture to sit down and close his eyes. Coming home had never felt so awful before. He’d forgotten how the wind could echo through the old house, whistling, you failed him, you failed him, you failed him.

He fell asleep, perhaps, or simply stared into space until his mobile rang and jolted him awake. He looked around and saw that it had grown dark. His mobile lit up and buzzed with the ringing until he finally flipped it open.

  Incoming call: Mia Cooper

Accept/Decline?

  He pressed accept.

“Mia?”

She was crying. “Owen- Owen, I did it. I actually did it.”

“Mia, slow down. What’s wrong? What did you do?”

She laughed, and he realised the tears he could hear were ones of joy, not sorrow, like they’d been used to in the last few weeks. “Mia?”

When she finally got the words out, he almost dropped the phone. In a daze, he hung up; and then picked up his suitcase and backpack from where he’d left them before, replaced the tarpaulin on the sofa, and left the building. The last train back to Tregarren, he knew, was in an hour’s time.