Sea Stolen

Chapter 4 - Liam

 “You’re a psychopath.”

“Yes?” Liam leaned back against the wall of the art gallery, tall and thin as a shadow. His tailored black suit added to the sinister. Wiping a small spattering of blood off the left hand corner of his mouth Liam quite casually stepped over the body of the gallery’s owner to stand in front of Ziu Fang. Looming, as always.

“The entire group of mermaid hunters? All sixteen?!” Fang wished he was stronger then, strong enough to rip Liam’s head from its spindly body.

Liam smiled lightly and went to gaze at one of the Baudelaires – a painting that was either a random order of paint thrown at a canvas, or a deep understanding of the tragedy of the human condition. Critics were divided. Liam took his time to assess the possible art in front of him before replying, “You think that was me?”

“I think anything which ends in a blood bath can usually be traced back to you,” said Fang.

“I’m flattered you think so, but I unfortunately lack the omnipotence to be party to every murder taking place inside our United Kingdom,” Liam replied smoothly. He paused, then the ghost of a smile tugged at the other side of his lips, “It was beautiful timing though. The guild’s hunters, of our guild leader’s impossible and extinct mermaid, dying-“

“Being murdered.”

“Being murdered just when your little “gift” happened to come to light.” Liam sighed, “You know this really speaks to me, it’s the fragility of life combined with the beauty of death, inspiring really.”

“My gift, Liam, you told our father about my gift,” Fang shouted.

“Ah,” Liam turned back to face him, “Now that I am accountable for.”

“He will hate me forever, and that’s a god damned long time for us.” Fang seethed, irises red, elongated cainines snarling.

“I. am. aware.” Said Liam, moving onto the next painting.

“I’m being sent to Cornwall, exiled for fifty years or until I find the mermaid.” He couldn’t even muster up a shout but just slumped down to the ground beside an elaborate metal sculpture that was as ugly as it was appealing.

“Yes, such a shame. I suggested one hundred but-“

“You were my brother, I loved you-“

“Really.” In a blur Liam was right in front of him, grabbing him around the neck and pinning him up against the wall so his feet couldn’t even reach the floor. The taller vampire squeezed tightly so his fingers gouged into Fang’s neck. Blood poured down in little streams around each incision.

“Adopted brother. Always adopted.” There was the tiniest curl in Liam’s lips, the tiniest clench in his shoulders, and a full on war in his eyes. He leaned in even closer, so their foreheads touched and their eyes were a hairsbreadth apart. “Always adopted.”

“Not to me. Not until now.” Fang spat.

Their stare continued for one last long silent moment. Liam dropped him with a thud and began to pace the gallery.

“I do hope you enjoy Cornwall, the bottom of nowhere. A place where diversity would be a village with a Welshman.” Liam stopped at the other end of the room, charcoal sketches of dragonflies apparently captivating his attention. It was a full minute before he returned his attention to Fang. “Well, see you in fifty years.” He made a shooing gesture with his eyes and one raised eyebrow.

“You think in my absence our father will treat you as more than a useful monster? Fifty years might be a long time, but I’ll still be more than the animal you pretend not to be.”

“Oh who’s pretending, brother?” said Liam, “A lot can be accomplished in fifty years, even by monsters.”

“You read books, Liam, you should know the bastards and adopted orphans never fair well,” said Fang smiling manically.

“Yes, but we do excel at revenge.”

Fang staggered up, still bleeding from the holes in his neck. He hobbled to the exit. Holding onto the door for support he turned back to say one last thing, grin smile dancing on his face:

 “Charles will never love you, he will never treat you like flesh and blood.”

Liam’s head snapped round like a snake, his expression carefully controlled. He didn’t say a word.

Fang staggered out the door, all but tripping down the gallery steps. As he hobbled down the street I could hear canvases being ripped to pieces.

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