[Cover image by Topher Adam Photography, topheradam.com]
It was a bright, sunny day, some time late in the hottest season, and the Virulents all sat quite comfortably, lounging on a porch somewhere in Ciodelli. Alessandro—being the sole vampire of the group—leaned against the house, shaded by the veranda.
They all seemed rather relaxed. It was finally over; all the planning they’d done, all the scheming—it was finished. All they had to do was wait in the lull of the storm for the final round of agonizing combat.
But really, they tried not to think about that.
Janus, a hellion gunslinger the Virulents had picked up years before, was sipping on an iced tea and educating a fellow Virulent on just how one needed to speak with a local.
“Now, see, the hand motions are important. If you don’t move your hands at least twice for emphasis, they won’t be sure what emotion you’re feeling,” he said, gesturing animatedly to illustrate his point. Athaeos smirked.
“Is that so? I’m sure Alessandro would be thrilled to hear you talking that way about his people.”
“I really have to give the man some credit,” Alessandro said with a shrug, throwing in a nonchalant gesture that prompted a laugh from Janus. “It’s mostly true.”
“See? My word is law. Sexy, racist, gunslinging law.”
“Mhm,” Athaeos said, rolling his eyes and adjusting in his chair. Just then, a dark-eyed man walked out of the beach house. He was a much newer recruit, with dark, wild hair and a whole smattering of tattoos running down his left side.
“Hey, Janus. Someone dropped by to see you earlier. They left a letter,” the man said, leaning against a post on the porch. “Seemed urgent.”
“Nice. See that, boys? Now I’m getting fan mail. There should be laws against being this amazing,” Janus said with a smirk, standing up from his chair and taking another sip of his iced tea. He turned to the man, his strawberry blonde hair tousled and a little bleached from hours of sunlight. “Right-o, Westley. Where’s the letter?”
“On the table,” Westley said, trying to gauge Janus’ strange reaction to the news. “The girl who dropped it off seemed to want to see you as soon as possible.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Janus said, flashing a toothy smile before walking into the house and picking up the letter. Westley followed him in, raising a brow.
“It could be a trap, genius. Someone luring you in so we’d be without our hellion. Then what?”
“Then I’ll be locked up, in the clutches of a young woman who writes fan mail to gunslingers. Worse things have happened,” he said, opening the letter deftly and unfolding it once he’d pried it from the envelope.
“Dear,” Janus started, but faltered at the next word.
“Dear... Henry,” Janus went on, his voice strange. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Father’s come back, and he’s so sorry about everything.” Janus read the letter as though in a trance, looking it over and mouthing the rest of the words in disbelief.
“It’s from my sister. She wants me to come back to Knossos,” he told Westley, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “My sister, Wes. I thought she’d died, but she’d just left with dad.”
“Your real name is Henry? No wonder you changed it to Janus.”
“Oh, you’re hilarious, Wes. Seriously,” Janus said, looking at Westley, the solemnity looking alien on his boyish face, “I never thought I’d see them again.”
