CHAPTER TEN
Hatred is gained as much by good works as by evil.
- Niccolo Machiavelli
Heath
"It's a pity your brother couldn't join us." My mother says, as we wait for our suitcases to be packed into the trunk of the sleek, black limousine that has been waiting for us on the tarmac.
I squint at her, the drizzle and wind soaking my hair and flipping it into my eyes.
"Yeah, I'm sure he's all torn up."
He's not the one freezing and stuck in Ireland with his mother for the weekend.
Then again, it could be worse.
Oh wait, no it couldn't.
I feel like a pretentious dick, standing on the tarmac with a small jet behind me and a limo being loaded with over-sized suitcases in front of me. It's the perk of being a Hayes, I guess. We're the wealthiest of the Clanns.
I'm wearing my black suit for Bill Cross' funeral in a few hours, and my eyes are about to shut any minute. Not only did I have an... Eventful night at Colt's party, but I also had to get up at seven this morning for this flight. Add to that the change in time zones and the fact that I'm a teenage boy and you have a cocktail of jet-lag and fatigue.
It's a dull and grey day in Ireland, the drizzle is like mist across the airport runways, and everyone I can see is bundled up in jackets and scarves. It's crazy because hours ago I was surrounded by teenagers in shorts, T-shirts and sunglasses, whereas here it might as well be winter.
The miserable weather adds to my mood.
"How are you, Mrs. Hayes?" The man who put our luggage in the trunk walks around the limo and smiles brightly at my mother, his head shiny and bald and his Irish accent thick. "I'm Dara and I'll be your driver for this evening."
My mother smiles delicately at him and shakes his hand while I wonder what kind of name "Dara" is.
He leads us into the limo, shutting the door behind us, and I relax in the seat furthest from my mother, laying my head back and shutting my eyes. My body molds into the seats, sinking in. It smells like air-freshener and dampness, but I can live with it.
Just before I fall asleep, my mother's voice wakes me up.
"That suit is ridiculous."
I blink my eyes open, the black ceiling becoming bleary before I lift my head up and look at her. "Wh-what?"
She looks over my clothing, one hand twisting her wedding ring around and around. "It's so tight."
I attempt to lift my arms up, and fail miserably. The fabric being too tight around my shoulders.
My mother tssks. "I told you to buy a new one before the wedding."
I frown. "It is before the wedding. I still have, like, two weeks."
My mother rolls her green eyes, her twisting becoming faster and faster. "It's this day next week. How could you be so selfish as to ruin your brother's wedding?"
Now I roll my eyes. "I really don't think me being in a tight suit will rui-"
She stops her twisting, her whole body becoming still. "I don't care what you think, Heath." And she enunciates each word painfully clear. "I asked you to do two things; to get a haircut and to buy a new suit, and you've done neither."
"I've come to Ireland with you!" I exclaim, gesturing wildly.
She shakes her head, as if I'm an idiot. "You volunteered, and why are you even complaining? How many of your friends have ever come to Ireland? How many have been to Tunisia or Crete or Germany? Name one who's been to the Vatican City or Malta?"
Or Spain. I think bitterly.
She seems to read what I'm thinking from my expression, and she straightens up. "Don't."
"What?" I growl.
Her eyes narrow into green slits. "Don't you dare, Heath."
I blow out a frustrated breath, wrenching a hand through my hair. "I've been everywhere, Mother. All across the globe, probably twice. But never, ever have I been to Spain. Why?"
She begins twisting her wedding ring again. "You know why."
"No, I don't."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not."
"It's not up for discussion."
I glare at her, hoping to burn her with my eyes. "Nothing ever is with you."
She tugs the end of her skirt. "I'm your mother, it doesn't have to be."
"I'm almost eighteen." I remind her, through gritted teeth.
She leans towards me, giving me a bland smile. "Almost."
I sit back in my seat, bracing my hands on my knees. "I've never been to Spain, none of my brothers have."
"You've been everywhere els-"
"For Christ-sakes, even the Sorens have!" I throw my hands up. "They've been to all the Blood events in Spain. They've been to Barcelona and Madrid and Majorca and, here I am, practically Spanis-"
She looks so angry, steam could pour from her ears. "You are not Spanish and you don't need t-"
"You need to get over him!" I shout at her, glaring viciously. "You need to move on from Dad, he's dead and that's it. He's never coming back and you need to-"
"Don't tell me what I need to do!" She roars at me, causing me to jerk back. She grips her wedding ring, veins in the side of her head throbbing and neck taught. My heart thumps in my chest so fast I might pass-out and I stare at her, not daring to move an inch. She drags in a slow breath, closing her eyes and pausing for a few moments before she speaks again. "You don't know what it's like to have a soul mate." Her voice is quieter. Raw.
And it makes me sick, seeing her almost... Vulnerable. It makes me sick to my stomach, because it's easier to hate her when she shows no emotions.
It takes me a few minutes to come up with a reply. My mother has never shouted at me before. Never. Not even when I threw Eric out a window, or locked Jake in the cellar, or pushed Juliette Soren down the stairs at Joyce Cross' wedding.
"You love Spain. Your favourite food is Spanish, I see you looking at holiday brochures, you're fluent in the language an-" How do I know this? When did I gather this information? "Just because Dad was from there, doesn't mea-"
She leans as close to me as she can, her face deadly serious. This close, I can see every pore, every wrinkle marring her face. I can see her pale skin and the tiny lumps of mascara on her lashes. "As long as I'm alive, Heath, you will never go to Spain."
We don't speak for the rest of the journey.
_______________
As a procession of bodies adorned in black, we follow the alabaster white coffin – the colour of every Blood coffin – out of the church. Black umbrellas go up, and collars are turned as we step outside, following the stark white casket like a black sea. We shuffle and stride, silent and dark figures as we leave the church, passing the black iron gates, crossing streets and walking down pavements. People in cars, buses or on foot bless themselves as we pass by, a religious thing, I guess. Nobody speaks, and the only sounds are the nature around us and the traffic that passes by. We're shoulder to shoulder, a conga line of mourners.
We're hundreds and hundreds of Bloods.
After a solid twenty minutes of silent steps, we make it to a hearse. The casket is loaded in, high-pitched wails coming from members of the Cross Clann, and friends of Bill Cross, but again, it's silent. Respectful.
He isn't being buried in Ireland, no Blood ever is. They're never buried where they die, every Blood ever is buried in one huge cemetery in Minnesota, something that spans miles and miles and miles. I've been told the Blood cemetery has been moved a few times. From Bulgaria to Turkey to Greece to England, it's been all over the globe. But, as long as any Blood alive today can remember, it's always been in Minnesota. It's been in America for centuries.
As the hearse drives away and out of sight, a sigh seems to ripple throughout the crowd. A wave of pity, depression.
We've lost another.
It's as if he was a distant relative of mine, an uncle I saw as a child and heard the name of a few times. Your heart feels heavy for a second, before you sigh and move on.
Unfortunately, it's not that easy for most of the Cross'.
After that, we all break away and idly make our way to the church parking lot, piling into our vehicles and driving off to the next venue. After Blood funerals, there's always a sort of... Reception, for lack of a better term. It's essentially a party, celebrating the life of the deceased.
As I walk alone back to the limousine, I hear my mother calling after me.
"Heath!"
I turn around, seeing her holding a car door open, auburn hair blowing all over her face. "I'm going in this car, take the limo by yourself."
As she slides in, I crane my head to see the driver, lips pulling back in disgust as my aunt, Alba Hayes, blows me a kiss from behind the steering wheel. Her brunette hair is piled atop her head, wisps around her heart-shaped face, and I can't help but resent my Dad's sister. She gives me a small wave before pulling out of the parking lot and speeding away.
With a growl of annoyance, I spin around on my heel and head for the ridiculous limo, glaring at anyone that passes by.
"Hey!" A voice calls out, and my head whips up to see two Soren boys, both sitting cross-legged on one of the walls surrounding the church. One with a blonde quiff salutes me mockingly while the other glares at me.
"What?"
"How's Juliette?" Quiff Soren asks, sarcastically.
"How would I know?"
Quiff Soren feigns shock. "Aren't you sleeping with her?"
His older brother or cousin or whatever, pushes him off the wall and then hops off.
He's huge, built of pure muscle with a body and head that seem to mold together. He stalks towards me, shoulder ramming into me as he passes. Before I can fall, he grabs me by the shirt and wrenches me upwards, blue eyes twisted into a glare.
"You stay away from our main family, got that?" He rumbles, voice a vibration of deep sounds. "Your kind can only bring us down."
I look up at him, because his height is monstrous. "My kind, eh?" I can't help it, sarcasm and wit are my fall-backs. "And who exactly are my kind, gorgeous?" I give him a wink.
He chuffs in disgust, throwing me away from him. "Not 'who'," He rumbles, again. "'What'. You're scum, all o'ya, ya hear?" And now that his voice is louder, I can hear the accent. I don't know if he's Irish or Scottish, but it's some sort of brogue anyway. And it's definitely intimidating.
But either I'm an idiot, or I'm a genius, because I don't let it scare me.
"Whatever, beautiful." I pucker my lips before swinging around and waltzing back to the limo.
I do waltz fast, though, as I know if I push my luck, he'll take a swing at me.
I don't know who he is, whether he's a close or distant relative of the main Soren family, he may have never even met them, but that won't affect his loyalty to his own blood. His little brother or cousin or whatever – Quiff Soren - is plucking pieces of wet grass off his black suit as I walk past, giving him a low whistle.
I see Dara, the limo driver, having a cigarette in the distance, which he quickly puts out as I approach. He gives me a bashful smile, and I give him a tired one in return.
He produces a packet of Benson & Hedges offering me one. Everything inside of me screams not to, but for some reason I take it and pop the car door open.
"Didn't your father teach you anything?"
I jump at the voice.
I squint at the dark side of the limo, angling my head. "P-Piper?"
A light flickers to life on the other end, and there she is, lying horizontally on one of the seats, hands behind her head and ankles crossed.
"Hello, Heathie-boy."
I stare dumb-founded at her, jaw open. "Piper, what the fuck are you doing here?"
She shrugs from her relaxed position. "It was raining and there was no way I was going on a stupid shitty walk for a half hour, my hair would frizz." She touches her espresso brown hair, her hands covered by black gloves. "So, I saw your driver hanging around this limo. All I had to do was flash him my boobs for the keys."
I shrug the comment off, hoping she's joking. "Why are you still here then, won't your parents be looking for you?"
Her head rolls over to look at me, brown eyes staring at me blankly. "Is that a joke?"
Before I can answer, she thrusts her arm out, turning away from me. "Give me the cigarette, I need a smoke."
Even though she's fifteen, I hand it over, knowing she needs it more than me.
Besides, I think. Either I give it to her or she'll flash some other weirdo.
She whips a lighter out of her bra, lights the cigarette and then takes a long drag, rolling her shoulders back.
"Do you know how insane I've been going?" She closes her eyes as she savours another inhalation. "I've been here three days – three days – with my parents with no money for getting a cigarette or a drink o-"
"Please don't tell me you're addicted to drugs now, too."
She opens her eyes and then rolls them. "Pop-tarts, dude. Relax, I'm not a junkie."
Not yet.
"They don't sell pop-tarts in Ireland?"
She throws an arm across her forehead, heaving a dramatic sigh. "Only the strawberry and chocolate kind." She shudders.
I sigh, crossing my legs. "Why are you here, Piper?"
She blows out a bubble of smoke. "Such a big question, isn't it? Why are any of us here, Heathie-boy?" She lifts her forearm up above her forehead a little, twisting her wrist so the bangles all up her arm jingle and clink together. The leather bracelets and the wristbands stay still, under the bangles.
I roll my eyes, laying my head back and massaging my temples. "Look, I know you're my cousin and everything bu-"
"-But blood isn't everything? You're not human, Heath. Blood is everything."
I lift my head up and frown, wondering why my little cousin has become so philosophical. "What I was going to say is that I have a headache."
She laughs, a hoarse sound. "You're such a fucking pansy, Heath." But, strangely, it sounds like a compliment.
She pushes herself into a vertical position, sliding her back up against the seat. She runs a hand through her dark hair, cigarette between her teeth. She straightens her black dress tugging it over her ripped black tights, and I notice her beat-up black converse. She wears tattered elbow-length black gloves. Her bracelets, bands and bangles cover both of her forearms, up until her elbows and then there's the trademark dark skin of the Hayes', even though her skin is darker than her dad's, the same tone as mine, which is strange. Usually, for Bloods not in the main family of a Clann, their features can be slightly muted. It's because their blood is more diluted, the genes not taking hold correctly.
"But," She tosses her hair over her shoulder, speaking between the cigarette in her mouth. "I did come here for a reason, other than to see your pretty face." She stands up, bending down to crouch-walk towards me. She pinches my cheek before swinging the door open and stepping out, dull sunlight and drizzle streaming in.
"What was the reason?"
She takes another long drag, rolling her shoulders again and breathing a sigh of relief. A Cross mother holding her child's hand tightens her grip as she passes by us. I give the family a salute while Piper winks at the Cross woman's Blood Bound.
Piper turns back to face me and reveals a wad of cash from inside her bra.
"Okay, so there was another reason I just appeared in your limo, Cuz." She even looks a little bashful as she says this. She waves the notes in front of my face. "I was paid by some Warren kids to get you behind the church."
I recoil from her money, frowning at her. "What?"
She nods, smiling brightly. When she smiles that fake smile, I realise just how young she is. The heavy eye make-up and sultry outfits usually make her look older. "You're going to walk around the side of that church to those Warren people."
"What Warren people?"
She shrugs. "Does it look like I care?"
I shake my head, staring at her wildly. "I am not going behind a church to get my ass kicked by those nuts."
Her eyebrows slowly raise. "Oh, so you know who it is, then?"
"Not a clue. But I'm not taking any chances."
She rolls her eyes. "Grow some balls, Heathie-boy. I'd say they just want the gossip on you and the Soren girl."
"There is no goss-"
"I honestly could not give less of a shit if I tried." She interrupts. "All I know is that some Warren kid gave me a hundred and twenty-five dollars to get you behind that church. That's money I can use to finally buy some alcohol here. So, whether there's gonna be a fight or not, you are going to go around that church. They're Warrens, what are they going to do?"
I pause, weighing the pros and cons. If I'm honest, the curiosity of finding out who paid my cousin so much to get me there is killing me.
She, extremely carefully, plucks my wrist and tugs me out of the limo, dropping my arm like it's on fire once I'm standing.
"They're butterflies, completely harmless."
I groan, squeezing my eyes shut and helplessly relenting to my curiosity. Right before I stride away, I turn around and lean really close to her, watching as she jerks back. She hates when anyone touches her, a germaphobe I assume.
"Just a little heads up, we're in Ireland, Pipes. They don't take dollars, only euro."
I grin devilishly at her stricken face before I spin on my heel and stalk towards the church.
My stomach churns, not liking that I have no idea who's waiting behind there. I focus my attention on the huge church in front of me, cross high in the sky. It has a huge wooden door, a black metal bar running horizontally across it, and the building seems to be made of stone. It's huge and takes up a lot of land, but still wasn't big enough for the whole procession of Bloods that went to the funeral. As always, a lot of people were left standing outside the building, faintly hearing the Old Blood's voice.
As I round the corner of the church, I sigh with relief. Two Bloods stand there, one perched precariously on the hood of a beat-up red car, while the other stands across from the car, hood up and hands folded over their chest with a guitar strapped to their back.
It's the Warren twins.
The one on the car snaps their head up, black hair spilling out from their hood, and I see that it's the girl, Adelaide.
"Adrian." She mutters, and her brother turns to see me.
As always, he's grinning from ear to ear. A smile I find sometimes demented, while others find endearing. I can never remember the guy's name, though everyone knows his sister.
I do because she's hot, others because she's crazy.
She looks like a gargoyle, hunched over with her hands shoved in her hoodie pockets and her hood up. She stares at me, completely still as her brother lopes over, the guy can never walk like a normal person. He's too peppy, I guess.
"Heath," He shoves his hand out as he gets to me, smile not faltering as I glare at him. "I'm Adrian Warre-"
"I know who you are," I interrupt, not bothering to shake his hand. "I've known you your whole life." Which is true, though I do forget his name all the time.
Adrian shrugs, dropping his hand and looking back at his sister. "See? I told you he'd remember me."
His sister watches me like a hawk, not even bothering to look at her brother. Adrian waits a moment for her to reply, but when she doesn't he turns back around to me, still grinning.
"Why did you call me around here?" I just want him to cut to the chase so that I can leave and mope back to my hotel room.
"Wel-"
"He wanted to suss you out." Adelaide interrupts, hopping off the car and standing up straight, walking over to us.
"Addy-"
"What's suss?" I look at them, confused.
She rolls her big, grey eyes and pulls her hood closer to her head. "He wants to see what you're like, get a feel for you." Her weird accent becomes more and more noticeable as she speaks. Her and her brother moved around constantly when they were younger, and their accent is a blend of American, English and Italian, all mushed together to form strangely pronounced vowels.
"Addy." Her brother shoots her a look, his smile giving way to a frown. "Stop."
She shrugs, looking utterly bored. "Just tell him the truth so we can go. My hair curls in the rain."
Her brother sighs and starts massaging his temples, like the situation (or maybe just his twin) gives him a headache. With the same mixed up accent, he turns to me and speaks.
"I just... We haven't spoken in a long time an-"
"Try never."
"Yeah," He fights to paste another smile on his face, dimples appearing in his cheeks. "We're both apart of main families, and one day we could both be the heads of Clanns, so I was thinking it would make sense to be familiar with each other, you know?"
I pause.
I squint at him, trying to figure out this guy's angle. What's he trying to accomplish here, what's his master plan? No one just walks up to you and says they want to be "familiar" with you, unless they have an ulterior motive.
Unless his ulterior motive really is to just become "familiar" with me.
Does he want to become... Friends?
I don't have any Blood friends.
There's a reason for that.
"Familiar with me?" I reiterate, and he nods his head, enthusiastically.
His sister makes a gagging sound from behind him, but neither of us pay attention.
"Fine."
"Fine?" He jerks back, in shock.
"Fine."
He blinks at me, looking a little lost and confused for a second, before a smile brighter than the sun grows on his face and he looks proud as punch.
He turns to look at his sister again, still smiling. "See, Addy? I told you it would work."
"Yeah," She says, dully. "Because this Hayes just oozes sincerity."
I give her a nasty smile before dropping it when Adrian turns back around.
"So," I drag out, voice dripping with sarcasm and that false sincerity Adelaide pointed out. "How are you going to become "familiar" with me?" I smirk.
Adrian shoves his hands in the pockets of his red hoodie, rolling on the balls of his feet and vibrating with excitement. "Addy and I are going to come with you and your mom to visit the retirement home!"
What?
"Isn't that great?" He exclaims, grinning like an innocent maniac.
Fuck.
"Yeah," His sister drawls as she slowly walks towards me, hips swaying. She mirrors my earlier nasty smile. "Isn't that great, Hayes?"
Shit.
_____________
She hooks a lock of auburn hair behind her ear, shutting the car door and hurrying over to me, heels clicking on the pavement. She throws her arms over her head, trying to protect her styled curls. She barely spares me a glance before pulling the limousine's door open.
As she slides in, I grab her elbow and yank her back out. Her head snaps up to me, green eyes wide.
"Let go of me!" She exclaims, trying to wriggle out of my grasp.
"Why," I hiss, gripping her harder and speaking through gritted teeth. "Did you not tell me the Warren weirdos were coming to Grandpa's with us?"
"I-"
"Actually," I interrupt, wrenching her closer to me and glaring. "Why didn't you tell me we were going to Grandpa's?!"
She snaps her mouth closed, silently scowling at me. After a pause and the sound of my shallow breaths, she blinks and looks me up and down.
"Are you finished?"
I take a deep breath and push my mother away from me.
She steadies herself with the open door, and Adelaide and Adrian pretend not to listen from inside.
She looks irritably up at the gloomy sky and drizzle before patting down her clothes.
"First of all," She begins, tone clipped. "Don't touch me."
I just glare at her.
"Second of all, I didn't tell you we were going to Viktor's because I knew you would react this way."
I roll my eyes at that. She may have a point, but that doesn't mean I need to agree with it.
"And lastly, I have no idea what you're talking about with the Warrens."
I pause at that, my glare giving way to a frown.
"Wait, what?"
"Oh, hey, Olivia." Adrian pokes his head out the car door, right between my mother and I. He gives her that manic, dimpled smile with his black hair in his eyes. "I meant to say it to you, b-"
"Forget it." She grabs him by his black curls and shoves his head back in the car, all the while looking at me. "We're late."
__________
The three and a half hour drive to the West of Ireland from the East could be one of the worst three and a half hours of my life. After getting over the fact that it only took three and a half hours to drive across the country, I realised I was left with two weirdos and a psycho.
Trouble is, it was getting harder and harder to decide who was a weirdo and who was a psycho.
All Adelaide did was listen to really loud screamo music that I could hear from her earphones as she sat across the limo from me. Whereas Adrian was a lot noisier in his pursuit to strike up a conversation with either Hayes.
Neither my mother nor I were in any mood to chat.
All I could think of was the place we were headed to. A place that smelled of death, decay and morning breath. It was the Blood retirement home, essentially a huge home on the West of Ireland where we dump the elderly. Like the cemetery, every Blood goes to this retirement home. No matter where they were born or live or have families, they're always dumped in Ireland.
Personally, I think it was bad planning that the retirement home is so far away from the graveyard.
The retirement home is like any other retirement home, the only difference is that when the old folks don't get the kind of juice they want, their tantrums can be a lot more... Volatile.
No matter how old you are, if you're a Blood, you're still cursed.
So, if you're locked up in a home with a billion other old bats, you'll probably use your curse out of anger.
Eventually, we made it to the huge, light yellow building. It's one very long cottage, everything on the same floor. It's atop a hill, with cars parked all the way up the gravel road leading up to it. Dara, the driver, drops us right on the doorstep and then drives back down, looking for a parking spot. Right before he leaves, Adrian bounds up to his passenger door, rooting in his pockets.
"Here's a tip from my sister and I." The window rolls down and he shoves his hand in, grinning like a little kid.
"Thanks, babe." Says a female voice that's all too familiar.
I groan, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets.
"Piper."
She swings out of the limo and pockets the cash, banging on the car door to let the driver know to drive off. In the wake of the upturned gravel, she spins around and bows, smirking.
"Cuz, it's been so long."
Adrian blinks, staring at her incredulously. "You've been in the car the whole time?"
"Yep, the screen Auntie Oli demanded gave me and the driver a lot of privacy." She flashes my mother a condescending smile.
"Why else do you think I had my earphones in? She never shuts up." Addy offers, tone bored. Piper frowns at her but Addy just turns away and stalks into the building, Adrian jogging after her.
"What was she talking about? You guys couldn't hear me."
I just shrug, having given up on understanding that Warren a long time ago.
"Does your mother know you're here?" My mother questions, tilting her head to the side.
Piper folds her arms over her chest, giving her a levelled look. "No, but my dad doesn't know you're here either. So, unless you want him to find out all about your little visit to Viktor, I'd keep my mouth shut."
My mother purses her lips before slowly turning around, muttering all about "threats from teenagers" as she strides briskly into the home.
Piper looks up at me, hooking a stray brown lock of hair behind her ear. She pokes her tongue through her lip ring, a mannerism that brings her comfort. "You ready to see the old man?"
I sigh, turning around and walking with her into the building.
"When is anyone ever ready to see him?" I answer, glibly.
"I love his accent." She says, feigning cheeriness. "The way he pronounces his "th"''s makes me laugh."
I give her a sideways glance, smiling. "At least he's good for something."
We glide through the automatic doors, and I realise the interior is an even brighter yellow. The place is bustling with Bloods. Visitors come in and out, bundled up in jackets and scarves. Some give us weird looks, some smile but most just ignore us. We wander up to the reception desk, waiting in the long line of visitors and I see the nurses and doctors shooting from hallway to hallway, pausing in their strides to talk to worried families or confused patients.
It smells like death, decay and morning breath.
"Viktor Hayes, please." Piper says sweetly, batting her eyes at the male nurse on reception.
He's a Cross boy, who blushes ferociously at her flirtatious attempts.
He has to clear his throat a few times before he can speak, and I roll my eyes at my sexual fifteen year old cousin.
"The Third or Second?" He coughs out, voice shaky.
Piper frowns, looking up at me from her slumped position against the desk. "I didn't know Uncle Vik was sent here, last I heard he was in Barbados with Ronnie."
I shrug my suit jacket off, throwing it over my shoulder. "Adam said he had a stroke a few months back, Eric mentioned a few weeks ago he was sent here. Ronnie couldn't look after him anymore, the diabetes was getting to her."
Piper frowns as I answer the Cross guy's question.
"Second."
"Room 701, straight down the hall to the left and then follow the numbers until you reach it." He gives Piper a timid smile before she whirls around and makes her way down the hall.
I rush after her, dodging Bloods as I go.
"Where do you think the Warrens wandered off to?"
She snorts. "Probably to some closet to screw. Everyone knows they're sleeping with each other."
"Pipes, that's sick."
She shrugs, undeturred as she batts her eyelashes at a passing Warren boy. He sees her and then snaps his head straight ahead, not giving her a second glance as his mother grabs his arm and drags him away from Piper. "No, what's sick is that Old Bloods would accept that more than they would accept me sleeping with the Warren boy."
I can only agree with that.
"Why did your mom come here, anyway? Viktor hates her, he thinks she stole your dad away from the family."
"Knowing her, she probably did." In that, my grandpa and I have something in common.
Piper winks or smiles at every boy that passes us, except for the Sorens. At them, she glares as ferociously as if they were her parents.
Piper has something about her, a certain attraction that draws people to her. Even when she was twenty pounds over-weight, she still had a demanding presence.
"I don't know." I sigh, running a hand through my hair. My mother's right, it is getting way too long. "Maybe she's visiting him out of the kindness of her own heart."
Piper swings a left and then chuckles. "That's total bullshit, Heath. He probably owes her a dollar from twenty years ago or something." She twirls around a group of Sorens who openly glare at us, cursing as we walk by.
I nod, Piper's probably right.
"Hey!" A loud voice calls from down the hallway, and Piper groans, rolling her brown eyes.
"Incestuous happy twin at six o' clock." She mutters.
I turn around to see Adrian Warren bounding up to me, black hair flopping as he drags his unwilling sister along. Now, in the artificial light, I can really soak up their features.
Both are gigantic, and Adelaide is the same height as me, which pisses me off to no end.
Then again, what kind of sixteen year old girl is 6'3?
Her brother is even taller than that, and both have ink black hair that has a blue hue to it in some light. Both have big grey eyes, Adelaide's lighter than Adrian's. Both have oval faces and dimples in their cheeks. Adelaide has a lot more freckles than her brother, and they coat her cheeks. As she strides forward I notice the dark purple lipstick that's smeared on her lips, and I realise I've seen her wear every colour of lipstick ever created. A trait she picked up when we were seven or eight. Her hair is curly and runs down her back, it looks like a tangled mess at the moment. I see the tattoos on her wrists and know that there are more coating her body, just like there are ones all over Adrian.
I can see the tribal marks running up his arms, as his sleeves are rolled up. Thick black strokes that probably run along his chest as well. Most Warrens have tattoos and piercings, no matter what age they are as Katerina Warren, a renowned tattoo artist of the Clanns, charges little and does anyone.
Both are pale as paper, and neither tan, no matter how long they spend in any exotic country. Adrian's guitar is still strapped to his back as he lopes over, and I try to remember back to a time when he didn't have it with him.
"Where's your granddad?"
"Still breathing, unfortunately." Piper says dryly, before spinning around and carrying on in her pursuit to find his room. Her hips sway in the short, black dress as she walks to the room.
"You don't really think that."
Adelaide's cool reply makes her pause, and she slowly turns around, her wet converse squeaking on the ground.
"Excuse me?" She looks Adelaide up and down, lips curling.
Adelaide stares at her, grey eyes not blinking. I see Adelaide a lot, as both of us seemed to be dragged to most Blood events. It's just tradition, if you're in a main family you go to as many events as you can. So, over the years I've studied her, I've tried to figure her out, I guess. She always has this look, this bored yet snobbish look. Like she knows she's better than you and that she knows more than you do.
It really gets to me.
"You like Viktor." Her throaty, bored voice makes me want to wrap a protective arm around Piper. Which causes me to take a step away from my cousin, as any kind of paternal or familial feeling towards any Hayes would probably get me kicked out of the Clann.
"No, I don't."
Adelaide's jaw sets, her eyes narrowing in a challenge. "He's the only one – apart from Heath – that acts like you're there. All the other relatives ignore you, am I right?"
When Piper doesn't answer, a sly smile spreads across Adelaide's face.
"I'm right, aren't I?"
Adrian sighs, wrapping an arm around his sister and sweeping her past us.
"Come on, Addy. We don't need anymore enemies." He turns a corner, bringing her out of sight before throwing me a smile back over his shoulder as he leaves.
What's his angle? What's he trying to get out of being friendly to me?
"Hey, you okay?" I wander over to Piper, placing a hand on her shoulder.
In a flash, she's on the other side of the hall from me, clutching her arm and glaring between passers-by. "Don't touch me." She hisses, and I recoil.
"Okay, okay." I say, raising my hands in a placating gesture. "I forgot for a second. You don't like to be touched, I get it."
With Adelaide gone, she takes her anger out on me.
Her eyes narrow into coffee slits and she curls her little hands into fists.
"No," She enunciates, perfectly clear. "You don't."
She stalks away, and I'm left alone in the hall.
___________
Viktor Hayes the Second is a man of great honour. You can tell that from his large nose and the upward tilt of his chin. His shoulders are constantly squared, as if prepared for a battle, and that hasn't changed over the years. With his height, he's looked down on everyone his whole life, and with his money and title, he's needed to.
His accent is as thick as his dark brown beard that's now shot through with grey. His vowels are sometimes incomprehensible, and he spits more than most as he speaks. He has wrinkles around his eyes, more from them being narrowed than laughter. The proud set of his jaw tells you when you need to shut your mouth, because when it clicks shut, you know you're in trouble.
He doesn't hesitate when it comes to hitting someone, and will even slap a toddler over the head if they won't stop crying, a trait that made my father a quiet child. His skin is darker than most Hayes', but lives on with my brothers and I.
When I step through the door, his glazed brown eyes flicker up to me from the window, and his face breaks into a smile that lights up his pore-ridden and wrinkled face.
My bad mood induced by my mother and the Warren twins disappears, and I smile too, because I can't remember the last time someone was so happy to see me.
"Adam!" He breathes out, chuckling to himself.
My smile melts away.
He pushes himself off the rickety chair he was sitting in, and grabs his walking stick, shuffling over to me. "I told 'em you'd come." His Russian accent is throaty, and it takes me a moment to process the words.
I swallow thickly, smiling at the old man.
"I'm not Adam, Grandpa." I say, gently. The last thing I need is to give the guy a stroke. "I'm Heath, his younger brother."
Viktor frowns for a second before shaking his head, brown hair bouncing. He hobbles over and wrenches me in to a tight hug, squeezing me viciously. He smells like death, decay and morning breath.
"Ah," He breathes in, clapping me on the back. "Heath. Ya, ya. You didn't look like my son." He pushes me away, but keeps hold of my upper arms as he scrutinizes me, rotten teeth on show. "Too stocky, ya?"
I nod, vigorously. "Um, ya." I mimic, unsure what's going on.
He gives me a smile, showing all of his yellow teeth, right as my mother clips her way in, hair and clothes immaculate. My grandpa's smile slips as he sees her. She gives him a tight-lip smile, that smile that isn't really a smile. It's too fake.
"Viktor," She breathes, and she breezes past me and over to him, arms outstretched.
Even though the man is at least ninety, he nimbly dodges her hands and spins away from her, now standing a few paces in front of us as my mother stands beside me.
I watch on silently, careful not to draw any notice. Every time I've seen these two together, my grandpa ends up shouting his voice raw and my mother becomes a mute for days. They can't get along, and have very old reasons as to why not.
Reasons I've never really found out.
"Olivia." And he spits her name, like it's dirty. Like she's dirty. "Why you come 'ere?" I don't know if he chooses to speak in broken English, or if it's just become habit over the years.
She folds her pale hands in front of her and gives him a bland smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"I've come to visit you, like I always do when I find myself in Ireland." She feigns sweetness and sincerity.
My grandpa gives her a long look before spitting in her face.
She gasps, recoiling and staring at him in shock for a second as the saliva drips down her cheek. I snap my mouth closed and take a small step back, but my mother pays me no attention. She slowly, and with shaking hands, wipes the liquid from her cheek and rubs her palm on her clothes, not hiding her revulsion.
"Get out." Viktor barks, holding his walking stick steady. "Get out and don't come back. I tell you 'is every time."
My mother's eyes narrow, a green fire. "I am your fami-"
"No." And here he begins with the shouting. "You are a whore, no family of mine."
She snaps her mouth shut with a loud click, and for the first time ever, she carries the argument with him, instead of just letting him shout at her.
"A whore? Do you even know the definition of a whore, you old bastard? I loved your son, and I neve-"
He scoffs, and even that sounds Russian. "I don't want 'ear your lies."
"Lies? I was his soul mate, surely you must remember what that feels like."
"Of course I remember." He snaps, and I angle around to see his expression as a glare. "Mara has been gone only weeks, and I'll follow her soon." Then his eyes narrow. "Like a soul mate should."
My mother gives him a levelled gaze, tipping her chin up. "And that's what it all boils down to, doesn't it, Viktor? You're disgusted that I lived and your son didn't."
"It's not right!" And I jump when he slams his hand on the bedside table. "When a soul mate dies, you do too. You can't take the guilt and the loneliness and you start to fade! It's what we're made for!"
"I wasn't made for this." She jabs a finger at herself, stalking up to him and getting right in his face. "I had six young boys when he died. Is that what you wanted? For me to just give up and let some stranger look after my boys? Did you want some distant relative to take care of the main family of the Hayes Clann?" She's insane now. Insane with anger and guilt and sorrow.
He looks down his big nose at her, eyes like a hawk.
He mutters something in Russian before turning around and ambling back to his chair.
My mother's eyes blaze with anger as she straightens up, and they flick to me. "What did he say? What did he say?!"
"I don't know."
I don't speak Russian.
"He said; "maybe it was suicide"."
I spin around to see Adelaide Warren, arms braced on the doorway. She looks past me and at my mother, expression bored.
My mother's head snaps to him while I frown.
"Suicide? What does he mean?"
"He means," My mother walks slowly over to him, eyes practically twitching with anger. "That maybe your father killed himself."
"But he didn't." I stare at my mother as I feel Adelaide move behind me. "Right?"
"Of course." She stays in her silent eye-war with Viktor. "It was cancer."
"And you know that how?" Viktor asks, voice dripping with hostility.
"Because," Their narrowed eyes wage a silent war. "I watched everyday as he rotted from the inside out."
Viktor looks away first and finally, my mother has won a war with him.
"Heath," She looks over to me and then flicks her hair off her shoulders. "Say your goodbyes, I have somethings to do and then we'll leave in a half hour. I want to leave this country as soon as possible." She sweeps out of the room, not even sparing Viktor a glance.
Before the door shuts behind her, the vase of flowers by Viktor's bed explodes and shatters into pieces, glass hails to the floor.
Viktor curses in Russian, while Adelaide laughs.
"She's a bitch, but you've got to admit, Heath. Your mom is kick-ass."
I just glare at her and watch as my grandpa sighs and sits down. He nestles himself into the seat, and looks out the window again, itching his chin. He doesn't look at the glass shards on the floor, or the water or the dying flowers, just stares out the window.
"Are you okay, Grandpa?" I walk over to him, glass breaking underneath my feet. I awkwardly hesitate by his chair, and he looks up at me, nodding absently.
"Ya, ya."
I turn my attention to Adelaide who wanders around the room, index finger trailing over the wallpaper. She pauses by the bookshelves and tilts her head, looking at all of the titles.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, territorial over my ever-aging grandfather and the inner-workings of my Clann. The last thing I need is for the show that just happened to end up on Facebook.
She pulls a book out and flips it over, reading the blurb. "I came to visit Viktor, of course."
Viktor looks her over and shakes his head, lips pursed. "I do not know who you are."
She turns her head around, black hair sweeping across her back and shakes her head solemnly.
"Dementia is a horrible thing." She pops the book back and then wanders over to a seat in the corner of the room, Viktor's back to her. I watch her as she daintily sits down and crosses her ankles.
"I came to watch the show."
"Wha-"
"Thank God." A voice interrupts me, and I turn to see Piper bustling into the room. She shakes her head, hair swishing. "I've been looking for this room for a freakin' decade. I walked by it at least five times." She looks from me to Adelaide before her eyes land on Viktor, and her face lights up. "Papa!"
He gives a good old laugh that echoes around the room, and Piper rushes him, looking happier than I have ever seen her in my entire life.
It's funny, I kind of just assumed she had never met Grandpa, even though he's as much her grandpa as he is mine.
She gets to him, but instead of hugging her, like he did to me, he clasps her gloved hand.
At that, her smile turns gentler.
"I haven't seen you since Christmas, Young Blood." He smiles up at her, and I start to wonder that, at some point, does the Hayes evil just seep out of you? Do you just wake up on your seventieth birthday and not feel the need to be an evil dick anymore?
He points to her cheek, as he wouldn't dare touch it. "You've lost more weight, what has your mother been doing to you?" And it sounds almost like an accusation, as if he liked it better when she was obese.
"Nothing." She snaps, then her eyes widen and she realises who she's speaking to. The old head of the Hayes Clann. "Nothing." She says, quieter this time and her eyes drop to the floor. I know it kills her to be submissive to anyone. Hayes' aren't made like that.
He nods and pats her coat, smiling to himself. He never used to smile like that... I guess he really is losing his mind. "Where's your father? Kristian hasn't visited in a long time."
She shrugs, suddenly disinterested in the conversation. "Work."
Viktor smiles up at her again, patting her gloved hand. "You look just like Alba."
Piper's face takes on a look of revulsion at the mention of our aunt. "Please don't insult me, Papa."
He gives a raucous laugh. "It's no insult, Pip." His accent is even thicker as he says her nick-name. We're the only family members who give her a nick-name. "Alba is beautiful, just like you."
I have to admit, my dad's younger sister does have all the makings to be attractive, but it's the evil that hinders her.
She doesn't reply to that, and after a second, he looks like he craves to keep the conversation going. "Sit, sit." He points to the chair in front of him, and she sits down as he motions to the love seat across from Adelaide for me.
As we settle, he claps his hands, as if wondering where to begin.
"Let me tell you stories of the Old Country." He licks his cracked lips and looks eagerly at all of us, and I realise he really is old. The Viktor of the past would've kicked us out long ago.
The Viktor of the past would've thrown my mother across the room and never would've hugged any of us in the first place, as well.
Piper groans, head falling back. "Papa." She sighs dramatically. "You've told me all this before. I know it all."
He tuts, glaring at her. "I do not even know it all, Young Blood. You think you could even understand what happened before even me?" He looks to Adelaide, nodding at her. "What happened even before your grandmother?"
"You mean there was a time before Nana Warren?" I reply, sarcastically.
Viktor's look silences me.
"The Old Country, where the Hayes' are from." He lifts up his arm and pinches his skin, motioning to it. "Where we got our colour from. Our noses, our features, our accents, our names." He leans to the edge of his seat, gripping the sides and staring at us with such excitement. Then, he whispers the word, as if it's magical.
"Turkey."
And his pronunciation makes it seem magical.
He fans his hands around, scrunching up his nose. "We are not Native American, like the racists think." He thumps his chest with a fist. "European." Then he gives a cheeky smile, tapping his long nose. "A place possibly even better than my home, Russia. Or your parents'," He points to Piper and I. "Spain. Turkey is all of our homes, truly."
I'd like to say I'm swept away by his words, but I'm not interested. Stories of a magical time when the Bloods were just created are myths.
"Can you tell us about the Lovers, sir?" Adelaide surprises us all by asking, and my newly dopey grandfather nods his head, pleased.
"The Lovers are great stories."
"But that's all they are, right?" She leans forward in her seat, clasping her hands. "Just stories."
He shrugs. "Depends on the informer, ya know?" His accent is brisk, brutish. "Some believe they are silly stories for the romantic women of the Clanns, or warnings against inter-Clann relationships." He slides his fingers in-between each other, signifying it.
"But what do you believe?" I ask, becoming more interested.
He shrugs again, like he doesn't want to commit to anything. "I believe we are magical enough to have stories like these that are true."
"Who are your favourite?" Piper seems bored as she asks the question, trailing her fingers over her bracelets.
"Pardon?"
"Your favourite, Papa. Every Blood has a favourite Lover story, which one was yours?"
"Ah," He furrows his thick brows, tapping his chin. "The Desperate Lovers, hm?" He gives us a wistful smile, blinking blearily. "Eurydice and Orpheus had such a sad story. Stupid ya, but sad." Then he sighs, as if banishing all his sympathetic thoughts with an exhale. "But it's what you get, what you deserve. Bloods from Blood Clanns should never be with other Bloods from Blood Clanns."
"But they were soul mates," Piper idly replies, watching as rain drops slide down the window. "Wouldn't those four couples be the exceptions to the rule?"
Viktor shakes his head, frowning. "No exceptions."
"So, they deserved that?" Piper finally looks up at him, cocking a brow. "You think they deserved everything they went through because they were stuck together? It's not their fault what family they were born into, or who their soul mates were."
"Come on," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "The stories aren't true, and even if they were, they're idiots. Why didn't they all just run off together and die quietly when they were old?"
"They're not idiots." Viktor waves my comment aside, as if it's invalid. "They're cursed. Any Blood with a soul mate in a Clann when they're already in a Clann themselves, is cursed."
"Let's hope you're wrong, sir."
Viktor jumps at the voice from the door, and we all turn to see Adrian, standing there with his arms folded. He stares at me though, as he speaks. His grey eyes not moving.
"For all our sakes."
________