"We're here," Vincent said after a while of silence.
Looking through the window, I realized that we were already in front of Dad's house. Vincent killed the engines and handed me my sling bag containing a few belongings—the Memory Tome from Mei, an old blue and yellow striped scarf, my copy of The Law of Immortals from Archie, a Nysmic frock and the pair of boots that came with it.
I nodded absently as I got out of the Land Cruiser, slowly taking in the whole house. The lawn was more well-kept than I had expected. Through the carefully draped windows, I could see that the lights were turned on in every room. The chorus of Yesterday filled the air as we reached the patio. Dad was such a big Beatles fan. I couldn't help but smile as we paused at the doorstep. To think that I used to hate that song and this house.
After shaking the snow from my sneakers, I hunkered down to fish the spare key which was surprisingly still hidden under the doormat. I opened the door, gesturing Vincent to follow me. He stopped at the doorstep, looking down on his slush-soaked hiking boots as if he wanted to say something but was too disgraced to do so.
"Oh, I forgot," I grumbled in annoyance. "You're invited in, your highness," I waved a hand into the house and did a mock curtsy. Reapers couldn't enter a house without an invitation. Smashing.
The small living room was empty though Dad's laptop was sitting on the table. A fire burned in the brick fireplace, radiating warmth all over the room. With Vincent following me with a smoldering look that burned through my eye sockets, I went straight to the scrupulously clean kitchen. As expected, Dad wasn't there. We went up the stairs next, our steps wary.
"Dad?" I called, hurrying my steps toward his room, only to find it empty.
Finally, we found him in my room—the least possible place I imagined to find him in—curled in my bed, fast asleep.
"I'll wait downstairs," Vincent whispered before draughting away without a sound.
Slowly, I approached Marcel, noting for any change. His curly brown hair was a bit shorter, cleaner on the sides than I last saw him. His face was cleanly shaved, though stubbles already begun growing back. He was wearing that beige button-up shirt Mom gave him on his twenty-ninth birthday. It was as if he had aged years in just a few weeks. And it felt exactly like I hadn't seen him in years. I sat on the side of my four-poster and waited for him to wake up. It took several minutes, but I was satisfied to watch him sleep. When finally, he opened his eyes, he blinked twice as if to make sure that I wasn't a ghost.
"Hi, Dad," I said with a smile.
Appearing too stunned to talk, Dad sat next to me. It took him a little while to compose himself. "Sorry," was the first thing that came out from his lips. I shook my head to let him know that it was alright; that I would still love him no matter what happened in the past. When I took his hand, he gently squeezed it back and like a cipher, I understood what he meant. Between me and my Dad, there was no need for words.
I busied myself in the kitchen while Dad and Vincent watched the American adaptation of The Grudge in HBO. I could hear little of their conversation so I finally gave up and focused on breading the chicken cutlets. They were actually getting along better than I had pictured. Dad never asked me to watch TV with him. Not once. Maybe it was because he knew I hated horror movies. But still, he could've asked me and not that self-absorbed excuse for a master. The marinara sauce was just about done when Dad yelled from the living room.
"Aramis? Make some extra," Dad said, peeking into the kitchen, looking all animated. "Vincent's staying for dinner."
"Why am I not surprised?" I complained, rolling my eyes. He found a new pet.
As if he hadn't heard my snide comment, Dad picked up a chicken finger, took a bite, nodded approvingly and went back to the living room to his new most favorite person in the world. Fantastic. Just when I thought the old truck was out of the way.
"So, Paris, huh?" Dad said to me through a mouthful of fettuccine.
"What?" I replied, puzzled, interrupted from deep thought.
It was Vincent who answered from across the table, putting down his fork and throwing me a look that said just go with it. "I sort of told Marcel about the vacation Arch—I mean, Dad was planning for the winter break. Vlad's totally dying to have you with us." He secretly winked at me.
"Oh, that," I mumbled, hurrying to think of something sensible to say. "Vladimir was really hoping I can come with them. He's Vincent's younger brother, Dad. He's like, twelve," I told Marcel, purposively being very specific so he wouldn't make any misconceptions.
"Fourteen," Vincent corrected, smirking. I wished I put a bottle of hot sauce in his pasta.
Dad nodded, his eyes shifting from me to Vincent and back. "So, you want to go with them?"
I hesitated then nodded. The excuse was well thought. I wouldn't expect less from Vincent. I was going to France—that was what I would like Dad to think. That I was going to some beautiful, happy place. But somehow, the thought of lying to him was making me feel guilty so I kept silent while Vincent gave out the details of the so-called vacation. We were supposed to stay in Vincent's half-brother, Pierre. We would be gone for two weeks. It would be really fun and a worthwhile experience. I would surely love Paris. It was the best place on earth. Vincent had been going on and on about it for what seemed like hours to convince my father to give me permission.
When finally, he convinced Dad, I could hardly look at both of them. Vincent and I knew that there was no assurance that we would both make it back.
Silently, I tidied up the kitchen as they resumed spending quality time together in front of the TV. My eyes accidentally trailed on the old creaking cupboard. Mechanically, I opened it and searched for the secret flap where I found Mom's diary and the diamond pendant, which were both hidden safely inside the drawer in my room. I finished doing the dishes in a few minutes and hurried to upstairs, remembering to make up some excuse before doing so. Frantically, I rummaged the drawers for the old Memory Tome and the necklace. I looked everywhere but didn't find anything.
"Aramis!" Dad called from downstairs. "Vincent's going home! Why don't you see him off?"
I heard Vincent politely declining but Dad insisted. So, grudgingly, I stomped down the stairs and walked him to his Cruiser. My teeth chattered since I forgot to take my jacket. Dad was at the door, crossing his arms in front of him, craning his neck to keep an eye on us.
"So... I'll be going now." It was actually awkward coming from Vincent. It sounded too... normal. "Stay inside the house once the link is cut. The barrier's still intact so wraith attack is highly unlikely. I'll pick you up tomorrow at exactly seven forty-five. Sharp," he added in a general-giving-orders tone. Now, that was more like him.
"Got it," I nodded, eager to get back into the house. My face was freezing. Just as when I was about to head back, he called my name.
"Uh... the Diviner's link," he mumbled, pointing to the tiny silver stud on his right ear. "It still works, so you can contact me if anything happens—"
"I know," I cut him off with a small smile as I was backing away. "See you."
With that, I ran back into the house, brushing off the snow that clung onto my hair. I flopped on the rug near the fireplace, rubbing my hands together. The purr of engines outside made me take an involuntary glance at the window. And I stared there blankly until the yellow jeep disappeared into the road.
Peering at me through his thick-rimmed glasses, Dad parked himself in the rocking chair. "Nice kid, isn't he?"
"You keep saying that," I muttered exasperatedly.
And because Daddy dearest couldn't take a hint, he carried on. "You know, if you two end up together, I think my work on earth is done," he said with a casual snigger. "I'd prefer if he marries you first, but I'm not one to complain."
There was no way he actually meant that. No freaking way.
"Dad!" I screamed at him, shuffling to my feet to glower at him. "We're not talking about this. I'm like, seventeen—I mean eighteen. And it's not like that between me and Vincent. I've told you that." For the first time in months, I felt like an asthma attack was coming.
He just shrugged and let out a deep sigh. "Okay. Calm down. I'm just saying." Just when I thought the talk was over, he pressed on. "Your mom was nineteen when I married her. This house... was where she grew up. You were born here," he said before falling into a wistful silence.
We both fell silent, gazing at the flicker of flames in the fireplace. I imagined Mom sitting right next to me. "I... didn't know," I mumbled, resting my chin on my knees.
"Before she died, she had one wish—to see this house for the last time," he said.
Dad got up and went upstairs. Soon, I could hear his heavy footfalls coming. In his hand were a leather-bound diary and a silver necklace. Wordlessly, he handed them to me. I traced the embossed symbols on the old leather cover with my fingers.
"I'm surprised you found them before I did," he said after settling back on the rocking chair. "Lisanna would've wanted you to have them. The diary might not make any sense to you though. It's not written in English. I've tried to do a research on Latin, Celtic... even Greek but I couldn't find any match."
I smoothed the crease on my forehead before excitedly thumbing through the pages. They were exactly as they were before. Pure English. To me, at least. I could understand every word of it. So why was it that Dad couldn't? Biting my lip, I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. For once, I wanted to thank him. Tell him the truth—that when I leave, it might be for good. Or for worse, whatever. I wanted to cry on his lap like that scared little girl I used to be. Instead, I stood up clearing my throat, muttering "I'm going to bed," as I clutched Mom's possessions near to my heart.
Sleep was hard to come by. The curse, my inevitable meeting with Death, leaving Dad—the thoughts lingered, intensifying the unsettling feeling inside me.
The next day, Vincent came at the exact time he had given. After exchanging pleasantries with my dad about the Cruiser's engines and stuff—boy talk—my master unceremoniously shoved me into the front seat. Automatically, I reconnected the Transference link between the two of us, letting out a sigh of relief as I felt some of my life-force shift through him.
"I am almost done with the dress," Mei warbled, clapping her hands together as she hoisted herself from the backseat. "Just a few finishing touches. I am so excited to see you try it on."
A mechanical smile pulled up the corner of my lips. "Can't wait," I told her, my eyes landing on Vladimir who was snoring quietly in a corner with a half-eaten toast hanging from his mouth. Rosario was right. The boy didn't look too good. It seemed to me like he lost some weight, his face paler than usual.
Behind the wheel, Vincent just kept silent while Mei went on about the details of the gown and how it would be undoubtedly perfect. I tried to keep an interested expression though in the corner of my eye, I was watching Vincent pour some seething rage on the clutch. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the road, dark bags evident under them. I didn't try to talk to him. I preferred my mornings without his yelling.
We were in the school parking lot by quarter to eight. A little too early for my liking. Vincent got out from the vehicle and slammed the door, giving a little wakeup call to Vladimir, who began chewing the toast in his mouth as soon as he opened his now sky-blue eyes.
"You shouldn't sleep wearing contacts, you know," I said to him, assuming a mature air.
Vladimir made a face, still nibbling on his toast. "It's alright. I don't do REMs."
When the genius starts talking, just shut up. I reminded myself, getting out of the cab. Without any clue as to what we were up to, I followed them through the empty school hallways, leading to the music room. Vladimir produced a key from his pocket and opened the door for us. The room wasn't as big as the regular classrooms but the space in the middle was enough to seat a dozen students. The rows of chairs were elevated from the polished wooden floor, behind which, different instruments were arranged carefully in a glass-paneled cabinet.
Cracking his knuckles, Vincent sat behind the sleek concert piano in the other corner of the room and carefully lifted the cover. He ran a fast hand over the keys for a warm up before striking the lowest note so forcefully, it actually made me wince.
"Someone woke up in the wrong side of the bed," I whispered to Mei who just answered me with a rueful smile.
"If he ever slept at all," Vladimir butted in, taking my hand and towing me to the center of the room. He bowed his head slightly, putting a hand on his chest while his left dangled on his side. "Mei," he called his familiar who instantly ran to my side and daintily clasped her right hand on her chest.
"This is the proper curtsy for a familiar," the raven-haired girl instructed, waving her right hand to Vladimir's direction, crossing her right foot behind the left and bending low.
Feeling awkward, I imitated her, putting a hand over my chest, waving it forward before stepping back with my right foot and bending my knees. It was more complicated than how she made it look like. Before I knew it, a fast waltz reverberated on the four walls of the room. Every note was crisp, like chimes dancing in my ears. Vincent's eyes were vacant as his fingers played on the keys as if they had their own will. The tempo mellowed for a while as he looked up to his brother and nodded.
"Chopin's Waltz number ten in B minor," Vladimir commented, eyes closed, hand swaying with the beat until Vincent struck the last notes softly. "Father's favorite."
Vladimir and his familiar bowed and joined hands, the boy's left arm looping around her waist as she put her free hand over his shoulder. They started with a basic square step, progressing into a series of twirling and lifting as they covered the whole dance floor. Intently, I watched their movements, admiring the litheness of every stride, the whole sophistication of it. Mei looked so beautiful, so sure of her steps it made me a bit jealous.
When the song ended, Vladimir turned to me and offered a hand. "Your turn," he said.
Reluctantly, I took his hand, my heart ramming against my ribcage. He placed a gentle hand around my waist and we started dancing. It took me several tries before memorizing the steps, stepping on Vlad's foot every now and then. Luckily for me, he had all the patience in the world. I was nowhere near Mei when it came to dancing. I was awkward, ungraceful and scared that my mistakes could mean our doom.
Vincent and I went to our separate classes after the second period. I could already maintain the link within a considerable distance so I agreed. All the while, he seemed distracted, lost in deep thought but I didn't probe.
In Trig, I went straight to my usual seat, keeping my eyes on the floor. Carter and Lindsay who sat beside me looked surprised that I bothered to go to class today. Lindsay gave me a tentative smile before fixing her eyes back onto her notes. I didn't try to talk to them. The sooner they forgot that I ever existed, the better. It would shorten the list of people who would look for me when I was gone. It was just like repeating my old cycle of moving away.
During the lunch break, I went back to the music room, sitting behind the piano. Wistfully, I ran my hand over the black and white keys. It didn't really matter if I could dance or not. When the solstice arrives, I would already be gone, taking all the evidence with me. I brought out the old Memory Tome and flipped the pages until I found Mom's entry.
The door suddenly creaked open. Vincent stood there silently, eyeing at the leather-bound book in my hands. "November twenty-three, two thirty-one in the morning," he said meeting my eyes as he leaned on the closed door.
"Come again?" I asked, immediately hiding the book behind me.
He closed his eyes. "November twenty-three, two thirty-one in the morning—supposedly that's your estimated time and date of expiration. Four days earlier, you drowned... and died," he begun, looking straight at me. "I waited for sixteen years for you to come back here, Aramis. I've been waiting for a long time. And now, you're here."
"W-what on earth are you talking about?" I croaked, getting up from my seat.
Vincent swallowed hard, taking a step closer to me. "I know about the curse—Alessandra Clandestine's curse." He let out a bitter chuckle. "Death of the mother on the eighth birthday of the daughter. Two souls lent for thirteen generations. How could I not know? My father put it on her. It was part of their deal. And your soul was supposed to be the last he'd collect."
My lips quivered, mindlessly dropping the diary to the floor. The curse put upon us by Death which no one but I was culpable. That line from Alessandra Clandestine's entry flashed in my memory.
"W-why didn't you tell me this before?" I demanded, my voice breaking.
Vincent's expression was unreadable when he said, "There are many things I didn't tell you. For instance, I have a confession to make. November nineteen, twelve eighteen AM—I let you die."