Her body was wrapped in white linens, a patchwork quilt laid over her as if, somewhere in whatever afterlife awaited vampires, she might be cold. Spencer thought he recognised the quilt, bright knitted squares interspersed with daintily decorated fabrics. He'd never seen a quilt like it, and was sure he'd never see another that gave him such a warm memory while simultaneously ripping his heart apart.
Spencer had never been around for the disposal of one of their own before. Usually it was done quietly, out of sight, and August took care of it, not wanting to speak of it again. Even when Cleo's body had been disposed of, August refused to talk about what he had done with her. Aside from hearing the roar of a chainsaw from the basement, Spencer, just like the rest of the house, had been kept in the dark.
He'd been told that another, Adam, had died while he'd been away, and his stomach dropped away when he remembered who had told him. Paige had been almost reverent as she told him that Adam and a group of others had decided to have themselves a fight club in the back garden, vampires verses werewolves. August had been furious. His fury at their stupidity had been the reason Patrick now only had one arm. Well, August's fury and William's strength. She'd told him about the werewolf, Priya, staying with them while she healed, and that she'd stayed with them even after the breaks had mended themselves. She'd been halfway through telling him about Edeline's father's threats to turn Priya feral when she'd cut herself off, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and unable to meet his gaze for the next ten minutes. She'd quickly changed the subject, talking about Thomas and his funny little projects to keep himself busy—he'd always been a worker, wanting stuff to do. Being bored annoyed him constantly—but Spencer had been unable to stop thinking about what he'd done to this werewolf's life.
He didn't know what had happened to Adam's body, and wondered if the same would have been true of him, had he not given in. Would August have been the one to take a chainsaw to him and hide his body away, others wondering—but never asking—what had happened to him after his death.
Paige had not been cut apart, and Spencer could only imagine that it was Thomas's feelings that were being spared. August had dismembered his own sire, after all, though that was as far as the comparison went. Cleo had lived a very long time, even Spencer wasn't sure how long, and Paige had been so young. Three months as a vampire, and he had spent almost the entire time away.
William laid the last of the wood in the middle of the lawn, scrunching up some newspapers for good measure and tossing the crumpled pages in at random. He checked with each person, a restrained nod here, a sniff there, that they were ready. He skipped over Spencer and his absent stare at the pile of wood. William picked up Paige's body and carried it over to the pyre, laying it down in the centre. He adjusted some of the wood and laid a layer of brush over her body, quilt and all.
The rest of the house had remained inside, giving the four men some semblance of privacy, though Spencer could feel their gazes on his back through the French doors. Deep in the house, the pained cries of transformation he remembered from his trip to the farm emanated up as if the very bricks of their home was crying in pain.
A petrol can had the nozzle screwed on and was splashed around the wood, the sweet heavy scent creeping through the air. The quilt became dark in patches with it, spreading lakes as more was tipped on.
The match was struck by William. He was about to toss it on when he blew it out again suddenly. He discarded it to the edge of the pyre and took Thomas by the elbow, leading him to the edge.
"I can't," Thomas breathed out.
William wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held out the box of matches to shaking hands.
"You can. You should."
Thomas' tears splashed down onto the top of the match box, dripped in between the matches as he slid the box open and pulled one out. It took three slashes across the flint strip before a flame took root and flickered in the darkening night. He stared at the flame, his mouth opening and closing without words, before he tossed it in.
Only a small patch caught, helped along by the newspaper and gasoline. William squeezed Thomas' shoulder and retrieved the box from him, going around the pyre and tossing no less than a dozen lit matches into different areas until the bonfire flamed into the sky. He came back to stand at Thomas' side.
Fingers slid against Spencer's palm, and August moved closer, squeezing Spencer's fingers with his own. Spencer couldn't take his gaze from the flames licking and slowly devouring the beautiful quilt.
"When I was a kid, we used to go to Guy Fawkes night every year," William said in a quiet, thoughtful voice. "Gunpowder and plot, and all that. There was always a body in the fire. Not real, of course, made of wood and straw."
He stepped closer to Thomas and laid his hand upon his youngest sire brother's shoulder. Thomas' tears slid silently down his cheeks.
"Every year, we would take something to throw into the fire. It was never big, of course, can't have a whole village turning up with big stuff to chuck in, it'd be a nightmare. But maybe a letter, or a small toy. It was an odd tradition, but we did it every year, a wish for the coming year, or to send to those who had passed. Every year, my mum took a piece of fruitcake for my grandmother, baked it especially and then cut off one slice. It was her favourite."
Thomas sniffed a deep, wet sniff, and shrugged William's hand from his shoulder. He ground the heel of his palm against his eyes as he turned away from the flames, yanking open one of the French doors and disappearing inside. William watched him with a sigh.
Spencer turned away from the fire.
"Don't," William said. "Leave him be. He needs space."
"I'm sorry," Spencer whispered, turning back to the fire. "I never meant for this, I didn't mean for any of this. I... I shouldn't have come back."
"Spencer," August murmured. "We talked about this."
"Me being here is a mistake. It's my fault she... that they... did this."
August squeezed his hand, but Spencer pulled away.
"I shouldn't be here. I did this."
"Spence..."
"You didn't do this, Spencer."
Spencer jerked in hollow surprise and turned. Thomas came around his side to stand in front of the fire. The tears were still clinging to his cheeks, but no more appeared in his eyes. They were hard, glowing in the light of the fire. He held a box in both hands, cradling it close to his stomach.
"It wasn't your fault," he repeated. "They did this, the wolves. We helped them, and they let this happen."
"Thomas..."
Thomas rounded on August and shook his head.
"They ignored all of it," he hissed. "They had us turn Vince and thought it would all be okay. They didn't even look after Priya when she needed it, one of their own. Why should we have ever thought they had our backs?"
Looking down at the box in his hands, he shook his head furiously.
"We made a mistake in trusting them," he mumbled. "They never had any intention of helping us. Of protecting her..."
With shaking fingers, Thomas opened the small paper box. It was filled to the brim with packets, each one the same, yellow and white with a delicate design and a name Spencer couldn't make out from this angle. However, he recognised them well enough, they were tea-bags.
Thomas took out half of the bags and threw them into the fire. He carefully closed the box, holding it at his side as he looked across the fire to William.
"They were her favourite," he said.
William smiled fondly and nodded.
It didn't take long for the fire to lick through the packets and into the teabags. In amongst the eye-stinging smoke, Spencer could taste elderflower and honey on the air.
They stood around the fire until long after the sweet scent of tea, and the beautiful quilt, had burned to ash.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Happy Thanksgiving for yesterday to all the American readers. I hope you are suitably comatose from a serious over indulgence of food.
Not really much to say except thanks for reading, please remember to vote and comment, and I'll see you next week.
Chele