wasnât already there before. But one thing I do know about alternative realms. Sometimes what comes out isnât always what went in. Riley Poe could be in more danger than she thinks. That doesnât sit verra well with me.
âJake Andorra
T he rest of the morning is spent first going over the map of Inverness, spread out on the kitchen table. Noah and I hunch over the creased, new map, shoulder to shoulder, studying. Inverness isnât very large, so we then head out into the city itself. We hit every main artery road, close, and dead-end street in the City Centre on foot, and fan out to the river and industrial park by cab. I suspect to most onlookers, Noah and I are just another touring couple on vacay. What they donât know wonât hurt, as the saying goes. Rather, possibly, wonât kill.
Yet despite Noahâs encouraging words to get my mind in the game, my thoughts stray to Eli. I just canât help it. He was taken from me, and I want him back. Badly. Why canât he be here now? Why did Vic make it home, but not Eli?
As my eyes take in the Scottish city, I daydream about what itâd be like to be here just as a regular couple in love, touring the city. The Highlands. Taking a boat out onto Loch Ness and searching for Nessie. Walking the hillsides, and traipsing through ancient castle ruins. A ping of jealousy roils inside me at all the regular people living regular lives. Wake up, eat breakfast, go to work, socialize, come home. Normal stuff. Jesus Christ, Iâm about as far from normal as I can possibly fucking be.
I want my goddamn life back.
âHey,â Noah says, and I look at him. His eyes soften. âStop that.â
I heave a sigh. âI swear, Iâll try.â
He pulls me into a side hug, kisses the top of my head, and we continue on.
The Scots are a friendly people whom I find I like more and more as I spend time here. I wish so much of this time wasnât spent on killing and death. Itâs inevitable, though, and the more I stop complaining about it, the faster Iâll accept it. Itâs what weâre here to do. Stop a killer. Apparently, more than one. Wanna know something weird? Sometimes, even though I know it has to be done, somewhere far in the recesses of my brain, Iâm saddened that I reduce bloodsuckers to a shimmering puddle of white goop. They used to be people. Sons. Daughters. Sisters. Brothers. Friends. Lovers. Who would ever look at a vampire, whether on TV, or in a movie, or like me, in life, and give him or her a soul? I guess it has to do with the fact that my family now is made up of age-old vampires who care not only about me, my brother, Seth, and other humans, but about one another. Makes me wonder how itâs possible theyâNoah, Eli, and his familyâcan do it. How they can care, but others canât. Or wonât. Iâm doing a lot of reflecting lately. Whatever that means.
Noah stops a few people on the street, locals at the university, maybe. The early-twenties crowd. They tell us where the best clubs are, best cafés, best pubs. We find our way to some of the seedier parts of the city. Inverness is friendly and welcoming, so whatâs seedy isnât very noticeable to any ordinary eye. But Noah can sniff out a punk, and we find a group of four huddled against a building near the industrial park. Late teens, early twenties, trying their best to look tough as hell. Doing a good job of it, too. Every one of them is dragging on a cigarette. We walk up, and one kid, wearing a thick, ratty-looking gray woolen sweater and a black skully, pushes off the wall heâs leaning on and pulls long on his smoke. His eyes are locked on to mine. They shift momentarily to the black wing inked at the corner of my cheekbone.
âAye?â he says in a thick accent. He moves his gaze to Noah.
âWhere can we score some shit?â Noah asks.
The kid laughs, and the others chuckle with him.
âJake Andorra
T he rest of the morning is spent first going over the map of Inverness, spread out on the kitchen table. Noah and I hunch over the creased, new map, shoulder to shoulder, studying. Inverness isnât very large, so we then head out into the city itself. We hit every main artery road, close, and dead-end street in the City Centre on foot, and fan out to the river and industrial park by cab. I suspect to most onlookers, Noah and I are just another touring couple on vacay. What they donât know wonât hurt, as the saying goes. Rather, possibly, wonât kill.
Yet despite Noahâs encouraging words to get my mind in the game, my thoughts stray to Eli. I just canât help it. He was taken from me, and I want him back. Badly. Why canât he be here now? Why did Vic make it home, but not Eli?
As my eyes take in the Scottish city, I daydream about what itâd be like to be here just as a regular couple in love, touring the city. The Highlands. Taking a boat out onto Loch Ness and searching for Nessie. Walking the hillsides, and traipsing through ancient castle ruins. A ping of jealousy roils inside me at all the regular people living regular lives. Wake up, eat breakfast, go to work, socialize, come home. Normal stuff. Jesus Christ, Iâm about as far from normal as I can possibly fucking be.
I want my goddamn life back.
âHey,â Noah says, and I look at him. His eyes soften. âStop that.â
I heave a sigh. âI swear, Iâll try.â
He pulls me into a side hug, kisses the top of my head, and we continue on.
The Scots are a friendly people whom I find I like more and more as I spend time here. I wish so much of this time wasnât spent on killing and death. Itâs inevitable, though, and the more I stop complaining about it, the faster Iâll accept it. Itâs what weâre here to do. Stop a killer. Apparently, more than one. Wanna know something weird? Sometimes, even though I know it has to be done, somewhere far in the recesses of my brain, Iâm saddened that I reduce bloodsuckers to a shimmering puddle of white goop. They used to be people. Sons. Daughters. Sisters. Brothers. Friends. Lovers. Who would ever look at a vampire, whether on TV, or in a movie, or like me, in life, and give him or her a soul? I guess it has to do with the fact that my family now is made up of age-old vampires who care not only about me, my brother, Seth, and other humans, but about one another. Makes me wonder how itâs possible theyâNoah, Eli, and his familyâcan do it. How they can care, but others canât. Or wonât. Iâm doing a lot of reflecting lately. Whatever that means.
Noah stops a few people on the street, locals at the university, maybe. The early-twenties crowd. They tell us where the best clubs are, best cafés, best pubs. We find our way to some of the seedier parts of the city. Inverness is friendly and welcoming, so whatâs seedy isnât very noticeable to any ordinary eye. But Noah can sniff out a punk, and we find a group of four huddled against a building near the industrial park. Late teens, early twenties, trying their best to look tough as hell. Doing a good job of it, too. Every one of them is dragging on a cigarette. We walk up, and one kid, wearing a thick, ratty-looking gray woolen sweater and a black skully, pushes off the wall heâs leaning on and pulls long on his smoke. His eyes are locked on to mine. They shift momentarily to the black wing inked at the corner of my cheekbone.
âAye?â he says in a thick accent. He moves his gaze to Noah.
âWhere can we score some shit?â Noah asks.
The kid laughs, and the others chuckle with him.