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“Onni,” Wolf says, opening the door for our guest. “Come on in.”
Onni comes inside, dressed in a deep pink suit. With his dark skin tone, light eyes, and long black hair, body as thin and slight as a reed, Onni embraces the fact that he’s different, preferring to have people think he’s an eccentric as opposed to a vampire. It works for him, but because he’s so memorable, he has to change up his look every thirty years or so. The last version of him had a purple afro, which he enjoyed immensely, living in Helsinki in the 1960’s, though I think he preferred the blue powdered wig he had in France in the late 1700s, modeled after his dear friend Marie Antoinette.
“Nice party the other night,” Onni says, taking the seat beside me at the bar. “I was so enraptured with that vampire from Alaska that I forgot to say goodnight.”
Wolf holds out the scotch. “Will this do?”
“I’ll have a good red, if you don’t mind me being a pain in the ass. Anything from Bordeaux? Old?”
“How old?” I ask. There’s a wine cellar in the basement, but I’d rather not go searching for the rare vintages.
“Anything older than what I can get at the liquor store,” he says.
“I have a Cabernet Sauvignon from the 90’s, Napa,” I tell him as Wolf reaches down and pulls it out. “You’re in California now, Onni. You can get your Bordeaux in Europe.”
Wolf pours us all a glass, since it’s a terrible waste to open the bottle just for one person. “So,” I say, savoring the sip. I can practically taste the weather on the day the grapes were picked. Sunshine after a morning of fog. Supple and cool. “What brings you here, Onni? You don’t usually come without some kind of news from the homeland.”
He grins at me, teeth blindingly white. “Absolon, really. A friend can’t come say hello?”
“You don’t risk jetlag to say hello. An email would suffice.”
His smile is smaller now. He has a long, careful sip of his wine and then runs his tongue over his teeth. “This is quite good. I’d forgotten how much I like a Californian red,” he says. Then he gives me a fixed look. “There’s been some, uh, tribulations. Skarde is continuing to build his army. Whether that’s the Dark Order or something else, I’m not sure. At least, Kaleid isn’t sure.”
I straighten up, nearly snapping my teeth together at the mention of my brother’s name. “Kaleid? You’ve been in contact with him?”
Onni nods. “He’s back in Helsinki, for good. Ruling the roost. Seems he now has the same goal as you do, as we all do.”
I frown. “And what is that?”
“To kill your father.”
I almost laugh. “This is what you came all this way to tell me? Utter bullshit?”
Onni flinches at my expression, which I assume must be murderous. I’m certainly feeling murderous right now. “It’s not bullshit. He’s broken away.”
“When did this happen?” Wolf asks, also in disbelief. Kaleid, my father’s golden child, has been at Skarde’s side since his life began. The two are thick as thieves.
“A couple of years ago,” Onni says.
I shake my head, a bitter taste in my mouth overtaking the wine. “Impossible. I would have heard by now.”
“I had to make sure,” Onni says. “I’ve been in Helsinki, living in the Red World with him. He has plans to take him out. I swear to you.”
“I thought you were in Tallinn,” I grumble.
He shakes his head. “Kaleid welcomed me back.”
Helsinki, Finland, was my brother’s home base for a long time. My father lives further up north, where the Finnish and Norwegian border intersects above the arctic circle. Kaleid has spent centuries splitting his time between the two places.
“And your father has moved on,” Onni continues, perhaps picking up on my thoughts, as some of us are known to do. “He’s no longer in the village, gone north now. He’s retreated further into the Red World, so deep that even Kaleid can’t reach him through it. He knows. Skarde knows what Kaleid will do, so he’s doing everything he can to prevent that. There he can build his armies without interference from anyone but…” He trails off.
None of us know for sure who exactly Skarde made a deal with for eternal life when he became the first vampire. I assume the Devil, or some dark, all-knowing malevolent force. It’s been rumored that this dark force has been helping Skarde all this time, or that Skarde has been nothing more than a puppet for centuries upon centuries. I wouldn’t know—since my memories of my father are tinged with madness and hatred—if he’s ever had full agency or not. I suppose it’s never really mattered. My father is the de facto king that nearly all vampires defer to, regardless of who is really behind him.
