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My mother was over fifty, and my father more than four hundred. Neither had aged since I’d been born; they looked barelyolder than me. Humans usually found that weird, but to me it justwas. They were my parents, and they looked the way they looked. Wasn’t it weirder to have parents who looked a little different with each month and year that passed?
I’d eventually stop aging, too, or so we assumed. As the only vampire child ever born, we were writing the book about the growth of vampire children. For now, at least, I figured I looked exactly my twenty-three years.
Bag and katana in hand, I made my way down the stairs. And the second I stepped foot onto asphalt—onto Chicago—the monster reached for the ground, for the city and its magic. And the power of its desire nearly buckled my knees.
My parents didn’t know about the monster. They knew only that I’d once lost control and a human had paid the price. I had a momentary flash of panic that I’d be overwhelmed by it, that they’d see that the monster was still inside me, caged but alive. Had probably been there since I’d been born, since I’d been magically fused to my mother. Because evil had been magically fused to me, or at least that’s what I thought had happened.
Knowing would break their hearts, and I couldn’t bear both the monster and weight of their grief. So I reached for every ounce of strength I had, forced myself to take one more step, then another. Four years of intense training, and cold sweat still trickled down my spine as I walked toward my parents. But they didn’t seem to see it.
“It’s so good to see you,” my mother said, wrapping her arms around me the moment I put down my bag and placed the scabbard on top. She smelled the same, her perfume clean and crisp and floral. The scent made me think of our apartments in Cadogan House, where the pale and pretty fragrance had permeated the air.
“We missed you so much,” she said quietly, her arms a ferocious band that seemed to quiet the monster.
Maybe the monster was afraid of her. If my theory was right, it had reason to be....
“I missed you guys, too,” I said.
“You look happy,” my father said, giving me a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
When he released me, my mother held out a steaming to-go cup. “I thought you could use this after your flight.”
“Thank you,” I said, and took a sip. It was hot and sweet, with just a hint of hazelnut. I’d have sworn the grogginess started to fade immediately, but that might have been my obsession talking.
“This is perfect,” I said. “Leo’s?”
“It is,” she said with a smile.
Leo’s was my favorite coffee spot, a tiny box of a drive-through in Hyde Park not far from Cadogan House. The menu was limited, the servers were always surly, and it took only cash. But if you could get past the irritations, it was the best coffee in the city.
“If you’re going to do something,” she said, in a pretty good imitation of my father’s voice, “do it right.”
“You’re hilarious, Sentinel.”
“I know. I love your hair,” she said, touching a long curl of it.
“Thanks.” It had taken a while to figure out what to do with the blond waves I’d inherited from my father’s side of the family. Too short, and it was a puffball of curls I couldn’t pull off. Longer, the curls relaxed and became waves that were much more flattering.
“How was your flight?” my father asked.
“I was asleep for most of it.” I held up my hand. “No burns, so the shutters worked. Private jet from Europe was nice. Free headphones and socks.”
My mother’s eyes lit. “Was there a snack basket?”
“You have an entire kitchen at your disposal,” my father said.
“And Margot’s too busy to walk around and offer me snacks all night.” Her gaze narrowed. “Although that gives me some ideas.”
“As you can tell,” my father said with amusement, “your mother has not changed a whit since we saw you in May.”
“I’m good with that,” I said.
“We saw the footage from Paris,” my father said, and put a hand on my mother’s shoulder.
I’d prepared them, told them we’d been involved, so he wouldn’t learn about the fight secondhand. But the fear and grief in his eyes was still keen.
Tears welled in my eyes, too. Suddenly swamped with the horror I’d seen the night before, I pushed the cup of coffee at my father and flung myself into my mother’s arms.
“All right,” she said, embracing me again. “It’s all right. Get it out of your system. You’ll feel better.”
