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Santos
1 Year Later
My father hung on a lot longer than the doctors had expected, but still not long enough. The funeral was hard, really fucking hard, and I need to get away.
Just for a night.
“Just about there, sir,” says the driver, nearly startling me.
I nod, shift my gaze back out the window, and watch the fading lights of Savannah, Georgia.
I’m not actually sure why I came here. It makes no sense. I won’t find comfort here. I know that. I tuck my hand into my pocket and feel the small velvet box there. This is why, I remind myself. It’s bullshit, but it’s what I tell myself.
I have weekly reports about Madelena’s progress at the all-girls private art school where she’s enrolled. Like in her various schools in Avarice, she hasn’t made friends and isn’t trying to, according to the headmistress. The college is a small, Catholic college where most of the classes are taught by nuns. The students all wear the same uniform and attend mass weekly.
I’m not sure why I like the idea. I’m not a religious man. My time with the Commander may even have me repulsed by the idea, but there’s something to it, to the ceremony, the ritual. Maybe it’s the old-fashioned nature of it. Although the scent of incense makes me nauseous. Too many bad memories. Even today, at my own father’s funeral mass, I almost choked on it.
The SUV slows, and I sit up to watch as the large Gothic style mansion comes into view beyond the gates. The mansion is original, and the school itself sits on acres of land enclosed by twelve-foot stone walls. The grounds are gated, the classes given in one of the more modern buildings. The dorms are housed in new construction built to match the old.
Madelena has the best room in the original mansion. I made sure of that. She is also one of the few without a roommate. I knew she’d want her privacy.
A little farther, I can see the hulking shadows of the outer dorm buildings and the chapel. It’s two in the morning. The campus is asleep—apart from Sister Catherine.
My phone rings as the SUV slows. I take it out of the breast pocket of my jacket and consider not answering it, consider switching it back off. But what comes next, what comes after the burial, is not something I can put off forever.
I accept the call. “Brother.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Caius asks without a greeting. “Where are you?”
The funeral was a few hours ago. It was larger than I’d thought it would be, although I suppose it’s not surprising that the good folk of Avarice paid their respects to the newest and most powerful family to join their ranks.
But it was overwhelming in a way I didn’t expect and I was unprepared. What I needed most after that, what I wanted most, was to be alone.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say.
“The will is scheduled to be read in seven hours. Think you can make it by then?”
No, I won’t. I rub my forehead, then sigh. He doesn’t know what’s coming, doesn’t know how disappointed he will be tomorrow. I do. I was privy to the details—another gift from a father to his favored son. His blood son.
“I needed to get away, Caius. Just for a little bit. Surely you can understand that today of all days.”
“And you left me behind.”
“Mom needed one of us. She prefers you.”
“Like Dad preferred you?”
“Caius.”
“Besides, she doesn’t need anyone,” he says, sounding more vulnerable than I’ve heard him sound in a long time. “Where are you?”
“Savannah.”
“Ah.” I hear him sigh, then take a swallow of something. It’s whiskey, most likely, although he does have a bad habit of drinking good wine straight from the bottle.
“Look, I needed to be away.”
“I get it,” he says after a long silence.
