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Now Comes the Night
by PG Forte
 
Copyright © 2017 by PG Forte. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

You can choose your food, but not your family. It’s a fact of life that mostly holds true for vampires and humans alike. There are always exceptions, of course. Rare instances where you get to decide with whom you will ally yourself. Less rare occasions when you find your dietary choices have been reduced to “this or nothing”.

But, for the most part, who you are is a given, a fait accompli. Who you eat, on the other hand, that’s largely up to you…

New Year’s Eve, 1969

According to the clock on the living room mantel, it was almost midnight. Conrad Quintano glared at the offending timepiece. Its measured ticking grated on his nerves, mocking his attempts to ignore the relentless passage of time. He was tempted to pick up the clock and hurl it across the room. In fact, the only thing preventing him from doing so was the lack of a spare hand. As he paced the floors of the small suburban tract home he’d recently purchased, his arms were filled to overflowing with squirming infant vampire—two vampires, twins to be exact—both of whom appeared to be every bit as frustrated and wide-awake as he.

Conrad gazed at the babies with a grudging sense of wonderment. So small and yet still so strong. How was it they were still awake?

He should be able to subdue them, damn it. It was almost inconceivable that he could not. He was both their sire and their creator, albeit at one small remove, not to mention the undisputed head of a large and powerful household. He was also a Lamia Invitus, one of the last and strongest of his kind, with over a millennium of skill, experience and strength to draw upon. The idea that one such as he should be bested by two such tiny creatures was laughable. Yet the pair still resisted all his efforts to compel them back to sleep.

Oh, yes, they may have deigned to yawn a time or two, no doubt in deference to his pride. They might even have allowed their eyes to momentarily fall shut, but it was all just part of a cunning ruse, a transparent attempt to lull him into a false sense of complacency. Conrad wasn’t fool enough to fall for such obvious tricks—at least not after the first five or six times.

He could see right through their tactics. Were he to make the attempt to lay them down ever so gently in their crib, their eyes would pop open the instant their backs touched the mattress. Then their little limbs would start to flail and they’d begin once more to cry—those tearful, heart-rending, nerve-wracking sobs that always seemed disproportionately loud for the size of the bodies from which the sounds issued.

He supposed it was not really their fault they refused to be soothed. The baby books Damian had purchased, and insisted they both study, had had a lot to say about the terrifying maladies to which newborns were prone—things like growth spurts, teething pain, food allergies and colic. And even though the books had not been written with baby vampires in mind, Conrad was confident that what he was witnessing now was a reasonable approximation of what he’d read about within their pages. If only that wasn’t the only thing about which he felt confident!

The babies were hungry, that fact was indisputable. They needed blood—apparently more frequently now, and in much larger quantities than they’d been used to receiving. That too was a given. But how much did they need? And how soon did they need it? How long did he have before these newest of his children were irreparably damaged by malnutrition? Before starvation set in? Before they expired? Or before even worse things occurred? Only two months old and already their lives were in peril.

If vampire blood would have sufficed, Conrad would have happily opened every one of his veins in order to gain even a half hour’s respite. But, alas, only human blood could supply the twins with the nourishment their bodies craved. Unfortunately, their suddenly ravenous and increased appetites, while understandable, had caught him off guard. There was no blood left for them in the house.

Damian had gone out several hours earlier on what should have been a simple enough mission—a quick trip to the local hospital to purchase the needed sustenance from the connection he’d been cultivating, and then straight back home. He should have returned by now. He hadn’t.

If he doesn’t come back soon… No. He will. He has to.

What options did Conrad even have if Damian failed to return? He couldn’t just leave the twins unattended while he went out hunting. Nor could he take them with him. Exactly the reasons he’d appealed to Damian for his assistance in the first place!

Conrad should never have agreed with Damian when he’d argued that it made more sense for only one of them to risk getting caught trying to buy blood illegally. He should have made his own plans, cultivated his own hospital contacts. Why hadn’t he?

There was only one answer to that, an answer so screamingly obvious it should have shamed him to admit it—even to himself. He hadn’t wanted to accept the fact it might someday prove necessary. He hadn’t wanted to even entertain the possibility that Damian’s willingness to assist Conrad might, at some point, come to an end.

If Conrad were forced to go out tonight and find food for the twins, he’d have no one to blame but himself and little choice as to what he would have to do. He’d have to leave the twins unprotected, take to the streets, waylay random strangers and drag them back to the house.

And then kill said strangers when he was done with them in order to prevent them from talking about what they’d seen.

The very thought sickened him. Not because it would be the first time he’d unjustly ended someone’s life. No, not even the thousandth time. But he’d been happy to allow the dust of several accumulated centuries to cover over those horrors, to bury and obscure his murderous past. He’d hoped never to have to dig it up and revisit it.

Now, unpalatable as the idea was, it had to be considered. It was possible he no longer had a choice—nor the luxury of scruples. The twins were his first responsibility. Everything else had to take a backseat to their needs.

How long should he wait? Conrad’s anxiety increased as his mind began to once again tick over the list of possible explanations for what could be keeping Damian. Maybe his luck had run out and he’d been caught. Maybe he was being interrogated, even now, by curious humans with questions as to what dire circumstances could have driven him to buy blood—or by other vampires wondering much the same thing. He might be dead, injured, incarcerated…

Or perhaps it w as none of those things. Perhaps he’d merely stopped to slake his own hunger and lost track of the time.

That was always a possibility, wasn’t it? It was not as though either of them were strangers to such debauchery. If it turned out Damian had merely chosen to spend a few hours, or even the entire night, sating himself, gorging ‘til dawn, Conrad really couldn’t fault him overmuch.

Given that Damian was already risking his life at Conrad’s behest, that Conrad had no legitimate hold on him beyond blood and loyalty, that the two of them were no longer even intimate with each other… No, Conrad couldn’t fault him at all.

There was still another reason to consider. A reason Conrad dreaded, possibly more than any of the others. Maybe this was the night Damian finally decided he’d had enough, that endangering his life in an effort to help Conrad with this endeavor was too foolish a gamble even for Damian to continue to take. Perhaps this was the night he’d decided to never come back at all.

Conrad could not repress the sound that left his lips as the thought took hold. Part snarl, part howl, wild and not even slightly civilized, it was the sound of a man bereft, the sound of a man pushed to the very edges of his sanity. In some tiny, sane corner of his mind, Conrad was glad Damian was not around to hear it. For it was also exactly the kind of sound that would likely cause anyone with any sense at all—even someone who was not already thinking of leaving Conrad—to take to their heels and flee.

Even the twins were not unaffected by this evidence of their sire’s unstable temperament. They stirred restively in response, their whimpers steadily increasing in volume until Conrad forced himself to regain some measure of control over his emotions. He couldn’t afford to fall apart to this extent. Not when there was so much at stake.

If he were on his own now, so be it. He should have expected it. After all, he’d had misgivings all along about the long-term success of this partnership. Just look at how quickly Damian had reached the decision to help Conrad. As though it were nothing more than an impulse, a whim, a matter of no consequence. If Conrad had been a more honorable man, or a less desperate one, he would have demanded that Damian take some time to think before committing himself. A few days perhaps. A few hours at the very least. He hadn’t.

A thrill of unease shot through Conrad as he gazed at the children in his arms, so fragile-seeming, so innocent. Did they really have the potential to someday shake his very world apart? It seemed too fantastical to believe. How he wished those legends had never been written. It didn’t matter whether or not they were true. Either way, they made his twins a target.

Had they been someone else’s children, anyone else’s children in fact, Conrad would have been among the first to insist they be put to death—humanely, of course—but swiftly and without delay. Vampires didn’t have to be the monsters they were so often portrayed to be, after all.

Instead… Well, there was more irony for you. He couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly as he considered it. For four hundred years, he’d been the self-styled protector of the Vampire Nation. He’d done everything in his power to strengthen and solidify his people’s position in the world. No one had been more dedicated to the task than he. There’d been no one more vigilant, more diligent—or less merciful—when it came to seeking out and eliminating potential threats against his kind.

Now, he was throwing that legacy away. He was putting all of it at risk, everything he’d worked to build or safeguard or preserve, right down the last dying embers of his own humanity. He was branding himself a hypocrite, a turncoat, a traitor, and all for the sake of a promise made to a dying girl.

On the other hand, what could possibly be more important or honorable than that?

Another howl, this one driven by loneliness and remorse, worked its way up his throat and he suppressed it with difficulty. What was done, was done. Crying over spilled blood had never yet brought anyone back to life. However things turned out, whatever his fate should be, he could be certain of just one thing. He’d brought it on himself.

He’d just begun another anxious circuit around the living room when noise erupted in the street outside the house and the stillness of the night was torn apart. Raised voices began shouting up and down the block. Conrad stiffened, his body shifting instantly into battle mode as his mind was hurled back in time several hundred years. When the clock on the mantel began to chime the hour, it barely registered in Conrad’s consciousness. The noise filtering in from outside completely captured his attention.

He could not make out the words being shouted over and over again, but the noise continued, growing louder as even more voices took up the cry, accompanied now by the blaring of horns and whistles, the barking of dogs, the unmistakable ring of metal striking metal. Was that a mob he was hearing? Was the local populace assembling and arming themselves, preparing to attack and kill the monster in their midst? He’d experienced such things before, on more than one occasion, and it certainly sounded like the same thing was happening again now. All his protective instincts were aroused. Fear for the children in his arms overrode his common sense. Venom streamed from his exposed fangs and he growled fiercely in response.

What had given him away this time? How had he been found out? How much time did he have to escape? When the twins, aroused by the clamoring noise, began to wail, it took all of Conrad’s self-restraint to keep from smothering them in an effort to keep them quiet.

“Not another sound!” he cautioned as he deposited the still-fussing babies on the nearer of the room’s two armchairs. He threw a blanket over the chair in a futile attempt to hide the infants as quickly as possible, and was surprised and relieved when they quieted instantly. Was it the security of the blanket to which they were responding, or to his authority? He had no idea and no time to even consider the matter.

He was headed for the windows at the front of the house for a quick glance outside, when a new, barely detectable sound caught his ear. A key turned quietly in the lock on the back door. In what could only be a sneak attack, someone was attempting to gain entrance to the house from the rear. Someone who would not live through this night—not if Conrad had anything to say about it!

Hurriedly regrouping, Conrad turned away from the window. He moved swiftly to counter this newest threat, stationing himself between his children and the doorway, wishing fervently that he’d thought to have a weapon handy. He hadn’t, however, so his own brute force would have to suffice.

Fortunately, his own brute strength had always been more than a match for most of his opponents. He could only hope it would prove so this time.

Footsteps approached—measured, steady, without even a pretense of stealth. Conrad readied himself. When a lone figure appeared in the doorway, Conrad was seconds away from pouncing on the intruder and ripping out his throat. His subconscious intervened at the last instant, saving him from himself. Senses he was barely aware of possessing sounded an alarm, warning him of the mistake he was about to make. He stopped himself just in time.

Damian froze, his motions arrested in the act of removing his overcoat. His brows rose, his gaze appraised Conrad, who was still struggling to regain some measure of control. “Conrad? Is everything all right? Did something happen while I was gone? You look…strange.”

Conrad, still shaking from his close call, brushed aside Damian’s questions. He had questions of his own. “Never mind how I look. That noise outside—what is it? And what are you doing, sneaking in through the back? Why did you not use the front door like always?”

“The noise?” Damian shrugged out of his coat. “Is that what’s troubling you? It’s just the New Year being rung in. I’m glad to see the children aren’t bothered by it. Where are they, by the way? How did you finally get them to sleep?”

“New Year’s. Of course.” Conrad heaved a sigh of relief and ordered his muscles to stand down from alert. How could he have overlooked something so obvious? “I wasn’t…thinking. The date must have slipped my mind.”

Damian nodded. “Sleep deprivation, I expect. I’ve been reading about it. It’s apparently quite normal for new parents. And I came in through the back simply because I thought it might be better to avoid being seen coming in at this hour by our somewhat too-inquisitive neighbors. I’m sorry if you weren’t expecting it. I certainly didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Startle me? Don’t be ridiculous,” Conrad snapped, embarrassed by the overwrought condition of his nerves. He had no excuse other than worry and guilt and, yes, fine, lack of sleep as well—that was all he was willing to admit to anyway. “You didn’t startle me. I was merely growing impatient on the children’s behalf. What took you so long? I expected you back hours ago!”

A small smile glimmered suddenly on Damian’s lips. “Yes. Again, I’m sorry. I’m afraid it could not be helped. The orderly with whom I’m used to dealing had been given the night off. Inconsiderate of him, I know, but it is a holiday, so what can you do? It took a little bit of persuading before I was finally able to convince his replacement to give me everything I wanted. He had some…reservations that had to be overcome. I gather he generally prefers women, otherwise I’m sure I’d have been quicker.”

Conrad winced. He knew Damian hadn’t meant it, but his words carried an unintended sting. It was all Conrad could do to suppress a furious growl when graphic visions began to play in his head, images of everything Damian had likely been doing in order to bring his new orderly around to his way of thinking. Things he’d once been in the habit of doing only with Conrad.

Conrad stamped violently on his burgeoning emotions. He was not jealous, damn it. He had neither the right any longer nor any rational reason to be so. He and Damian had not been lovers for many years. What they’d had was over long ago. They’d both moved on. It was better that way, safer for them both. It would be beyond foolish for them to even think about taking up with each other again—especially now, with so much else at stake. He cleared his throat. “I see. Well, that is unfortunate. I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Oh, no, on the contrary.” Damian’s smile grew wider. “I quite enjoyed myself. It was such a novelty. I do believe I’ve given him a whole new perspective on life. In fact, I may have to make a habit of stopping by, from time to time, just to see him.”

Conrad’s jaw clenched. “Splendid.”

“It is, isn’t it? One of life’s little silver linings.” Still smiling, Damian swept past Conrad and into the living room, headed for the closer of the two armchairs. He was on the verge of tossing his coat over the back of it when he stopped, seemingly frozen in place. The coat dropped to the floor. “¡Mis bebés!” With a startled cry, he sprang forward and snatched the blanket off the chair. He went down on his knees and quickly gathered the infants into his arms. “Conrad, what were you thinking? Why would you leave them here, and all covered up like this! Did you want them to roll off onto the floor, where we might have stepped on them? Were you perhaps trying to suffocate them? Que im pobre niños lo siento,” he murmured softly to the infants. “Why so quiet, little ones? Are you quite terrified? Don’t be frightened, niños. Your Uncle Damian is back to take care of you. Everything will be fine now.”

“Step on them?” Conrad snarled viciously, his temper evaporating into white-hot rage. “Suffocate them? You imbecile! You dare suggest I would intentionally do them harm? After everything that’s been sacrificed on their behalf? After the promise I’ve given their mother and all I’ve done to ensure their safety—since the day they were born?”

“What?” Still on his knees, Damian turned to look at Conrad. His eyes widened in alarm and he twisted, until he was seated with his back to the chair. He tightened his arms protectively around the children and he hugged them closer to his chest. “Calm yourself, querido. I was upset. It was merely a figure of speech. You must know I didn’t mean anything by it.” He continued for a moment longer to study Conrad warily, then his expression changed, softened, relaxed. “Are you quite all right, Conrad?” he asked, his voice gentler than before. “You seem…unusually jumpy tonight.”

That look in Damian’s eyes… What was that? Was that…pity? Conrad turned away in disgust. “Uncle Damian?” he repeated quizzically. “Is that what you’re calling yourself now?”

“They’ll have to call me something when they’re a little older, won’t they? I might as well begin to lay the groundwork now. And seeing as it was you who sired both their mother and me… Can you think of a better way of describing my relationship with them?”

“And what do you intend for them to call me?”

Damian’s eyes twinkled suddenly and Conrad could have sworn he was holding back a laugh as he answered, “Grandfather, obviously. I would have thought that went without saying.”

“Grandfather?” Conrad stared at him. “How is that obvious? Do I look so old now?”

Damian smiled. “Not at all. You’re still as youthful looking as the day I met you. It’s simply that, again, as you are their mother’s sire, I judged it the simplest approach. But perhaps you had something else in mind? Was there some other way in which you planned to describe to them your relationship with their mother?”

Conrad scrubbed his hand across his face. His relationship with their mother. Yes, that was definitely not a subject he wished to discuss in any great detail with her children. Assuming they lived long enough to ask about her. “I hadn’t actually given the matter much thought.” It was all still such a long shot. “But, since you clearly have, so be it. Grandfather I shall be, should the need arise. Now, where’s the blood?” he asked, choosing to change the subject rather than continue. “I’m assuming you did eventually manage to bring some home with you?”

“Yes, of course,” Damian replied, in between murmured endearments addressed to the babes in his arms. “You didn’t really think I’d forget, did you? I got as much as I could, several bottles, the freshest they had. Hopefully it’ll be enough to tide us over for a while, but if they’re going to continue to eat at this rate, we’re going to have to reconsider our plans, not to mention seek out some new resources—and soon. I left the bag on the dining room table, if you’d be so good as to get it.”

Conrad blinked in surprise. “You expect me to get it?” There had been a time, and not that long ago, when people had waited on him, not the other way around.

Damian glanced pointedly at the infants in his arms. “Well, I do have my hands full at the moment. Unless you’d like to trade places? I don’t imagine you thought to change their diapers while I was gone, did you?”

Conrad opened his mouth and then closed it again when he could think of nothing to say. Turning, he left the room without saying another word.

It was too much. Nothing in his past had prepared him for this. How was he expected to deal with it all? Deadly threats against the twins, their imminent starvation, the possible annihilation of his entire race and his own forced absence from his nest—for who knew how long, decades at least. Now diapers too? Why, in his day, children didn’t even wear diapers. Come to think of it, they hadn’t in Damian’s day either. At least…he didn’t think they did. So how was it he could remember to think of all these details?

By the time Conrad returned to the living room Damian was ensconced in one of the armchairs with the twins, freshly changed, reclining peacefully in his arms. He tried not to smirk when he realized Conrad had taken the time to carefully warm the blood and transfer it into two of the baby bottles they’d purchased when they’d first moved here, several weeks earlier. From the way Conrad had first reacted to the suggestion that he retrieve the blood from the dining room, Damian hadn’t been sure what to expect. But, as always, his old friend was full of surprises.

“Here, take this.” Conrad held out one of the bottles to him. “And give me one of them.”

Damian passed him one of the babies without comment, wondering if Conrad would ask which of them he’d been given. It was the boy, but would Conrad know that? Could he tell them apart yet? Did he even care?

Conrad scrutinized the infant’s face for a moment but said nothing, merely took his seat in the empty armchair and settled the child in his arm.

Though the babies were not identical they bore enough of a resemblance that it was still difficult to tell them apart with just a glance. The boy was quieter, graver, more thoughtful, a little more overtly determined. The girl seemed to have a livelier temperament. She was quicker to laugh, quicker to cry, somewhat easier to settle, but withal, equally as strong-willed as her brother.

She waved her tiny fists in the air and mewled quietly. Her restless movements recalled Damian to the task at hand. Gently, he teased the child’s lips with the tip of the rubber nipple, watching spellbound as her little rosebud of a mouth opened and her tiny fangs extended. Her tongue lashed at the nipple, as though seeking for veins, then she latched onto the bottle and began to feed. Damian shook his head in bemusement. Instinct. It never failed to amaze him. How was it the children knew just what to do? He and Conrad were flying blind, stumbling along with almost nothing to guide their steps, but these infants—they had no doubts, no hesitation. They knew just what they needed, just how to get their own way…with at least one of the two adults in whose care they found themselves.

Damian had no idea how Conrad felt, but he himself was hopelessly smitten. Protecting the twins was second nature to him now, as natural as breathing. And all for no reason that he could easily identify. By rights, he should hate them and resent their very existence, even if they were directly responsible for his current change in station.

When he’d first realized Conrad did not intend to destroy the infants, as should have been done, Damian had been shocked and appalled. He’d been horrified by the danger Conrad was choosing to place himself in, at the danger in which he’d placed the entire nest, by his actions. His first impulse was to run as far and as fast as he could, to hide himself and wait for the inevitable storm to blow over. But Conrad had appealed to him for help and that was exactly the opportunity for which Damian had been waiting. A chance for redemption. A way to finally begin to work himself back into Conrad’s good graces—into his home, into his heart perhaps. And someday, God willing, maybe even back into his bed.

It was the first such chance that had presented itself in over one hundred years. Given how unlikely it was that Conrad would survive this foolishness, even with Damian’s help, it would also very probably be the last. So, dangerous and foolhardy or not, Damian had no choice but to jump at it, to seize the opportunity and prove to Conrad that Damian’s loyalty—and his love—was still his for the asking.

His victory was bittersweet. The situation Damian soon found himself in only served to underscore how very far he’d fallen in Conrad’s estimation, how little his loyalty, his love, or even his well-being seemed to matter anymore.

Not that he should have been surprised. Why, look how quick Conrad had been to risk Damian’s life by asking for his aid in the first place! And he hadn’t even blinked when Damian had stipulated they not be lovers. If Damian had been hoping Conrad would protest Damian’s decision to keep himself out of Conrad’s bed, that he might beg for a return to their previous intimacy, he’d have been sorely disappointed. Even the speed with which Damian had agreed to throw in with Conrad, the way he’d immediately dropped everything he’d been doing for the chance to put himself once again at Conrad’s beck and call, had earned him no praise, no gratitude. Conrad hadn’t even seemed particularly pleased by Damian’s alacrity. Perhaps he thought it no more than what was owed him as Damian’s sire?

A brooding silence settled over the room, broken only by the small, sucking noises of the children. Damian waited, biding his time, gauging his companion’s mood, finally asking, “So have you given any more thought to what you might want to name the children?”

Conrad sighed. “How is it you are not yet tired of the subject? How many times must I repeat myself? What’s the point of giving them names when it’s by no means certain they’ll live long enough to even use them?”

“Conrad,” Damian chided softly. “There’s nothing in life that’s truly certain, is there? Does that mean we should never hope for the best? How is one to live like that? What chance have we to succeed at anything if we can’t even—”

“Stop it,” Conrad growled angrily, cutting him off. “You sound like a child yourself when you talk like that. Do not speak to me of hope. It’s one of life’s cruelest jests, the most dangerous, destructive emotion that could ever exist. To live without hope is precisely what we should be attempting to do—especially at a time like this.”

Damian stared at him. “Live without hope?” How did one even survive without hope, without some faint belief that tomorrow might yet prove better than today? He’d rather kill himself. If he had to resign himself to the idea that even eternity would not be long enough to make Conrad love him again, if he had to give up his belief that, together, the two of them could accomplish anything, even this, what would be the point of even waking up on the morrow? “You can’t mean that.”

“Why should I not mean it, when doing anything else is to court disaster? How many men have clung to false hopes and so wasted their lives, holding out for a dream that was no more than a chimera—and dying miserably because they’d refused to resign themselves to the reality of their condition?”

Damian shook his head. “I have no answer for that. But I do know I’d rather count myself in their number than attempt what you’re suggesting.”

Conrad sighed. “Has it really not occurred to you, my friend, how foolish we both are for even attempting this venture? Or how infinitesimally small are our chances of succeeding with it? Not just because of the endless need for secrecy and the constant possibility we’ll be called upon to fend off attacks, perhaps even kill those we’d once thought of as friends. Merely keeping the children alive will take a miracle.”

Damian chuckled. “More like a series of miracles. I consider it quite an accomplishment we haven’t killed them already—with all the best of intentions.”

Conrad eyed him bleakly. “Do not celebrate that victory just yet. The decision to put them out of their misery might still have to be made.”

“What?” Damian felt the blood drain from his face. His pulse began to pound. He clutched the girl in his arms a little more tightly. “No. Conrad, you-you can’t. Don’t even say such things.”

“I will not allow them to suffer unduly. I tell you this now, Damian, and make no mistake for I will not change my mind. If it becomes apparent to me that our mishandling of them has gone too far, that we ourselves are endangering them or that our ignorance has caused them irreparable harm, I will have no choice but to end this…experiment.”

“Stop it.” Damian swallowed hard. He did not like where this conversation was headed. Time to return it to his original point. “I believe you may have misunderstood me, querido. I was not giving the credit for their continued survival to either of us, but to the children themselves. I believe it is their own will to live that is keeping them alive—even with all of our ‘ignorant mishandling’ of them, to use your own words. And for that valiant struggle, if for no other reason, they deserve the dignity of a name. It is far too easy otherwise to discount what they have accomplished.” It was far too easy to talk of ending them. “You owe it to them to call them something.”

Conrad didn’t answer right away. He gazed pensively at the child in his arms and Damian, with equal intensity, and more than a little fear, gazed at him. The minutes ticked steadily by. “Marcus,” Conrad murmured after a little while had passed. There was a note of finality in his tone.

Damian frowned. “What’s that?”

Conrad smiled fleetingly, a somewhat sheepish expression on his face. “Marcus Maximilian. I thought it would make a good name for my…for my ‘grandson’ here. What do you think?”

So, he did know which twin he held. Damian felt weak and almost giddy with relief. He smiled. “Bueno. I like it very much. We can call him Marc, for short.” He nodded at the girl. “What about this one?”

“I thought…Augusta, perhaps?”

Damian studied the little girl he held, still greedily attacking her meal. Poor child, she deserved to be called something far prettier than that. “It’s certainly an unusual name,” he answered diplomatically. “Especially in this day and age. But it’s not particularly modern, which might cause comment. What on earth put it in your head anyway?”

Conrad shrugged. “It was my mother’s name.”

“Was it?” Should I have known that? Damian wracked his brain in an attempt to remember, but in five hundred years, he was almost certain this was the first time he’d ever heard Conrad speak of such a thing. Perhaps this was yet another sign he was mellowing with age? “Well then, why not give it to her as a middle name? Surely that would be better, don’t you think? That way, we can call her by something that, while not as special, would be less likely to cause awkward questions as to how she came by it.”

An expression of grim amusement curled Conrad’s lips. “If you’ve another name in mind, my dear, why do you not simply tell me what it is and have done with it?”

“Are you asking for my opinion in this?” It wasn’t the first time he’d done so—not exactly, anyway—but Damian was still getting used to this new Conrad who did more than issue orders and announce decrees, who occasionally took someone else’s opinion into consideration and even asked for things as well, things like assistance, thoughts, advice.

Conrad seemed to hesitate—as though he found the concept strange as well. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Since it appears likely you’ll be using their names as much as I, it seems only fair that you at least be allowed to offer suggestions.”

“Very true. So I should be. And, that being the case…I was thinking that Juliet was a very pretty name, especially when shortened to Julie, and romantic besides.”

Conrad frowned. “I’ve never understood that. What’s so romantic about flouting your family’s traditions, defying your parents’ wishes and then killing yourself when it all goes horribly wrong—as anyone might have predicted it would?”

“Well, nothing, if you put it that way,” Damian answered crossly. “But, risking everything, or perhaps even dying for love’s sake? Is that not the essence of romanticism?” Was that not exactly what Damian was doing now? What he’d done countless times over the centuries? But perhaps Conrad didn’t see it like that. Would he ever?

“Very well.” Conrad turned his attention back to the child he was feeding. “Marc and Julie they shall be. And now at least that subject’s settled.”

“Is it?” Damian blinked in surprise. Given Conrad’s unenthusiastic reaction, Damian had assumed he’d intended to reject the name.

Conrad glanced sharply at him, his expression annoyed. “Unless you’ve some other objection to make?”

“N-no.” Damian shook his head. “It’s just… I mean, well, what about their surname? We haven’t discussed that yet. It really wouldn’t do to give them yours, I suppose?”

“No.” Conrad grimaced. “Not if we’re ever to have any hope of one day convincing the rest of our people that I’d no connection to them, prior to turning them.”

Damian bit his lip to keep from smiling. So, it seemed they were allowed to have a little hope after all. Bueno. “Well then? What are you thinking? I assume you have something else in mind.”

“Fischer.” Conrad shrugged briefly. “After their mother. It’s on their birth certificates already anyway, so I see no reason to change it. And it seems the least I can do to honor her memory. I just wish I could do more.”

“What more could anyone ask of you?” Damian protested. “You’ve already committed yourself to keeping your promise to her, which many would not have done, and at great personal risk. You’re caring for her children as if they were your own.”

Conrad shrugged again. “Aren’t they though? In a way? You can’t deny it was I who made them what they are. It’s my blood running through their veins.”

And through mine as well, thought Damian. “But is it safe to give them a name that would still allow people to connect them to you through her? I know we’ve still a ways to go before we reach that bridge, but surely it’s best to begin to prepare for it now?”

“It’s safe enough, I’d imagine. It’s not a particularly uncommon name and since she was no longer even using it herself when I knew her, I doubt it’s a connection anyone of my acquaintance will ever think to make.”

“Bueno. Then I guess we really have settled it.”

“Yes.” Conrad sighed. “May God have mercy on their souls. And who knows? Perhaps, if we’re really lucky, once we actually do reach this bridge of which you speak, we’ll be able to safely navigate our way across and not find ourselves being thrown off of it instead.”

Damian smiled. “Sí. That would indeed be better.” And Conrad must be feeling better too, if he was capable of making even so small a joke as that. Surely that was a good sign, was it not? As well as an omen of more good things to come. Why should it not be so? It was the start of a new year, after all. A new year, a new decade and, perhaps, a new and happy life for all of them. “Happy New Year, Conrad.”

A faint expression of surprise crossed Conrad’s face. Then he inclined his head and almost returned the smile—which, for right now, was enough. “Thank you, my dear. And to you as well.”