Lover Enshrined

Oh, God…, John thought, he was so going to throw up.

After a moment, the king closed the file and put the magnifying glass back down on the blotter. In silence, he took care to arrange the two things so they were side by side and positioned perfectly, the ivory handle of the magnifier in line with the bottom of the file.

When Wrath finally looked up, John did not move his eyes away, even though he felt as if every inch of him were dripping with filth. That was why Qhuinn did it. Lash read my file because he was working at Havers’s, and he was going to spill it to everyone. Everyone. So it was hardly your basic argument between hotheads.

Wrath popped up his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. “Jesus… Christ. I can understand why you weren’t in a big hurry to come forward with this.” He shook his head. “John… I’m so sorry about what happ-”

John stomped his foot to bring the king’s head up. I’m not letting you know for any other reason than Qhuinn’s situation. I am not talking about it.

Then, in quick, jerky movements of his hands, because he had to get this shit over with, he signed, When Qhuinn took out the knife, Lash had me pinned to the wall in the shower and he was taking my pants down. My friend did what he did not just to keep Lash from talking-feel me? I… I froze and… I froze…

“Okay, son, it’s okay… you don’t have to go any further.”

John linked his arms around his body and tucked his shaky hands against his sides. Squeezing his eyes shut, he couldn’t bear to see Wrath’s face.

“John?” the king said after a moment. “Son, look at me.”

John could hardly manage to open his eyes. Wrath was so masculine, so powerful-the leader of the whole race. To admit to such a male that this shameful, violent thing had happened was nearly as bad as going through it in the first place.

Wrath tapped the file. “This changes everything.” The king reached over and picked up the phone. “Fritz? Hey, buddy. Listen, I want you to go pick Qhuinn up at Blaylock’s and bring him to me. Tell him it’s a command performance.”

As the phone was set back down, John’s eyes started to burn as if he were tearing up. In a panic, he grabbed his folder, wheeled around, and all but ran to the door.

“John? Son? Please don’t go yet.”

John didn’t stop. He just couldn’t. He shook his head, broke out of the study, and beat feet to his room. After he shut his door and locked it, he went to the bathroom, knelt in front of the toilet, and threw up.

Qhuinn felt like a heel as he stood over Blay’s sleeping form. The guy slept as he always had ever since he was a kid: head wrapped in a blanket, covers pulled up to below his nose. His huge body was a mountain rising off the flat plane of the bed, no longer the little molehill of a pretrans-but his position was still the same.

They had been through so much together… all the big firsts in life, from drinking to driving to smoking to the change to sex. There was nothing they didn’t know about each other, no inner thought that they hadn’t broached one way or another.

Well, that wasn’t entirely ture. He knew some things Blay wouldn’t admit.

Not saying good-bye felt like something close to robbery, but that was the way of it. Where he was headed, Blay couldn’t follow.

There was a vampire community out West; he’d read about it on one of the bulletin boards on the Net. The group was a faction that had broken off from mainstream vampire culture, like, two hundred years ago, and formed an enclave far away from the race’s seat of Caldwell.

No glymera types there. Most of them were outlaws, as a matter of fact.

He figured he could make it there in one night by dematerializing a couple hundred miles at a time. He’d be a wreck by the time he landed, but at least he’d be with his kind. Outcasts. Roughnecks. AWOLs.

The laws of the race were going to catch up with him at some point, but he had nothing to lose in making the powers that be work to find him. He was already disgraced on every level, and the charges that were going to get laid against him couldn’t get any worse. He might as well finally have a taste of freedom before he was boxed and mailed to jail.

The only thing he worried about was Blay. The guy was going to have a hard time being left behind, but at least John was going to be there for him. And John was good peeps all around.

Qhuinn turned away from his friend, slung his duffel over his shoulder, and quietly went out the door. He’d healed up like a charm, the rapid recovery being the one and only legacy his family couldn’t strip him of. The surgery had left nothing but a stitch in his side, and the bruising was mostly gone-even from his legs. He felt strong, and though he was going to need to feed soon, he was good to go.

Blay’s house was a grand antique, but it was done with a modern twist, which meant there was wall-to-wall carpeting down the hall to the back stairs-thank fuck. Qhuinn ghosted along, making no sound at all as he headed for the underground tunnel that led out from the basement.

As he came into the cellar, the place was neat as a pin, and as always smelled like Chardonnay for some reason. Maybe it was the regular whitewashing of the old stone walls?

The hidden entrance to the escape tunnel was all the way in the far corner to the right and it was shielded by bookshelves that were on a slide. You simply reached out, pulled the copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight forward, and a latch released, causing the partition to retract and reveal-

“You are such a moron.”

Qhuinn jumped like an Olympian. There, in the tunnel, seated in an outdoor lounger like he were getting a tan, was Blay. He had a book on his lap, a battery-operated lamp on a little table, and a blanket over his legs.

The guy calmly lifted a glass of orange juice up in toast, then took a sip. “Hellllllllo, Lucy.”

“What the fuck? You’re like lying in wait for me or some shit?”

“Yup.”

“What was in your bed?”

“Pillows and my head blankie. I’ve had a nice little chill sesh hanging here. Good book, too.” He flashed the cover of A Season in Purgatory. “I like Dominick Dunne. Good writer. Great glasses.”

Qhuinn looked beyond his friend at the low-lit tunnel that disappeared into what appeared to be an infinite dark distance. Kind of like the future, he thought.

“Blay, you know I have to leave.”

Blay lifted his phone. “Actually, you can’t. Just got a text from John. Wrath wants to see you, and Fritz is coming for you as we speak.”

“Shit. I can’t go-”

“Two words: Command. Performance. You bolt now and you’re not only a fugitive from the glymera, you’re on the king’s list of things to do. Which means the Brothers will be going after you.”

They were going to do that anyway. “Look, this thing with Lash is heading for a royal tribunal. That’s what the message from John is all about. And they’re going to put me away somewhere. For a long, long time. I’m just leaving for a while.”

Read: for as long as I can stay hidden.

“You’re going to defy the king?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am. I have nothing to lose, and maybe it will be years before I’m found.”

Blay moved the blanket from his legs and stood up. He was dressed in jeans and a fleece, but somehow looked as if he were wearing a tuxedo. Blay was like that: formal even in his scrubbies.

“You take off, I’m going to go with you,” he said.

“I don’t want you to.”

“Tough. Shit.”

As Qhuinn pictured the land of outlaws that he was headed for, he felt a buildup of pressure in his chest. His friend was so steadfast, so true, so honorable and clean. There was still an essential, optimistic innocence to him, though he was fully a male now.

Qhuinn took a breath and squeezed out, “I don’t want you knowing where I end up. And I don’t want to see you again.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I know…” Qhuinn cleared his throat and forced himself to go on. “I know the way you watch me. I’ve seen you