Vladislov, snarled. “Why must that boy try me so?”
Boy? I looked up and saw an old man. Sporting a paunch and a threadbare sweater, regularness moved through perfection. Cut through it, more like. The sea parted.
“Erev tov, Father. This must be Pearl.”
Chapter Fourteen
Pearl
The old man smiled in the kind way I’d seen grandfathers smile at children. A calm gesture, a patient one that held wisdom and lacked… fangs. Because I could sense that he was like me, that the sharpness of what set us apart from both human and vampire was a burden. That he worked to embrace his nature yet deny his hunger.
That he understood me. That he felt compassion for a stranger.
Another Daywalker.
I wasn’t alone. Such knowledge gave me a profound sense of joy and left me reeling. “You’re like me!”
My companion scoffed. “He’s nothing like you. The boy is an impudent pain in my ass.”
Gesturing at the old man’s informal clothing, rude, and clearly annoyed, Vladislov sneered. “What were you thinking arriving in such a state? As Darius was my offspring, and Jade his daughter, you are a clear blood relation. Yet you show up to your queen’s wedding dressed like a beggar… wearing that face?”
A face lined by years yet still somehow fresh.
With a peacemaking nod, the stranger replied, “No insult was intended.”
Vladislov ground his teeth, leaving the muscles in his jaw jumping. “Your throat is uncovered.”
The old man sighed. “As my father is failing to make an introduction, allow me. My given name is Yeshua. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pearl.” He held out a hand so I might shake it. The first being at the party aside from Vladislov who dared touch me.
I did not take his hand, not when I could feel how Vladislov seethed. Instead, I offered a polite, “Hello.”
Vladislov did not move his body in front of me, but it was as if he intended to shield me all the same. “You were warned never to approach her without permission.”
But it was as if the incensed monster at my side had never spoken. The old man’s conversation was only for me. “He’s written to me about you, countless emails detailing your history. I feel as if I know you.”
What?
Outright exasperation was met with equal parts boredom when Vladislov countered, “Countless? You always were one for drama. There have been seventy-eight emails precisely. How many times must I lecture you on the importance of accuracy?”
Though I had denied the old man’s hand, he placed his on my shoulder. “It wasn’t done to invade your privacy. It was done to document a monumental occurrence. You see, Pearl, the pages recount your life and all the ways in which the consequences of my existence complicated it.”
His hand was warm, not the brimstone touch of the beast who held me to his side, arm around my waist, and palm open on my belly. If Vladislov was fire, this man was sunlight.
If Vladislov was beautifully hideous, that old man was painstakingly ordinary.
And I was extremely confused. “I don’t understand.”
Did the man look embarrassed? It was so hard to tell when his gaze was so deep. “I’ve been told my father sends you a priest each day for a private mass and confession.”
He used to.
I had not seen a holy man since Vladislov had first penetrated me, nor had I asked for one. In that moment, it dawned on me that I had forgotten. Where was my rosary? Had I forgotten to bring it to a wedding?
Before I fell from the knife edge of nerves into hysterics, Vladislov spoke softly at my ear. “Your rosary is in my pocket, my soul. You may have it in this moment if you wish.”
What I wished was to know why the man before me seemed as if he felt grief at the mention of the beads I used to pray. Instead, I took a deep breath and focused on the fact that this was my daughter’s wedding and I had already made enough mistakes. “What is an email?”
The old man shook off his gloom, responding with a kind smile. “An electronic letter, typed instead of written by hand. As my father refuses to communicate with me in any other way, we rarely exchange words unless they are in written form. He believes it to be a lesson on the power of truth in the written word over the spoken one. But if you could see the things he’s written, you’d understand that he lacks the ability to tell the truth in even the most basic of exchanges. Just because it’s been written down does not make it true. Read any newspaper these days and you’ll find it's just as easy to lie with the pen as it is with the tongue.”
With his free hand, Vladislov physically removed the old man’s touch from my shoulder. “You are not amusing me, child.”
For a brief moment, the old man glanced at my companion—an expression of weariness, of deep concern aging his face all the more. “Heaven knows it will be many ages before reconciliation between us is possible, especially after I tell her the truth. But it is good to see you.”
Dry laughter preceded Vladislov’s threat. “Son, I could end you with a thought. And I’m very tempted.”
As if they shared a private, dark joke, the old man chuckled. He chuckled as if he was not only fearless, but the more powerful between them. “I am the only thing you ever created that is good. You have no more power to end me than I have the power to end you.”
