That. That made Jesus smile. “A girl who dreamed of a window so she might sleep safely in the sun. A kind heart who wanted nothing more than to find a home.”
“Your father can read my thoughts, you’re doing the same. That does not mean you know me.” Why were all these men so insufferable? Why was he leading me through a throng of hissing vampires who scurried away as if they might be burned by the very sunlight we discussed?
“I can’t read your thoughts. What I know is because Vladislov has written to me of you. The detail in his letters… he is deeply in love. A phenomenon I never imagined I might witness, though he had told me stories of his lost wife.”
My heart had been broken so many times. I had trusted adults. I had fought to please employers. I had wandered and begged God to lead me to someone, anyone who might take away what made me wrong. And where had God led me? To an alley where Malcom had ripped my fangs from my skull. But he had not been able to remove my cravings.
Where had God been in that? Where had God been while Darius had done things I could not recall? Lip shaking in a way I hated, eyes prickling, I dared to ask, “And all my prayers?”
Where my arm was tucked into his, he patted me gently. “God heard them.”
No, he had not. And nor had this man. “But I prayed in your name. I prayed to your holy mother.”
“And that was foolish. Where in the scant, centuries-old catalogued recordings of my teachings did I ever say that prayers should be made to me or to my mother? Would that not be idolatry?”
I had been raised on scripture. The words had been beaten into my back. “The New Testament—”
“Is a blend of megalomaniacs seeking worship and false prophets using my teachings to gain notoriety. Have you witnessed the vagaries of Twitter? It’s the same phenomenon yet more pathetic. Weak souls driven to share their every vapid thought. Their sick fragility seeking validation. Cults flourish. So much filth is spread with the intent to do harm and gain a high in the process. No different than the men and women shouting as I bore my cross. You’ve seen it in your own life, felt the hurled stones hit your body. Everyone has their cross to bear. You have a tomb and a hole in your memories.”
“And a daughter who despised the sight of me. And a son you are trying to distract me from. Men think we don’t know what you’re doing. Women know. So stop wasting my time and tell me what Vlad had written of this boy in his letters.” How much angrier should I be?
We turned at a cherry tree, following a path made misty from the damp lingering in the air. No undead approached. Instead, they still scattered as if there were a clear circle about us they were unable to traverse.
“Why aren’t they hurting us?” A valid question, considering I could smell their intent on the breeze. Another valid question was why Vladislov had not come. Making me doubt him all the more. If he loved me, he would have come for me.
“Because I am not afraid of them,” Jesus said, as if that explained everything.
The small pebbles lining the path under my feet squished when I dug in my heels. “I didn’t mean to come here. Considering that all my life what I dreamed of most was to be in your presence, I’m finding now that I don’t like you very much.” Whatever he really was. “I want my boy, and I will leave.”
My escort’s footfalls ceased. “And when I tell you there is no son?”
“Then I’ll call you a liar.” My mind had been played with enough that I was beginning to see where the fingerprints led. In Darius’ effective seduction, the boy he showed me was real. Alive now. AND HE WAS MINE.
Vladislov’s son, a figure a huge portion of the world’s population believed was their savior, said, “What you saw is feral, unnamed, and dangerous. It isn’t a son, it’s a burden.”
Why mince words? “Because Darius made him that way!”
Jesus agreed, eyes full of pity, “Because Darius made him that way.”
“You will give me my boy, or by God I will end you. You who I prayed to all my life and who could hear nothing because you are only a man.” And men were fools who lied and tricked to get their way. “Your cassock doesn’t change that.”
“I’m glad you are beginning to recognize what you see. The cassock is only fabric with the intention to denote station. It’s not real. I hung on a cross as long as you hung from a tree. My father, wings and all, rolled back the stone to set me free once he figured I’d learned a lesson. Stories came and grew wildly out of proportion, just as they will about you to Vampirekind, soul of Vladislov. You won’t be able to stop it, though you will decry the tales time and again. You will be powerless over your own retelling. The wife of a God. The mother of a queen. The keeper of an untamed demon child.”
His complaints or comparisons, I didn’t care. I cared about his roundabout point. “You are not as different from your father as you might imagine. You’re younger, prettier, but just as crazy.”
His smile—I could see what was in that smile now. The smile of my fallen lord was full of secrets. “Your son will need a name.”
“Jasper. That will be his name.” Drawing my arm from the elbow of my companion, I faced him head-on. “Tell me what you want for him.”
He took up
