Butcher, Baker, Vampire Slayer: A Retelling of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night Page 7

  She raised her eyebrows and smiled slyly, her luscious lips pursed. “Are you afraid of me?”

  She slid her hand on my arm and I stared at her arm for a second then up at her, quizzically.

  “Do you want me to be?”

  She frowned and pulled her hand back. Her voice changed, growing angry, icy cold, all traces of flirtatiousness melting away. “You can tell Orion that I am in grieving from the loss of my brother and have nothing to say to him until Lance comes back alive. Go back to your master and lick his boots. You are done here.”

  As she turned, I caught her hand and swallowed hard, staring at those clutching fingers, the strain in them that I understood. I licked my lips and looked at her intently. “Your grief, I understand your grief and I’m sorry. Ever since my parents died I’ve felt like that, lonely, angry, so many feelings that I’ve tried to shut it all off, close that door so that I can take a breath. That’s all I can do sometimes, is to take that one breath, and then another, and another.” I stepped closer and covered her hand with both of mine. “Olivia, it’s all right to hurt. It’s all right to have a hard time. What you’re going through is difficult. There are people who love you and want to help you. You aren’t alone.” I searched her eyes intently, seeing the pain in them, the hurt and despair.

  She gave me a small nod and then I heard a slight sob that made me tighten my hands on hers. She straightened and brushed her eyes with her free hand, like she didn’t want me to catch her crying.

  “It’s all right.” I sighed and half turned towards the yard, the street beyond and the direction where Orion waited. “He sent me because he cares. That’s all he knows how to do. Can’t it be enough? At least talk to him.”

  Her bottom lip was trembling, her eyes large and moist. She glanced over then back at me, shook her head tightly and pulled her hands out of mine. “He won’t say what I need to hear. He doesn’t know how to talk like you. He doesn’t understand grief or fear, or weakness. He doesn’t know love, not in words, not in deeds. It hurts more to see him and know that he will never love me the way that he loves…” She inhaled unsteadily and gave me a small smile. “Sebastian Tancetta, the first boy who ever made me cry. Do you want to come in, to stay a little longer?” She sounded almost vulnerable.

  “I…” I studied her face, the softness I’d never imagined Olivia possessed. I wanted to say yes, to help her through her horrible grief, but then her expression shifted into a seductive beauty who knew how to use her assets like weapons. “Ah, no. I have to get back and tell Orion how it went. Thank you for seeing me, and hearing me out. I’m sorry that you remain so deeply in your grief. I hope that you can find the help and support you need. Good night, Olivia. Rest well.”

  I grabbed her hand again and squeezed it before I turned and walked down the stairs, feeling relief mixed with regret. I couldn’t hate Olivia, and I couldn’t help but admire Orion for trying to reach her even when she pushed him away. She needed him, or someone.

  I felt exhausted when I finally jogged around the corner and climbed in the sleek black car.

  “How did it go?” Orion asked, his strong hand on my shoulder. I soaked in that touch, his energy rolling into me like a warm fuzzy bunny that wanted to snuggle against my chest the way I wanted to snuggle against Orion. We’d had rabbits when I was little. My mother had helped me feed then and bandaged my finger when the gray one bit me.

  I shook my head, shaking off the irrelevant memory. “She’s not happy. You’re right, she needs someone, but I don’t think she’s going to let you in. She hurts a lot.”

  He sat for a moment silent while he rubbed his wrist, idly, like it was an old injury he was checking, like I checked my wrists before doing a routine after the first time I’d broken it. “What do you want to do now, Tancetta?” He gave me a painful smile before changing gears and pulling into the road. “The night is young and so are we.”

  I wanted to go to Calder and take off my bust bindings and my jacket, but I smiled back at him and shrugged. “You’re the leader, right?”

  His smile showed a glint of teeth as he grabbed the back of my neck with his hand, kind of a friendly/threatening moment that made me want more.

  Chapter 7

  The Butcher

  I’d waited in my car for a few seconds before I followed Tancetta to Olivia’s porch. I stayed back, in the shadows, but watched Olivia, searching her for signs of recent injury, dislocated elbow, or bruised throat. Yes, I was suspicious of her. That was the Butcher in me. There was no such thing as loyalty when the risk for misjudgment was so great. She was right about me. I couldn’t talk like that, use those words, open up and show her feelings I wasn’t certain I’d ever had. Anger. Yes, I understood anger, but compassion? Those were not emotions I’d learned to feel. It was part of the whole Butcher package. Emotions were not helpful when eviscerating zombies, and that was who I was, what I was. At the same time, seeing her soften with him, seeing him take her hands, I felt something alien, something that shocked me with its force.

  I didn’t want those hands touching anyone else. Tancetta was my Baker and needed my energy and only mine. I could remember my dad growling when Landry had put a hand on someone else, his face clearly expressing his feelings to his Baker, but Landry ignored him. I’d found it amusing at the time. Feeling it myself was bizarre and uncomfortable. Bakers weren’t possessions. I’d heard stories of Butchers who treated their Bakers like things they owned, but I’d never thought that I would ever struggle with something so clearly ethically wrong.

  As for Olivia, I knew that I should feel something other than respect and regret towards Olivia, beautiful, powerful, capable Olivia who had been my automatic match from birth. But I didn’t. She was right. I couldn’t connect to her, couldn’t open up and be vulnerable with her. Was that really what she wanted?

  I turned and went back to the car. I didn’t want to see her touching him. I didn’t want to feel like Tancetta belonged to me. Maybe he’d always been aware of the risk, of the danger that came with letting his true nature emerge. Maybe that’s why he’d always kept his distance. Now, he was weak, and that weakness was why he let me close enough to feed him the strength he required. I inhaled evenly and smoothed the steering wheel under my hands. The buzzing cicadas filled the night, sound that soothed some of the jealousy away. I would have to proceed with caution with Tancetta. I couldn’t get too close, let myself forget that he didn’t belong to me. What a strange concept. I would need rules, rules that would allow mutual respect to grow until we reached the point where…

  How could we be like my father and his Baker when Tancetta would consider any of my encouragement in that direction an insult? His words haunted me, the pain in his voice, pain that stirred my soul, made me ache to find answers, vengeance, to destroy whoever dared to hurt my friend. His pain was my pain. Was this part of the bond? I wasn’t supposed to feel so deeply about those who were vulnerable. He would find Baking therapeutic, but how could I possibly encourage him?

  When Tancetta came back, he looked wide-eyed and exhausted, like he’d been hit by the truck that was Olivia. If he’d been absorbing her energy, he would be glowing. That made me relax slightly. I smiled at him, put my hand on his shoulder, feeling a heady rush. I pulled my hand back and gave him a placid smile. I had the flicker of an idea of something that would connect with him on a different level. I glanced at him, studying the features, the softness of his lips, the curve of his cheek, the delicate eyelashes around the large, moist eyes. It was no wonder that Olivia opened up to him. He was nothing like a Butcher, he was new and novel, someone that was her opposite, like he was mine.

  I grabbed the back of his neck before I realized what I was doing, skin to skin contact that shocked me with the force of the exchange. He was so desperately depleted. I pulled away, trying to show nothing, to feel nothing, but he needed so much more. I focused on driving, but I saw the way he looked at me, like some of the first years did before they’d seen a real zombie. The hero w
orship was something I understood, but it was as if he didn’t understand his own weakness, his own need. Maybe he didn’t. His mother was a botanist, but she’d had Everlast. Would that make her a Baker or were there those who grew things for Bakers without being involved themselves? I didn’t know enough about Bakers. I didn’t know enough about Tancetta.

  “Where did you live?”

  He stared at me with big, soft eyes. “You mean my parent’s house?”

  I nodded.

  He told me an address in the glorious, old French Quarter, where the houses were all tall, narrow, and beautiful old trees made it feel like it was on the edge of the woods. I passed a large mansion and then a more moderately sized house, and checked the numbers beside the door rising up a flight up steps from the sidewalk.

  “Is this it?”

  He nodded while I smiled at him and tightened my hand on the stick as I pulled up two houses past his. “Come on,” I said, giving him a slight smile before I opened the car door and got out. I went around to the trunk, pulling out a small shovel that I kept there for emergencies-the werewolf kind, and pulled on my long, black, sweeping coat.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered, following me towards his old house.

  “I think that no one would mind if you took a few cuttings for Calder’s garden.”

  He grabbed my hand, only for a second, but the shock of contact flared to life before he broke away. “Are you talking about breaking and entering?”

  I shrugged and moved faster, away from him and his agonizing need. If I wanted him to bake for me, I would have to give him some energy to do it with. “Less breaking, more entering. Are you afraid?”

  He stared at me and shook his head, his hand in a fist, the one that he’d touched me with. What did it feel like for him? I broke into a run, forcing my body to move instead of turning towards him, giving him my strength. I ran to the side, vaulting over the gate a little too ostentatiously. I wasn’t there as a Butcher but as your average… plant thief?

  On the other side of the gate, I turned, worried that he would be stuck on the other side, but he jumped, one foot on a hinge before he was flipping over the gate, landing lightly beside me.

  I looked down at him, his face hidden in shadows, but I could see the gleam of his eyes. He really did move gracefully.

  “Come on,” he said, slipping around me and deeper into the garden. Beyond him, I saw glistening water that reflected the streetlight through rustling leaves. A pool? He dropped to his knees beside a plant that I could smell from where I stood. Lavender. I took the shovel and placed it where he gestured, offshoots that he cupped in his hands, giving me an excited smile before he went to another plant. A dozen plants we collected, filling the pockets of my voluminous coat. I held the shovel, waiting for him to show me where to go, but he stood beside the pool, staring into the depths like he was seeing ghosts. He probably was, ghosts of his parents.

  I touched his shoulder, not for energy exchange, but to let him know that he wasn’t alone, that I was there.

  He put his hand over mine, holding it in place, his hand cool, gritty from dirt. Maybe a minute went by as I stood, feeling my energy snake its way into him, felt him draw it away from me before he shook his head and stepped away, wiping his hands on his pants, from the dirt, from our connection, I didn’t know. I wanted to ask him. I wanted to confront him with his need, with his hunger, but I didn’t. Instead, I followed him through the garden, towards the gate, watching him leap lightly up and then flip over the iron spikes, like he’d done it a hundred times before. Maybe he had. This was his home. I glanced up at the house, at the dark windows. Which one had been his room? What did it look like? What did he value enough to keep from his old life?

  I walked slowly to the car where he waited, leaning against the door, something on his face reminding me of the old Sebastian Tancetta who hated my guts and everything I represented. No, he wasn’t ready to be pushed into a Baker career when he’d wanted so much to be a Butcher. Friendship would have to be enough. For now.

  Chapter 8

  The Baker

  I was tired the next morning, groggy in my classes from staying up so late, and also from staring at the ceiling in the dark, unable to stop thinking about Orion and chocolate strudel. I didn’t even know if there was such a thing as chocolate strudel, but if there wasn’t, I would invent it.

  I would not invent it. I would not think about Orion, about what he’d done, how I’d felt while we’d been taking those plants from my old home, every scent a memory of my mother, my father, our family, how we’d been. I’d felt so much at the end, when he touched my shoulder, I held his hand there, wanting him to understand how much it meant to me, this act of larceny, but it seemed like the moment that I made that contact, everything faded, all the pain replaced by this awareness of him, his warmth, strength, energy making my own heart beat wildly in response. I wanted to kiss him, to press my lips against his until the pain was permanently burned out of me.

  Which of course was nonsense. I’d never kissed a boy. Orion, miles of gorgeous and utterly out my league was not where I should start. Not that I should start. I had to focus on my classes, but they weren’t challenging enough to occupy my mind, particularly when I had memories of Orion muddying up his pants as he dug in the dirt beside me, the scent of lavender and sandalwood swirling between us. Thinking about strudel was better than that.

  At any rate, I went through my classes feeling more like a zombie than an over-achiever. Not that it kept me from performing perfectly, but my head wasn’t in the game when someone ran into me, knocking me into the locker.

  “Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to bowl you over. I’m Francis, the closest thing Orion has to a friend. He’s in one of his moods, so I thought if I’d bring you, he’d play nice, maybe let me beat him at pool. Are you game?”

  I stared at the tall boy with the wide grin, the dark skin stretched above his gleaming teeth.

  “One of his moods?”

  He shrugged and started strolling beside me, like I’d just agreed to something. “He calls it contemplative, where he thinks so much about the wrongs in the world he has no power over, he becomes a bit more like a she-bear than a human. I call it moody. How did it go with Olivia last night?”

  I blinked at him. “I didn’t get kicked in the balls.”

  He laughed. “That’s always a bonus. From the way she tells it, you were a poetic genius.”

  I glanced at him furtively. “She told you that?”

  He nodded, grinning widely. “I think she likes you. Is that why Orion’s turned to the dark side?”

  I shook my head, vigorously. “No! She is not interested in me, she was just looking for a friend. How do you know her?”

  He shrugged again. “I stay with her from time to time. My dad’s an independent, doesn’t have a settled position anywhere, so while I’m training up, learning to be a man, I need somewhere to stay. Olivia’s parents are slightly less insane than Orion’s, or I’d probably stay there.”

  I bit my lip before I cocked my head. “If you are so friendly with Olivia, why doesn’t Orion have you talk to her for him?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, I’ve told her that she needs to move on, that Lance’s soul would be more at peace if she let go, moved on, let the healing process begin, you know, stuff no one actually listens to, but she punched me in the face and then when I tried to hit her back, choked me out.”

  I frowned at him. I didn’t know what choked out meant. It sounded slightly dirty. “So she doesn’t listen to anyone, but Orion keeps trying. He must really love her.”

  He looked surprised. “Orion? Love?” He smiled widely and shook his head, leading me to the top of a set of stone steps I hadn’t seen in my three days at Calder. “Orion’s more of a strong, silent type, not really in love with one female type.”

  My heart pounded a little bit faster, but it was definitely from me climbing down the stairs instead of the idea that Orion did not actually love Olivia. I follo
wed him down two sets of stairs until we were beneath ground. After walking down a long hall, he turned left and there were more stairs, iron that time that led down into a black velvet box of a room. Dark velvet hung from the walls with black carpet beneath. The only splash of color was the red velvet sofa beneath Orion clothed in his customary black. He lay on the couch, head propped on his elbow as he frowned at a paper in his hand. A stack of papers was on the floor beside him. I didn’t see anyone else for a moment, a moment where I took in the sculpted cheekbones, the dark chocolate eyes, the perfectly tanned skin, and hair, dark silken mousse that hung like a curtain over his shoulders.

  I realized that Francis was staring at me. “Let’s surprise him. Do you play an instrument? I think I remember something about how you tried to stab someone with a bow…” He frowned then grinned at me. “So, you play the violin, or is that just your weapon of choice?”

  I winced at the thought that my brother had hurt a musical instrument when he lost his stupid temper. I exhaled and shrugged while he kept staring at me, waiting. “I play.”

  I hadn’t played the violin for a while, but I’d been pretty good when I’d been practicing four hours a day. Gymnastics took up most of my time and it made serious violin impossible. Sebastian had mostly played for fun, but his fun was more practice than my carefully structured time segments. At the same time, I could play something half decent.

  In a corner that seemed out of the way, a glistening black grand piano hunkered in the shadow, cases of instruments on a shelf behind it. I licked my lips and made my way down the stairs and into the room that was moderately full of boys. They didn’t stare at me particularly much. I was just another boy in a Calder uniform, but some of these were not young enough to be high school kids. It was like this was a den where high school and college boys mixed, but why would that be in the basement of Calder? Maybe they were graduates or something. Maybe they went to the College that was associated with Calder. I edged my way towards the instruments, trying not to notice Orion where he seemed so private and isolated in spite of the boys lined around the pool table, or eating at the bar on the far side from the piano. A TV was on, a wide-screen hanging from the wall playing some kind of sport, football maybe. The sound wasn’t loud in the space, like no one’s voice rose above a certain pitch.