"Good morning, sweetheart," a honeysuckle voice greeted.
I swiped a hand over my eyes, still-groggy from the night previous.
"Where's Mason?" I wondered.
"Hunting with Leo," Claire explained, plucking the last of the sour-dough French-toast from a pan. "He bid you goodbye, but you must've been half-asleep."
"I see. Is everyone else still asleep?"
"Yes, Kira's watching over them."
"Dr. Warde?"
"Someone called out. He's pulling a double."
"Mm."
"Can I interest you in a walk?"
"Outside?" I wondered skeptically, pinching the silk-bottoms I still wore.
"You can borrow some clothes. Heading down there will wake them."
I agreed and she trotted upstairs, feet light upon the hardwood to avoid waking those sleeping below. Claire's clothes were a little loose on me and short in the leg, but rolling up the hems of the mom-jeans made the length look purposeful. She was setting covers over the top of the food she'd made when I came back out.
She smiled easily, leading out into the lightly snow-blanketed backyard. Our track followed a snow-patched muddy path that sprawled West into the woods. At least, it looked like woods. Just like the cabin, this area was teeming with native species that bobbed and swayed, a mirage of winterized green, but they were perfectly manicured in the same.
"How are you feeling?" she asked softly.
Her gaze was resolutely forward as if giving me privacy.
"No hangover, thankfully."
"Good."
"Won't be drinking again for a while."
"That's fine," she soothed.
I nodded.
"He understands more than you think," she continued, slowing her pace. I breathed in the frosty-morning air, anxious at the direction of the conversation. "His family was also killed."
I blinked, speechless for a moment, then, "By vampires?"
"By a human. A human in name-only."
"A human..."
She nodded slowly, her pinned-up hair bobbing with the motion. I bit my lower lip, watching her as she gazed down the trail. Even the vampire's breath puffed slightly upon the cold, mid-morning air.
"Is it okay for you to tell me this?"
"I think Mason refrains from telling you himself because he's afraid of how he may come across. He relates very strongly to your cause and feels very guilty for what he's done to betray that cause."
"I know. He's told me that he's killed innocents before..."
I flinched. She cast me a sideways glance at that.
"If he's already told me that, why not tell me about this?"
"He's worried not only that he'll come on too strong, but that you'll feel obligated to tell him about yourself if he tells you about himself."
"So he puts you up to it instead."
She stopped, blinking, "Oh."
"Oh?"
I raised my eyebrows. Hers skewed and her brown-eyes glittered sheepishly, "That didn't occur to me. He didn't ask me to tell you. Actually, he might be a little put-out with me for this."
"Then... should you?"
"Yes," she decided, "It's a difficult story. Neither he nor Paul likes to talk about it, but it's important that you know. Unlike Mason, I don't want you to take your time. For my family's safety, it's best we know what we're working with. From what I've seen of you, I think you're good for Mason. I hope this allows you to be more open with us."
"I won't guarantee anything."
"I know. But there you have it."
The house was still-visible through the trees, but we're starting to track farther through the spongy, rain-soaked undergrowth.
"Mason was a farmer's son," she started and I nodded, remembering, "To Mason Senior and his wife Johanna. Mason was an only-child and was raised to one day take over the homestead. His father had a permanent limp from some on-the-job injury that Paul himself helped to treat. When Mason speaks of his biological father, his eyes still light up, even though the memories have likely faded as all human-memories do."
She smiled fondly, her gaze distant toward the snow laden tree-tops. The firs and spruces were laden like weighted skirts.
"Apparently, his father regretted his inability to go to war. He'd watched his friends and the sons of his friends in the township leave to serve the country while he was stuck state-side with a bum-leg. Not that he complained. But Mason could tell: whenever they'd been instructed to 'Win the War with Wheat' the glimmer of pride would dim in his father's eyes. There was an immense guilt for his inability to join his countrymen.
"That didn't stop Mason's father from being quite the philanthropist, relatively speaking. The man always gave back. Not just with money, but with whatever they had. This continued past the war's conclusion. Mason Sr. took in quite a few friends who came back around. Took in even more veteran strangers and gave them purpose as farm hands. Mason says these men felt at ease working with his father; they saw him limping around his homestead, undeterred, and were able to feel normal in spite of their own war-injuries."
Her expression darkened, eyebrows pulling down, "The way Mason speaks about these people, it's easy to tell where his gift came from. He's not the most social man, but he watches and he learns. He knew people. His father, on the other hand, was too good for his own good. He agreed to take on a few more straggler-veterans in nineteen twenty-three, happy to let more folks in with the Influenza subsiding. But it wasn't the virus they'd truly needed to be wary of."
Claire's eyes gleamed like wet-ink and I saw her hands flex in and out of fists, "Mason says he noticed it quickly. One of the veterans wasn't right. He was shifty-eyed and uncertain. But not from the trauma of war; not like the others. Mason's better one-on-one. So he'd talk to each of the men and ask them about the war; as much as they were comfortable telling. You know Mason - he's pretty quick to understand.
"But one man, Damien, was different. The conversations he had with Damien, he doesn't talk about much. Only mentioning that Damien appeared irritated more than upset. Bored rather than haunted. Mason's hard on himself about this..."
Claire trailed off, pursing her lips. We followed a bend in the path, entirely out of sight of the house now. The chilly forest had grown quiet, holding its breath as we passed.
"He always says that he should've trusted his instincts. That he was stupid and naive... but of course he was naive. Most people are naive to that kind of evil. And he was just two months shy of eighteen. Of course he couldn't know, not at that age."
Hesitant, I reached to cuff her shoulder bracingly. She glanced over, a little startled, but brushed her fingers on mine. I swept the hand and settled it on the crook of my arm, as if escorting her. She squeezed reassuringly as we continued to crunch along the snowy path.
"Mason said that birds and rats would be found-dead around the barn with their bellies open. Their deaths weren't like how the barn-cats killed pests. These were more unique injuries. Then one or two of the barn cats themselves went missing. And, eventually, one of the amputee stable-hands, Frankie, went missing too. Then a second, Robert, who had a limp nearly as bad as Mason Sr.'s.
"Apparently, no one had been surprised that Frankie had gone. Mason said that the man had always talked about heading back to the big-city to find a gal. But Robert was a different story. He was a man still depressed; still taking his injury day-by-day. Not to mention, he didn't have the mobility to leave-town on his own in the middle of the night.
"The Russell family-"
"Russell?"
Claire started, "Mason's last name before he joined our family. He didn't tell you?"
"He seems to view you all as his family now."
"That's sweet of him, but it's important to acknowledge where you came from," she said, a soft smile on her lips, "Now, the Russell family and their remaining five stable-hands had stirred up the town, Paul included, to look for Robert. It was after this searching that things... devolved. Mason doesn't like to talk about this part and Paul wasn't present for it.
"But Damien made his move. All five remaining stable-hands and Mason's parents were killed. Mason himself had gotten fatally injured in the attack, but tried to back up his father all the same.
"Paul's side of the story picks up here. He'd continued searching for Robert when everyone else had turned in for the night. For his efforts, he found both Frankie's and Robert's corpses in shallow graves just beyond county-lines. He rushed back to the Russell home.
"He found Mason with a shotgun about to run upstairs to his parents' aid. The boy was bleeding profusely from a long cut along his forearm and was already deathly-pale. Paul talked him down. Convinced him not to go up. With his vampiric hearing, he could tell that Damien was waiting upstairs in order surprise Mason when he came looking. Instead, he went himself and neutralized the threat-"
"Neutralized-?!"
"In Paul's way," she amended, "He apprehended the man without injury. Mason Sr. was already gone, but Johanna still clung to life. Paul says that she used her last breaths to plead for her son's safety. To save him, as if, despite the circumstances, she knew her son was still alive. Paul promised to do whatever he could.
"Unfortunately, Mason had lost too much blood. Paul came down to find him nearly passed-out on the floor. He was just barely there, clinging to consciousness by vengeance. The only thing to save him was to be turned; Paul hated that idea. He didn't want the vampire-life for Mason. He'd never wanted it for himself.
"But Mason had begged him. He'd seen how Paul had moved through the house. He'd seen that it was inhuman. And he asked Paul for that same strength. In the face of both his mother's and Mason's own wishes, Paul relented."
I swallowed, eyes-wide as I stared unseeingly ahead. Claire squeezed my arm.
"What happened to Damien?" I wondered.
"Paul's credibility and Mason's witness was damning," she murmured, "The townsfolk immediately imprisoned him. The Russell family had been loved by everyone. So when Damien was found dead in his jail cell while awaiting trial, no one batted an eye. Not even the law enforcement."
"Mason?" I wondered.
She nodded.
"Paul chastised him of course, but..." her expression grew stony, "Ever since, Mason's had a strong sense of justice. He can't just sit by. He's unlike Paul in that. Don't get me wrong, Sara, I love my husband. But sometimes he takes things too far."
"You wouldn't have scolded Mason?"
"I would've helped my son," she hissed, her fingers tensing on my arm.
Her eyes flashed and I flinched. She responded to the motion by softening and smiling over apologetically.
"I don't feel the same guilt Paul does," she explained, "For being what I am. I can protect what's most important to me with a body like this. My family is everything to me. Mason's journey... well, maybe he has gone about things in the wrong way in the past. But I can't push him to stay on the sidelines like Paul does. He wants and needs to make an active difference in his own way. You may be a good influence on him."
"You're a good mother."
She looked over and her eyes brimmed with tears. I glanced away. Something jealous had begun to scratch at my insides.
"That means a lot," she whispered, gripping my arm firmer.
"...why?"
"I've never been able to have biological children. Even before I was a vampire. My human-husband resented me for it, and then, I hated myself for it. It's why... why I was turned. Paul saved me after I'd tried to take my own life."
"You don't need to bear children to be a mother."
"No, you don't. I've never known greater happiness than the one my children have given me."
Her mouth quirked downward.
"I think Mason will be upset with me."
"Probably not for long. He thinks highly of you."
The conversation shifted to lighter subjects - school, food, and jobs - as we circled back to the house. The others were awake and lounging about the breakfast bar when we entered. Mason and Leo sat at the kitchen table, Leo with a stack of three French-toasts in front of him. Mason's eyes locked on mine, slid to his mother, and back.
Claire avoided his gaze and made for the kitchen, "Can I make anyone eggs?"
"That sounds really good," Allie said through a mouthful of syrupy toast, then looked accusingly at me, "Where'd you go?"
"I took a tour of the gardens."
"It's winter; what's there to see?"
"Snow."
The stool beside Catalina scraped as I pulled it out. Iron-scent soured my nose and I glanced around. Anne sat on Allie's other side, holding a bright-pink plastic cup with an opaque straw. I raised both eyebrows at her. She glared back.
"Anne has a headache," Catalina tried to interpret.
"Uh-huh."
"How was your walk?" Mason asked.
His hands reached for my waist tentatively; I relaxed and allowed the gentle, anxious touch.
"Enlightening."
"Hm."
I glanced up at his expression; his flexed jaw betrayed him. His eyes glared firmly upon Claire, but she'd become engrossed in shuffling scrambled eggs about the pan. I moved a hand to one of his and laced my fingers into it. He finally dropped his gaze and I tilted my head further back, lips parted, expectant. He started, but lowered his lips to mine for a chaste kiss.
"Ew!" Allie protested, but I ignored her.
"You alright?" I asked.
He nodded, "You?"
A small, warm smile tugged my lips and his eyes relaxed.