A/N: Someone informed me that Viktor was in fact spelled Victor, so I went back and edited that. For some reason I thought it was Viktor. I like Viktor better anyway, as it's more unique. But canon is canon. Thanks for the tip Nagatu Tsuzuku Yami!
Chapter 2/The Howlett Boy
The first thing Victor noticed about the Howlett boy was the scent. It was familiar, although he could not quite put a time and place on where he had smelled it before. He thought he caught a whiff of something similar whenever his dad was sober, but times like that were few and far between.
In all honesty, when Victor started to spend more time around the Howlett boy, he did not quite not what to make of him. The child was . . . sweet. Innocent. Kind. Compassionate. All the things Victor was not. He knew there was no way the two of them could ever be friends, especially with John Howlett keeping such a close eye on both him and his father. Victor did his best to hide the state of his hands from the master of the house, but keeping his secret just made Howlett even more suspicious.
After the incident in the schoolroom, Howlett had asked to see Victor and his father. He told them both what the tutor had told him. That Victor was neglecting his duties and socializing with Howlett's son. This would not be tolerated, he had said. Victor had to remember his place. He was a servant; James was the Master's son. They were forbidden to be friends.
The order to stay away just increased Victor's desire to become friends with the little sickly Howlett boy. That and the fact that his father had then punished Victor for getting caught.
With a sore hide and his usual angry expression, Victor watched jealously as Howlett tucked his son into bed at night. As he sat at the fireplace, placing woodchips into the flames, Victor listened with a tight jaw to James' small voice as he said his evening prayers with his father. Howlett stroked back the boy's hair and placed a soft kiss on James' forehead. Victor felt a sharp pain twist in his gut, and he ground his teeth together. He stopped when Howlett glanced over at him.
"Hurry with that fire, Victor," he said, not unkindly. "We can't have James catching cold, can we?"
Victor glanced over at the boy in the bed, taking in his pale skin and slight body. The boy was a weakling; there was no doubt about that. That was why Victor thought it was fascinating the way that the boy's scent drew him in. Whenever Victor was in the room with James, he felt . . . safe. Home. And he could not explain it, which frustrated him and did not help his mood.
"No, sir," he said stiffly, looking up at Howlett, clenching his fists behind his back.
With a nod and a stiff smile of his own, Howlett left, closing the door halfway behind him. Victor shoved the last of the chips into the fire and stood, swiping his hands on his pants to rid them of the soot. When he looked over at James, the boy was watching him, wide-eyed.
"You were putting your hands into the fire," he said in a half-whisper. "But you're not burned."
Victor looked down at his hands and noticed his fingernails would need to be filed down again soon. James was still staring at him when Victor looked back up. With a sigh Victor stepped up to the bed, hesitating near the foot of it before sitting down slowly. This just made him feel more uncomfortable, so he stood up again, walking over to a chair and bringing it over to the bed, sitting in that instead.
"Listen . . . M-master James," he said, grimacing at the word "Master." "What I'm going to tell you, you can't repeat to anyone. Especially not your parents."
The small boy nodded firmly. "I promise I won't say a word," he whispered. After a beat he added, "And you can call me Jimmy. That's what I want my friends to call me . . . if I had any." He smiled slightly, hopefully.
Victor carefully kept his face impassive, but he had to admit to himself that he was touched that James would even want to be his friend. He supposed the boy was lonely. The not very many people lived along the forest where Howlett Manor stood. And none of those who did had children James's age. There were a few younger ones, who liked to scream and play tag in the woods. Their antics made Victor irritated, but he realized that James should be like that. Running and playing with other children. Instead the slight boy was kept indoors, pale and sickly. Mistress Howlett worried too much about his health to let him risk catching pneumonia or hives or even sunburn.
"Fine then, Jimmy," Victor said, wanting to hurry up and tell his secret before he changed his mind. As it was he wondered if he should really let James—Jimmy know about it. Slowly, he held out his hands, his long, ragged fingernails looking sharp and ugly in the firelight. Jimmy leaned forward and stared at them with fascination and awe. "I've got this sort of . . . ability," Victor began to explain. "I think a side effect of it is my nails. They just keep growing, like claws, no matter what I do to keep them filed down."
"What's the ability?" Jimmy asked, tearing his gaze away from the nails and looking up into Victor's face.
Victor glanced briefly at the door and then leaned closer, lowering his voice despite the fact that no one was upstairs anyway. "I can heal," he said, and grinned slightly, revealing unnaturally long eye teeth.
Jimmy stared at him blankly for a moment. "What do you mean?" he asked finally.
With a slight sigh of exasperation, Victor leaned back and pulled his knife from his belt. He used it mostly to skin the rabbits the Howletts had from time to time. He kept it because he thought it was a good knife and so far it was the only one that worked on his nails.
Slowly, he drew the knife across the palm of his hand, hissing slightly at the pain but otherwise not flinching. Jimmy watched, wide-eyed with amazement, as the skin bled for a moment and then began to close, sealing the wound together until it was as smooth as it was before the knife had bit into it. Jimmy reached forward and grabbed the hand, inspecting it closely. Victor shifted slightly under the scrutiny, uncomfortable with the boy so close. His scent was overpowering now and the smell bothered Victor as he still had not been able to figure out why it seemed so familiar.
"How do you do that?" Jimmy asked, looking up at Victor curiously.
"I just can, that's all," Victor said gruffly, pulling his hand away and standing up, shoving the knife back into his belt. "I should leave," he added, glancing at the door. "Your father wouldn't be very happy if he knew I was still here."
"Alright," Jimmy said, sounding disappointed. He leaned back onto his pillows and watched Victor as the older boy picked up the fire poker and shoved a woodchip further into the flames. He set the poker back slowly, his fingers lingering on the iron handle for a few seconds before he turned away and headed to the door.
"Victor," Jimmy said suddenly, sitting up again.
"Go to sleep, Jimmy," Victor scolded, not looking back as he grabbed the doorknob and began to swing the door closed behind him.
"Tomorrow," Jimmy went on, ignoring Victor's words. "Will you play with me?"
Victor hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the little seven-year-old, dwarfed by his bed and looking over at him with such a hopeful expression, Victor felt his own hardened one softening slightly.
"Sure," Victor said finally with an abrupt nod. With that he shut the door firmly behind him. Once he was outside he took a deep breath, letting out slowly. The scent was fainter and smelled now of Howlett and the Missus. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and turned to move down the stairs.
When he reached the bottom his father was standing by the door, waiting for him.
Thomas Logan scowled down at his son, shifting the ladder in his arms to a less awkward position.
"You're late," he growled. "We needed to be home by this time. I was going out with the other men, remember?"
Victor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he bit his tongue and nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground.
"What do you say to me?" Logan asked, stepping closer menacingly.
"Sorry, sir," Victor said with as much contempt as he could, looking up to frown into the man's face.
"Get moving. If you're lucky they won't have left yet."
Victor followed after his father, clenching his hands tightly. He flinched when his nails pierced his skin. He looked down at them with another frown. They had grown at least an inch since he had last filed them, and that had been just before entering Jimmy's room. He would have to cut them again as soon as he got home, he realized with a sigh. The nails were so hard, it was painful to cut them down, but he knew he had to. If he did not, he would be punished, for they were noticeable. And no one was to know that Thomas Logan's son was a freak. Not if the man had anything to do about it.
Just before he crossed the threshold of the house, Victor glanced up at the balcony. Up the stairs and down the hall was Jimmy's room. The one person Victor could stand to be around was probably sleeping peacefully by now, while Victor had a nightmare ahead of him. Another pit of jealousy burned in Victor's stomach as he closed up the doors of the Manor and hurried after his father. Jimmy could sleep because he knew he had a father and mother who loved him and would be there to protect him no matter what.
Victor envied the Howlett boy and wanted to hate him for the things he had that Victor could never attain. But he knew he never could, not now at least. Not when he needed him so much.
End of chapter 2! Boy is it weird having chapters so short! Review and tell me what you think! =D
