I am not dead yet – and neither is this story.
OOO
It was bad enough that Luciana was coming and worse that she caught him unawares. Giovanni had a difficult time working himself up to telling the boys that there would be another presence in the house and felt even worse when he saw their reactions. Erik did not exhibit any signs of disturbance, at least not publicly, but Raoul had taken to staying as near to Erik as possible, as though he was guarding him in some fashion.
"You must go to school," Erik sighed as he examined the mason's tools. "Otherwise you will fall behind."
"I'd rather watch you cutting the stones," he whined, kicking his bare feet in the air restlessly.
"No Raoul. First of all, it's no place for a child. Second, Giovanni has gone to great expense to see that you get an education. Don't be ungrateful."
"If he cares so much, why is he bringing in something else?"
"Do not judge her before you meet her," he replied carefully, trying to mask his own anxiety.
"She's a girl," Raoul snapped, as if that ended that.
"Go to school," Erik said in his Voice, and Raoul slid off the bench and went inside the house to clean up.
From inside the house, Giovanni looked through the window and into the yard in the back where Erik was working on a project for Raoul, surprisingly elaborate for the adolescent's age. It was to be a fountain that, when finished, would combine Raoul's two favorite stories from the old book of Greek myths that Giovanni kept in his library, the stories of Persephone and Ganymede. His inward marveling at Erik's skill was cut short when Raoul came in, slamming the door.
"Be careful, Raoul," he gently admonished, knowing that if Raoul listened it was more likely because Erik had told him to obey than out of any affection. The boy had become noticeably colder since the announcement of Luciana's arrival.
The next day brought news worse than Luciana's homecoming; she arrived early with no time for any of them to get prepared.
She arrived at the house while Giovanni and Erik were hovering outside of the door, waiting as ever for Raoul to finish getting ready, always slightly tardy despite their admonishments that he hurry. When they heard the sound of the carriage rolling up, Giovanni's head turned and Erik instinctively sank back into the shadows at the side of the house, unable to keep his nervousness totally in check.
He swallowed heavily as she prattled excuses to her father about why she was arriving early. Then the moment he dreaded came all too soon and her eyes fixed on him. Sensing her curiosity, Giovanni gestured towards the boy.
"Luciana, this is Erik, an apprentice of mine. Erik, my youngest daughter, Luciana."
Unsure, Erik took a tentative step forward. The two did not have an opportunity for further acquaintance; a voice from the door interrupted them.
"So you're Luciana," came a child's treble. The girl turned to find herself confronted with a penetrating blue gaze that only confirmed what the voice implied. It was a tone both threatened and belligerent.
In that moment, Erik realized that no amount of affection or schooling or guidance was likely to utterly erase the semi-feral personality Raoul had developed in their time as vagrants. Civility was a veneer beneath which was a young man who solved problems through violence and relied on instinct to guide him, however base or primal its judgments were.
At his side, the boy's hand twitched and Erik's heart grew cold. Then the moment passed like a cloud over the sun. Raoul came down the steps and brushed past her.
"Come along," he said haughtily, pulling Erik by the hand towards the carriage and away from her. "Or you will make us late for Mass."
Luciana stood silently for a moment, and Giovanni noticed both her subtle fixation with Erik and her ignorance regarding Raoul.
"Who is he?" She asked, and Giovanni did not need to inquire which 'he' she meant.
Something dreadful had been set into motion and he could only anticipate with a vague sense of terror how everything would resolve.
OOO
Erik stared resolutely at his plate, neither eating nor looking at any of the others at the table. Their dog, Sasha (named for his beloved first pet) lay across his feet and he considered slipping her some of the food. It would probably be too cruel, he thought. He did not say so, aloud, however.
Raoul had no such reservations. The minute she'd set the plate of what was presumably chicken in front of him, he'd turned it over onto the carpet. Giovanni had stopped in mid-forkful, Luciana had grown red and Erik sat, still as a stone, praying for everything to be over.
"I spent all day on that!" She screeched.
"I'm not eating it. It's disgusting. It looks like vomit."
"You will eat it! You will! I did not work for nothing!"
"You can't make me!"
"Father, make him!"
"Luciana…"
"He doesn't want to eat it either. Nobody does."
"Erik will eat it!" Erik felt himself blush under the mask, fearing the attention.
"No he won't," Raoul snapped. "And he won't make me eat it. Look, it's still on the floor. Even Sasha knows better than to eat that mess!"
Luciana was clutching the back of her chair, trembling with rage as Raoul looked at her with a stony glare. With a swift motion, she dashed the chair to the floor and stomped over to the boy, meaning to strike him. Raoul's arm, quick as a dart, snatched his fork, making ready for whatever came. Fortunately for one or both, Giovanni stood before she reached him and held them apart.
"Settle down the both of you," he admonished gruffly. "And neither of you will be eating. You will both be going to your rooms without supper. And will be doing so every night until you learn how to behave yourselves at the table."
Luciana burst into tears and ran off to her room. Raoul lingered a moment longer and stared at Giovanni, as if he were trying to find something in the man's eyes. It was disconcerting to the architect and he reiterated his command.
"Go!"
Glancing sideways at Erik, Raoul saw him give a nearly imperceptible nod and then went quietly without further complaint. Once they were gone, Erik stood and began gathering the plates and taking them into the kitchen.
"I'll make you something," he said apologetically.
"You cannot make amends for Raoul's behavior, Erik," Giovanni said in a gentler tone, but did not stop him from clearing the table.
"You are getting older. You should not have to deal with… with this," he said, frustrated.
"You are young. You should not have to either. I know you are skilled Erik. But you are not a man; and it is not your place to assume a man's responsibilities."
Erik fell silent and went about preparing a simple dish of pasta. When he was finished, he served it, ate as quickly as possible, then retreated to his bedroom with Raoul. He had been, Giovanni noticed, doing that more of late; he would retreat to his room instantly without a word and stay there until called for dinner. Even then he was reluctant to come down.
Raoul, however, had become more petulant and disruptive than ever. Yet behind the boy's wild behavior there seemed to be something of a purpose, a method to his madness. It was undeniable that Raoul had disliked the girl even before she set foot inside the mansion. However, his acting out seemed to be motivated by more than simply enmity. He had become something of a twisted Luciana, demanding attention with bouts of violence the way that she commanded it through her ailments and pleadings.
Each fight was an opportunity to distract her and deflect attention away from Erik. Each battle was a change to malign her, to demonstrate her inadequacies by mocking her and pulling her down to his level, a boy six years her junior. In her idleness she might ponder the mystery that was Erik, but it was difficult to do so when be continually baited into arguments.
Anger at Raoul, Giovanni realized, was a diversion from fascination with Erik. Or so he assumed; and he was not altogether incorrect.
As Raoul lay beneath the covers and listened to Erik come in, he suppressed the hunger he felt as another concern began to creep over him. Luciana was a brat; but she was not without beauty. Her dark hair fell in perfect waves which Raoul fantasized about cutting off, just to spite her. It would be so easy to accomplish; he'd planned it out. She never locked her door, so all he would have to do was to sneak into the room at night and carefully hack it off, chop away silky chunks until there was nothing left but misshapen tufts. It was long enough that he could probably lift it off the pillow without her feeling anything. By the time she did there would be nothing left. Then he would burn it in her fireplace so that she would wake to the stench.
She would probably cry, he thought with a satisfied grin.
As if he could read Raoul's thoughts, Erik reached over and touched the boy's shoulder. Raoul flopped over to face him.
"Yes?"
"You shouldn't behave so, Raoul. She is his daughter. His legitimate daughter," he emphasized softly.
The boy scoffed.
"Don't be stupid Erik. She's useless. You are what he wants. You are skilled and smart, you are his apprentice, you listen to him…"
"He loves her."
"And he doesn't love you?" Raoul challenged. A moment of silence passed and Raoul frowned. "You're wearing your mask, Erik. In our room."
"I know. I'm sorry. It's just…"
"Just what?" He asked in an injured tone. "Are you afraid she will come in? Afraid she will see you, that she'll scream?" Raoul demanded. "So what? You know she will. They always so, they're all the same; they're all dumb. Why hide? Will you hide from me to make her happy?"
Erik gazed at him painfully for a moment and then turned away.
"You are a child. You don't understand," he whispered. Then he stood and went to his own bed and blew out the candle.
In the darkness Raoul twisted the pillow angrily beneath his hands and cried hot, silent tears of impotent rage. He could not understand the illogic of Erik's attitude and the more he thought about the girl, the more her very image infuriated him. She was going to cause Erik pain before it was all over and for some reason he was too foolish to avoid it altogether. Worst of all was the dawning realization that there were needs for relationships which he could not fulfill for Erik. It had happened once already with the introduction of Giovanni into their lives. He had not taken them away from each other, however; he was tolerated because he provided a haven for them.
Luciana, however, was a destructive force that had the potential to pull them apart. Raoul's abhorrence for the girl ran so deeply that he could never reconcile the idea of Erik having any sort of connection to her which would be tolerable. It was either him or her.
The greatest fear came from the fact that he did not know for sure which Erik would choose if forced to pick.
On his side of the room, Erik was in an equal amount of turmoil, trying desperately to bury the wrenching feelings he felt whenever he saw the girl. Even Raoul's disruptive behavior could not draw his attention away entirely, and sometimes only served to mortify him more. He realized he was treading on familiar territory; the past had taught him to only expect rejection and Raoul reminded him of such at every opportunity. Women were faithless, fickle creatures, easily frightened and easily manipulated.
He bit his lip so hard it bled; he wished she would go away but found he could not make a move to encourage her to do so.
Down the hall, in his bedroom, Giovanni looked out of the window and wondered when the storm would break and whether he could stir himself to action before it did or if he would be a dumb spectator, watching the tragedy play itself out to completion.
OOO
Thank you once again for reading. Reviews are always appreciated, doubly so if they are constructive.