Hey there!
I'll be honest, I debated whether I was ready to start posting this story. I have just under 40k words written but only three complete chapters at the start (very much avoiding writing The End tbh) so unfortunately I can't promise regular uploads for very long before we slip into 'as and when' territory once again. But I know lots of people are just as excited as I am to continue making progress through this series. On the more selfish side, I do enjoy interacting with you all through reviews and they offer a lot of motivation for me to keep writing, so I'm hoping that putting this out into the world gives me more of a push to work on it more consistently. I'm hoping this will not take as long to finish as Double or Nothing; I've got into a good daily writing habit which will hopefully help, since part of the reason DoN took so long was that I would just stop writing for months at a time. Fingers crossed we avoid that this time around!
On that note, I hope you enjoy these first few chapters. I really liked doing the third person flashback for the prologue in DoN so I'm making that a running thread through the rest, and we'll jump back into Bella's story in Chapter 1 this weekend.
And now I have definitely rambled enough for one Author's Note, so let's get to it!
Prologue: The Prodigal
September 13th, 1932
The wind tugged gently at her hair as she walked up the path towards the house, carrying with it the scent of smoke and slowly rotting leaves that heralded early autumn. The sky was blanketed with soft grey clouds, none of them heavy enough to threaten rain, so she felt safe taking her time. Her basket hung from the crook of her elbow and bounced gently against her hip, the weight of the bolts of fabric inside of no consequence to her. She smiled, remembering the haberdasher's raised eyebrow when she had said it was her father who was going to use the thick brocade to make new curtains. The world had changed so much since her human years, but some things were still just the same as always.
The last few years had been more difficult, it had to be said. Her mother and father had done everything they could to keep things business as usual, but none of them could long ignore the glaring absence of their missing fourth family member.
Her brother's departure, though nearly five years ago now, still stung as keenly as it had on the day that he left. The curse of having a perfect memory was that she could still recall with absolute clarity the look of frustration on his face as they all struggled to understand his reasons for leaving, the sadness in their father's eyes, and the way their mother had held her sorrow back until after he was gone, calm acceptance crumbling into utter despair as soon as the door slammed shut behind him.
As for how she herself had felt about it... well, that was a rather complicated matter. In all honesty, a part of her could understand where he was coming from. She too had felt curiosity about how the others lived, especially after that chance meeting with Siobhan back in 1920. The woman had seemed so calm and contained, not all that different from Carine in her mannerisms, and anyone their mother so clearly approved of surely couldn't be too bad. She certainly didn't seem like the wild wraiths of the sewers from Carine's old stories; by all appearances, Siobhan was just like them.
There was the obvious cosmetic difference, of course – her eyes. When she had been new, the blazing crimson of her own irises had frightened her every time she passed a mirror for months. Siobhan's shade of red was deeper, more muted, and almost seemed to suit her in an odd, undefinable way. Yet to imagine those eyes in her own face... in her brother's... no. There was something fundamentally wrong about that image.
But that would be his truth now, wherever he was. He would have those red eyes, assuming he had followed through with his plans. Was he still only trying out that other way, or was he firmly entrenched in it? Was it simply a means for survival, or had he begun to enjoy the slaughter? When she thought about the shrouded, mysterious, bloodthirsty 'others', was she also thinking of him?
She knew it was useless to waste time on all these questions that she would never get answers to, but without him here to listen in, she had no reason not to let her thoughts wander. It had admittedly been nice not to have to worry about what he could overhear from her mind, to have a little privacy for the first time in almost a decade. Yet she knew she would trade that in a blink of an eye to have him here with her again, irritating invasiveness be damned.
She sighed; her brief good mood had evaporated, replaced by the malaise that she tried to keep contained, especially when her parents were around. They were all doing that – pretending that everything was normal, hiding their own suffering in the hopes of easing everyone else's. It seemed a little ridiculous when she thought too hard on it. Surely it would be better to all fall apart together, then pick up the pieces and rebuild, rather than try to maintain the shaky balance of wreckage they were keeping in ever more precarious suspension between them.
Home wasn't far away now; she could see the peak of the roof and the curl of smoke from the chimney just up the lane. She had to get herself under control so she could convincingly hold up her end of the wreck once again. It was hard to distract someone with almost infinite mental capacity, but she tried to find other places to direct her attention and modulate her mood. She put all her focus into checking the purchases in her basket were still there, although she knew she hadn't dropped a thing, then counting her change, even though she'd already done it and could tell from the weight of her pocketbook that it was all there. She moved carefully around a few puddles left over from yesterday's rainstorm, concentrating on keeping her brown leather shoes spotless despite the fact that their road was essentially a dirt track. She swished her skirt around her legs gently as she walked, feeling the soft brush of the fabric against her nylon stockings, and imagining the scandalised looks that would have surely been on her birth parents' faces were they able to see how much of her leg she was showing. It was still a modest outfit, not even exposing her knees, but to people raised in the age of corsets and bustles, it would be a massive departure from what they found acceptable. Thank goodness all those horrible underpinnings had gone the way of the dinosaurs; she had always hated putting them on, feeling as if she were being caged into her own body with every tug of string and press of boning.
Her distraction techniques actually worked, so well in fact that at first, she didn't notice the figure appear in the lane ahead of her. When she did register his presence, she stopped dead. Her basket hit the ground with a thunk that she barely heeded. The man was still a good thirty feet away from her, coming towards the house from the other direction, but her keen eyes easily picked out every detail of his form, and she heard his voice as clearly as if he had been stood right next to her.
"Hello, Edythe."
At first, she just stared at him, almost unable to process what she was seeing. Then she was running, flying down the lane as fast as she could without any thought of mud. Her body collided with his with a boom that was probably going to cause concern amongst some of the local farmers, but she didn't care about that at the moment. They tumbled to the ground as she roared with rage and began pummelling him, her little white fists connecting with any spot they could reach. All the frustration, anger, stress, and sorrow that she'd been unable to truly let out over the last five years went into those hits, and though she knew she couldn't really injure him, she hoped to God it hurt.
For his part, he didn't fight her. He didn't even raise his arms to defend himself, letting her wail on him uninterrupted and unprotected. She was making sounds that she was sure she wanted to be words – admonishments, accusation, insults – but nothing was coming out coherently.
Eventually, the sounds changed from garbled abuse to heavy sobs. Her blows gradually lost their weight and finally stopped altogether, so that at last she was not hitting him but holding him, crying without tears into his chest. When she had lain for a whole minute without another strike, he seemed to feel safe enough to put his arms around her in turn.
"I missed you too," he murmured, his voice thick but touched with that same old sarcastic amusement.
She punched him in the gut once more for good measure, and he laughed.
"At the risk of igniting your ire again," he said, running a soothing hand down her back as if to try and stave off such an occurrence, "do you mind if we take this reunion somewhere less muddy? I think the jacket might be done for, but there's still hope for the rest of my clothes."
She clambered dutifully to her feet, pulling him up despite the fact that he had no need of her assistance. Once they were both upright, he immediately drew her back into his arms.
"Ah, yes," he sighed approvingly. "Much better."
She nodded against his chest, her throat still too thick for speech. Distantly, she heard the front door of the house click open, then her father's voice.
"Edythe? Did I hear- Carine! Darling, he's home!"
Within moments, both their parents had emerged from the house, hurrying down the garden path and up the small stretch of the lane that stood between them and the gate. Her brother didn't release her but shifted her so she was held against his side; when she looked up at his face, she saw apprehension beginning to form in his eyes, his jaw stiff with nervous tension. As their mother came to a stop facing him, he looked down at the ground in shame. Only now did she fully register the colour of his irises – dark but not quite black, as if he had gone some time since feeding but was not yet at his limits, with an orange tint like burnt amber. It was a shade she remembered from her own reflection, from the days of those early months when newborn red began shifting towards comforting warm gold. They were the eyes of someone making the change from human to animal blood – and doing it well.
Despite his clear trepidation, he spoke first. "Carine… I'm sorry. I know… I know I may not deserve your forgiveness, but… I'd like the chance to earn it. I'd like to come home, if you'll have me."
Their mother's expression shifted from one of wary surprise to a warm smile before he had even finished speaking. Stepping in closer, she gently placed her hands on his cheeks and guided his face up slightly to meet her gaze.
"There has never been any question of that," she murmured, certainty ringing in every word. "You have nothing to prove, my son. Welcome home."
Their mother pulled him in, not in the least stymied by the fact that he still had not let go of her. Indeed, she was drawn into the embrace along with him, and then their father's arms encircled them all as he joined them. At long last, their family was complete once more, and she felt certain in her heart that so long as that was true, there was nothing that they could not face.
As long as they were together, anything was possible.
