This chapter got a lot bigger than I thought it'd be, but I'm honestly pretty proud of it. I hope you all enjoy it, and that it was worth the wait.

Happy 2025, everybody! And now, without further ado, onto the fic!

June 9th, Six and a Half Years Ago III

We'd been in front of the elementary school for less than one minute before my little brother saw us. He ignored the exasperated yell of a woman—his teacher, I'm guessing—telling him to be careful as he ran down the sidewalk. She was right to yell. The kid had his shoelaces untied and was one wrong step from face-planting. That didn't stop him from running so fast that his pentacle necklace bounced against his chest.

I felt for the metal under my own t-shirt. My fingers traced the shape of the necklace through the fabric, and it helped me resist rubbing the small burn on my neck. It didn't hurt as much, but there was still a lingering ache surrounding it. I'd brushed my hair to make sure it was covered, but that also made the skin around the burn prickle. It was uncomfortable, but something I could push through, at least until we got to the motel.

I knew that I was going to have to explain the burn to Harry, especially with how stubborn he is. But at least this way I could, hopefully, do it later. After I could down another liter of water and wait for this damn headache to fade away.

"Hi, Dad! Hi, Thomas!" Harry greeted us the moment he swung himself into the car. "School was good, lunch was gross, and I didn't get in trouble today. Let's gooo!"

I winced.

Okay. So it looked like the headache wouldn't be fading away for a while.

"Whoa, slow down, son," Dad chuckled. He twisted around in his seat to look at Harry, and to make sure the kid had properly shut the car door. "What's got you in such a rush?"

"It's Friday! Which means no school tomorrooow!" Harry cheered, with all the force and energy of a kid hyped on a sugar rush. He leaned forward in his seat, just enough to see the box on my legs, and gasped. "Did you guys get donuts?"

"Yep," I said, trying to keep the hoarseness of my voice to a minimum. "And I'm starting to regret it."

I don't know if it was because I succeeded in making my voice sound normal, or because of the box of donuts on my lap. Either way, Harry ignored my obviously creaky voice in favor of pointing at the box and saying, "Can I have one?"

"They're for after dinner," Dad said, pulling us onto the road. "Alright, put on your seatbelt."

"But can I have one now?" Harry insisted.

Dad sighed. "Harry. Seatbelt."

Harry groaned. But he did reach back and pull on his seatbelt. Once it was on however, he leaned forward as far back as he could and pointed at the box again. "Dad, you didn't answer my question! Can I have one now?"

"After dinner," Dad repeated.

"Just one." Harry pressed his hands together and stared up at Dad. "Please. Pretty, pretty, pretty please?"

Dad sighed again. "Ask your brother. He's the one who got them for you."

"Really?" Harry said. And he, with hope in his eyes, turned to me. "Can I have one now, Thomas? Pleeease?"

"What do I get out of this?"

"Mmm. I won't jump on your bed tonight!"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Come on. I really won't. Promise!" He pressed his hands together again and said, as if he were a starving soul begging for a single piece of bread, "Pleeease?"

Maybe it was the headache, making my brain feel foggy. Maybe it was the exhaustion I still felt from literally breaking down an hour ago. Or maybe it was the fact that, when my brother asks nicely instead of kicking the back of my seat, I'm more likely to actually give him what he wants.

"One," I said.

Harry pumped his arms in the air. "Yesss!" he cheered.

I opened the box and twisted around so Harry could reach inside. The donuts were colorful, with an array of flavors, toppings, and designs that made it look like a drawing from a kid's coloring book. "This one and this one are mine," I said, pointing to strawberry and chocolate donuts in the corner.. "You can pick from the rest."

"I'll take this one!" Harry lunged forward and snatched a donut from the middle. Probably because it was made to look like a s'more, with a giant marshmallow on top and everything.

"What do we say, Harry?" Dad said.

"Thank you, Thomas," Harry droned.

"Good," Dad said. "And try to keep the car clea—"

"Mmm!" Harry cried. He bounced in his seat, and his eyes were as big as the donut in his hand. "Dad, this is so good! Look! The marshmallow's all gooey on top!"

"I believe you, son." As I closed the box and placed it back on my lap, Dad reached backward and held out his hand. "Let me have a taste."

"Nuh-uh," Harry said. "It's my donut! Thomas got them for me!"

"Yeah, but I'm your dad, which means I get a dad tax. Come on, pass it over."

Harry groaned, but did, in fact, pass the donut. He groaned even more when Dad took a big bite that dug into the giant marshmallow.

"Stop pouting," I said, reaching back to ruffle Harry's hair. "You've got a whole box to devour after dinner."

"Or," Dad chimed in between mouthfuls of donut, "you could save some of those donuts for breakfast tomorrow."

"Mmm. We'll see," Harry said innocently. He took the donut back from Dad, but before he took another bite, he looked over at me and grinned.

"Thanks, Thomas!" he said. Unprompted.

I was tired, the burn on my neck still ached, and my voice was killing me. But for a second, I didn't notice any of that. I just smiled at Harry and said, "No problem, little brother."

When I was a kid, watching my mom's stomach grow like a balloon, Dad sat me down and gave me a full rundown on what to expect when I became a big brother. I think that Mom was in another room, taking a nap after spending the day on her feet. Dad—back when I still called him Malcolm—wanted to talk to me so I'd be prepared. He said it would be a big shift in the way we lived our lives, and he wanted to make sure I knew exactly what that meant. Probably so I wouldn't explode or start to hate a literal baby for waking me up in the middle of the night.

The baby would be crying, Dad said. The baby would be crying a lot. And he'd need lots of attention. It's not because I didn't matter anymore, but because babies don't know how to do anything themselves, and they need lots of help. That's why Mom would have to spend lots of time with them, making sure the baby was clean and fed. I wasn't happy about that, but then Dad told me that I'd be able to help Mom by bringing her whatever she needed for the baby. It made me feel like a big kid.

Mom died in the delivery room. The last I saw of her, she was being wheeled out of the ambulance. And, as far as I know, she didn't even get a chance to hold Harry.

It was rough after that. I was an eight-year-old grieving his mother, Dad was suddenly a single parent, and Harry was a confused, wailing newborn. I don't remember much from back then, but I vaguely remember trying to help out. To be the big kid I would've been for Mom. But even as I brought Dad wipes and clothes to help clean whatever mess the baby had made, I couldn't help but wish that Mom had been there instead of my step-dad.

It took me a long time to accept Dad as, well, my dad. But all it took was him putting the baby in my arms to accept Harry as my little brother. The days after his birth may be a blur, but I still remember the day I met him. Harry—he was so light and little, and all I wanted to do was protect him. Protect him and tell him that Mom loves him.

That wasn't all that Dad prepared me for, though. He told me that my sibling and I would get on each other's nerves. That we'd eventually fight. He said that all these things were normal, even though it was still on me as the big brother to be responsible and keep fights to a minimum. I'm still not sure why Dad knew so much, considering he's an only child, but I guess years of performing at children's birthday parties gives you an insight into sibling dynamics.

He also said that Harry would push my buttons. A lot. It was a normal part of kids growing up, he said, especially when they were the younger sibling. As for how much he'd do it, that would depend on how the kid turned out. Personality wise, I mean. I asked Dad when we'd know, and he said it'd take a few years. At least until Harry was out of the toddler stage.

I didn't need to wait that long. I knew my brother would be a pain in the ass the day he stole my shoe, stuffed it into a trash can, and laughed.

He was ten months old. He hasn't changed much since then.

"Can I have this one?" Harry asked, pointing at the strawberry donut in the corner of the box.

"Thomas told you those are his," Dad reminded Harry. "In the car, remember?"

"Oh, he does," I said. "That's why he asked me if he could have it instead of grabbing it right away."

The three of us were back at the motel. The Red Flamingo isn't the sleaziest place we've stayed at, but it's definitely up there. I understand why most people stayed at the non-sketchy bed and breakfast hotel that was a couple of roads away, but we only had the money for an incorrectly colored flamingo.

The beds were old and creaky; the couch was sagging into the carpet; and the kitchen, which had a weird-smelling fridge and a single burner on the stovetop, looked like it hadn't been updated since the 50s. The only phone was in the main lobby, and the single saving grace of the whole place was the working tv.

I leaned back in my chair and polished off the last of my chocolate donut. Since getting back to the motel, Dad had spent most of the afternoon using the lobby's phone line trying to find another gig. He was there for so long that, when Harry asked me if I could drive us to the park, I actually said yes. I spent most of the time there leaning against a tree while Harry ran around with the other kids that were there, and by the end, my headache had faded enough for me to agree to a round of basketball with the kid.

I thought we'd given Dad enough time. But even though we came back to Dad cooking dinner, he told us he'd have to head out right after eating. That meant two things.

One, he hadn't found a gig yet. And two, I was gonna be in charge of babysitting Harry for the rest of the night.

To be honest, I wasn't sure which one was more worrying.

I reached for the box of donuts. Somehow, Dad had convinced Harry to save some for tomorrow, but the kid had already devoured half of the box. I reached for my other donut—a strawberry flavored one filled with cream and topped with multi-colored sprinkles—when a small hand launched itself across the table.

I snatched my donut and moved it a second before Harry tried to grab it.

"Nuh-uh-uh," I said. "This one's mine, which means you don't get to touch it."

Harry groaned. "Why not?"

"Because I bought it, that's why."

I moved the donut to my mouth. Harry, predictably, jumped over and tried to grab it again.

"Harry, settle down," Dad said. He was tapping his fingers against the table, a nervous tick of his. He was waiting to go and make the phone calls, but he was amused enough by Harry's antics to stay and watch.

"He won't, and you know it," I said.

"Can I have a bite?" Harry asked. Even as he was trying to climb onto my to get within reach of the donut.

"What do you think?" I said, using one arm to keep the dessert above my hair and the other to keep the brat at bay.

"I think… yes!" Harry did a massive jump toward my hand.

And missed.

As he pivoted away, I used the moment to take a big bite of the donut. Right in the kid's face.

Harry pouted.

"What?" I asked innocently. "Sad you lost to your big brother?"

Harry didn't reply. Instead, he leaned forward, and with both hands, messed up my hair.

"Ugh, get off!" I said. That little stunt had shoved my glasses down my nose and pulled my hair in front of my face. I rearranged them, you know, so I could actually see.

And that's when I felt something snatch the donut from my hand.

"Got it!" Harry cheered.

I paused for a moment.

"Harry," I said. Very, very slowly. "Give me the donut."

Harry, holding my half-eaten donut, giggled. "Or what?"

"Or you'll regret it." I held out my hand. "Give."

"Mmm. Nope!"

I pushed myself out of the chair. "Harry."

Behind me, Dad groaned. "Harry, listen to your brother.," he said. "He told you those are his, and you have to respect that. Remember that we talked about boundaries?"

Harry grinned. "Mmm. Maybe?"

"And remember that we talked about not antagonizing others?" Dad asked.

"What's antagonizing?" Harry asked innocently. "Oh! You mean doing stuff like… this?"

Harry stuck out his tongue. The hand that held my donut lowered itself until it was right next to the kid's open mouth.

I stopped moving three steps away from him. "Don't. You. Dare," I warned.

And Harry, while staring me straight in the eyes, licked the donut.

Dad sighed.

I leveled a hard gaze at my brother. "You're dead, brat."

Harry shrieked and sprinted toward the door. He may be fast, but I was bigger. All it took was me jumping over the couch to reach him and yank him off the ground.

"Aaah!" Harry yelled as I grabbed his torso with one arm and his legs with the other. He didn't even bother to try to keep hold of the donut, and he let it drop to the floor. "Dad! Help me!"

Dad shook his head. "You know there are consequences to your actions, son."

Dad stood up and threw the donut in the trash. While he did that, I rearranged Harry so that I could hold him upside down, while keeping a tight grip on him so he couldn't kick me in the head. The position made the cuffs of his jeans fall down, revealing a twine ankle bracelet our grandfather sent him when Harry turned nine. All the while, Harry was laughing and screaming. He knew he was in for it, and somehow, the kid still found it funny.

"I'll be back soon," Dad said. He looked us up and down. "You got him?"

I sighed, but nodded.

Little brothers, man.

I smiled to myself as Harry grumbled and complained. After making him hang upside down until I was genuinely worried he'd hurl, not only did I haul my brother to the couch, I also was able to pin him down pretty easily. He was planted face-first into the couch cushions, with my hand holding his arms behind his back, and his legs trapped under mine.

Had Harry learned his lesson? No. Was he sorry? Also no. So was this overkill? Nope. And even if he was sorry, I would've pinned him to the couch anyway.

If you're wondering why, it's because I'm the big brother, and sometimes, big brother's get to make the rules.

"Agh!" Harry yelled. "Get off of me, Four-eyes!"

"Wow, real original, Harry," I say, not taking my eyes off the tv. "From other kids, I'd expect that. But from you, I expected more. Looks like all that sugar shut off your brain."

"Hey! My brain still works! That's why I'm talking to you!"

"Sorry. It shut off all the smart parts of your brain."

Harry groaned and shoved his face into the couch again. "Can you at least put on something good?"

I considered it. I'd turned the tv onto a random news channel, where they were talking about a scam at a bunch of retirement homes across the state. The people there were getting their money stolen by a group pretending to be their grandkids, and the loss of their money had left a lot of them in pretty deep shock. It wasn't the most family-friendly thing to put on, but it was the news. And if there's one thing that nine-year-olds hate watching, it's the news. Even if it is about old people getting their money stolen.

"Nah, I think I'll leave it on," I said. "Watching the news is good for kids. If you watch enough of it, maybe you'll become smart enough to know not to mess with your brother."

Harry wriggled, trying to get free. "I'll show. Ugh. You not to mess with. Ugh. Your brother!" He really tried, but with how I pinned down, he just looked like a trapped worm.

"It'll take a few years before I can believe that," I said.

Harry huffed. "Are you being mean just because you had one of your 'migraines'?"

My body went still.

"You know about those?" I asked.

Harry, as best he could, shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah?"

"Okay. Let me rephrase that. How do you know about those?"

Harry shrugged again.

I sighed. "If you tell me, I'll let you up."

"How do I know you will?" he goaded.

"Harry," I said. "This is serious. And I think you know it."

Harry shifted. It took some effort, but he managed to peer up at me from his spot on the couch. "I… Might've heard you and Dad talk about it last month?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Shit.

The incident Harry was talking about happened in another town. I was out on my own, looking around the main general store. I may enjoy spending time with my family, but I'm 18, and sometimes I really need some time to myself. I was looking at the sodas when a bunch of girls my age walked in, smelling of a strong perfume that they were excited about finding at the tiny strip mall. Something about it set off my Hunger, and I had to use the store's phone to leave a message for Dad at the motel.

It was bad. Bad enough that I had to run to an abandoned storefront ten streets over; our designation meet-up point if I could feel my Hunger fighting to come out. Harry was supposed to have been in the station wagon, where Dad had parked around the corner while he checked in on me at the rundown store. When he showed up, I had enough control over my Hunger to get back in the car, and Harry didn't even ask why they were picking me up. At the time, I thought it was because he assumed that's the time Dad was always supposed to come get me.

I didn't even think that he'd snuck out of the car.

"You never know when to stay put, do you?" I shifted and let go of Harry's wrist. "You know those rules are to keep you safe."

"Yeah…" Harry said. He shuffled and pulled himself into a cross-legged position on the couch. "But Dad was worried, and I got worried, and it reminded me—" He stopped himself and looked away.

Subconsciously, I reached up and rubbed my necklace through my shirt. "It reminded you of that night."

Harry nodded.

A pang of guilt rolled through me. It had been years since that night with Ferrin; when my cousin crossed a line, and was unfortunate enough to do it when Lara had come for a surprise visit.

The series of events that followed changed a lot of things for me. My cousin died, my grandfather killed him, we almost lost Dad, and I… I learned that I was a vampire. Well, at least that I will be, eventually.

In the span of 24 hours, my entire life got flipped on its head. But I still believe it was worse for Harry. I was 14 then. But Harry—he was just six. He was six years old when I begged his dad to kill me, right before we watched him get kidnapped by my crazy cousin and a goddamn ogre.

It's been over three years, and I still feel guilty about it. I never wanted to scare him that much, so hearing this, my 'migraines', reminded Harry of that night… It made that guilt seep right through me again.

After that night, there were a lot less secrets. There are still a few things we keep from Harry, mostly because he's a kid, and there are some things he wouldn't understand even if we tried to explain it to him. For years, my 'migraines' were one of those things.

But if Harry was asking about them, then I think it meant he was old enough to actually talk about it.

I turned off the tv. "Do you know what the 'migraines' mean?" I asked.

Harry shifted on the couch. "That… That you might Turn. That you might turn into a vampire and… and go away."

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah. That's exactly it."

"But why would you have to go away?" Harry asked. "I thought you didn't have to become a vampire if you find your true love!"

I took a deep breath. "Supposedly, yeah. But Harry, finding true love isn't easy."

"Dad did," Harry said. "With Mom!"

"Yeah. And Dad was lucky," I replied. "Think of all the places we've been to. All the states, towns. I haven't found anyone, Harry. And at this rate… Those 'migraines'… My Hunger… With how it's been growing, soon enough, it's gonna get too strong for me to handle."

Harry looked at me skeptically. "But… But you're strong! Can't you handle it?"

"I'm trying."

"Have you even been looking for your true love?"

"I'm offended you think I haven't."

"But—"

"I know," I said. I crossed my legs and twisted around to face Harry. "Harry, I don't want this to happen."

"Then don't let it!" Harry said.

"I'm trying!" I yelled.

Harry froze. His eyes went wide.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. "I'm sorry for yelling," I said, in a much calmer voice. "I shouldn't have done that."

Harry nodded. He fiddled with the cuffs with jeans. "I'm sorry for anta—antagoni—antagonzo?"

"Antagonizing?"

"Yeah. Sorry for… an-ta-gon-iz-ing you. Again."

I smiled and ruffled his hair. Harry chuckled and batted my hand away, but that still left questions in the air.

Why couldn't I stop my Hunger? And how was I supposed to explain that to Harry?

Unlike me, Dad actually believed I'd be able to avoid the Turn. All I had to do was find true love, but I hadn't been lying to Harry when I said I'd tried. I talked to people in every new school I went to. I floated around clubs I had no interest in. Dad even let me go to late-night parties that most parents wouldn't dream of letting their teenage kids near, just so I could have the best chance of finding someone I could actually fall in love with.

None of it worked. Best case scenario, I just didn't feel a connection with anyone. Worst case scenario, my Hunger would trigger, and I'd have to run before it could take over. It's the reason I've only kissed two people since I turned 15, even when I've wanted so much more.

Dad believes I won't turn. But I can't tell Harry that. Not in good conscience, when I know otherwise. Vampires of the White Court are controlled by Lord Raith, and I know that he'll make sure I turn. I have no idea how, but he's the man who—somehow—controlled Mom. My mom. And if he could control her…

Oh.

I know how to explain this now.

I reached into my shirt with my fingers. I brushed the burn on my neck, and I avoided hissing as I pulled my necklace out. The five-point pentacle, identical to the one hanging around Harry's neck, was cool to the touch.

"You remember what we told you about my dad?" I asked Harry.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I know because Dad's your dad. Duh."

"You know what I mean," I said. "Come on, you're smart."

Harry bit his lip. "Your other dad. The one who hurt Mom before I was born."

"Yeah." I traced the pentacle with my thumb, and I smiled as an image of Mom came to mind. "And you also know the stories about Mom."

"Of course I do!" Harry cheered. He took hold of his own necklace and looked at it. "She could make waves of fire. Breathe underwater. Make lights in the sky, and make her voice as loud as a stadium speaker!"

I grinned. "That's right. She could." But just as fast as it came, my smile faded. "Now imagine her. Strong, powerful, brave. And think of how powerful someone else has to be to hurt her."

Harry gulped. His fingers tightened themselves around his pentacle.

"That man… he gave me this Hunger," I said. "I'm fighting it. I swear I am, Harry, but it's strong. It's strong because my other dad made it strong."

"And he was strong enough to hurt Mom," Harry whispered.

"He did."

"And… he's a monster?"

"Yeah. He is."

"But you're not a monster!" Harry said "So! So you don't have to go away!"

"No. Not yet," I said. "But I will someday."

Harry pouted. He let go of the necklace, letting it bounce onto his chest. "I still don't get why."

"Because when I'm a vampire, things'll get dangerous for me," I said, still tracing the pentacle's pattern. "And I don't want them to get dangerous for you, too."

"Is your other dad gonna hurt you?" Harry asked. "Like… like he hurt Mom?"

"No," I said. "He will never hurt me like he hurt Mom."

Harry looked skeptical. "How do you know?"

Because if he does want to hurt me, I thought, he won't do it the same way he broke Mom.

Another thing I learned that night three years ago: Lord Raith controls his women. And not just his wives, but his daughters', too.

White Court vampires, they feed on others. Some, like Raith, use that to control and compel their victims. That's what he did to Mom, for years on years. I don't know how he could stomach that. Hurting Mom. I can't even imagine how he can stomach controlling his daughters.

But, for some reason, it's different with his sons. Because his sons he prefers dead.

So no, Lord Raith won't hurt me like he hurt my mother. But he will find a way to get me killed, all while keeping his hands clean until the very end.

I couldn't say all that to Harry. This was a hard enough conversation to have with anyone, much less a nine-year-old who didn't even understand what White Court vampires actually do. So instead, I straightened my back and said, with all the confidence I could find, "Because I won't let him."

"You swear?" Harry asked.

"I swear." I forced myself to smile. "And let's stop calling him my other dad."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because I don't want to. Like you said, Dad's my dad."

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "So what do I call, you know, the other guy?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess you could call him Lord Raith. That's what everyone else—"

"Oooh! Can I call him an evil idiot?" Harry asked with a grin. "Dad said I can't call you that, so I can call him that!"

"Sure. Let's call him the evil idiot."

"Sweet!" Harry cheered. But the excitement at the new nickname faded with his next question. "Thomas, if you need to go with the evil idiot, are you… gonna forget about me?"

My fingers froze around my necklace. "…Do you want me to?"

"No!" Harry said immediately, and relief rushed through my chest. "Do you want to?"

"Nope," I said. "So I won't."

"But how do you know you won't?" Harry asked.

I sighed. All the questions were making my head hurt again, and I wanted to get up and smack the stubbornness out of Harry. If he wasn't so obstinate, we would've finished this conversation ages ago.

But Harry's Harry. And when he wants answers, he damn well sure he gets them.

Letting go of my necklace, I reached out and raised Harry's chin with my finger. This bit, it was important, and I needed to make sure he heard me when I said it.

"Do you remember what I told you that night?" I said. "When we were in the station wagon, waiting for the wizard to come back with Dad?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I think."

"Well, I'm gonna tell it to you again. To make sure you remember," I said. "I told you that, no matter what happens—even if I have to go away—you are always going to be my little brother. And that means I will always remember you."

Harry smiled shyly. "Really?"

"'Til the day I die," I said. "Even if I turn into a monster."

"But you're not a monster," Harry pressed. "You're not evil. You're not mean. So you're not a monster. Even if you turn into a vampire."

"Vampires do monstrous things, Harry. That's how they survive."

"You can still be a good vampire," he said. "I can take you to school and tell everyone you'll drink their blood if they're not nice to me."

I laughed. "That's your definition of a good vampire?"

"Yeah!" Harry reached out and pushed my arm. "But you're not a vampire right now. Or a monster."

I smiled. "Right."

Harry nodded, and a familiar glint entered his eye. "Sooo… That means you can play with me!"

In a flash, Harry sprinted off the couch. I blinked, surprised and confused by the sudden change in mood, until my brother reached into the closet and pulled out a very familiar toy.

The Rock'em Sock'em Robots.

I sighed as Harry rushed back to the couch. The robots, a toy he gave to 'me' for Christmas three years ago, were so used that we had to duct tape the base together three times. The paint was chipped, the joysticks were wonky, and the blue robot's head was dented. And yet, it is still the toy he makes me play with more often than not.

"Presenting the one, the only, Harry Dresden! And his teammate, Red Rocket!" Harry set the game between us and raised his hands in the air. "Rah! Rah! The crowd goes wild!

"And in the other corner," he continued, "it's Thomas, with his teammate, Blue Bomber! Boo! Boo! The crowd boos!"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you have to do that every time?"

"Yep!" Harry jumped onto the cushion and placed his hands on the joysticks. "Let's play!"

I sighed, and still, put my hands on the joysticks.

We started playing. At this rate, I know this game inside and out. I even know how to play with a busted joystick, which made my robot's left punch lag. I also know all of Harry's tells. When he starts biting his cheek, it means he's going to play defensively. When he bounces up and down, he's gonna focus on the right-hand punches. And when he starts smiling, he's gonna go all-in on offense and mash the buttons.

It's a dumb game. There's not much you can do with it, and after three years, I am more than sick of it. But Harry thinks it's fun. And if this means I get a fun moment with my little brother, I'll take it. Without question.

One day, I'll become a vampire. That much I know. I don't know when, and don't know how, but if my kid brother can believe that I'll turn out alright… maybe I can believe that, too. Because even if I'm destined to become a vampire, then maybe I can be one of the good ones. A vampire who somehow isn't a monster.

How do you become a 'good vampire? I have no idea, much less how to become a good vampire of the White Court. But maybe part of it is doing what Lara does with me. After all, she doesn't have to go to the lengths she does for me: track me across the country, visit me once a while, and give me a monthly allowance that's sometimes bigger than Dad's whole paycheck. She's still a vampire, and maybe a monster, but not one I'd consider truly monstrous. I wouldn't call her 'good', but she's good to me. That's a starting point.

Another starting point would be to not kill an innocent girl when I eventually Turn. That sounds like a non-monsterish thing to do.

"Hey, Thomas," Harry said after a few rounds. "Sorry I licked your donut."

"You actually sorry about that?" I asked.

Harry didn't even try to hide his smile. "Maybe?"

I rolled my eyes. With a quick punch, my robot hit Harry's, making his Red Rocker freeze and pop upward in defeat.

"Uuuugh!" Harry droned. "Stop beating me!"

I laughed and crossed my arms. "You start playing better."

Harry reset his robot. "Again! Again!"

And before I could even get my hands on the joysticks again, Harry's Red Rocker sucker punched my Blue Bomber in the jaw.

"Yeees!" Harry raised his arms in victory and jumped up and down on the couch. "Harry! Blackstone! Copperfield! Dresden! Is! The! Winneeer!"

I motioned to my hands. "You didn't even let me grab the joysticks, brat."

"No one likes a sore loser, Thomas." Harry laughed and kept bouncing on the couch. "You're just sad I beat my dumb big brother at his own game."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrow. "So I'm… dumb?"

"Uuuh." Harry glanced around the room. "No?"

The moment I stood up from the couch, Harry jumped off of it. The kid rushed to sprint away from me, but though he's fast, I'm faster.

"Gotcha!" I said as I wrapped my arms around his torso. Harry wriggled and tried to kick himself loose, but I had him pinned on the floor before he could even dream of escaping.

"Thomas, come on! We can work something ouuut—!" His words turned into a burst of laughter as I tickled his sides. "Ah! Thom—Ha-ha-ha! Thomaaas!"

"Yeees?" I said. Now that I could make sure Harry wouldn't squirm away, I started tickling him with both sides. His laughter only got louder.

"Okay! Okay!" Harry yelled between giggles. "You're not duuumb!"

"Hmm. That's a good start." I kept tickling. "What else?"

"You're—Ha-ha!" Harry laughed. "You're gonna lose again when I get bigger!"

"Uh-huh? And how's that?"

"Be—Because. Ha-ha-ha! Because I'm gonna grow so big, I'm gonna—Ha! I'm gonna be so big you can never tickle me agaaain!"

I shook my head ruefully. Considering how tall Dad is, and with the rate Harry's growing, there's the unfortunately real chance that my little brother's gonna end up taller than me.

And yet…

"That's not gonna help you right now, little brother," I said. "So, anything else you wanna say?"

Harry's laughter was so loud it almost turned into screeching. "Yeees! You. Ha. Are. Dumb!"

Now it was my turn to laugh. I tickled him even harder, to the point where Harry was running out of breath from laughing so hard, until he finally agreed to never call me dumb "ever, ever again".

I bet you anything he'll forget about that promise in less than a week.

By the time Dad came back to the motel room, all of Harry's sugar-induced energy had drained out of him. I'd convinced him to settle down and watch a movie while we waited for Dad to come back, and the kid crashed within twenty minutes of me turning on the tv. He was sprawled across the couch, one arm hanging off the edge, and his upper body on top of my legs.

"I'm back," Dad said.

I craned my neck to look at him, but with how Harry was pinning me to the couch, the best I could was semi-glance his way. "Next time, you deal with the hyperactive brat," I said.

Dad laughed. "I'll keep that in mind." I heard the rustle of movement as he dropped his keys and jacket onto the small dining table. "Harry?"

I grabbed his shoulder and shook it. The kid didn't even shift. "Asleep."

"Then don't wake him up," Dad replied.

I scoffed. "It'd take a tornado to wake the little demon, and you know it."

I expected Dad to walk around the couch to pick up Harry before tucking him into bed. So when he didn't, I looked away from the tv and glanced around. "Dad?"

The camera clicked the moment I saw it.

"Really, Dad?" I groaned. "You couldn't have waited until the brat was off of me before taking a picture?"

"If I did, then it wouldn't be much of a picture," Dad said. He carefully set down his camera—a Nikon FA I got him for Christmas a few years ago—on the coffee table, next to the Rock'em Sock'em Robots. With a soft smile, he reached down and picked up my brother, heaving the kid over one shoulder.

"Ooof," Dad said. "Don't know if you're getting bigger—ugh—or if I'm getting older. Heh. Probably both."

Now that Harry wasn't on top of me, I stood up and silently watched as Dad walked over to the beds. He gently lowered my brother on top of the mattress, stopping to take off Harry's shoes before tucking the kid into bed.

Moments like these, when it's still and quiet, are the times when I really feel the weight of all I'm going to lose. And after I Turn, I won't get these moments anymore. Harry falling asleep in the back of the station wagon, Dad waking me up with breakfast, or the long drives between towns. Times when it's just the three of us and I can forget about the sleeping demon within me, just waiting for me to Turn. I don't know how many more of these moments I'm gonna get.

But even if they're just like today, where I'm fighting my Hunger to the point of tears, breaking down in front of my dad, and putting up with my brother's stubbornness, I'll take them. Because it means that I get another day with my family.

I picked up the camera Dad left on the coffee table. After fiddling with the lens for a moment, I lined up my shot.

I snapped a photo, right as Dad tucked the blankets up to Harry's chin.

Dad turned and blinked. When he saw me holding the camera, he laughed, keeping his voice low. "Now who's taking unexpected pictures?"

I shrugged. "You take enough pictures of us. It's your turn to show up in some of them."

"I show up in more than enough," Dad chuckled.

I set the camera back down, and with a jut of my chin, pointed toward the kitchen.

Dad nodded and followed me.

It's true that it takes a lot to forcefully wake up my little brother, but just in case he woke up without one of us noticing, I wanted to make sure we were as far away from the beds as we could be. That meant the ugly, cramped kitchen, but it was better than nothing.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter. I was gonna have to tell Dad that Harry now knows what my 'migraines' really are, but first, I had a question. "Did you find a job?"

Dad sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "Remember I got a offer a while back? A bit before we came to Riverside?"

"Yeah. You said it was risky." My eyes widened as the realization clicked in my head. "And you're taking it."

Dad sighed. His arm dropped to his side. "Yeah."

"I thought you said we have enough saved up."

"For now. But we'll need some money soon. This job should see us through until mid-summer. Enough time to lay low here and then go wherever we want."

I pursed my lips and pushed my hair back. "So what is it?"

"Standard escort job," Dad said. "I go, meet the clients, and get them to the safe house. Well, plane. It's a charter flight that'll take them to Canada."

"If it's a standard job, then what's the risk?" I asked. Out of everything clients have asked Dad to do, escorts are the thing he almost never turns down. It's actually pretty hard to convince him to do anything but an escort job. Unless… "Unless the threat isn't standard."

The corner of Dad's mouth curled upwards. "You've always been sharp. Ever since you were a kid."

"Have you fought them before?"

"Once."

"How much do you know about them?"

Dad sighed. "Too much, I think."

I thought about it for a moment.

"Vampires," I whispered, and I fought to keep my breathing level. "The White Court?"

"No," Dad said, in a voice that was both hard and low. "The Red Court."