The house was dark and blissfully quiet when I returned home. I tossed my keys and watched them sail through the air, then group together in an organized row before tumbling soundlessly onto the entry hall table. Levitating myself a foot off the floor with plans to clandestinely climb into my coffin for a few hours of undisturbed sleep, I discovered Fane poised inside, ankles and wrists crossed like a forsaken cherub, a dramatic yawn revealing a tongue stud that looked suspiciously like an emerald-and-diamond earring I’d received as a graduation present.
“Well, thank the stars I have been bequeathed time eternal. I cannot begin to count the precious minutes I have wasted awaiting your return.”
“Look, Fane. I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly, but—”
“Spare me the tedious details.”
I trumpeted my lips. I was exhausted, the only thing on my mind sinking into my coffin and staying there for as long as possible. “Why not spare me yours? I’m tired, Fane. It’s been a long day.”
“You don’t have the slightest interest in your beloved’s prickly battle?”
“He seemed fine when he came to visit Raina. I assume if he weren’t I would have heard.”
He shot out of the coffin, his body prone and supported by nothing but air, a palm cupping his chin as he taunted me with a wicked smile. “Oh, dear. A mere assumption is enough for you, is it? It would seem the honeymoon is over indeed. Nary six full moons have illuminated the amorous bed of our young lovers, yet one appears passionately indifferent.” He clucked his tongue. “Poor misguided Tristan. It would seem a charlatan bitterly awaits his homecoming.”
“Oh, shut up, Fane.”
“Um, shut up, Fane. You are every bit as predictable as you are heartless.”
I tugged him toward the floor, ripping the hem of his Victorian gown in the process.
He shrieked a decibel I was certain would wake Raina. “Now look what you’ve done. It is not as if one can replace a gown worn by the infamous Frieda von Richthofen at the local Macy’s.”
“Frieda who?” I waved away his response. “Never mind. I really don’t care. Is Tristan all right, or isn’t he? I don’t have the time or energy for your annoying games.”
He turned a somersault in midair and cradled his cheek in the crook of one shoulder. “Well, if you insist on dragging it out of me. Ah, the glistening biceps, determined brow, and chiseled chin of our beloved warrior, the infamous Tristan of Tomisovara. ’Tis true, he could set a corpse’s heart to fluttering.” He paused, pumping his crossed legs for effect. “Smite, smite, smite! The Harvesters fell one after another as if shoddy structures in a developing country following a devastating quake. Allow me a demonstration.”
Before I could resist, Fane propelled me inside the Circle. Swords flew in all directions, the decapitated heads of Harvesters following after. Fire-breathing dragons, I suspected Nick and Paulo, spewed flames, shriveling and crisping the disjointed heads beyond recognition. Bianca shapeshifted from an imposing multiheaded octopus wielding eight razor-sharp tentacles, into a nightmarish twenty-foot reptile with foot-long talons and an exoskeleton comprised of spiky shards extending in all directions. Crushing a throng of Harvesters on the run, she relied on Razvan—a goliath gladiator with flashing red eyes and swooping mechanical blades for arms—to destroy the few Harvesters who managed to escape. The smell of smoke, seared flesh, and determination filled the air; the black blood of the Harvesters layered the ground and trees, saturating every member of the Realm with a putrid, gooey coating. Tristan stood victorious alongside the others, spectacular muscles pulsating as though yearning for more conflict, stingy moonlight highlighting well-defined cheekbones, glossy dark hair, and sultry eyes.
I escaped from the Circle feeling stimulated, breathless, and inadequate, despite the supernatural phenomena I’d performed earlier.
“Fa-a-ne, don’t ever do that again!”
“Tsk. It served you right, you know,” Fane said past painted lips. “Had you not deprived me of much-needed slumber, I might have had the energy to participate in a strictly verbal elucidation. And do not threaten me, my overly confident compatriot. Do not dismiss my genteel nature as one of meekness.”
I showed him both palms. “Okay, I’m sorry.” I skimmed his shimmering translucent forearm with reluctant fingers. “I do appreciate everything you do, Fane. I know caring for Raina isn’t something you . . . expected. But she adores you, and I’m, well, somewhat fond of you myself.”
“Humph,” he said, plastering his padded bustier with lean forearms. “Somewhat, is it?”
I laughed and embraced him, his skin silky and somehow colder than my own. “Don’t push it, buddy.” I sniffed the air. “Wait! Is that my perfume I smell?”
“Someone may as well put it to good use. Ta-ta,” he said and vaporized.
Later that evening, after promising to take Raina to an evening event at the Kansas City Zoo that upcoming weekend, I kissed her goodbye. I smiled as I passed the window and saw her inside with Fane, both their heads bent and touching as they attempted a new puzzle. With Tristan perpetually off hunting ruthless vampires, what would my life have been like without her? And what would I do without Fane’s assistance? Reflecting on Bianca’s warning, I sighed as I threw myself behind the wheel, forcing the image of the beautiful child Tristan and I would never have the opportunity to create from my mind. Were the Harvesters the result of forbidden reproduction? Was that why Bianca remained adamant vampiric offspring were born without souls?
I shook my head hard once I arrived at the station, the drive there lost to thoughts of adorable toddlers tottering throughout the house Tristan, Raina, and I shared. Was Tristan enough for me? Was immortality a paltry tradeoff for a life, no matter how short, filled with memories of cooing babies, first birthdays, first steps, first words, high school graduations, grandchildren . . . all the heart swelling moments of motherhood?