The Last Chance (sequel to A Hundred Lifetimes)

Eleven

It had been quite a while since Chiara had seen a sunrise over the endless waters and skies, with her toes in the sand, the wind in her hair, and her family beside her. The picture was almost perfect—Mary was seamlessly catching the waves far out, gaining attention of the local boys as expected, Clarissa was seated on a beach chair with a book in one hand and a glass of iced tea that she managed to make before leaving on the other, then beside her was Dorian. There he was in his four-pieced shirt glory, with his elegant face masked up with layers of sunblock, wearing sunglasses under a really large umbrella, and yet still he managed to look like he was still too hot. He had already garnered a few of looks from the people, but they would always let him be after he explained his situation with a friendly smile in their own language—whatever lie he was spewing, the locals were clearly buying.

So, there they were, Mary on a wave, Clarissa with her book, Dorian in his ridiculous clothes—all unbothered at that very moment by the impending problem that Chiara could glimpse around the horizon. The picture was almost perfect at sunrise, but who knew what could befall them come sundown?

“You seem troubled, Chiara.” It was Dorian’s voice that took her out of her daze. He placed a thickly-folded blanket on top of the other blanket Chiara was already sitting on before he carefully took a seat—his shoulder lightly bumping hers. She could smell a faint hint of Gardenias in the air, and she knew it was from him—but how he managed to smell like flowers even after hours and hours of travelling, she didn’t know.

“Mary thinks you're making fashion suicide,” Chiara replied, remaining honest while hoping to redirect the topic. “She’s right.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” Dorian turned to look at her under his thick sunglasses. “I highly doubt you'd see me any less than the man I once was even in this protective armor. Ah, that is beside the question I was asking.”

Chiara looked out to the water again. “Which was?” she asked with feigned innocence while she tried to find Mary.

“About you looking troubled so early in the day,” Dorian said seriously. His deeply-tinted sunglasses covered his eyes perfectly well, but his eyebrows knotted to a frown to convey his worry. ‘You barely made fun of my attire. Even Clarissa has popped a joke in.’

“Clarissa?” Chiara asked dubiously.

“Yes, and I found it refreshing, actually,” Dorian thoughtfully responded. He took an iced lollie, broke it in half and handed the larger piece to Chiara. “Here’s a bribe,” he said while she took it. “Now, why are you troubled?”

Chiara ate away at the lollie then sighed. She looked helplessly at Dorian and just spilled. “Who wouldn’t be when we are in this mess—a mess so ridiculous that we have to flee from our comfortable home and resort to staying in a secret faraway island—and all of it because of me.”

“Chiara,” Dorian softly said in a voice where she already knew what he was about to say.

“I know, we agreed it’s ‘Callahan's fault,’” she said with air marks. “And I know it technically isn’t my fault either because I was literally born into it, but I can do something about it now… all I need to know is what I should do because joining either would cause different problems. I could join the Order and train but they might wipe out your kind just for a crowd control, and that could include you. I could haggle for our lives if I give the jade to the Council—tell them to honor an agreement that they would never bother us again.”

Dorian sat up straight at that. “Now, that's just—"

“I know, I know,” Chiara sighed, “and that’s why we’re all away from home, and in this tropical island jungle or something.”

“I don’t think it's so bad,” Dorian said with a shrug. “Mary and Clarissa certainly don’t think so either. I admit I could’ve chosen a less… isolated area to build a house, but that was way back when I was—"

“Broody?” Chiara asked in jest before taking another bite on her iced lollie.

“Yes, broo—no. I do not brood, for your information,” Dorian pointed his own candy at her.

“I just got a new face, Dorian,” she said with a chuckle, “but my memories are now more intact than ever.”

“Good, because there is a lot I would like to reminisce with you,” Dorian sincerely smiled at her, making her stop and stare until he spoke again. “However, as for what troubles you right now, I'm afraid even I don't have a solution for it and I surely don’t want to tell you what to do because I know you are just as stubborn as ever…”

“Then you don't really have much of anything, do you?” Chiara teased, wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead.

“Hold on, I wasn’t done.” Dorian put up a hand warningly before he continued. “I can offer some activities to keep your mind away from those troubles. It's too early in the day to go dancing and I don’t like the clubs Mary goes to, but we can take a stroll along the forest, go inside a restaurant, buy souvenirs—"

“You just want to go inside because it's getting too hot, don’t you?” Chiara accusingly asked him as he stood.

“I should’ve added two more layers,” he regretfully answered as he held out a hand towards her. Chiara took it and let herself be pulled up as she muttered, “Definitely not,” under her breath, earning her a raised eyebrow from behind those sunglasses as they walked onto the paved road where more and more people were beginning to show.

“Wait, should we go ask them if they want to come?” Chiara asked, abruptly stopping from walking, but when they looked out and saw Mary still out by the water while Clarissa was fast asleep under her book, she answered herself with a, “Huh, I guess not,” before turning back to Dorian hesitantly. “But is it really alright to leave them there?”

Dorian lightly chuckled and nodded as he opened a door for Chiara. “You've seen how Mary fights. She’s not just strong, but smart. She’ll know where to hit—and don’t think Clarissa doesn’t have anything up her sleeve.” He let out a scoff as Chiara passed him by to get into the restaurant. “That lady was a fighter like her granddaughter, only less stubborn,” Dorian ended with a nostalgic smile on his face as he closed the door behind him before they fell in line second to the counter.

“Hold on,” Chiara excitedly said, “you mean to say that Clarissa used to fight like Ma—” she stopped short when her eyes laid upon the person behind the counter, and suddenly she was not smiling anymore. “Uh, Dorian,” she whispered frantically, keeping her gaze at the only other pale person in the room, and only other person who was wearing more than a shirt and a shorts.

“It’s alright,” Chiara heard Dorian say as the person ordering in front of them finished. Dorian slid his hand into Chiara’s and intertwined their fingers together. When she worriedly turned to him, he raised his sunglasses up to the top of his head and comfortingly smiled at her as he pulled her to walk forward.

“Good morning,” the female vampire with the name tag Jesse greeted monotonously as she started another ticket on the machine, “may I take your order?” she looked up at the two, and it was obvious that there was some sort of recognition on her part when she saw Dorian as well. Her posture slightly changed as if she was suddenly on guard, and her eyes did a quick sweep of the vicinity as if to check for others of their kind.

“I'll have the BlastTea,” Dorian slowly said, trying to seem the least threatening as he can be so the cashier Jesse would feel a little bit more at ease, “and whatever that tree-shaped pastry is,” he pointed from the menu before turning to Chiara. “What do you want?” he asked. Jesse looked at her as well and instantly read the recognition behind Chiara's eyes.

“Croissant,” Chiara quickly chose, avoiding her gaze to look up at the menu, “and uh… is that—is that an Island Coffee Jamboree?” she squinted up to see if she read it correctly.

“I don’t make the names,” Jesse flatly said, tapping on the screen that showed the price they had to pay. Dorian was quick to give her a bill and she was fast to hand back the change. “Here’s your receipt. Pick up your food when called. Thanks and have a nice day,” she said as if she had repeated the line a thousand times, then off to the next customer she tended to while Dorian had to tug Chiara for them to walk away.

“That—should we,” Chiara hissed to Dorian at a panic, “should we go back to Clarissa and—"

Dorian squeezed her hand and shook his head as they stopped by the food receiving area, just in time for their order to be done. “There is no need to worry, Chiara,” he said so confidently as he took their tray and set it down on an empty table. “She knows the local language and she obviously seems to be friendly,” he stated, taking off two layers of his shirts before he sat, which at least made him look a bit less questionable to the mundane human eye. “I also checked the local reports back in the airplane and there hasn't been any missing cases here or murders for quite a long time. That woman has integrated here.”

Chiara placed his orders and his set of utensils in front of him, and then did the same for herself. “So, if anything,” she thoughtfully said as she watched Dorian take a sip of his drink, frown a little, and then smile widely, “she probably has more reason to be suspicious of you?”

“Well, I hope not. I quite like their…” he read the label on the cup and slightly chuckled, “BlastTea.”

“Oh, hey.” Chiara was about to take a bite of her Croissant when Mary suddenly pulled up a chair next to them, her pixie hair was still damp with saltwater that she had to keep a towel around her neck. “What are you guys drinking and why is there a cold body acting as a cashier at the Lagoon?” she asked so casually while Clarissa finally caught up and sat on the other chair in their table.

“She's integrated here, Mary,” Dorian warningly said. “If anything, we are on her turf. Promise me you won’t punch first.”

“Fine,” Mary unwillingly said, “I'll only punch back if needed.”

“Good. Let’s not get all of the vampires aiming for our heads. I only have a few more secret houses aside,” Dorian said as he took a bite of his food.

“Okay, how many more?” Chiara asked in intrigue.

“Oh, Miss Chiara,” Clarissa breathed out, “you should see the one he has by the lake. Very picturesque indeed.”

“We should all visit that around the holidays!” Dorian excitedly suggested, as if he had just suddenly realized remembered about the existence of such a house. While Mary began to discuss the mosquito situation in the talked about lake house, Chiara felt a familiar feeling creep up her neck—like she was being watched—but when she turned to look at Jesse, the cashier, she was hard at work serving another customer that had come in. Aside from her and Dorian, no one else in the vicinity were pale enough to look like complete foreigners, nor unusual enough to wear long sleeves.

“So, Chiara, what do you say, are you in?” Mary asked, poking Chiara's arm to get her attention.

“Oh,” just to be sure, Chiara did one more sweep around the room then upon finding no one, turned to Mary and asked with a sheepish smile, “what’s the question again?”