Blue

Part#9

“I just don’t like people. It helps that I’m fruitarian, so to speak – feeding on human

blood is not my thing. Don’t worry about me sucking you, or them, dry. What names do you

suggest giving them?”

“Me? They’re your children, my Lord!” I protest.

“Not really. I came back from an excursion and found the pair of them in a black bag

on my porch screaming blue murder.”

My hand covers my mouth and emotions sting without warning in my eyes.

That is so awful, who does that? Two little children? Even us – donors – who are adopted to be

groomed and raised as blood puddings, were not abandoned like trash. Sometimes, it is so hard to tell the

real monsters from the fake ones, and this is one of those times.

“We can call them Eros and Venus,” I declare through the sensitive choke, “Love and

Beauty. They deserve both, and maybe, if, we - what?” I interrupt myself when his face

becomes a peculiar sort of shock.

“Your passion and compassion do not seize to amaze me,” he muses “You will give

mere children the names of gods?”

“The gods will be honored if you believe in that sort of thing, I’ll make sure of it,” I

lift my chin, daring him to defy me. But only a little, because I am nothing more than wine-

brave, and only because he isn’t angry at me.

“Then Eros and Venus it is. Don’t you want to know if they are mortal?” he asks, and

I shake my head.

“No, I already checked for fangs, or canines, or whatever – they don’t have any. It

does not matter to me,” I blurt out and further dig a hole to bury myself in, alive.

“They’re birthed mortal, Blue, but they are immortal. You should worry about it. They

need raising and we figured what better way than for a donor to do it. That means you. You

are mortal – though I do question that on a spiritual level – and you have been raised from

within one of the most influential covens in our race. They will become little meat-eaters of

some kind and thus at some stage, try to feed on you. Can you handle that and will you still

feel so protective over them when they do?”

It is with willpower I hold off the slap of my palm on my forehead.

I can’t handle myself on a good day; I have no idea what I’ll do with them if they try to snack on the

nanny. The bigger question here, is will they survive me not knowing a thing about raising children with or

without fangs?

Another notion jumps the line of reasoning, though.

“Why are you keeping them? You said it yourself, my Lord, you are not a people’s

person.” I ask, contemplating a bottle of wine for the mere thought that I will try to raise

these children, regardless of their inclination to bleed me dry.

The good news is, I’m a donor ... It’s all in a days’ work.

Lord Rothchildes tilts his head to the side and wipes over his mouth before he

speaks, “Because I made mistakes and in an effort to redeem myself, made promises I now

have to see through,” his mouth closes firmly.

I am no genius but I know for a fact it is as much of an answer I will get.

I may need body armor. I wonder if there is any way to make something like a superhero outfit. Not the

type the comic-strip girls wear, I don’t get the point to it at all – Barely covers their vital organs, let alone the

private ones! Villains are the dumbest things I’ve come across too, because ...

The scrape of a throat and expecting glance awaits me when I look back at his face.

Oh, right. Can I handle the brood? Well if he didn’t interrupt me, I was devising a plan to do just that.

“I’ll work it out as I go along, my Lord. I reckon I have at least a few more years

before they’re stronger than I am,” my brain itches with all the questions and I do not feel

half as confident as I hope to sound.

“All in good time, you already know more than I do. There’s always the internet,

right? Also, reception on the phones are bad out here – I will set us up for a satellite

installation and a laptop. It may come in handy,” he stops and a brow lifts on one side,

riddled with mischief.

“I just cannot avoid it anymore” he squints at me “Is there any particular reason you

are named Blue? It appears to be a misplaced name for you.”

Did he compliment or insult me just now?

“I picked it myself,” I tuck away a loose curl to hide my confusion.

His face smooths out and the previous scrunch-look settles in a thin-lipped smile. I

fixate on his lips again and lick over mine with the tip of my tongue.

“Please explain,” he encourages.

I answer quickly to stop where my thoughts want to go, “My registered name is

Leonora. I learned about colors from around the age of one, maybe two. I discovered the

color blue. It looked pretty, it tasted pretty, and I wanted to be pretty so I insisted upon it.

For a time, Madame Levine held out, but after I wore them down, they gave up. At the age

of four, I was named Blue; though looking back, it was false advertising on the crayon’s part.

I do like the color, and I reckon anything with the word blue in its name is good – like

blueberries – but I am not nearly as pretty as all that and judging by the lack of regular jobs,

I suppose I don’t taste it either,” I end in a genuine sulk.

Lord Rothchildes covers his mouth with his fist. Then he pushes his fist firmer

against his lips with the palm of his other hand, but he does not fool me. The devils chant

loudly through those green eyes of his and the dimples on either side of his fist cut in deep.

He’s laughing at me again.

“Excuse me, Blue” suppressed laughter makes him croak at me “I have no idea why,

but your story cheers me up. I like the name Blue much better than Leonora.”

“I know right?! Do I look like a Leonora to anyone? Okay, I don’t look much of a Blue

either, but you know...Just a little pressure around the neck” I motion with my hands

strangling the air in front of me “and wallah – problem solved!”

The man splutters and gets up from the table fast. This time I slap myself in the head

hard. That was such a dumb thing to say! I have a morbid sense of humor, but I shouldn’t

give the man ideas, I bet he has plenty of his own.

Half-way to the door, he stops and speaks in the cracked voice.

“I love how your mind works Blue, though choking … Isn’t my thing. I’m more of a

neck-snapping sort; when the right reasons present itself,” he says with a deep, rumbling

snicker.

Oh, dear gods! If there’s a list of what the ‘right reasons’ are, I sure won’t say no to knowing it. It is

much easier to avoid getting dead when you know how!

“But it is beside the point,” he scrapes at his throat again “I promise not to call you

Leonora, if you stop calling me ‘my Lord’ and just use my given name; Declyn.”

Dumbfounded, I nod my agreement.

It is strange how he doesn’t demand, but he does not ask either. It is as if he leaves

the choice to aggravate him entirely up to you – which is a huge responsibility when you are

trying to stay alive. A guy like him should wear a warning.

“Yes, my Lo—Declyn. Uhm.”

“You will find your contract in my study, on the desk,” he smiles at me, chortles then

head to the door, “I have to eat. If you have any questions, I’ll address them when I get

back.” He does not hang around for a fraction longer than what it takes him to reach the

door. My eyes lift to the ceiling while I listen for the children.

Outside, a horse whinnies and the eerie bark of another wild animal follows. It

reminds me again I’m in the wilderness, not just on a day-trip out.

I clear the table and take enough time to learn where everything in the kitchen is. In

an effort to still my hyper mind, I head to the large window in the living area and with a cup

of coffee to clear the remnants of wine-fog away. I lean against the frame to look outside.

It is a beautiful, clear evening. Even though it is late, it is not dead-of-night dark; the

stars are amazing so far away from artificial light. I open the window and turn my face into

the cool breeze.

Declyn does not seem like a bad sort when he’s not growling.

He sure has an over-sensitive sense of humor but that is neither here nor there. I’ve

been around the likes of Madame Levine and Prince Antoine; they’re not the kind of people

I’d call nice by default, but they are the closest thing to compare as a family.

This, being here, is outlandish. It is also strange that he has a contract for me to sign. I

don’t think things are done that way. As it is, I am lost for the lack of rules and regulations,

not that I follow them but I do like to know them; so maybe a contract isn’t terrible.

What do I do outside a rigorous schedule? This time of night, we are already in bed.

Twelve hours of sleep is an absolute non-negotiable rule. Yet, I’m wide awake after many

naps on the trip with the kids.

How safe am I here, with a man who – despite my knowledge of the opposite – appears to be more

human than some I’ve seen in the City? How safe am I here, in the wilderness where large foxes stroll up to

windows and make the horses uncomforta-- What?

A double take almost bashes my forehead into the window frame. I’ve seen pictures

of foxes, and they never looked as dangerous as this one. Besides that, I think it is a fox, but a

better look makes me doubt. It is big bodied like a wolf, but the sharp face and the beady

eyes –shudders—are consistent with what I think I know about foxes.

Maybe it is a dingo? Or a coyote? What do those look like? Damnit! My phone is upstairs and I cannot

check. At least it cannot get in here, can it? How high does it jump? Is it strong enough to drag me

off?

I slam the window closed.

The beast turns tail and pads off like it is the most natural thing in the world to stare

at humans and sod off when they’re properly scared! I amble towards the door Declyn

pointed at.