She may have thought herself silent and unnoticeable, but few people ever were to him. He understood better than such young things how to move with the world around him, to make himself nothing more than another feature of the environment. He was already so suited to blending with shadows, from his coloration down to his customary silenceâit hardly seemed like a talent to waste.
âLilia,â he said without turning around, still upkeeping his pace about the town. âIt is not conventional behavior to follow someone without speaking to them, especially not if they know youâre there.â There was a note of gruff chiding in his toneâhe did not want the more odd of his covenâs mannerisms to stir up suspicion before they had the good reputation to protect themselves from it, and had she been stalking anyone but him, this would definitely have gotten her some weird looks, and probably more than a little suspicion as well. This, they could not afford.
Stopping for a moment, he turned to look over his shoulder at her. Her attempts to gain height on him or look over his shoulder were vainâhe was an exceedingly tall man, and his posture did not slouch unnecessarily. The look he gave her through the corner of his golden eye was eminently neutral. Ephraim was hard to read on the best of days, but he did not seem overly displeased. At least, not yet. âThere is little point in following meâyou would be better served trying to get to know the town, and ingratiating yourself with the people here.â That was something the other members of his coven would always be better at than he wasâEphraim intimidated people even when he did not intend to.
With that, he checked to make sure that there were no humans in the vicinity, then looked up, gauging his jump, and leapt, landing silently on the rooftop and crossing it in a low crouch to avoid silhouetting himself against the sparse moonlight of the silver crescent in the sky.
In this way, Ephraim stalked the streets a bit less conventionally than he had in Virgilâs companyâadmittedly, part of the goal of it was to slowly acclimatize the humans here to their new neighbors, to allow themselves to be seen out and about in conventional, perfectly ordinary settings, thus dispelling any suspicion about their newfound presence. It would get around eventually that this large family had bought the mansion just outside of town, a building which was once overgrown with weeds and vines and falling apart at the seams. With a week or so of hard nighttime work and some input from each of the new occupants, it looked very different now. Virgil had done the gardens, heâd had Morgan and Arya arrange the interiors for the most part, and to Lilia, heâd given the task of selecting the homeâs new colorâas long as it wasnât something outrageous. They all had at least three rooms to themselves: a bedroom, a living space, and a bathroom, and in addition, Ephraim had claimed an office and a library on the top floor.
It was important that they feel at home here, which was why he never brought in outside contractors to do the workâunless it was something none of them had skills in. Thankfully, the plumbing and electricity had been intact here. Ephraim did not seem like the kind of man to think about details of such a nature, much less the psychological comfort of his coven members, but leadership changed people, and on a practical level, it only made sense to want them to be at home. Their lives were not always easy, and he knew that. He did what he could to make them happy, though he would ever deny any such inclinations under a near-impenetrable layer of gruff distance.
As of now, he traveled via rooftop, silent and nearly inscrutable even as a silhouette, the dark colors he wore and the attendant darkness of his hair making him difficult to pick out against the moonlit rooftops. Golden eyes were faintly aglow, gifting him with the night-vision of his kind and making it possible to pick out colors and details clearly even in the murky shadows next to buildings and the like. He was leaping between a pair of rooftops when he caught sight of the man bleeding out in the alley. Normally, he might have left something like that beâhe could not afford to cast suspicion on himself or any of his coven members by being near the scene of what had been a violent crime. But there was a smell on the air, one he recognized only dimly, and that was enough to draw his attention.
Landing soundlessly in a crouch, Ephraim straightened to his full height and approached the man, who was now groaning softly in his pain. He would not survive the nightâthe blood heâd lost already was pooling around him on the dirty cement of the alleyway, and though Liliath might have been able to save him were she right here, she was too far away to make a difference. Through clouded eyes of indistinct brown, the man looked up at him, and blinked slowly a few times, as though to clear his vision.
âNever thought⊠Reapers were real,â he admitted with a half-dazed smile. âI was⊠sort of expecting aâunghâa white light.â Ephraim parsed that statement for a moment, and shook his head.
âYou might get one,â he said dispassionately. âYouâre not dead yet. But if you want me to be Death, I could be.â The offer was clear: the man was in a lot of pain, and the vampire was offering him mercy, a swifter end than the one he currently experienced. He stood still beside the dying man, unwilling or perhaps unable to move until he knew what he would be doing with the motion.
The man coughed, sending a spray of blood onto the hand he tried to cover his mouth with. It might have been a fine, pink mist once, but he was too far gone for such subtlety nowâhis end would not be much longer in the coming, and he was faced instead with liquid gouts of the stuff. Ephraimâs control was great enough that he didnât feel much temptation to indulge. âPlease,â he said, nearly choking on the word, and Ephraim nodded, casting his eye about for something to use. Simply plunging his fist into the manâs chest wasnât exactly going to seem inconspicuous, and the same went for strangling him when he was clearly bleeding out already. The idea was that the death should at once be merciful and also not look too different from what had already happened.
Exhaling softly through his nose, the vampire picked up an empty bottle from the ground and shattered it over his knee, raining the jagged pieces down over the dying man. He was left with a large, sharpened point, which would achieve his purpose just fine. âIf you have last words, I will hear them.â But the man shook his head, indicating that he did not, and so Ephraim lowered himself into a crouch, careful to avoid any of the puddles of blood, and placed the ragged shard of bottle gently against the homeless manâs chest. With a sharp motion, he pushed, and the exhale that followed was a death rattle as the glass pierced his heart. Taking the fellow by one shoulder, Ephraim turned him over, so that he was laying on the shards of glass and the bottle both, and for once he was glad he tended to wear gloves. Standing again, he left the man there and removed the leather coverings from his long-fingered hands, dropping them in a public waste disposal quite far from the scene.
Shaking his head to himself, he ventured into the nearest building. This one happened to be a family-owned general store, and he supposed the man running it now was used to the late-evening shift, because he looked up from the counter and smiled at the new customer entering. Ephraim didnât need to be here, but it was better if he pretended if he did, and had some excuse to be out and about after such an event as the murder that had just taken place. Nodding to the old man, he performed the customary exchange of names and small talk, though his answers were gruff and abbreviated, something which didnât seem to bother the senior citizen much. Baileyâs General the store was called, and he could only presume that the old man was Mr. Bailey. Whatever the case, Ephraim occupied himself browsing for a while, trying to find something plausible to buy that wouldnât be entirely useless. He did hate waste.
âYou must have me mistaken for someone who doesnât find your foibles amusing.â
As it turned out, Virgilâs absolutely stellar view of the world outside was paying immediate dividends. Heâd only just settled on his purchases when who should he spy walking down the street, book in-hand, but Morgan? This was, of course, a very typical position to see Morgan in, but as heâd reminded the younger man time and time again, the exquisite escapism of the written word was precisely thatâan escape from oneâs worries, and therefore rendered moot if in fact it should become the cause of them. Virgil loved a good bit of reading as much as anyone (though perhaps not as much as he enjoyed music), but he knew better than to get himself into such graceless predicaments as the one that Morgan swiftly strode to meet.
Several people walking by tried to get the youthful-looking vampire to stop before he met his inevitable obstacle, but he either couldnât hear them because he was too engrossed or he was ignoring them, because three steps later, his head made unforgiving contact with a what appeared to be a light pole. Virgilâs smile was subtle, little more than a half-turn of one side of his mouth, but the way it reached his eyes, brightening his ever-present mischief, was utterly unmistakable, and it did not fade even as his coven-brother slid into the seat across from him. Evidently reading this right off his face (as heâd intended) Morgan immediately ordered him to say nothing of the incident, naturally mentioning Arya in particular. At least he knew who his tormentors were.
Ephraim would only roll his eyes and say nothing. Lilia, dear child, would probably just blink her big doe-eyes at them and smile, but Arya would never let Morgan live it down. He was expecting a bit more generosity than usual from Virgil if he thought he would let it go without comment, however. âWhatever would I say?â he asked playfully. âAll I saw was a friend, getting acquainted with the locals.â Locals here extending to local poles, but the people whoâd seen the whole incident probably counted.
They were approached then by a waitress, and Virgil noted that, like seemingly everyone else in this place, her smell was just a little bit more pleasant than usual, as though from a particularly-exotic or unusual source. How strange. It was not overwhelming, except⊠he could smell another, further in, that seemed to compel him towards it. How strange. It was feminine as well, but heâd been paying too much attention to Morganâs little incident to see to whom it belonged. They all mingled so freely in here, and only one of them was at all masculine. Quite interesting.
âEarl Grey, if you please, my dear,â he said smoothly to the waitress, his smile still nowhere near qualifying as a grin, but a little sweeter than the one heâs used for his amusement at Morganâs expense. âAnd one of your raspberry sconesâif you would be so kind.â Her attention slid to Morgan in turn, but he could tell through his empathy that she was actually a bit distant at the moment, as though not fully invested in the situation. A most unusual trait, for someone with two of his kind sitting directly in front of her. Heâd felt a flare of something not-quite-happiness when sheâd glanced down at Morganâs book, but he supposed she must have something quite heavy weighing her down, to be drifting so. Or perhaps it was the oppositeâwas some flight of fancy lifting her away, perhaps? That reminded him a little bit of a man with his mind sunk so firmly into a fictional world that he smacked headlong into a metal pole.