Bloodlines (11 page)

More death. Hunters. A hole through Randall’s chest. His head. Over and over, the threads ended in him falling, young and innocent and simply gone.

One of those had Randall in Victor’s arms when the bullet came. Blood spattering Victor’s cheek, his glasses, as Randall gasped in pain. As he reached out. Apologies, only half said before the dark end.

Or—

There were other men. Happy, holding hands, tuxes and flowers and cake and family. Some of them stayed, some of them faded, but those threads didn’t burn as bright as—

In bed, while flares of red and yellow from the bonfire lit up the room. Randall smiling, eyes reflecting the bursts from outside the window. Victor kissing him, soft, then urgent, fumbling together for the first time, for many times to come. Tuxes and flowers and cake and family. Anthony better. Anthony worse. Anthony gone, Randall clinging to Victor by a gravesite. Older then, with children. With Edwin coming over for dinners. With no one but themselves. Age finding them, white haired and holding hands, sitting on a long pier and looking out over the ocean.

And then—

Something dark in the distance in all the possible futures, but so far off that Victor barely grasped the sensation of it.

Then—

“Victor!” There was water splashed in his face, a hand shaking his shoulder. Jed’s voice, sounding like it was very far away and once removed, calling him back. “Come on, princess, wakey-wakey.”

There was some kind of material shoved in Victor’s mouth, clamped between his teeth as his muscles shook, trembling out a last few painful spasms. He tried to make a noise, tried to tell them he was quite okay, thank you very much. He didn’t need to be fussed over.

He scrambled out of the van, fell heavily on the ground beside the road, and threw
up.

Wonderful.

Randall was next to him a few moments later, rubbing his back soothingly, handing him a fresh bottle of water. The man didn’t say anything at first, more concerned with taking his coat from where it had been in the car, obviously discarded when Anthony had woken, and wrapping it around Victor’s shoulders. After a moment, Randall asked, worried, “Are you all right? Do you have something you need, medication or… or something I can do to help?”

Victor fumbled with the water bottle as he tried to open it, but he managed to twist the top off, swishing the water around in his mouth before spitting it into the grass. Christ, he needed to brush his teeth.

At least he seemed to be coherent and cognizant. He hadn’t snapped. Yet.

“There’s medication in my bag,” he managed, lifting the water bottle to press against his forehead. The coolness of it sent waves of relief through the pain throbbing in his temples. “It’s in blue packaging. For migraines.”

Randall scrambled back to the van. Redford was immediately there to take his place, hovering in front of Victor and helping him move to sit on the running board in the open door of the van. Jed was standing a slight distance away, Edwin and Anthony beside him, watching Victor carefully.

“You really need to stop doing that,” Redford said quietly. “You’ve probably never seen what you look like, but your eyes roll back and you seize. It’s terrifying. And sometimes you make these
noises
, like you’re scared or angry.”

“Yeah, like a pea soup spewing freak show,” Jed interjected, arms folded over his chest, squinting at Victor as if he was trying to figure him out. Possibly there was concern there too, but Victor was too busy trying to not have his head explode to look for it. “So, you know. Cut that shit out.”

“Here, take this.” Randall’s soft voice came from over his shoulder. The pills were pressed into Victor’s hands, followed by the toothbrush and toothpaste Randall had obviously found in Victor’s bag. “Just, uh, I wasn’t sure if you wanted those, but I thought you might.”

Victor slowly took the pills, trying not to move his head too much. He managed to unscrew the toothpaste cap, which he counted as a personal victory. “No, I think you may be a mind reader,” he said, barely whispering. He figured out the mechanics of brushing ones teeth without access to a tap and basin—toothpaste on the brush, a bit of water from the bottle, brush and spit. It was hardly dignified, but it got the horrendous taste out of his mouth.

He could hear Redford and Jed talking lowly, but Victor stayed right where he was, waiting for the pills to start to kick in. So far, none of the Lewises had demanded answers, though Victor had a feeling Edwin was only being contained by the force of Randall’s glare. Minutes later, Victor estimated, the pain in his temples
finally
began to die down, and he gave a groan of relief, cradling his head in his hands.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” he said, trying to raise his voice to be heard by everyone. Especially Jed, who Victor was sure was likely staring at the clock and being none too happy that they were losing driving time. “It was an accident.”

He was normally so careful. Ever since he’d first learned about his ability, he’d had to get used to the idea of never meeting the eyes of another human being. He’d had accidents, a few of them when he was young, but Victor normally kept such rigid control over where he directed his eyes that he hadn’t had an accident in years.

And even though he’d go insane from it one day, even though his mind would crack and he’d no longer be
himself
, Victor still remembered the eye contact fondly. A little piece of human connection that most took for granted. A little piece of knowledge that nobody else had. He craved it, a little. That
knowing
. It was like, despite the pain, despite the threat of madness, in that small moment he was fulfilling something he
needed
to become.

“I’ll be right in a few minutes,” he continued, raising his head to squint at them. “Just as soon as I’m sure that I’m not going to vomit in the van.” He was sure Jed would appreciate that.

Out of the corner his eye, he caught sight of Anthony, and the pang that hit his chest surprised even him. For a moment, Victor wasn’t sure where the emotion had come from—until he saw, in his mind’s eye, the moment that Randall had realized his older brother was sick, and the worry that had come from that. Remembering that tipped his mind in the direction of the future threads he’d seen, and—

Well, one of those was not the sort of thing he’d expected to see.

He’d been
married
to Randall. Not only that, but they’d adopted children, they’d grown old together in the most perfect, normal, picket fence life that Victor could ever imagine.

The thought made him slightly queasy. It was nothing against Randall. It was the thought of two-point-five children and a perfectly idyllic, perfectly
boring
life that didn’t sound like all that great of an ideal to Victor. It wasn’t what he wanted out of life. He wouldn’t have dated David if he’d wanted a little white house and a dog. Or a wolf, as it were.

“Right, I feel like I’m not going to fall over,” he announced, bracing against the edge of the van to push himself to his feet. He nearly tripped over Knievel, scowling when the cat hissed at him and darted away. Randall was next to him instantly, leaving off the argument he’d been having with Jed over pulling out his battery-operated hot plate to make a pot of tea, slipping an arm around his waist to help support him. The man blushed, the tips of his ears turning bright red, but he very gently, very carefully, helped Victor into a seat.

The sheer
contentment
that settled inside Victor’s chest was alarming. This was the worst part of his visions, the way those memories and possibilities broke off inside his mind and left little shards that remained. Thankfully, as Randall had not lived nearly as long as David had, this time around it wasn’t quite as disorienting.

“You shouldn’t be moving,” Randall chided softly, crouching down next to him, fussing with a washrag that he was pouring cold water over. He even fished out some ice from the cooler and wrapped that inside of it, hushing Victor’s protests and easing him to lean forward so he could wrap the wet cloth around the back of his neck. “Just close your eyes. Jed is going to stop at the first place we can find, and I’ll get you some tea. Do you need anything else?”

“You sound like you’ve dealt with migraines before,” Victor said, reaching up to press the cold cloth tighter to his skin.

There was a brief fumbled movement, an awkward clearing of Randall’s throat, and then his fingers, light and unsure, touched Victor’s temples. “I used to get them a lot,” he said lowly, voice pitched into a reassuring rumble as he rubbed circles against Victor’s skin. The light pressure combined with the cool cloth was absolutely heavenly, and Victor found himself leaning into it. “Before I had my glasses. And Anthony gets them now, from time to time, even though he pretends he’s unaffected.”

The pills were starting to kick in, combined with the care Randall was giving him. The pain was starting to leech away, and Victor had to bite his tongue to stop himself from letting out a groan of relief. He always forgot how painful these episodes were until he experienced them again—and once he
was
experiencing them, he tended to forget he’d ever been in a state without pain.

“Okay, does somebody want to tell me what just happened there?” Anthony’s voice came from the door of the van. He sounded concerned, a little gruff in his worry. Jed and Redford had maps spread across the hood of the van. Victor could see them through the windshield. Apparently they’d decided to let Victor explain himself to the wolves as he saw fit. “Do you have epilepsy, Victor?”

“Not quite.” Victor shifted the cloth to press it against his eyes. The movement, the little motion away from Randall, immediately had Randall’s touch falling away. “I’m a half blood. Medusa, to be exact.”

There was a pause before Randall breathed out a noise, both intrigued and pitying all in one. “My God,” Randall said lowly, eyes wide. “You… you had a vision?” Another beat and Randall went pale. “Of me?”

“Yes,” Victor admitted reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to look.” He always felt sorry for the people he accidentally made eye contact with. It was an invasion of privacy of the highest degree. By himself, Randall might have only told him that his parents had been killed by hunters, for example, but Victor had just seen all the gory details. Had shared in a moment that Randall had not
wanted
to share with him.

“I don’t get it.” Edwin was standing there, looking far more content now that he’d gotten to run around outside. Victor’s little episode had apparently saved him from extreme car boredom. “What’s a medusa?”

Randall, instead of giving the answer Victor assumed he knew, just looked vaguely like he was going to be sick. “Excuse me,” he said, pushing past Anthony and half stumbling out of the van, taking off into the grass by the side of the road, obviously wanting as much distance as possible.

Victor didn’t blame him.

“It means that when I look into somebody’s eyes, I see everything about them,” he answered Edwin. “Their past, their present. Their future. Because my brain is not designed for such an influx of information, I tend to pass out.” He didn’t go on to talk about the eventual insanity. It seemed too morbid right then, to tell to a carefree young man like Edwin, who was already dealing with his brother’s sickness.

Nose wrinkling a little, Edwin looked to where Randall was pacing back and forth, arms folded tightly across his chest. Something dawned in his gaze, and he glanced at Anthony. Then his frank blue eyes went back to Victor. “You saw what happens to Randall in the future,” he mused. “I guess you’re not going to tell us, huh? That’s how it always works in stories. The fairy godmother knows all the answers, but she just gives people dresses and lets them figure out the rest on their own. Otherwise the story would be over in the first chapter.”

“No, I’m afraid telling people about it usually gives the game away.” Victor turned his gaze back to Randall, frowning slightly in concern.

Anthony shifted his weight from side to side, looking uncertain. “Did you see what happens to me in the future? I—ow! Edwin!” He glared at Edwin, rubbing his arm where the punch had landed. “I’m just asking.”

“You’re not going to die.” Said with all the conviction of the young and the strong, as if by
willing
it, Edwin would order the universe. As if by his own hands he could pull his brother back from the brink of wherever he was falling. “We don’t need a medusa to tell us that. You’re going to be fine, and we’re all going to go home.” He gave his brother another punch to the shoulder, though this one was much lighter and really was more of a pull in so he could wrap his arms around Anthony. “I don’t care what anyone sees,” he murmured, clinging tightly. “You’re going to be fine. Okay?”

Anthony huffed out a laugh, ruffling a hand through Edwin’s hair. “Of course,” he replied. “I’ve got way too much to do; there’s no way I can get
that
sick.”

“Besides,” Victor felt the need to chip in, “I don’t see
the
future. I see many possibilities.” He shared a quick look with Anthony, and it seemed to reassure the man that there were potential futures in which he lived just fine.

Anthony looked over at Randall, who was still looking none too happy, and gave a short sigh. “Randall’s an extremely private person,” he told Victor, a protective rumble in the back of his throat. “I don’t think he’s going to be too happy with you.”

“Princess, you done puking your guts out yet?” Ah, the dulcet tones of an irritated Journey Walker. “As fun as it is to escort you to your fainting couch, Scarlett, if we want to hit the halfway point we need to keep moving.”

“Yes, I’m quite done,” Victor returned dryly. More genuinely, he added, “Thank you for stopping. I’m fairly certain added motion sickness would not have helped.” He wasn’t used to seeing Jed be
thoughtful
about anything. Usually the man’s method of dealing with things was explosives. And if that didn’t work, more explosives.