Page 62 of Bishop's Flight
Miguel swallowed hard. “I think Bernard is the only reason my kids still have a dad. I saw the look in Rose’s eyes, and…”
“Parents become feral when we lose our children.” Carwyn flashed back to the desperation, the raw panic, the overwhelming rage when his own son had been taken by an enemy. “I lost a child. He was centuries old, but when I looked at him…” He blinked, then refocused. “I still saw the boy he was. He was my descendant by blood and by amnis. I saw him grow up. I remember…”
In his mind, Carwyn saw a round-cheeked baby playing in the mud and laughing at farm dogs. A vibrant boy, thin as a sapling, bounding across fields at midnight. A curious young man, eager for knowledge and eternity, begging Carwyn to sire him.
“I remember every moment.” His voice was rough. “We never forget our children.”
Miguel pulled up to a low-slung tract house in a middle-class neighborhood that had seen better days. The grass was overgrown in the front, and an old boat sat in the driveway gathering cobwebs under the hull.
From the front window, Carwyn saw a flickering light that appeared to be the television. “Clarence Johnson looks like he might be awake.”
“I’m gonna pull into the driveway with the lights on,” Miguel said. “Give him a heads-up that he has company.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“He’s gonna be either shocked or supershocked that someone is knocking on his door at two in the morning. I’d rather give him a little advance notice if we can.”
Carwyn was still staring at the boat. “Why own a boat when you live in the desert?”
Miguel looked at the boat. “Oh, there’re lakes around here.”
“Lake Las Vegas? I thought that was one of those artificial landscaping kind of lakes to make rich people feel like they have waterfront property.”
Miguel chuckled. “It’s artificial, but it’s not just for landscaping. You can boat on it. Fish. But the real deal is Lake Mead. Oh man, that’s some good fishing. I remember going out with my dad when I was a kid.” He pointed to the boat in Johnson’s driveway as he pulled up next to it. “That’s a sport fisher. You can take them on the ocean, but you’ll see a lot of them on Mead.”
“Is that the lake with the massive dam on it?”
Miguel nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one. Hoover Dam.” He unclipped his seat belt and opened his car door. “I know you can’t go out during the day and all that, but it’s beautiful at night too. When I was younger, me and a bunch of buddies would rent a houseboat and take that out on the lake. It was a hell of a good time. And the stars out there in the middle of the desert?” Miguel shook his head. “Magical.”
“Must be heaven for water vampires.”
Miguel laughed. “We don’t get too many of those around here.”
They walked slowly up the front walkway, which was overgrown with Bermuda grass and weeds. There was a dusty set of folding chairs sitting on the small porch; one appeared to be broken. An overflowing ashtray sat in the middle of a tilting table, and a crushed silver beer can was stuck under one leg in an attempt to straighten the table’s lean.
“How does this guy have over twenty grand to lose betting on chess?” Miguel muttered.
“Clearly he doesn’t.” Carwyn reached out and knocked on the door. He gave it a solid but not thundering rap and almost immediately heard someone stir inside the house. “Good idea with the headlights, Miguel.”
“I do occasionally have—”
Cannon fire cut off Miguel’s voice, and Carwyn jumped back as the wooden door of the house splintered outward. A second explosion rocketed out, and dust flew through the air. Through the ringing in his ears and the confusion, Carwyn’s eyes darted from the smoke and dust at the door to the dark figure kicking in the dust.
“Get the fuck away!” a voice screamed from the house. “I don’t know anything! Get the fuck away!”
He moved with preternatural speed, rushing the human who had shot through the door, grabbing the shotgun, throwing him on the ground, and punching him in the head until he was still. Then he rushed to Miguel, rolling the man to his back.
The human’s chest was a mess of blood and dirt, deep red seeping through caked earth where he’d fallen forward onto the dusty front lawn.
“Help!” Carwyn’s voice boomed through the night. He rolled up his sleeve and his fangs fell. He slashed a deep gash in his wrist with his own teeth and poured the blood directly onto Miguel’s chest. “Anybody, help! Call an ambulance!”
Carwyn heard doors opening and a woman’s sharp scream. A few moments later, he heard sirens wailing.
“Stay with me.” He bit his other wrist and poured more blood into Miguel’s wounds, hoping to keep him alive until the ambulance arrived.
Miguel didn’t speak, but his eyes were wide and pleading.
“Stay with me.” Carwyn didn’t let go of his hand. “Stay with me. Your children need you. It’s not your time to die. Do ya hear me?”
