Forget-Me-Not

Aubrey shivered and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, tugging the fur-trimmed hood up just a bit more, wishing home were not still an hour or so away.

He could, of course, simply use the carriage—but he'd much rather freeze to death, which he was quite nicely proving.

The wind picked up, making him grimace, but after three days of travel, one hour more would not kill him. Not unless the snow resumed falling, but thankfully, the sky was clear.

Sighing softly, he twisted around to examine the carriage behind him, which was packed with the majority of his things. The rest would follow by cart more slowly, mostly crates of books, warm-weather clothing and other things he would not need right away. Those things he did require, or simply refused to be without, were packed into the carriage.

Including the dog rose he was bringing his sister, snitched from the school greenhouse. He didn't think she had a dog rose yet, though she very nearly had every rose known to the world and a few unique to the Sangre gardens.

He frowned, thinking of the home he had not seen in five years. His father, Lord Jonathan Bathory, Earl of Sangre, had not been pleased when his son and heir had decided to depart to follow his studies, rather than remain at home to focus on training to someday take over the family estate.

His sister had been rather unhappy as well, though she at least had been understanding and forgiving. Still, Aubrey dreaded the pending reunion. He'd sent word ahead that he was returning, but received not so much as a single note in reply.

Sighing again, he took out his pocket watch and flipped it open, staring at the minute family portrait painted with meticulous care. It was old, a copy of the family portrait which had once hung in the grand salon, now buried away in the attic somewhere per his father's instructions. It was of his parents, himself at age four, and his sister at three.

Not quite two years after the portrait had been painted and hung, his mother and her Pet, Mina, had been brutally murdered by bandits while returning from a trip to the little village near their family seat. Aubrey had been with them, but he remembered little of it outside of nightmares that still plagued him and a fear of being inside carriages.

It was also when their family had ceased to be one. He had vague memories of a much warmer father, though they were fuzzy and, more than likely, all made up. The servants had told him stories of his parents, how warm and loving they had been, but he had never been able to match the stories to the cold man who spent all his time locked away in his bedroom or study, emerging only to find fault with someone and administer suitable punishment.

Some of that had changed once his father had come home one day with Elisabeth, but even then he and Aubrey had never gotten along. It was a good day if they managed to remain civil.

He wondered what sort of reception he would get—if there would be any sort of reception at all, or if he would merely see his father over the dinner table as though not a day had passed from the moment of his leaving.

Was Carmilla all right? He had written her often, as well as Stregoni, but both had been annoyingly vague on the matter of her condition. Not wanting him to worry, likely, but all it did was make him worry that much more.

He thought again of the dog rose, it's vibrant pink petals, and hoped it was secured well against the biting cold.

The sharp tinkling of jingle bells drew him from his brooding, and he looked up as he came round the bend in the road—and broke into a smile as he saw who was ahead of him.

No matter how many years might pass, there would never be any mistaking the vibrant, chaotic mass of orange-red curls of Stregoni Benefici.

"Hail, stranger," he called out cheerfully, shoving back his hood. He laughed when Stregoni whipped around, blue-gray eyes going wide.

"Brey!" Stregoni broke into a grin. "Well, I never! No one told me you were due to arrive today. Carmilla said they weren't sure, that little brat! She probably wanted to surprise me."

Aubrey attempted to smooth down his messy, light brown hair and returned Stregoni's smile as they drew even. "No doubt, knowing Milla. So tell me everything, Stregoni. What have I missed? How is Carmilla? Father? Gilles."

At the mention of Gilles, Aubrey's cousin who'd come to live with them when Aubrey was twelve, Stregoni's face abruptly clouded, pain flashing through his eyes before he smiled through it and recovered his levity. His fingers reached up to touch the pin nestled in his neck cloth, a beautiful enameled pink rose. It stood out bright against the dark cream stock, a lovely compliment to the deep forest green of his coat and the black winter cloak. "Your sister is doing relatively well, all things considered. I have put her on a new medicine, and I am headed there now to see how it has performed this past week, see what adjustments might be made. Lord Sangre is much the same," Stregoni said with a shrug. "Your cousin…" He grimaced and again touched the rose at his throat. "Gilles only grows worse with every passing year, I swear."

"I cannot say it surprises me," Aubrey said with a sigh.

Just days after his twelfth birthday, Sangre had brought Gilles home, and said he would be living with them from then on, and they should treat him as a brother. Why, no ever said. To this day, Aubrey did not know. So far as he knew, his Uncle George was alive and quite healthy, though he had always been an odd recluse who never left his estate.

Perhaps he was too much of a recluse to tend his own son; Aubrey simply did not know. Nor did he really care, as Gilles had always been a brat with a bit of a mean streak who strove to ensure he made no real sense to anyone.

Of the family, Gilles was the only one who bothered to move about society, traveling to the city every other Season or so, and tend to business matters that could not be addressed from the house.

Scowling, Aubrey switched the direction of his thoughts. "Is there anything about which I should be warned?"

Stregoni winced. "Actually, there is—and it did not make sense to me until I saw you, and now I'm afraid it is all too clear."

Aubrey groaned. "What?"

"Gilles left two weeks ago on a trip for which he would not give details. Not unusual for him, but he returned yesterday with a new Pet and said only it was not for him, but a present for 'someone special'. I assumed perhaps he was courting someone, even though he and your father have never been the type to treat their Pet the way so many others do."

"Yet they keep Pets all the same," Aubrey said, mouth tight. "And now they're dragging me into it, even though I've always vehemently refused to have anything to do with the practice." He dragged a hand down his face. "Did they really buy me a Pet?"

"They have," Stregoni said, the paused before adding hesitantly. "He's quite handsome and seems friendly. I think your father is trying to extend a peace offering, or something in that vein, anyway."

Aubrey grimaced. "I don't care what my father thinks he's doing, or if this Pet Gilles picked out is the most beautiful man in the world. I do not want a Pet." His mouth tightened again. As Stregoni had said, most would consider a Pet a fine gift indeed, but Aubrey could not stomach the idea of owning one. People, even if they were not people in the eyes of most because they had to drink human blood to live, were not meant to be owned.

Knowing his father, no expense had been spared in the acquisition, and while there was much fault to find with Gilles, his sense of taste was not one of them. No doubt the Pet was quite up to Aubrey's tastes, though how his father and Gilles knew his tastes in such matters, he shuddered to think about.

Pets hailed from a small territory far to the south, all that remained of the vast territories they'd once owned. A strange race of human-like creatures that did not need food as did ordinary beasts and people, but blood. Human blood was best of all, though until they were sold they survived on animal blood.

This was because once a Pet fed on the blood of his owner, he ceased being able to drink any other form of blood. His body would no longer digest it properly. Once this new Pet drank Aubrey's blood, he would be required to feed on Aubrey or die of starvation.

Aubrey hated it. But any noble worth anything had a Pet. Even his mother had possessed a Pet. Aubrey didn't remember Mina well, but he felt the same fondness for her he had for his mother.

His father had acquired one a few years after his wife had died, a pale-skinned beauty named Elisabeth, soft, quiet, and patient, a rarity in their house of hard lines, sharp edges, and countless shouting matches. Gilles had a Pet as well, a severe, handsome man named François. Black hair, with strange eyes the same shade of purple as monkshood. Not an eye color found on any human, which was why it stuck in Aubrey's memory.

"I suppose it's far too late to turn around and say I'm not returning after all," he said with a sigh.

"Too late," Stregoni agreed cheerfully. "I've sorely missed you, and I am not letting you out of my sight again for a very long time. That aside," he continued more seriously, "your sister could use some more company. She swears she gets along quite well with Gilles and Lord Sangre, but I know having you home will do more good than all my tonics combined."

Aubrey nodded, pushing his anger aside to deal with later. He was glad to be home, he was—he just wished there were not already matters cropping up to sour it. "I still do not want a Pet."

"Well, make the best of it," Stregoni said peaceably. "Unless you can somehow manage to talk him out of it, your father has settled the matter. Perhaps your Pet will become a new friend. That does happen—look at how close and happy Sangre and Elisabeth are. She's essentially the lady of the house."

"I suppose," Aubrey said, shrugging the words off. "Tell me about yourself, Stregoni. How is the business? Your mother? Discover anything new? Acquire some new patients?" He winked. "A lover?"

Stregoni looked away, shrugging in his turn. "No lover," he said tersely. "A few new patients, though the kind that want an easy remedy to everything. That Marquis that lives a day or so from here has requested my services for his child a few times now, though I'm afraid he has a breathing problem that is not curable. Still, I try." He smiled as he turned back. "Thanks to your sister, I have access to the best herbs and flowers in the country."

Aubrey returned the smile. "That is Milla. I'm sure it makes her happy to help where she can." He sighed softly. "So nothing has been discovered as to her illness?"

"No, Brey, and I'm sorry for it. She simply seems to have been born frail. I think it is her heart, but cannot say for certain." Stregoni spread his hands in frustration. "I will never stop trying, but…"

"I know, Stregoni," Aubrey said, taking one leather-clad hand in his own. "It wasn't an accusation."

Stregoni squeezed his hand, then let it go. "Come on, we're nearly there, and you can see for yourself that she is as fit as she can possibly be—and probably in her prettiest dress because her big brother is coming home."

Aubrey smiled and pulled up the hood of his cloak once more before chasing after Stregoni, who had bolted ahead, laughing as their horses raced down the path.

They stopped before a house that was probably the oldest in the region. It had been built by Aubrey's ancestor, the first Lord Sangre.

Sangre Manor was beautiful but somber, a house built of dark stone, settled deep into the thick forest that consumed much of the region. The stone was of deepest gray, holding a faint gleam when the sun struck it properly, looking like something out of a penny-dreadful when the moon was bright. Deep blue shutters and a like door, with dark marble steps leading up to it.

Far to the right, near the small pond filled with white and orange fish, was the stone bench half-buried by a weeping willow where he had so often sat as a child.

Further beyond that was the footpath into the forest where Aubrey had often 'run away' before dark and fear forced him back home, to try again another day.

On the other side of the house extended part of the greenhouse, an undertaking which was nearly as large as the house itself, boasting a garden that was vibrant no matter the time of year, always warm and friendly, and the only one of its kind in the kingdom. People from all over wrote or visited to obtain cuttings or the dried bundles and other things that Carmilla and Stregoni made.

Aubrey only cared that it made his sister happy, that she loved it as much as their mother once apparently had.

As they drew up to the house, the front door flew open and a whole gaggle of people came spilling out—servants to the last, and with a few sharp words from the head butler, they all lined up neatly.

Dismounting, Aubrey moved to address them, but before he could say a word, more figures stepped out of the house, and the words caught in his throat.

His father had visibly aged, but as always, he did it with dignity and grace. His hair was mostly gray now, but some of the light brown, exactly like Aubrey's own, still remained. His eyes were light blue, where Aubrey had his mother's moss green, and age had not diminished their sharpness. Unlike Aubrey, he stood tall.

Beside him was Elisabeth, as beautiful and warm as ever, a bright, welcoming smile on her face. Her black hair was swept up in a pile of curls and twists, decorated with ribbons and jewels, and she wore a dark green, cream, and gold dress fit for a princess.

The only person as tall as his father was Gilles, whose mouth was curved in a smirk that Aubrey had not forgotten during his long absence. Gilles seemed unable to shape his mouth in any other way. Of course, it could be because the smirk rather suited his cool beauty. Gilles was everything Aubrey was not—tall where Aubrey was short, fashionably spare where Aubrey was stocky, stunning where Aubrey had turned out merely ordinary.

Like Aubrey and his father, Gilles had light brown hair. He wore it long, however, and like now, it was most often braided, tied with a ribbon. His clothes were the very first of fashion, and like Stregoni, his cravat pin took the shape of a flower—a red peony. It was a strange contrast with his jade green eyes, the bold and delicate colors clashing…and yet on Gilles, the combination somehow worked.

Besides Gilles was François, as beautiful and fierce as Aubrey remembered. His purple eyes were intent as they landed on Aubrey, then slid to Stregoni and grew even fiercer. His short hair was a brown so dark it could almost be mistaken for black, save where the sun struck it and drew out hints of red.

"Father," Aubrey said slowly as he approached them. He gave Sangre a slight bow and welcomed the brief hug Elisabeth gave him. They had not started off on the best foot when Aubrey was a child, angry his mother was being replaced, but over the years, they had formed something like a stepparent and child relationship.

"Aubrey, it is good to have you home," Sangre said quietly, voice as level as it ever was, giving nothing away. There was no way to tell if he even meant the words.

Before Aubrey could figure out what to say, a last figure appeared in the doorway. She was the spitting image of their father, but with all the feminine touches. Only the fact she was weak and sickly kept Carmilla Bathory from joining society. She would take the world by storm, if only she was healthy enough to do so.

Aubrey moved quickly up the steps to embrace her and kiss her cheek. "Milla, it is good to see you again."

"Brey, you're home," Carmilla said, kissing his cheeks, squeezing him tightly. "It's so good to have you back."

He hugged her again, and held fast as he turned to greet the servants and accept their expression of excitement and pleasure at his return. Finally he faced his father and Gilles again.

"Cousin," Gilles said, still smirking. "I see you brought the good doctor with you." His eyes slid briefly to Stregoni, standing silent nearby, then slid back to Aubrey. "We have a gift for you."

"So I heard," Aubrey said. "I do not want him."

"One does not refuse gifts," Sangre replied, face and tone implacable, but somehow Aubrey knew the matter was over before it had begun. He would accept the Pet, and that was that.

Stifling an urge to mount his horse and run away again, he allowed Carmilla to lead him into the house.

Inside, it had scarcely changed at all. The paintings, the marble floor and costly rugs, the crystal hanging from the ceiling…little things were gone, replaced by others, but the overall affect was as though he had not been gone more than an afternoon.

Nearby stood an unfamiliar figure.

The Pet was beautiful, there was no denying that. His hair was the color of beeswax, cropped extremely short and seemingly fine, delicate wisps of it clinging to his cheeks and forehead. His skin was smooth and flawless, and ever so faintly sun-kissed, lending a further impression of warmth.

By stark contrast, his eyes were so dark, Aubrey could not tell their color. He was also dressed head to foot in black. Severe, but he wore it well. The oddest thing about his appearance was that he wore no neck cloth. Instead, a startling amount of skin was bare, though much of it was covered by a collar. They'd been a popular affectation foisted on Pets once, but Aubrey had not seen one since he was a boy. Neither Elisabeth nor François had ever worn them.

Perhaps in jest, affixed to the black leather collar was a pin. Flowers must be in fashion, for like Stregoni and Gilles, the Pet's pin was in the shape of a flower: a vibrant, beautiful blue forget-me-not.

The Pet stepped forward and sketched a deep, elegant bow, not quite rising as he lifted his head to look at Aubrey.

Even this close, Aubrey could not tell the color of the Pet's eyes. They looked almost black, except he could see the pupil's quite clearly.

Aubrey realized he wasn't breathing. Shaking himself, he stepped forward.

"Master," the Pet murmured.

"What is your name?" Aubrey asked. If he was going to have a Pet, then he may as well accept it with dignity. He had learned the hard and painful way that making a scene only hurt himself.

The Pet smiled faintly. "Ruthven, Master."

"Ruthven," Aubrey repeated. "You must already know I am Aubrey."

"Yes, Master."

Aubrey nodded and extended his right arm, wrist up. "Welcome, then."

"I thank you, Master," Ruthven murmured, and for a moment, something hot and bright flared in his dark eyes. It made Aubrey shiver, though he could not put a name to what it was he had seen.

Then his wrist was taken up in one gloved hand, the black satin warm against his cold skin. He shivered again as he caught a hint of the long, sharp fangs, and bit back a cry of pain as they sank into his skin.

It was the strangest sensation, and not one to which he would ever grow accustomed. Only humans would ever decide it was fashionable to have their blood sucked.

As easy that, he was responsible for the life of another. If he died, so too would Ruthven. He stood immobile as Ruthven finally rose to his full height, licking blood from his lips. What was he supposed to say or do now?

"Thank you, father," he said stiffly after the silence stretched on.

"Gilles picked him out," Sangre replied, coming up to stand beside Aubrey, eyes on Ruthven. "He is lovely. Suitable?"

The question was rhetorical, but Aubrey nodded in reply anyway. He looked at Gilles, but did not offer any thanks. From the expression on Gilles's face, he had not expected any.

A bell rang, and Sangre held an arm out to Elisabeth. "Come, dinner is ready. We will eat as a proper family for the first time in too long."

It was a rebuke, as well as a tacit order that Aubrey would not be permitted to leave home again.

"Home, sweet home," Aubrey muttered to himself, then gave Carmilla his arm and followed Sangre to the dining room.