The Chosen

Even with the vehicle’s kick-assness, though, visibility was for shit, and he’d had to turn the headlights off in favor of parking lights as soon as he’d picked up speed on the Northway: With his keen eyes, the illumination was still plenty and this addressed the issue he’d had with the whiteout created by those Xenon motherfuckers hitting all the flakes.

As he passed the marker, he steered the Hummer off the center track and onto the shoulder. Squinting, even though it didn’t improve his visual acuity, he tried to make out exactly where they’d gone off the road on the opposite, northbound bunch of lanes.

He’d gone about three feet with that act before he decided, fuck it.

Wrenching the wheel to the left, he broke off onto the median, crossed into oncoming traffic—which was nonexistent, at least at the moment—and headed down the Northway going the wrong way. Flipping on the side-mounted spotlight, he used its handle to flash the powerful beam off to the side.

He found the Volvo about three hundred and fifty yards up, and something about seeing the station wagon off the highway at an angle, some six feet down from that busted side rail, made him want to throw up. Instead of going that bad-goiter route, however, he hit the brakes, threw the engine in park, and opened his door.

The Volvo had lost traction at the base of a hill, its grille going headfirst into the snow in such a way that the driver’s door couldn’t be opened. Blay and his family had taken advantage of the other side, though, his father and himself out and helping his mahmen from the backseat. Lyric was grimacing in pain as they manhandled her, but she wasn’t complaining. She was trying to smile.

“Hello, Qhuinn,” she shouted into the storm as he came down the incline to them.

That was as far as she got with the talking. The jostling was obviously killing her, and Qhuinn wished he could help.

Meanwhile, Tohr was standing by as well, with the blanket he’d brought and a thermos in his hands. Qhuinn had been shocked that the brother had shown up on the scene, and man, had it been good to know that he was holding things down while the Hummer had been brought out here.

“I’ll take her up,” Blay’s dad announced, as any bonded male would.

And out of deference to him, everyone stood back as the guy got his mate up into his arms. Blay then fell in behind his father, pushing his parents up the incline to the Hummer as Tohr scanned the storm for the enemy and Qhuinn ran ahead, turned the SUV around, and opened the rear door.

God, please let no human come by. Especially not in a CPD or state police car.

It was another case of things taking forever before Lyric was safely in the back of the vehicle, and Qhuinn took a deep breath.

But they still had to get to the mansion in one piece.

As Blay got in beside him in front and the male’s dad went around and sat with Lyric, Tohr came over.

Qhuinn put his window down. “Thank you … thank you so much.”

The brother passed him the blanket and the thermos. “This is hot chocolate. Fritz apparently has it at the ready on nights like tonight.”

“Are you going back downtown?”

Tohr looked off into the blowing snow. “We go together, it’s what we agreed on.”

Qhuinn put his palm out. “Amen, brother.”

After they shook, Tohr stepped back. “I’ll follow you home.”

“You don’t have to. But I’m glad you are.”

Tohr nodded once and then fist-bumped the hood. “Drive safe.”

Qhuinn put up his window and hit the gas—gingerly. The Hummer was kitted out for all kinds of terrain, including Fuckloads of Fucking Snow, but he wasn’t going to take chances with his precious cargo—and then there was the fact that Blay’s mom hissed as the SUV bumped over into the snow track.

As they commenced the trip, Blay’s mom and dad talked quietly in the back, support being offered and accepted, the murmurs warm and intimate.

You know, basically the opposite of what was doing in the front of the vehicle.

Qhuinn glanced at Blay. The male was staring straight out the windshield, his face impassive.

“So I’m going to take us right into the training center,” Qhuinn said.

This was a dumb-ass statement, of course. Like he was going to Santa them down the chimney or something?

“That’d be great.” Blay cleared his throat and then unzipped his parka. “So the Brotherhood was out in the field tonight?”

“What?”

“Wrath still sent everyone out in this storm?” When Qhuinn continued to look confused, Blay said, “You and Tohr were talking about being in the field?”

“Oh, yeah. No. Everybody’s off.”

“So what were you guys doing downtown?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Blay refocused out the windshield. “Private Brotherhood business, huh. Well, I can smell the gunpowder on you.”

When the Hummer arrived at the training center, stopping in front of the reinforced door at the base of the parking garage, Blay was the first out of the SUV. The ride into the compound had been marked by a series of awkward conversational stops and starts between him and Qhuinn, to the point where it was a toss-up whether strained silence was better than all the throat clearing. And meanwhile, in the back, his parents were listening to everything, even as they pretended to chat among themselves.

Nothing like baring your relationship’s low point in front of Mommy and Daddy.

It was almost as much fun as a broken ankle.

Just as Blay was opening his mother’s door, Dr. Manello came out with a gurney, the human male smiling pleasantly, but also doing that eagle-eye thing all physicians and surgeons did when confronting a patient.

“How are we, folks?” the guy said as Lyric struggled free of the Hummer’s backseat. “Glad you made it in in one piece.”

Blay’s mahmen tilted her head and smiled over at the healer as she leaned on her hellren. “Oh, I was stupid.”

“You didn’t boot up.”

“No, I didn’t.” She rolled her eyes. “I was just trying to make First Meal. And here you have it.”

Dr. Manello shook palms with Blay’s dad and then put his hand on Lyric’s shoulder. “Well, not to worry, I’m going to take really good care of you.”

For some reason, that simple statement, coupled with the complete confidence the guy wore like an aura granted from God Himself, made Blay have to look away and blink quick.

“You all right?” Qhuinn asked quietly.

Blay pulled it together and ignored the comment as his mom was carefully put onto the stretcher and Dr. Manello did a fast examination like he couldn’t help himself.

“When are you coming home?” Qhuinn whispered.

When Blay didn’t answer, the male pressed, “Please … come back.”

Blay stepped over to the gurney. “Mahmen, do you need a blanket over you? No? Okay, I’ll get the door.”

With purpose, he held things open and stood off to the side as everyone fell into a line and entered the training center. After he was sure he had closed things properly behind them, he joined the march down the long concrete corridor, going past the classrooms and the break room that the new trainee class used.

Like everything else in Caldwell, things were shut down tonight, no students around, everyone hunkered down.

Just as well, the screams … dearest Virgin no-longer Scribe from the screams.

“What is that?” Blay’s mom asked. “Is someone dying?”

Dr. Manello just shook his head. Although vampire healthcare had no HIPAA rules, the doctor never talked about his patients, even when the information was Brother to Brother—and Blay had always admired that about the man. About Doc Jane, too. Hell, in the mansion, everybody tended to know everybody else’s business. And when things were going okay? That was fine. When they weren’t?

The household’s loving, caring, swearing peanut gallery could get to be a bit much.

“So when can we see those young?” Blay’s dad asked as he glanced over his shoulder at Qhuinn. “I haven’t held my grandbabies in ten nights. It’s been too long. And I know their grandmahmen could use some cheering up, right, my love?”