Greg the Vampire... mini-update.
I was going to post a much longer portion of this chapter, but then I realized that would leave it ending on an AWFUL cliffhanger and you guys would kill me with croquet mallets and wet sponges, so instead here is a small GtV update designed to make you feel happy until I can get more writing done beyond the cliffhanger.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty
Cocooned inside Luce's strong embrace, Greg squeezed Mason until Mason began to cough and pat Greg's shoulder frantically and say, "Thir. Thir. I theem to be blacking out," and even then Greg was loathe to let him go. But Mason continued to push firmly against Greg's chest and eventually Greg relinquished his death grip-he winced, sensitive to the terrible choice of words-and allowed Mason to step away.
"How?" Greg asked, aware his voice would betray him if he said more.
"I'm a gargoyle, thir," Mason said, as though that explained everything.
"Yeth, but-dammit, yes-but how in the world-?"
“Thir,” Mason said, managing to sound superior even though his head barely came above Greg’s waist and he was covered in dirt stains. An earthworm wriggled on his shoulder. “Didn’t you read that book on gargoyleth I gave you?”
Greg frowned and opened his mouth, speechless with sudden guilt.
Mason sighed. "Ith all right, thir, I realithe you mutht have been theverely emothionally compromithed and probably not thinking clearly. I underthtand."
"Mason," Luce said, his voice solemn. He still had one arm wrapped around Greg's waist, as though he'd forgotten about it. Greg most assuredly had not. He felt each flex of Luce's fingers like pinpricks of fire. "We buried you. You were dead."
Mason sighed as patiently as a small child can, which is never very patiently, and said, "I wathnt dead, I was thleeping. If a gargoyle ith gravely injured, he mutht go into hibernation thomeplace dark. Uthually thith is accomplithed by hiding in a cave."
He paused and his expression became mildly accusatory. "Ahem. But I thuppothe burying them workth, too."
Greg laughed and put his face in his hands for a moment before looking back at Mason. "I'm terribly sorry we buried you, Mason."
"And in my betht thuit, too, thir. It will take Granny forever to get the thtainth out."
"Yes, I realize that. I'm very sorry. We'll buy you a new suit."
"I mutht altho regretfully point out," Mason said, "that thith could have been avoided if you had read the book on Guardianth that I gave you. Ageth ago." He tapped his small foot and tsked.
Luce choked on a laugh and buried his face against Greg's neck again, and the sudden moist warmth startled Greg and made him jump; he felt Luce's hand tighten around his waist.
"We'll keep that in mind for the future," Greg said, painfully aware of how his neck moved against Luce's smiling lips. "But for the sake of my sanity, and Mr. Luce's, please do not make dying a habit."
"Of courth not, thir," Mason said. "And Mr. Luthe, I mutht thank you ethpethially. The phoenix tearth helped a great deal, thir, or it would have taken me another week or two to regenerate.”
Luce lifted his head, his smile flashing bright and searing, like sunlight on metal. "Anytime," he said, the wild joy in his voice beating against the confines of the single word.
"Wonderful!" Mason said, clapping his small hands. "I prethume you two will want to hug me a bit longer? Yeth? And then perhapth we can go for ithe cream? Only I wath dead for a bit, after all."
"Yes," Greg said, the joy bubbling in his heart like a potion in a cauldron, full of bits of things like Mason's small smile and Luce's warm hands and Mason's heartbeat and the wriggling earthworm and wonder and thankfulness.
"As much ice cream as you want for the rest of your life, kid," Luce said, reaching down to ruffle Mason's hair. "Now get over here and prepare to be suffocated some more."
Mason sighed. "If I mutht," he said.
Greg laughed and felt Luce’s hand squeeze his waist. When he looked up at him, he knew his eyes were ridiculously bright.
“I think today was a good day,” Greg said.
"Me too," Luce said, wrapping all three of them into another hug. "God, me too."
Then he darted in and pressed a quick kiss to Greg's lips and for a moment Greg forgot himself and pressed back, his heart singing.
Mason cleared his throat and said, "All right, commenth with the thuffocating," and even though the moment was lost-and it wasn't a moment, Greg reminded himself, it was only two friends, two friends overjoyed and bursting with happiness and wanting to share it-even though it was over, it wasn't forgotten.
"Thir," Mason said in tones of deep, deep embarrassment, "The phoenix tearth are totally unethethary at thith point."
"Big baby," Greg murmured against Luce's shoulder.
"Shut up, bat brain," Luce said, his smile soft against Greg's skin.
----
The other children were equally joyous at Mason's return. It seemed any differences that had existed prior to the incident were wiped clean away in the face of shared mortal danger. Curious, how that happened.
Emma in particular took more of a shine to Mason, often following him around and babbling at him in speech patterns that were becoming surprisingly familiar.
"Mason," Greg said, cornering the boy at the end of the week. "Are you teaching Emma from the dictionary?"
"Not at all, thir," Mason replied, blinking innocent purple-grey eyes. "If I happen to be reading from the dicthionary and Emma happenth to be nearby, thath not really teaching, ith it?"
Greg stared down at him for a long moment. "Carry on, you sly little bugger," he finally said. "But do remember that a near death experience only gets you a limited number of free passes."
"I realithe this, thir," Mason said. "By my ethtimation, it ith roughly twenty-three. I'm keeping a tally."
"I imagine you are," Greg said, shaking his head and walking away, joy still bubbling in his chest.
Another interesting result of Mason's return was that the other children viewed him as something of a hero, and as such, Greg found that Mason had suddenly become the official spokesman for the other children.
In their eyes, Mason's credentials were impressive: he had survived an explosion, being buried alive, and Greg and Luce's combined hugs, and had still managed to turn in his homework to Gina the first week of his return. Before the explosion, Mason had been the odd one out: too smart, too different, and too lispy.
Now, the scar Mason sported on his chest might as well have come with a leather jacket and a motorcycle.
The grey scar on Mason's chest particularly fascinated Flint, who possessed a worrying tendency to rush into danger that his older, more serious twin did not. Greg thought that Flint was jealous that he didn't have any cool scars; trolls were notoriously hard to bruise.
Flint was forever trying to get Mason to play games with him now, as most of the other children were sensible enough to realize that Greg's magic could only heal so much. But Mason had regenerative capabilities-Mason was ideal.
"Lez play 'Ezzplosion'!" Greg heard Flint said to Mason. "We'll go ow'back and BOOM! Ezzplosion!!"
There was a reason many trolls went into construction. Or demolition.
"You c'n play a dead guy!" Flint enthused. "You gotta scar for it already!"
"No 'Explosion,'" Greg said firmly, stepping in when it looked like Mason wasn't so much tempted as he was resigned to his fate. "Go play 'Clean Your Room' instead."
"Aw," Flint said, scuffing his foot on the ground. "Thazza stupid game. Nobody gets ezzploded!"
"That is rather the point," Greg said, gesturing toward the house. "Room. Now."
"Yer no fun," Flint said, his small teal jaw set in a mutinous line.
"I live to suck the enjoyment from your life," Greg agreed. "Mm-mm, fun. It tastes better than blood."
Flint grumbled something that sounded like, "'m gonna jump off the roof, big ol' bat, see how you like that, gonna jump right off" which, coming from any other child, would have alarmed Greg but coming from Flint only made Greg mentally note to glance up before walking around the perimeter of the house today. The twins' troll-diving wasn't fun for anyone but the twins. It was even more extremely less fun for anyone not wearing a hardhat.
"Ith all right, thir," Mason said. "He'th not a bother. Ith nithe to have friendth. Although, I mutht tell you, being a minor thelebrity ith quite taxing. I haven't had much time to mythelf thethe dayth."
"Heavy is the cross you bear," Greg said.
Mason rolled his eyes, which was a habit he had picked up from Flipper. "If you'll excuthe me," he said haughtily, "There ith a dictionary I mutht go read very loudly in Emma'th prethenthe."
Greg watched Mason walk away, his grey chin tilted high and his shoulders stiff. Greg couldn't keep the smile from his face. Mason had been back two weeks now, and things were nearly right with the world.
Luce came outside sipping his coffee, bumped shoulders with Greg, and handed him a mug of steaming blood tea. As they drank in companionable silence, watching the rest of the children play on the grass in the backyard under the early morning sunshine, the world slotted into perfection.
Then Luce clapped a hand on the back of Greg's neck, his thumb rubbing absently over the short hairs at Greg's nape, and Greg took a long gulp of blood tea that was just a little too hot, and a fly buzzed around his head, and Flipper shouted at Malachite, "What did you do in my pool?" and Greg thought there was something much better than perfection.
There was this.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty
Cocooned inside Luce's strong embrace, Greg squeezed Mason until Mason began to cough and pat Greg's shoulder frantically and say, "Thir. Thir. I theem to be blacking out," and even then Greg was loathe to let him go. But Mason continued to push firmly against Greg's chest and eventually Greg relinquished his death grip-he winced, sensitive to the terrible choice of words-and allowed Mason to step away.
"How?" Greg asked, aware his voice would betray him if he said more.
"I'm a gargoyle, thir," Mason said, as though that explained everything.
"Yeth, but-dammit, yes-but how in the world-?"
“Thir,” Mason said, managing to sound superior even though his head barely came above Greg’s waist and he was covered in dirt stains. An earthworm wriggled on his shoulder. “Didn’t you read that book on gargoyleth I gave you?”
Greg frowned and opened his mouth, speechless with sudden guilt.
Mason sighed. "Ith all right, thir, I realithe you mutht have been theverely emothionally compromithed and probably not thinking clearly. I underthtand."
"Mason," Luce said, his voice solemn. He still had one arm wrapped around Greg's waist, as though he'd forgotten about it. Greg most assuredly had not. He felt each flex of Luce's fingers like pinpricks of fire. "We buried you. You were dead."
Mason sighed as patiently as a small child can, which is never very patiently, and said, "I wathnt dead, I was thleeping. If a gargoyle ith gravely injured, he mutht go into hibernation thomeplace dark. Uthually thith is accomplithed by hiding in a cave."
He paused and his expression became mildly accusatory. "Ahem. But I thuppothe burying them workth, too."
Greg laughed and put his face in his hands for a moment before looking back at Mason. "I'm terribly sorry we buried you, Mason."
"And in my betht thuit, too, thir. It will take Granny forever to get the thtainth out."
"Yes, I realize that. I'm very sorry. We'll buy you a new suit."
"I mutht altho regretfully point out," Mason said, "that thith could have been avoided if you had read the book on Guardianth that I gave you. Ageth ago." He tapped his small foot and tsked.
Luce choked on a laugh and buried his face against Greg's neck again, and the sudden moist warmth startled Greg and made him jump; he felt Luce's hand tighten around his waist.
"We'll keep that in mind for the future," Greg said, painfully aware of how his neck moved against Luce's smiling lips. "But for the sake of my sanity, and Mr. Luce's, please do not make dying a habit."
"Of courth not, thir," Mason said. "And Mr. Luthe, I mutht thank you ethpethially. The phoenix tearth helped a great deal, thir, or it would have taken me another week or two to regenerate.”
Luce lifted his head, his smile flashing bright and searing, like sunlight on metal. "Anytime," he said, the wild joy in his voice beating against the confines of the single word.
"Wonderful!" Mason said, clapping his small hands. "I prethume you two will want to hug me a bit longer? Yeth? And then perhapth we can go for ithe cream? Only I wath dead for a bit, after all."
"Yes," Greg said, the joy bubbling in his heart like a potion in a cauldron, full of bits of things like Mason's small smile and Luce's warm hands and Mason's heartbeat and the wriggling earthworm and wonder and thankfulness.
"As much ice cream as you want for the rest of your life, kid," Luce said, reaching down to ruffle Mason's hair. "Now get over here and prepare to be suffocated some more."
Mason sighed. "If I mutht," he said.
Greg laughed and felt Luce’s hand squeeze his waist. When he looked up at him, he knew his eyes were ridiculously bright.
“I think today was a good day,” Greg said.
"Me too," Luce said, wrapping all three of them into another hug. "God, me too."
Then he darted in and pressed a quick kiss to Greg's lips and for a moment Greg forgot himself and pressed back, his heart singing.
Mason cleared his throat and said, "All right, commenth with the thuffocating," and even though the moment was lost-and it wasn't a moment, Greg reminded himself, it was only two friends, two friends overjoyed and bursting with happiness and wanting to share it-even though it was over, it wasn't forgotten.
"Thir," Mason said in tones of deep, deep embarrassment, "The phoenix tearth are totally unethethary at thith point."
"Big baby," Greg murmured against Luce's shoulder.
"Shut up, bat brain," Luce said, his smile soft against Greg's skin.
----
The other children were equally joyous at Mason's return. It seemed any differences that had existed prior to the incident were wiped clean away in the face of shared mortal danger. Curious, how that happened.
Emma in particular took more of a shine to Mason, often following him around and babbling at him in speech patterns that were becoming surprisingly familiar.
"Mason," Greg said, cornering the boy at the end of the week. "Are you teaching Emma from the dictionary?"
"Not at all, thir," Mason replied, blinking innocent purple-grey eyes. "If I happen to be reading from the dicthionary and Emma happenth to be nearby, thath not really teaching, ith it?"
Greg stared down at him for a long moment. "Carry on, you sly little bugger," he finally said. "But do remember that a near death experience only gets you a limited number of free passes."
"I realithe this, thir," Mason said. "By my ethtimation, it ith roughly twenty-three. I'm keeping a tally."
"I imagine you are," Greg said, shaking his head and walking away, joy still bubbling in his chest.
Another interesting result of Mason's return was that the other children viewed him as something of a hero, and as such, Greg found that Mason had suddenly become the official spokesman for the other children.
In their eyes, Mason's credentials were impressive: he had survived an explosion, being buried alive, and Greg and Luce's combined hugs, and had still managed to turn in his homework to Gina the first week of his return. Before the explosion, Mason had been the odd one out: too smart, too different, and too lispy.
Now, the scar Mason sported on his chest might as well have come with a leather jacket and a motorcycle.
The grey scar on Mason's chest particularly fascinated Flint, who possessed a worrying tendency to rush into danger that his older, more serious twin did not. Greg thought that Flint was jealous that he didn't have any cool scars; trolls were notoriously hard to bruise.
Flint was forever trying to get Mason to play games with him now, as most of the other children were sensible enough to realize that Greg's magic could only heal so much. But Mason had regenerative capabilities-Mason was ideal.
"Lez play 'Ezzplosion'!" Greg heard Flint said to Mason. "We'll go ow'back and BOOM! Ezzplosion!!"
There was a reason many trolls went into construction. Or demolition.
"You c'n play a dead guy!" Flint enthused. "You gotta scar for it already!"
"No 'Explosion,'" Greg said firmly, stepping in when it looked like Mason wasn't so much tempted as he was resigned to his fate. "Go play 'Clean Your Room' instead."
"Aw," Flint said, scuffing his foot on the ground. "Thazza stupid game. Nobody gets ezzploded!"
"That is rather the point," Greg said, gesturing toward the house. "Room. Now."
"Yer no fun," Flint said, his small teal jaw set in a mutinous line.
"I live to suck the enjoyment from your life," Greg agreed. "Mm-mm, fun. It tastes better than blood."
Flint grumbled something that sounded like, "'m gonna jump off the roof, big ol' bat, see how you like that, gonna jump right off" which, coming from any other child, would have alarmed Greg but coming from Flint only made Greg mentally note to glance up before walking around the perimeter of the house today. The twins' troll-diving wasn't fun for anyone but the twins. It was even more extremely less fun for anyone not wearing a hardhat.
"Ith all right, thir," Mason said. "He'th not a bother. Ith nithe to have friendth. Although, I mutht tell you, being a minor thelebrity ith quite taxing. I haven't had much time to mythelf thethe dayth."
"Heavy is the cross you bear," Greg said.
Mason rolled his eyes, which was a habit he had picked up from Flipper. "If you'll excuthe me," he said haughtily, "There ith a dictionary I mutht go read very loudly in Emma'th prethenthe."
Greg watched Mason walk away, his grey chin tilted high and his shoulders stiff. Greg couldn't keep the smile from his face. Mason had been back two weeks now, and things were nearly right with the world.
Luce came outside sipping his coffee, bumped shoulders with Greg, and handed him a mug of steaming blood tea. As they drank in companionable silence, watching the rest of the children play on the grass in the backyard under the early morning sunshine, the world slotted into perfection.
Then Luce clapped a hand on the back of Greg's neck, his thumb rubbing absently over the short hairs at Greg's nape, and Greg took a long gulp of blood tea that was just a little too hot, and a fly buzzed around his head, and Flipper shouted at Malachite, "What did you do in my pool?" and Greg thought there was something much better than perfection.
There was this.