The Half-Elf and the Dhampir

Gideon ignored the feeling that he was being watched as he concentrated on sketching a woman picking flowers. He was seated across the glade from her with his back against a tall oak tree. When she finished, she paused briefly to give him a wave before leaving. “Okay, Danny. You can come out, now.” A boy, who appeared to be seven if that, slipped out of the shadows behind Gideon. “I was just watching you draw, Gid,” he said. “It’s easier if you sit here.” Gideon patted the grass beside him, nodding when the boy dropped down next to him. “How did you know I was there?” Gideon chuckled. “You weren’t as quiet as you thought.” “I tried,” the boy protested. “Can I see?” “Sure.” Gideon turned the pad to show Danny the drawing. “No. I mean…” Danny touched the side of his face. “Good gods, you’ve seen them often enough.” He pulled his long, dark hair back to reveal his ears. “I know,” Danny admitted. “But they’re neat.” “They’re only ears,” Gideon replied with a smile. “Maybe a bit pointier than yours but still.” “Because you’re half an elf.” Danny nodded hard. “Yep.” Gideon let his hair fall back in place. “I wish I was,” Danny said. “No you don’t, not really. There’s a lot to be said for being you, exactly the way you are.” Danny looked as if he didn’t believe him, but didn’t argue as he asked, “When are you going to teach me to draw. You promised you would.” “Let’s see. Tomorrow’s Saturday so I’m free. How about you come by the house around ten. But not—” he tapped Danny’s chest, “—without your mom’s permission. Understand?” “Uh-huh.” “Good. Okay, it’s suppertime so you’d better go home before she thinks you’ve run away or been kidnapped.” Gideon got up, put the pad and his pencils in his backpack, and followed at a more sedate pace when Danny took off running. The boy had disappeared from view by the time Gideon reached the main street through Lorwick. He paused as he often did to look around with a sense of contentment. The place suited him perfectly as he’d discovered the first time he’d visited. It was small, with barely four hundred residents, nestled along a cove on the rocky Maine coast. Winters could be brutal, but on a warm spring day, like today, it was idyllic. It had been pure luck as far as Gideon was concerned that he’d arrived in town soon after the death of one of the older residents. According to the story he’d heard, the man’s children had moved away many years previously and had no intention of returning except for the funeral and to put the house up for sale. The moment he’d seen it, Gideon knew it would be perfect for him. It was small, with a main room, kitchen, and a pantry on the ground floor and two bedrooms and a bath on the second. A large, natural stone fireplace took up half the far end of the main room—with windows on each side overlooking the back yard—and each bedroom had its own, smaller fireplace. The real selling point however was the barn behind the house. One look and he knew it would be perfect for his studio. He’d made an offer on the place and the acre of land it stood on at the edge of the town. Two months later it was his, lock, stock, and barrel. He’d settled in and then worked on the barn to make it an open, airy studio. Quite successfully in his opinion, and those of the townspeople who had made it a point to get to know him. He was once again thankful that in the new, enlightened age that had slowly crept over the world, those like himself who were ‘other’, to use the popular term, had been able to reveal their existence without too much backlash from the human population. Of course there were always those people who hated anyone different from themselves and they had tried their best to isolate or eliminate the ‘creatures’. Thankfully, they had been relatively unsuccessful, especially after laws had been passed to make it illegal to intentionally harm anyone who wasn’t born human. “Evening, Gid,” a man called out as Gideon strolled past the grocery store. “Evening, Mr. Allard. How are you?” “Couldn’t be better,” Mr. Allard replied. “And you?” “The same.” “There was someone looking for you,” Mr. Allard said. “Never seen him or his friends before. I didn’t say where you lived but if they kept asking around…” He shrugged. “Thanks for the warning. What did they look like?” “The main one had on a suit and a fedora. Not bad looking if you like the gangster type. The others were bruisers dressed all in black.” Mr. Allard chuckled. “In this weather I don’t envy them. They must have been sweating up a storm.” “How long ago?” “Umm, maybe half an hour.” “Okay. Guess I’d better get home and hope they’re not looking for trouble.” Mr. Allard grinned. “If they are I’m sure you can handle it. You may look artsy, but we all know there’s more to you than a handsome face and talent for painting pretty pictures.” “Pretty pictures?” Gideon muttered. He laughed seconds later. His paintings were hardly that, at least not the way Mr. Allard had teased—because he was teasing and Gideon knew it. Mr. Allard winked. “I call it as I see it. See you later and be careful, Gid.” “Planning on it.” Gideon continued on his way, waving to a couple of shopkeepers he passed as they were getting ready to close for the day. Turning right at the end of what the townspeople laughingly called the business district, he walked the last half mile to the lane leading home, following it to the end. A black limousine was parked there, facing him as if ready for a fast getaway if needed. Silently, he moved onto the front porch and opened the door, which wasn’t locked. But then it never was. No one locked their doors in Lorwick, except those to their businesses. As Mrs. White, who owned the bookstore, had told him soon after he’d moved there, “The town is well off the beaten path so we’re safe enough. On the other hand, we’re not stupid so we lock our shops, just in case, you know.” He shielded his thoughts before he stepped inside, and sighed. He didn’t personally know the vampire seated in his favorite armchair, flanked by his henchmen, but he knew who he was. “What’s he done now, Signore Vicario?” “I see you’re aware who I am.” Vicario smiled darkly. “Your fame precedes you,” Gideon replied with a wry smile. “So?” “Your brother managed to cheat his way into a small fortune at my club in New York City. I don’t appreciate that and would like my money back. The problem is, he seems to have vanished.” Vicario shot Gideon a hard look. “I don’t suppose you know where?” Rather than replying immediately, Gideon walked to the sofa, sat, and leaned back casually. Then he said, “I haven’t seen Braden in, hell, four, maybe five years.” “So if we searched your house and the barn we wouldn’t find him in some hidey-hole of your devising.” Gideon laughed. “I’m certain you already done that so it’s a moot point.” Vicario nodded. “We have, Mr. Llewellyn.” He stared at him and Gideon felt him trying to enter his thoughts—and let him as he had nothing to hide. “All right, I believe you,” the vampire said, getting to his feet after a minute’s probing. “It would behoove you to find him, for his sake. If he returns my money I’ll be lenient in my punishment.” “And if he doesn’t?” “I’ll leave that to your imagination…and his.” With that said, Vicario and his men strode out of the house. Gideon went to the window and watched until the limo was out of sight. “Now what do I do?” he asked aloud. “How do I find an elf who doesn’t want to be found, and why do I give a damn anyway?” He knew the answer to the last. Braden was his half-brother and they had been the best of friends growing up. Or as much as that was possible given that Gideon was the product of his father’s dalliance with a human woman which had resulted in his birth. When Connor Llewellyn had found out, he had convinced the woman that Gideon would be better off being raised by what he’d called his own kind, meaning elves. For a substantial payment she had agreed. When Braden had teased that he had been bought and paid for, even though it wasn’t maliciously, Gideon had replied, “At least Father chose me. He was stuck with you.” That generally ended in a wrestling match, the way brothers will, with Braden coming out the winner nine times out of ten. Going into the kitchen, Gideon began to fix supper, all the while mulling over the problem of his brother and where he could be hiding—because he was certain that’s what Braden was doing. When I find him, then what? I’m not turning him over to Vicario. No way, no how. Can I convince him to return the money? That was doubtful and he knew it. Braden liked getting away with doing what he shouldn’t, especially when it came to stealing from someone bigger and badder than he’d ever be. Vicario was definitely such a man. He owned some of the most notorious gambling clubs in the country. It was well known within certain circles that the games were rigged, even though no one had ever been able to prove it to the satisfaction of the authorities. Taking his meal into the main room, he sat at the dining table to eat, still pondering where his brother might be hiding. Best bet, as far from New York as he could get, but not on the west coast. Vicario has cohorts there who’d love to make points with him by capturing Braden. The same goes for anywhere along the coast of the Caribbean. Too many gambling establishments there where he’s undoubtedly too well known. Out of the country? Doubtful. He hates foreign travel, or he did the last time I saw him. Would Dad know? Would he admit it if he did? There was only one way to find out. He quickly finished eating, washed up, and then plopped down in his armchair. Taking out his phone, he called his father. “To what do I owe this honor?” Connor Llewellyn asked, the sardonic tone in his voice not surprising Gideon in the least. His relationship with his father was iffy at best. Thus, he had left home as soon as possible once he reached his majority to live his own life, out from under his father’s thumb. They kept in contact, but only when necessary, like birthdays and holidays. “Have you heard from Braden recently?” “Someone else asked me that, two days ago. I’ll tell you what I told him, I haven’t talked with your brother in over a year.” Gideon chuckled softly. “That’s what you told him, but was it the truth? Another question, was the ‘someone’ the vampire Vicario?” His father hesitated as if unwilling to answer. Finally he replied, “It was. I take it he paid you a visit as well.” “Yep. Not that it gained him anything as I have no clue where Braden’s gone to ground. I allowed Vicario to probe me, so he knows it’s the truth.” “He tried with me, to no avail,” Connor replied angrily. “Because you blocked him.” Gideon was certain that was the reason. “Do you think I’d let a mere vampire into my mind?” Connor snarled. “If it behooved you to,” Gideon replied, glad his father couldn’t see him smirking. “Does that mean you do know where I can find Braden?” Connor sighed. “Unfortunately, no. If I did, I’d have gone to him myself, with proper precautions as I wouldn’t want Vicario or his minions following me.” “A warning, Father?” “Take it as such.” “I shall,” Gideon told him. “Now if there’s nothing else, I have business to attend to,” Connor said, ending the conversation when Gideon said there wasn’t. Should I believe him? I suppose I haven’t any choice. That took him back to the main problem, how to locate Braden. After giving it serious thought, he decided that if it were him, he’d hide somewhere well away from civilization, perhaps in the Rocky Mountains. Braden had always had an affinity for the wilderness, spending as much time as possible hiking and camping when he could slip away from home and their father’s ever-watchful eye. “Okay, that’s a starting place,” Gideon said under his breath. Thousands and thousands of acres to search, though, which will be a big problem. The first step, he knew, required heading west which would mean leaving his comfortable life behind for the time being. “All on the presumption I’m even close to right about where he’s hiding,” he grumbled. Needing a clear head before he did anything so drastic, he took off to walk to a spot he used when he had to do some serious thinking. It was a remote inlet two miles down the coast, surrounded on three sides by steep cliffs. When the tide was low, as it was this evening, there was a narrow strip of rock and boulder-strewn sand where he could sit with only the sound of the ocean to keep him company. It took him ten minutes to get there, much faster than it would have had he been a human who didn’t have his elven agility—although not quite as quickly as he could have done it if he was a full elf. After making his way down to the shore of the inlet, he sat on a large boulder, staring out at the calm, moonlit ocean. He smiled when he was joined by a cormorant that flew down to settle on a nearby boulder. It eyed him warily for a moment, apparently decided he wasn’t a threat, and began to clean its feathers. “I need a plan, a real one,” Gideon said aloud, talking as much to the bird as to himself. When the cormorant c****d its head, he continued. “If I go off halfcocked it’ll get me nowhere. I’m not a tracker who knows what to look for or what I’m seeing if I did stumble on some trace of where he went to ground. That’s not my skill set, as they say. I see the world through an artist’s eye. If I’d brought my pad and pencils, I’d whip out some sketches of you, bird, but I could no more find you after you took off than…than I could find Braden if I’m even right and he is hiding somewhere in the mountains out west.” “Try the ones here,” a voice said from behind him. “Although they’re nothing compared to the Rockies.” Gideon spun around to look at his brother, shocked and yet somehow relieved to see him. “You’re asking for trouble,” he said as he hurried to his side to hug him tightly. “Always have, always will,” Braden replied with a grin as he returned the hug and then stepped back. “You’re looking good.” He touched Gideon’s dark beard. “I always did envy one thing about you. Being half human, you can grow a beard. Me?” He stroked his smooth chin with a wry smile. “You don’t look half bad yourself,” Gideon said as he raked his gaze from head to toe over his tall, slender brother. “A bit like a mountain man of old, minus the facial hair, but still not bad.” As Braden was wearing a dark beige leather jacket and matching pants that were obviously handmade, the mountain man analogy worked. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s not safe. Vicario was at my place less than an hour ago, looking for you.” “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t ask you for sanctuary, isn’t it?” Braden replied with a tight smile. “No shit.” Gideon gestured to the boulder a couple of feet from the one he’d been using. “Sit and tell me what the hell’s going on with you.” Braden did as asked, waiting for Gideon to settle as well, and then said, “I wasn’t quite as clever as I thought and almost got caught relieving the bastard of some of his illicit gains. Now, I’m on the run.” “Like that’s news,” Gideon muttered. “Why come here?” “To ask for your help.” “Why me? Why not Dad? He’s powerful. I’m sure he could deal with Vicario and get him to back off.” Braden snorted. “At which point I’d be in his debt and I’d have to return home so he could keep an eye on me in his own inimitable fashion.” Gideon chuckled. “There is that, I suppose. I’m not certain what I can do to help, though. I’m an artist, not a fighter.” He pulled his legs up, resting his heels on the edge of the boulder, wrapping his arms around his knees. “You could return the money,” he pointed out. “Not happening. It’s already spent on something a lot more worthwhile than lining Vicario’s pockets.” “Oh? What?” “Shelters.” “For?” “Anyone who’s homeless and needs somewhere safe to stay for a day or a month or however long, until they get back on their feet.” “Humans, I presume.” Braden shook his head. “True, they’re mostly human but there are ‘others’ as well. Damn, I hate that term, but I guess it does cover all the non-humans in the world as a general group.” “Yeah. Elves of every kind, shifters, vampires, dhampir, and everything in between.” Gideon had a sudden thought. “Do you know any dhampir?” “I do,” Braden replied, “and trust me I considered asking for his help but he’s a total ass.” “So your life is worth less than dealing with him?” Braden’s mouth tightened in frustration. “I guess, if you put it that way.” He paused before asking, “Will you come with me to talk to him?” “I suppose. I have a date tomorrow morning but then I’m free.” “Some man you’re sleeping with is more important than my life?” Braden muttered. Gideon laughed. “He’s seven, and I promised I’d give him a lesson in how to draw.” “In that case, I suppose I can wait,” Braden replied petulantly. “You really don’t have a choice. By the way, you’re welcome to spend the night in the second bedroom.” Braden shook his head. “I shouldn’t. Vicario’s on his way to the Bangor airport, I made certain of that, but he may have left someone behind to watch your place. I don’t want to get you in more trouble with him than you might be already.” “Trouble?” Then Gideon got what he was saying and smiled wryly. “Being your brother and all?” “Yep. I’ll be okay for tonight. What time in the morning?” “Danny’s supposed to come over around ten so whenever, as long as it’s not before eight.” “Got it. See you then.” With that, Braden stood and moved swiftly down to the ocean. Gideon watched him walk along the shoreline until he disappeared from sight. “This could be interesting to say the least,” he said under his breath as he left as well—scaling the cliff to the top before heading home.