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Visions of angels always tasted like blood and felt like damnation. When the rapture came, the supposedly holy creatures would drop their prophets on their way to the heavens. What was the point of knowing the future if you were unable to change things? Nobody could tell you why the Gods decided cursed traumas were worth living twice.
The words of the mighty littered his skin, ballpoint pens mimicking the bloody runes of ancient transcriptions. The future was tattooed behind his eyelids. He had information and secrets that could bring countries to their knees. Instead, all he could focus on was that he had a pounding headache.
Andrew felt sick as he stepped into the abandoned shopping plaza. He’d been out of the house the entire day. It wasn’t enough that sleep was plagued with dreams of battered angels, destruction, and deliverance. His waking moments wreaked havoc on everyone around him too. His foster mother warned him against fighting. She acted as if he too wasn’t tired of picking dried blood out from under his fingernails. Of waking up screaming because holy smoke burned his lungs. Tonight he couldn’t return home. Not yet. His sheets were suffocating hugs wrapping his body in auspice. His hands ravaged his hair enough. The tug of her claws could wait. It was only a matter of time before the silvery moonlight betrayed him too.
The cold air brought him back to reality. Flickering neon lights did little to help his vision adjust to the darkness. Andrew didn’t remember ever having visited this area before. His thoughts were clouded, but his memory was perfect. He looked around and produced nothing but a deep, long sigh. The cigarettes in his pocket felt heavier by the minute. He lit up as he leaned against the walls. Andrew could almost feel the angels scolding him for it. For poisoning the temple his body was meant to be. They should know better. They should know he knows better. Shooting stars were nothing more than angels discarding their own cigarettes before God could catch them. His body was destroyed lifetimes ago.
He took a long drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out under his shoes. Fire was dancing underneath his skin. It prompted him to walk. For someone who could see the future, his own life felt like it was lacking direction. A book with the final pages torn out. Andrew could almost hear somebody at the typewriter. Picking pieces of the messiest drafts and trying to cobble them together into something manageable. It was useless. Andrew knew he was going to run off the world someday.
Still, a string was dragging him by his fingers. Something lurked in the shadows watching. It wasn’t unusual. No more than locusts plaguing his last home, leaving nothing but his own cursed bedroom untouched. He waved at the shadows and spared them no words. The shadow waved back.
At the end of the plaza laid a grand mall. It would’ve been grand maybe, seven hundred years ago. It was grey to him. Much like everything else in the world. He was drawn to it. Something sizzled inside him again. He hoped whatever was trying to set his soul ablaze took the hint. His conscience stubbed it out like his boots did his cigarette.
He pushed the door open, wincing only slightly as the bruises and shallow cuts on his knuckles stretched. Barren walls echoed the closing of the front door. The thick soles of his shoes were the only thing preventing him from stepping all over shattered glass. As he walked, he heard the loud mist of a can of spray paint. The musky aroma of upended civilizations was more than familiar.
Andrew rubbed his eyes. Once. Twice. There was a boy in front of him. Scattered about was a duffle bag, a sleeping bag, two lanterns, and an alarming amount of coconut water. He decided not to comment. The boy turned slowly, the sigil he was spray painting left incomplete as he dropped the canister.
“Who are you and why are you here,” he asked. He was bringing his hands up for a fight.
Andrew only sighed, stepping back and showing his palms as a gesture of peace. “I could ask the same thing about you. I’m here to get a little taste of freedom before going home.”
The boy's dark hair seemed shiny and soft in the candlelight. He rubbed his nose quickly before stepping away from him. “You’re hurt. Are you being tracked?”
All Andrew could do was raise an eyebrow. “If the nonbelievers have enough energy to track me down after our fight then I’d be quite impressed.”
He was raking his hands through his curls now, moving almost fast enough to walk a hole into the floor. “Nonbelievers” he muttered over and over. Finally, he turned to Andrew again. “Who are you really?”
“That’s the second time you’ve asked that. But alright. I’ll bite. My name is Andrew.”
He knelt down to pick up the red paint canister before gesturing to the teen. “And you are?”
The boy bit his lip, mapping out the exits to the place before finally settling. “Neil.”
Had Andrew been able to laugh, he might have. “You don’t look like a Neil. Not with the dark hair and eyes, nor the all black ensemble. Maybe your choker should say your name on it.”
Neil scowled at him. “You’re one to talk.”
He offered a polite shrug in response. Polite put lightly. The sigil on the wall, even unfinished, looked like a desperate attempt at protection. Andrew met his eyes briefly before continuing it for him. “Do you plan on staying here long? This might need a bit more of an offering.”
Neil mimicked Andrew’s shrug, the leather jacket draped over his skinny frame making the motions stiffer than he would’ve liked. Andrew’s fingers ached as he pressed down on the tip of the can. Neil was watching him with curious eyes while he worked. As he finished, he knelt in front of the rune. The white candle Neil had lit earlier was dancing. Andrew moved it in front of the painted insignia and watched it move. He sent a glance back at Neil before he began to pray. If he couldn’t keep himself safe, at least this boy should be.
His mind flashed with pictures of angels. Not the beautiful kind that college girls liked to dress up as for parties. Millions of eyes, fire, swords, and wings etched into his mind. It was nothing. Golden ichor dripping down fingertips. It was nothing. Sharp teeth and heavy hands pressed into bare skin. It was… nothing. An overflowing river pulling an innocent soul beneath. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Andrew placed one of his own spell cards underneath their shared handiwork.
His knees felt like jelly as he stood. Neil reached out to steady him but his hands stopped before they reached their mark. Interesting. Andrew rubbed at his dark circles and checked the time on his watch. He had to head out soon. Mornings were unkind. A vow of silence didn’t contend with an hour of sleep.
“What are you,” Neil asked softly. As if he was scared the words would burn his throat.
Andrew refused to meet his eyes. Tucking his hands back into his pockets. “Blasphemy runs in my veins.”
Shaking his head slowly, Neil countered, “Consider me a heretic. Where are you going?”
He considered his words carefully. The room in his foster mother’s house was not his home. The drunken lady wouldn’t even notice he didn’t return that night. Nothing there was his save for maybe a paycheck to the wench’s pocket. “I’ll find out when I get there. I thought you’d want me to leave.”
“No. If you have to go then I won’t keep you.” Neil’s eyes went to the floor. “But if you’d come back, I don’t know if I could let you go.”
Andrew hummed thoughtfully. “If I return, I offer you a game.”
Neil raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.
“A truth for a truth. Satisfy my curiosity and I’ll satisfy yours. We don’t need anything more. Fist fights do get dull quickly.” Andrew waved his hands in front of Neil’s face. His eyes followed but Neil didn't so much as move to slow him.
“I accept.”
With that, Andrew left. It felt like whatever was leading him had hit its mark. Something inside him was starting to come to life. Neil was not human. Humans were never perfect. His face was perfect, his mannerisms too graceful. Andrew was going to figure out what he was.
~~~
The walk to the abandoned mall felt shorter today; however, the breeze that froze his bones as he stepped into the plaza did not relent. This was nothing more than a ghost town. Andrew was certain Neil would be it’s next big story.
When he reached the end of the empty mall where he’d found Neil before, a booth lit up behind them. If for only a moment. They had yet to exchange greetings, both consumed by the gentle flapping of a butterfly the light had stirred.
Andrew sat just outside of arms reach. The packets of coconut water were still oddly present, only interrupted by the occasional granola bar or two. Andrew compartmentalized the fact for later.
“Hello,” Neil offered.
“Hello.”
Neil’s jacket was off now. The baggy t-shirt made his face almost soft. His eyes looked almost blue, but when Andrew blinked again they were a warm shade of brown. Fate should know better than to play a cruel trick like that. The exchange was already committed to his permanent memory.
“How does this game work,” Neil asked.
Andrew looked at the floor, then the ceiling, and finally settled with staring at the messy blue scrawl on his arms. “We ask each other questions. We have to answer with the truth no matter what it is. You don’t have to answer, but you can’t lie. If you don’t answer the question, you don’t get to ask one until I come up with another.”
There was a brief nod of understanding. “How did you end up here?”
The breeze held its breath between them. “I don’t know.” Andrew rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just walking yesterday and I happened upon the area.”
Neil looked as if he had something to say, but closed his mouth. He waved his hand dismissively to convey: your turn.
Andrew waited for the gentle buzz in the air to pick back up again. Stoking the candle
burning beneath his skin. “Why are you here?”
Neil bit his lip, blood pooling under blunt teeth. “My mom died recently. Only a few days ago did this place reveal itself to me.” There was a brief moment of silence before Neil picked up again. “What are you running from?”
Curious. Andrew couldn’t decide if these questions were aimed at him or if Neil was questioning his own mortality out loud.
“The past. The future. The Gods above. The demons waking the earth.”
They sat like that for hours. Exchanging cryptic bits of information. Favorite colors. Places they’d been. Trying to pick apart the shell of a person the other one was. Settling back into comfortable silence until Andrew had to go.
Whoever Neil Josten was. He wasn’t his past. Whoever Neil josten was going to be, though, he wondered if he would ever get to see it.
It wasn’t until the end of their first week that the conversation had veered back towards the start.
~~~
The two had grown close over the few days they had known each other. Known who the other person wanted to be. Comfortable in the knowledge that they wouldn’t be judged. The only people present for the conversations were them and the glistening moon. The moon always listened.
They were walking under the street lamps in front of the plaza. Lights turned on as they passed and off as they drifted away. Andrew had begun bringing Neil things. Sometimes food. Sometimes books or pens. Tonight he brought ice cream for himself and some fruits for Neil.
The threatening chill of the atmosphere did nothing to deter him from his frozen treat. Neil was looking paler than usual. It wasn’t until the conversation had reached a low point that he finally mustered the courage to ask.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Neil said immediately.
“You know you’re not supposed to lie to me.”
Neil only sighed. Andrew thought he was going to pass on the conversation but he spoke slowly. “I haven’t been,” he started and stopped twice before he was able to continue, “things have been difficult since my mom died. Imagine you’re on a vegan diet with no source of protein. You’re going to start feeling a little sick.”
The coconut water flashed in his mind briefly. “Tell me you’re not only drinking coconut water.”
Neil hesitated. “Not only.”
“Josten,” Andrew snapped at him.
Neil flushed as he spoke, “I haven’t been able to get what I… need. Being on my own has made it difficult to come by.”
“Neil. Do you have an eating disorder.” It wasn’t quite a question. Andrew stopped in his tracks and Neil reluctantly stopped too.
“No. I don’t want to hurt anybody and I’m doing fine without it.”
“What is it?”
The edges of Neil’s lips curved into a greedy smile. “It’s not your turn yet.”
Andrew only offered him a tight frown, refusing to move from the spot. “You get two questions then. Answer.”
Neil dug his toes into the ground, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I need blood. It’s stupid and weird and-“
Andrew cut him off. “A vampiric eating disorder, then. Easy fix.”
“What do you mean,” Neil raised his eyebrows.
“You need blood. I have blood.” Andrew felt that exact aforementioned blood rushing to his cheeks.
Shaking his head slowly, Neil brought his hand to his mouth. “I can’t. My mom never let me drink from anyone else. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t. Moms not here right now. You’re sick. Let me help.”
Andrew dropped the ice cream he was holding, mentally chastising himself if only for a moment, before taking out his butterfly knife from his pocket. Neil’s eyes were on him and he tried to reach out to stop him.
“Better luck next time,” Andrew smiled. He had sliced open his wrist, still scolding himself for tonight’s impulses, and held his arm out to Neil.
The boy refused to look at him. Muttering “I can’t, I can’t” over and over. He was rubbing at his cheeks, but Andrew could see the sharp teeth coming to a point.
Andrew snapped to get his attention. “What, are you going to let it go to waste? It was awfully painful for nothing.”
Neil frowned at him, shaking his head. He got on his knees, lifted Andrew’s arm to his mouth and slowly began to lick up where it had been dripping. Andrew could only watch in awe at him. The pain quickly subsided as he stared. His eyes were closed as he sucked the spot on Andrew’s arm. His face seemed more lively and his skin felt warmer.
“I want to touch your hair. Yes or no,” Andrew asked before he could think better of it.
Neil didn’t lift his head, but nodded quickly. Andrew carded his fingers through Neil’s hair. He looked beautiful. Ethereal. Perhaps visions of monsters and ragnarok were worth it. A few minutes with Neil would make them worth it.
Neil pressed into the touch of his hand. He was up far quicker than Andrew would have liked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Andrew felt his face soften. He hated it. “I won’t force you. Just. Try not to let yourself get sick. Whenever you can. I offer myself to you.”
When Neil finally got off his knees, Andrew knew he was staring at his lips. He couldn’t stop himself. He understood what people meant when they said vampires were alluring. Even a half vampire was working wonders on his sexuality.
~~~
Another week passed and Andrew felt himself falling from grace. It wasn’t a very steep fall, but falling scared him nonetheless.
He sat with his back to the wall, focusing on everything and anything else other than the boy beside him. He was bandaging Andrew’s arms and being oh so fucking gentle about it.
Visions became less and less frequent. He felt less and less tormented. The pain usually dropped right back into his lap as he left the forgotten shopping plaza. There was a whimsical air about it that Andrew could never place.
The two spilled secrets like waterfalls. Neil told him of his mother. A prophet who lost her powers from the amount of trauma her husband had put her through. She was from the Hatford family. They were all humans with supernatural abilities. Neil’s father wanted to take advantage of their bloodline. He was a vampire who thirsted for power. When Neil wasn’t producing results fast enough, his mother picked him up and ran.
In return Andrew told Neil of the different foster homes he had visited. Told him of the nightmares that took hold of him and didn’t let go. Whether they be from brothers and fathers or whispers from the heavens above. He spoke of the omens that followed him wherever he went. Frogs destroying the gardens. Blood seeping into their water. Ravens perched outside their door, frolicking with a murder of crows. Charcoal that dirtied his fingers and drawings that seemingly came from nowhere. Hymns and promises on walls that he knew were divine intervention. Spoke of the nights where the moon eased him back into bed. The nights where he was shaking so strongly his ancient tears turned to storms.
Neil confessed to stolen identities. Missing vehicles. Confessed to murdering his father's men. He spoke of men so old they witnessed the first day the Roman Empire had fallen. Spoke of children who had met Cleopatra before their mothers could settle their graves. Talks under the table of forming new lives. He wondered if his father knew how many families they’d ruined. Neil told him for all that he was and all that he feared, that he knew Andrew kept him safe. He trusted in Andrew’s protection. He wanted to protect him too. He was glad his mother was human. He wanted to age with Andrew.
The moon was missing that night. As Neil wound gauze around his slashed forearms, Andrew felt her weight on his shoulders. Pushing him forward and constricting his lungs. The soft red that painted Neil’s lips looked like the key to salvation. He wanted just a taste.
Neil brushed his fingers over his lips before standing. There was a poorly wrapped box sitting away from the lanterns. He picked it up slowly, breathed in deeply, and handed it to Andrew.
“What’s this for?”
“Open it.”
Andrew gingerly pulled the bow off the box. He was careful with the ribbon, hoping it masked the pain he was in. Not that he would ever admit it to Neil. Not when Neil looked at him like that. He opened the box and out came two strips of black fabric.
“Where’s the rest of this shirt,” Andrew teased.
Neil stuck his tongue out at him. He grabbed the sleeves and turned them inside out. “They’re armbands yes. But they’re also sheaths.”
Andrew slid his butterfly knife out of his pocket and into the armband. As he slid them over his forearms, Neil seemed to hold his breath. The smile on his face made Andrew upset. He wanted to kiss the stupid expression off his face. Yet he couldn’t force himself to stay mad. Neil reached into his duffel bag and handed Andrew another knife.
“You need this,” Andrew murmured.
“You do your best to protect others. Let me protect you too.”
Andrew felt his heart pick up it’s pace. He wondered if Neil could tell. Swallowing his pride, he whispered. “I want to kiss you. Yes or no?”
Neil looked surprised at the question, and Andrew forced himself to look away. “You don’t have to say yes.”
“I want to,” Neil said, “I want to say yes.”
It was then that the clouds parted. As they leaned in, Andrew caught his final glimpse of Neil. His eyes half closed, sun tanned skin shimmering under the pale moonlight, cheeks flushed and ready. It was awkward and clumsy at first. Andrew wasn’t sure what he expected. Neil’s hands were on the floor between them, and Andrew slowly brought them to his hair. He wrapped his arm around Neil’s waist and pulled him in. It hadn’t lasted long. It was worth an eternity. They pulled away for breath in unison. Andrew felt dizzy before placing his hand on the back of Neil’s neck and pulling him back in.
He could spend days like that. Years even. He breathed in the sickly sweet scent of bliss. Understood euphoria and salvation. No angel or god or deity above could offer him salvation like Neil’s lips. It was messy, inexperienced, and completely genuine. Neil kept his hands still in Andrew’s hair. A grounding force to keep him from slipping. Maybe falling would be okay.
~~~
Andrew returned each night for the next two weeks. The two grew comfortable in whatever they had offered each other. Their kisses turned bruising. Kiss swollen lips muttering each other’s names like prayers. Answered prayers. Neil gave Andrew his truth and his compassion and his being. He never took more than he needed. He never forced anything upon him either. A yes between kisses led to murmured concessions of blind faith. Andrew didn’t care if it was sacrilege. The only God he knew out there was gasping his name. Honest and pliant under his touch.
A mumbled no could stop even the fastest of bullet trains. It would block the flow of a river, not but a drop to pass. Hands would be removed and forgiving air would settle between them. There was never an awkwardness. Only trust that would keep them going.
Eventually kisses veered from their primary destination. Andrew had tasted his own blood and felt the reverberations in his bones. He wondered if Neil felt the shockwaves of prophecy buzzing underneath his skin too. Wondered if the coppery taste of forever burned his lungs. If he had dipped into the inkwell of permanence that wrapped around Andrew’s heart.
It was a unique experience, to trail kisses down the neck and collarbone of a vampire. To bite and suck on skin that was pure, untouched, and honest. With each bruise kissed into their skin, there was something soothing about the promises that came along with it. The reactions that came from their efforts were pure and unadulterated. Every shiver. Every gasp. Every tug through their hair. When they held hands, it was as if Andrew’s heart was trying to merge with Neil’s. His heart would never stop racing.
The moon, for all her glory, lit up Neil’s face and kept their secrets too. It looked like he had a halo, but Andrew had met angels and none of them held a candle to Neil.
Neil who never took too much. Neil who was scared of hurting him. Neil who had gentle hands and led him through the dark threads of healing.
Angels were assholes, really. Gods were jealous beings. Neil persisted through them. On the third night, in the midst of their questions game Neil admitted as much.
“I never expected to receive shovel talk from an Angel,” he’d said casually. As if it had been the easiest thing in the world. As if Andrew’s clumsy kiss and shotgunned cigarettes were enough to pull him out of the water. As if dreams of drowning and eternal flames were easily brushed aside.
Maybe they were. Andrew knew deep inside that it couldn’t last. His luck never extended that far. But in the cold, empty nights with Neil by his side, he almost believed it could.
Perhaps that was why when Neil told him he would find him again he believed him.
~~~
Andrew was nervous to tell him. Reluctant himself to face the corrupt truth. There was no comfort in the news. He was being ripped apart from the only thing they made him feel human. His center of gravity was tilting. Hera was a cruel mistress. Did Lady Artemis finally snitch?
“I have a brother,” he offered. Feeling the sour taste in his mouth. Neil would’ve been able to kiss it away. He didn’t want his last few days with him to be ruined. He didn’t want it to be his last few days at all.
“Oh.” Neil held his palm out in silent invitation. Andrew interlocked their fingers with ease.
“A twin,” the words felt like they were snuffing out the flame of his existence slowly.
Neil waited for him to continue. Was it hours that passed? It was probably mere seconds. He was never able to tell inside the mall.
“He and my cousin are living with a woman. I don’t know how they found me but she wants to adopt me too.” His voice dropped. “They’re rumored to have healing touches. A lady named Bee.”
Andrew’s thoughts drifted. He didn’t want anyone’s hands on him that weren’t Neil’s. His trusted hands ghosted over his skin and only materialized with his consent. He didn’t consent to being taken in. If Neil drained him dry right there he wouldn’t have regretted it.
“You should go with them,” Neil said softly.
Great. That’s exactly what Andrew didn’t want to hear. He assumed his face finally gave him away.
“It’ll be good for you.” There were those blue eyes again. Little rings that peeked out from behind colorful, lying contacts. A taste of the future with a boy that was almost his.
“You were good for me.”
“This doesn’t have to be the end.”
The air was knocked out of Andrew’s lungs and the only thing he tasted was repentance. He was certain the candle had finally finished dripping. That his flame was extinguished.
“I’ve been here for too long. Running won’t do me any good either though. If I want to be with you, I have to put a stop to this once and for all.”
“You’re just a teenager, Neil. You can’t fight the vampire yakuza.”
“No,” he agreed, “but the Hatford family can.”
Andrew searched his memories for every piece of information he had on the Hatfords. He wanted to will a prophecy to come to him. Wanted some form of closure and knowledge that this wasn’t the end. Or that if it was, that it would end well.
“So you finally want me to go?” Andrew began to pull his hand free, but Neil tightened his grip.
“No. Not yet. When you leave, I’ll go too. And I’ll find you again.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Then may your patron’s court strike me down. This is a promise.”
“A promise.” Andrew liked the way that word felt in his mouth. Hoped vaguely it would keep him satisfied until Neil’s return.
~~~
Andrew had barely left Neil’s side for the last few days. When Neil wrapped up his final wound, he pressed a burning kiss to the side of Andrew’s throat. “That’s where I’ll bite when I find you again.” Andrew’s stomach fluttered. He pushed it down.
Neil’s last kiss left him craving more. Destiny be damned. He wanted to stay. When he turned to return to the mall, there was nothing left in its place. Andrew felt the crackle of lightning under his skin. The candle that he thought was burnt out had been replaced by a bonfire. The draft that was his life was being written over. He felt the new page nestle comfortably into the typewriter. It was a story written in blood. Luckily, he had enough to spare.
He had one final prophecy for this shitty foster home. One final song to echo. One final gift from his gods.. He would find Neil Josten again. When it was all settled and over with, Andrew knew he would be able to kiss the light of his life under the sun.