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Wilardo’s mind finally clicks into place. It takes time, with different people, with different places. It could take anywhere from a decade to a few months for him to finally accept that this is home. That he’s staying. It’s only taken nine months this time around. That the sight of Sirius in the kitchen or Claire barging into the greenhouse is no longer novel and interesting. It’s normal now.
Sirius has a meticulous schedule that demands everyone be home by dinner- although he tends to not follow his own schedule if he so feels it. Claire alternates between helping him or Sirius, and this week she’s with Sirius. He’s not sure who to feel sorrier for, her or Sirius. These days though, he's mellowed out a lot.
“Wilardo!” Claire always greets him brighter and sweeter after a grueling day with Sirius. She smells like failed potions and sulfur. Her hands are stained, but her clothes look fine.
“Hey.” He gives her a nod while setting aside the coat and wiggling out of his shoes. He hates untying and retying laces. “What did you do?”
“We went to Ms. Clarke’s. Mild infestation blah, blah- but a potion I made finally worked!”
“Impressive.” He manages his warmest smile which must seem lukewarm to everyone else’s standards, but Claire takes it as well as she did with everything else. “What kind of potion was it?”
“Something to do with purifying things. When I couldn’t answer what it was called immediately, he forced me to make it over and over again.” She pouts. “He’s such a mean teacher.”
“He’s improved.” That much was true. In the earlier days, back when they hit the road- a teaching session usually ended up with Sirius or Claire screaming. There was only so much of his prickly behavior one could take before something snapped. Sirius’s gaping face when Claire had started outright screaming about his shitty teaching was amazing.
“Everything you explain makes things more confusing! You don’t have any patience for failure! Slow down! How do you expect me to understand this if you won’t even go over the basics!”
It was amazing.
Claire rolls her eyes. “That’s not saying much. I could probably teach myself better than him.”
“Don’t let him hear that.” Wilardo shudders, before catching scent. “That smells good- what’s for dinner?”
“Some kind of pot roast.” They walk amicably to the kitchen, hearing Sirius singing the faintest of tunes.
“Boo.” Wilardo mutters.
Sirius does a full-bodied jump and whips around, glaring. “I am going to put a bell on you.”
Claire laughs at him, and he glares at her. He huffs and daintily returns to stirring the pot on the stove. “Welcome home. You both are getting nothing but bones.”
“Awwww, even after everything we went through today?” Claire wheedles, using the ancient and traditional art of puppy-dog eyes.
“Maybe one bite.”
“Two?”
“No more.”
“Siriuusssss.”
Dinner is nice. He likes Sirius’s cooking a bit more than Claire’s. Sirius had more variety in his recipes and was always trying something new. He tended to try out fancy foods, like the stuff you’d find in a five-star restaurant- but the taste was completely original from the intended. Not that he’d tell Sirius, the man would just argue. Claire had a short list of recipes that was everyone’s childhood favorite, but she only knew those five foods. While she was fine with eating them over and over again, Sirius would snap. She also tended to add too much sugar in recipes, but Wilardo didn't hate it.
“Did you add honey?” Sirius beams at him.
“Yes, it was from the beekeeper. It's good to see a kid who respects their elders these days.”
"As if you ever respected your elders." Claire snorts.
Memories worked differently for him. The days with his old man was the clearest in his mind, almost as if it had happened last month. Especially the day before that happened. Immortality suited everyone differently. Tanya, who always smiled in a way that purposely showed off her impossibly sharp canines had lived every day in a voracious haze. Vampires were an oscillating bunch, tending to die at a sweet age of 300 or resting comfortably in their 1000s.
The man that had ate the mermaid’s flesh was a miserable man. Plunging deep into his own misery, body full of scars and a half-blind eye. Wilardo didn’t stay with him long.
He had to thank gramps for that- his philosophy of letting go and moving forward. To know that neither suffering nor joy was permanent and to live in the moment. The dark lotus is neither the cruelest nor kindest granter of immortality. It was the curse of being stuck with the human mind.
“You remember things differently when you’re at my age.” The old man had laughed.
“That’ll be my problem later then.” Snorted Wilardo. He didn’t expect the old man to stare at him, half amused, half with cold dread. Guilt even. Sadness. Fondness. It was the look he had all night-long before he died.
Wilardo lets the bickering of Claire and Sirius wash over him as he catches glimpse of the Lady Dorothy portrait on the wall. He's sure that the painter still walks faster whenever he sees Sirius in town.
Sirius had been so demanding and harsh on the painter, it was reminiscent of the days at the mansion. Saying that the painter wasn’t painting Dorothy’s face properly, or that the colors he used didn’t bring out her splendor. It was a hellish three days for that painter, with Sirius breathing down his shoulder and directly into his soul. At the end of each session the poor man staggered back out of the house with a look of a man resigned to die.
“Are we getting a family portrait soon? The man that painted Lady Dorothy promised us.” Wilardo wonders.
Claire makes that face, the one when she bites down and finds something hard and unexpected in the dough. “He passed away last year, remember?”
“Oh.”
“You senile old man.” Sirius tuts.
Claire waves him goodnight as he finishes washing up the dishes. Sirius tended to sleep late and incur Claire’s wrath in the mornings- reading things. Saying the cellphone was a temptation only the demons would approve of.
“Should we move soon?” Sirius wonders out loud as Wilardo finishes drying his hands.
“Why?”
“It’s been ten years. People are starting to whisper.”
“Ten years?”
“You really are growing senile.” Sirius laughs, in the mildly delighted way he’d reserved for Wilardo only. His laughter around Claire tended to be vaguely superior or almost as if she had choked it out of him.
“Let’s ask Claire first. She likes it here, doesn’t she?”
“She likes it anywhere.”
“Ask her first. I’m good with going anywhere. Try to sleep early, Claire's the one in charge of breakfast tomorrow."
“Good night Wilardo.” Sirius sighs exasperated, as Wilardo hides a grin.
. . .
Claire hands him her bouquet. It is the most life-threatening array of colors and flowers he had ever seen. Individually each blossom was a beauty in its own right, but the combination hurt him. “I’m going to give this to the granny from the market.”
“. . .did she insult you?”
“No?” Claire tilts her head quizzically at him.
He takes it from her. “The colors aren’t bad"- in a different universe, "but in combination with these flowers, it’s no good. Orange lilies stand for ill will.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, so if you’re gonna give it to the granny you should try to get rid of them. And add some peonies instead. We have a bunch left over.” Claire chooses the peonies with narrowed eyes. She’s matured a lot. The cool blue of her hair is always pleasant to look at. She moves quickly, unraveling her monstrosity of a bouquet and picking out the orange lilies.
“Oh, you should remove these too. They can mean sadness.” The vivid purple nature of the hyacinths were also an eyesore against the reds and yellows.
“Okay.” She also picks them out and then inserts her collection of pink-crusted white petaled peonies. The end result is much safer to look at. “Oh, you’re always so good at this.”
She smiles, her face crinkling with the same wonder and fondness as the days at the mansion. It's surprising how little Claire has changed throughout the years. “I think you’re more impressive.”
“You’re bullying my flower-picking skills aren’t you.” She narrows her eyes at him.
“Are you visiting the granny today?”
“You're dodging the question, but yes. I’ll tell her it’s from both of us.”
“There’s no need.”
“Thanks for the help!” She gives him a quick peck on the cheek. Cute and chaste before she scurries off with the bouquet. Disarmingly sincere as always.
. . .
The man from the post office calls for him near the greenhouse. He wonders if it's from Tanya, or Drevesky. Vampire politics is the funniest thing when you're an outsider.
"Who's it from?" Wilardo takes the letter from the mailman.
The man shrugs. "Surprisingly it was from town. Some green-haired man gave it to me."
Wilardo freezes, his hand on the letter. Slowly, "Did that man have yellow eyes?"
"Maybe. I can't remember. He sounded like he was leaving soon."
The letter is addressed to them. Claire Elford, Sirius Gibson, and Wilardo Alder. Anyone from town would know that Sirius had taken up the Elford name ever since they moved in a while ago. Dread settles into his stomach. He jerks off his apron and runs home. The door bursts open. It's silent. It can't be. It can't be!
He starts running into the living room-
Crashes down over Claire, her voice high and startled.
"Wilardo?! What?!" He grabs her, checking over her. Alive and well.
"You didn't see anybody weird today, right!?" Wilardo demands.
"No, no, we were just at home! Nobody came." She blinks up at him, worried. "Did. . .something happen?"
Wilardo lets go of her, looking blankly at her. Her brow is furrowed in worry. "No, no it's nothing. Just- there's a criminal on the loose. And I worried."
She sighs and pats his head. "Yeah, we're fine. Nothing happened. I promise"
Wilardo stays home the whole time. Sirius and Claire are weirded out-but they don't press for now. Claire makes him honey milk tea, Sirius remarks snidely that he's being overprotective.
"Get some sleep, okay?" Claire urges him as she's drying her hair. "Everything will be fine."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"I mean it." She frowns at him sternly. "We can all sleep together if you're that worried about it."
The letter is like lead in his pocket. "No. You know how Sirius is. He hates sleeping with other people."
"That's true. But still, offers up. He can't resist if we both ambush him."
"That's true. We should do that tomorrow night. Good to keep him on his toes, but for tonight we should leave him alone."
"Alright~ Good night." He ignores her questioning eyes as she drifts to her bedroom.
Once he's sure they're both asleep, he rips open the letter.
It's been a long time everyone.
You don't have to worry, I haven't come here for Claire or anything. I've finally come to say it's over for me. I'm going to live a normal life. I'm tired. Magic, or god, or demons won't bring back what I want. Not in the way I want it. It's taken me so long to realize that, and I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for everything that happened at the mansion. I wasn't in my right mind. I know that excuses nothing, but I really am sorry. Please live a long and good life.
Goodbye,
Ashe Bradley.
. . .
Wilardo likes the television. He likes watching the news and all other stuff that pops up. Sirius is grudgingly hateful of it. Claire likes to watch movies. Sunday nights they all curl up on the couch, watching. Tonight, Claire is sitting next to Sirius while Wilardo sits next to him. They’re watching some sort of superhero action movie. Claire is enthralled, Sirius resentfully interested.
A few news channels later, Sirius is snoring against Wilardo’s shoulder with Claire’s legs sprawling on his lap. Half paying attention, he follows the sound of their heartbeats and breathing. Up down, up down. They are alive.
There are times when he thinks they wouldn’t have made it this far. With Claire and Sirius’s fighting. Wilardo’s hand on the witch’s heart, his own beating resentfully. For all those times he’s glad he’s made it this far. He fiddles with Sirius’s silky soft hair before relenting to rest himself. The sound of the tv lulls him.
. . .
“I knew. I always knew. I had just wished. I had just.” Claire’s trembling voice hurts to hear. Sirius watches, hesitant. Wilardo knows what to do. “Was it so bad to hope?”
“No, of course not.” Wilardo sees the budding tears in her eyes. He hugs her, patting her back. She crumbles into his arms, sobbing into his shirt. Sirius sits next to her, holding her hand.
“Noel. . .Noel. . .Noel.” She mutters, “I’m sorry. Noel. . .”
She sighs, and pulls away, wiping her tears. Sirius murmurs with tears also starting to bud, “I miss him too.”
Sirius and Claire spend the rest of the day together, talking about Noel and their past. Wilardo excuses himself. The scent of sadness is almost tangible on his tongue. He makes extra sweet honey milk tea.
“Thanks.” Claire’s voice is still watery and her eyes shiny. Sirius aggressively rubs the tears from his eyes and snatches the tea.
“If you need anything else, just ask.” He manages.
That night Sirius makes himself a proper drunk. He’s sent Claire to do busy work- distracting her. Wilardo watches. Sirius cries, mutters, and curses the witch’s heart.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That you have to stay with us.” Sirius’s voice is high-pitched and ugly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“No, I want to stay.” Sirius jolts when Wilardo holds his hand. “I want to thank you, thanks for letting me stay. Letting me be with you guys.”
“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
That isn't true. It's Wilardo who would be nothing without Sirius. That night, all those years ago, would have ended with Sirius and Claire dead. Him too, with the witch's heart stolen from Claire's chest. It's Sirius who changed everything. Without Sirius, he wouldn't have been able to enjoy this happy dream, with him and Claire.
"No, you and Claire are the reasons why I'm still alive today." Whispers Wilardo, but Sirius still hears it and starts crying again.
. . .
Wilardo kisses Claire on the forehead on her fiftieth birthday. Claire laughs and hugs him.
“I love you.”
Sirius sighs into Wilardo’s shoulder on his seventieth birthday.
“I love you.”
Wilardo replies back to them each time, his heart full. “I love you too.”