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Emizel Tucker is an only child.
It’s just been him and his dad, as long as he can remember. Jeffrey and Emizel, living in the small space above the mechanic shop, the smell of gas and metal seeping through the floorboards. For the first thirteen years of his life, Emizel lived in that space with his dad, but in reality, he lived there alone. Dinners had been microwave meals eaten in silence, the only sound other than his own chewing and breathing being the voices coming from their small television. Jeffrey had given him shelter and food and enrolled him in school, but he didn’t give Emizel what he really needed.
Some part of Emizel wonders if Jeffery taking a more active part in his life would’ve even been worth it. The guy is– was a jackass, after all. Maybe part of that is how he treated Emizel, but that’s telling in itself. He knows what Jeffery’s like. Maybe a more active role would’ve been worse.
He tries not to think about it. It’s not worth the brain power, not when he’s got so much to focus on. Emizel Tucker is an only child, with a quiet house and bad grades, so when he’s thirteen and a half and someone offers him money to bring notes and packages around town– he says yes. When he turns fourteen, they give him a baseball bat with nails stuck into it and bring him to his first brawl.
The Demons are like the family he never had. The guys there are his brothers– he’s fifteen when he meets Theo, and their friendship blossoms quietly, under the radar of the others. This is something Emizel doesn’t want anyone else ruining. He’s capable of that on his own. He and Theo– Soda, after the Incident when they were sixteen– are attached at the hip for years. Soda’s the only guy he trusts to watch his back. They buy the Demon hideout together, scraping money together from odd jobs and stealing from Jeffery when Emizel can manage it. Slowly, he starts to climb the ranks, and before long he’s the one in charge of a small group of ragtag gang kids, all of them just like him. Beat up and scrawny and at the bottom of the world, held together with shoestring and spray cheese. It’s everything Emizel would’ve wanted as a lonely kid. It’s everything he could’ve dreamed.
But something is still wrong.
Even with the gang, with the guys he calls his family, there is still something missing. He isn’t complete. The other gang members– they talk about being lonely and shit too, but Emizel feels like his situation is different. It’s not like he’s longing for anything. There’s not a gap he’s trying to fill. It’s almost like there’s just a part of him that just never grew.
He tries to fill the emptiness with crime. Gang activity and focusing on petty border disagreements, robbing gas stations and starting fires in abandoned buildings. The adrenaline fills him up and keeps him going, a fire feeding on limited fuel. By the time he hits eighteen, he’s scraping the bottom of the barrel. Emizel’s not sure how he can keep going.
Then he gets bit by a vampire and dies. And then he comes back and his teeth grow and his eyes get red and he can run, like really run, faster than shadow. And his anger grows like a weed, popping up between the concrete of his knuckles and he throws it around like punches.
It takes twelve bodies for him to realize something is wrong, but even then, he can’t stop. They don’t make him feel any less lonely. And he’s kind of scared by what he knows he’s capable of doing, the hands that haunt him in his dreams.
Arthur comes into his life like a truck, hitting him and sending him flying.
Almost literally– the man could and would crush him like an aluminum can, but he doesn’t. Total sweetheart, even if he scares the crap out of Emizel. There’s something in his voice when he talks to him, underneath the cool, composed exterior. He guides Emizel through his choices and scolds him for the ones he thinks are wrong. It’s not even fair– Arthur’s a shady, secretive bitch, and Emizel doesn’t even know his name for like two days. He has to find out by eavesdropping. Arthur’s a bitch but he’s not unfair, and he seems to care, in his own weird way. Arthur pushes back that loneliness like a light in the dark– ironic, for all his use of shadows.
And then there’s Shilo.
Where the fuck does Emizel even start with Shilo?
Brother. What does that word even mean? A gang brother? A literal sibling? Someone to share your goals and dreams with? Someone to fight, to pull their hair and throw them into the dirt whenever you disagree. To push and pull at, to confide in, to know them like the back of your own hand. Someone you can look at instead of in the mirror. A sibling– a twin.. Emizel looks at Shilo and sees himself at thirteen, frightened and sarcastic and alone in the world.
Or, almost.
Because now Shilo has Emizel and Emizel has Shilo, even if that fact alone makes Emizel want to thread his fingers through his hair and pull until it all comes out. He looks into Shilo’s face and sees his own, because finally they’re not alone.
Shilo’s not like his gang brothers. Emizel doesn’t get into scraps with him and they don’t rob stores together. Shilo is soft, with a baby face and innocent eyes and an inclination towards tears. Emizel had noticed their physical similarities after the first couple hours of meeting him, despite their different personalities. The thought had nagged at him until Elysium, where he’d gotten the guts to shout his suspicions aloud and was proven right. Even Arthur had noticed it, although he’d kept quiet. Brothers. Twins. All of a sudden, Emizel’s found what he never had.
They’re in the hotel, after the Unseen and the old people home and the pheasant and dying and Edward Twilight. Out of everything, Emizel’s choosing not to think about the dying thing the most. It’s way too much for his brain to handle at the moment, and he’s really got enough going on as it is. The hotel is quiet– Arthur is gone, leaving them alone, and Grefgore had insisted they take the bed and he sleeps on the floor. For protection, or something. Emizel’s pretty sure he doesn’t need protection, but Shilo’s here, so he hadn’t argued too much. Just a little. On principle.
The sun is high in the sky, the curtains pulled tight against it and Grefgore’s tunic and Shilo’s cloak helping fill the gaps. Even then, Emizel can see a spot of sunlight on the far wall. He watches it travel across the cracked and peeling paint, silently lying on his side with his hands underneath his head. Shilo’s lying on the bed next to him, submerged completely in the thin comforter that had come with the room. He doesn’t make a sound, but Emizel knows Shilo’s not sleeping all the same.
He rolls over. “Hey.”
For a second, he thinks he misjudged. The Shilo-shaped lump doesn’t move, and Emizel presses his lips together tightly. Just as he’s about to roll back over, the blanket starts to rustle, and then Shilo’s face emerges.
“Hello,” he says. Something about Shilo has changed over the last few days. Ever since Dracula’s castle had been attacked and hearing about his– their?– mother, Shilo’s innocence has… shifted. It’s not genuine all the time. There’s a manipulative streak Emizel hadn’t noticed. And now, as Shilo looks at him in the dim light of the midday hotel room, Emizel can’t see that gentleness at all.
“I was gonna ask if you were awake,” Emizel mutters, rolling onto his back.
“The answer is yes.”
“Yeah, man, I can tell.”
“You cannot sleep?” Shilo asks.
Emizel looks over and raises a brow. “Can you?”
Shilo smiles, the bags under his eyes sunset purple. “Good point.” He goes quiet, his smile dropping as he stares at Emizel for a little longer. Emizel stares back. “Did you want something?”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Emizel says. He gnaws on his lip, then winces– he always forgets he has sharp teeth now, and his lips are covered in scabs. “Does it– bother you?”
“Does what bother me?” Shilo asks. He’s frowning now, brows furrowed.
“The whole brother thing,” Emizel says. Shilo immediately gets defensive, and Emizel feels stupid– he knows how Shilo feels about the brother thing. It can be summed up in one word: enthusiastic. Even when he tries to hide it, Emizel can see how excited he gets when they do something together. He can read Shilo pretty well already. “Not like, y’know. Not just in general. But I’m kinda… I’m a prince too. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Why should it?” Shilo shuffles closer, the comforter and him creeping like an inchworm. “I like having a brother. Isn’t it a good thing?” He frowns a little harder. “Does it bother you?”
“No,” Emizel says, maybe a little too quickly. To make up for it, he scowls and parrots back, “Why should it?”
Shilo stares at him, his red eyes scouring Emizel’s face. After a second he rolls back over onto his back, closing his eyes and clearly hiding a smile. “I don’t know. You seem… bothered.”
“Well I’m not,” Emizel says, rolling onto his back as well. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling. “So. Yeah.”
Shilo is quiet. Emizel is quiet. The silence bites at him like a street dog, nipping at his ankles until finally–
“But like, are you sure it doesn’t?” Emizel asks, keeping his eyes firmly on the popcorn ceiling. He traces the small bumps with his gaze. “‘Cause I’m just kind of waltzing in here, screwing with your vibe, assuming some kind of authority– and with your uh, your mom… well, I’m just saying, you were the only prince but now there are two of us. Doesn’t it make you feel weird? Aren’t you annoyed or something? Like, I could come and take your territory, bro.”
“It is not like that.” Shilo says. His voice is firm. “It’s not. It’s– I want you. Not in a weird way, oh god, that sounded weird, ignore that, just– pretend I did not say that. Look. I…” He trails off, and Emizel gives him the space to speak. “I grew up alone. Very alone. And now I am here, with you, and suddenly I am not alone. And I am angry, because all this time, I did not have to be alone. Because you were here, in LA. So I was sad and angry for no reason.”
“I mean, I get it,” Emizel says. “I… was alone too.”
“Did you ever feel like… like there was something missing?” Shilo asks him. “Something you didn’t know you had? And now that I am here, with you…”
“I’ve found it?” Emizel asks, picking up exactly what he’s putting down. He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. Do.”
“Exactly. I want you here, Emizel. Now that I have found you, I cannot imagine not having you again. And I am so… so angry ,” Shilo whispers. The comforter rustles, but Emizel keeps his eyes on the ceiling. “I am so angry with my mother, and the world, for keeping us apart. I just want to know why. I hate being so mad, especially with her. But I am.”
“Me too,” Emizel says. “Me too. Like what– why wasn’t I good enough, you know? Why was I the one she threw away?” He raises a hand to his head and presses his fist against his forehead. He bites out, “Why didn’t she ever say anything?”
“I don’t know,” Shilo whispers. “I… I am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Emizel says, brutally pushing down the bright red anger rising in his throat. He won’t be mad around Shilo, at least– not right now. He doesn’t want to ruin this fragile little bubble of comradery. “So… to get this straight, you aren’t nervous I’ll swoop in and steal your right to the vampire throne?”
“Well…” Shilo hums. “I’m not sure there is a vampire throne. Strictly speaking. She did have a chair in the boardroom, but it wasn’t like, a throne.”
“But our mom was the queen,” Emizel asks. He had kind of been picturing the kind of queen you see on a fantasy book cover, or the ones from Game of Thrones, with cruel, hard eyes sitting on a throne at the end of a stupidly large room. “That’s how it works in the stories and stuff. When the title gets passed down it goes to like, you. Or us. Do we know who’s older? Actually, whatever– you know what I mean.” He shuts his mouth before he can keep rambling, betraying his nerves.
“I am not bothered by you, Emizel,” Shilo says softly. “I am not scared you’re going to hurt me.”
“Yeah, well, I could.”
“You won’t.”
“Don’t sound so certain.” Emizel says bitterly. He shoves the thoughts of Soda away.
“I would not hurt you,” Shilo says. “Not on purpose, anyway.”
Emizel looks over at him then, and finds Shilo looking over at him with wide, red eyes. “That doesn’t matter,” he says, but the bravado just feels false as he says, “You couldn’t hurt me even if you wanted to.”
Shilo laughs– not loudly, just a small huff of air. He’s smiling, watching Emizel as he lies there, and it’s so weird to see his own face smiling back at him. The expression is unfamiliar, but the look in Shilo’s eyes is unmistakable. “Okay,” he says. “I mean, I don’t want to–”
“You just couldn’t.”
“Okay, okay!” Shilo goes quiet again, then says, “Also, for the record, I think neither of us are older. We are twins. Is this a brother thing? Is that what we are doing right now?”
Emizel cracks a smile at that. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“... was the old people home a brother thing?”
At that, Emizel huffs a laugh. “Definitely.” He thinks for a moment. “Our Uncle Lazarus was kinda neat.”
Shilo sniffs and says, “He gave me a pheasant,” as though he’s agreeing.
“So true.”
Emizel gets lost in his own thoughts for a minute, thinking about the pheasant and the old people home, but that drags his mind to his sire and the fucked up Waylan twins he met. He curls his arms around himself hugging his own shoulders.
“Emizel?” Shilo’s voice cuts through his memory. He glances over again. Shilo is frowning, staring at him. “Do you want to rule the vampires?”
“Who’s offering?” Emizel asks.
“Well, not me,” Shilo says, looking away from him again. “Edward offered me power, I guess, but I am not sure I want him to be the one in power with me. He is fine, sure–”
“Blood bond. Definitely not fine.” Emizel reminds him. Shilo makes a conflicted face.
“Not fine,” he amends. “Well, you and I both know Edward Twilight sucks. And I do not want him in power, and neither do you, but I was thinking… he offered me to rule LA with him, like a dual thing, but I don’t think it’s actually what he wanted. But it made me think– why couldn’t, you know, why couldn’t we do that? Like we talked about.”
“Rule the vampire world… together?” Emizel asks.
“Yeah,” Shilo says. Then, haltingly. “You know, as… brothers, or whatever.” Emizel goes to make a noise, a huh, and Shilo almost immediately verbally rolls backwards. “If you wanted to, that is, it’s not like, a proposition–”
“I mean, it sounds like a proposition,” Emizel says, snorting.
“It’s not!” Shilo says. With the comforter still around his face and his hair frizzy from sleep, he looks like a grumpy lizard with the frilly collar. Emizel has to stifle his laughter. “Stop laughing at me, I am trying to– I don’t know.”
“Nah, man, I’m not– I’m not laughing at you. It’s cool,” Emizel says, putting his hands behind his head and looking up. “You want to be kings of vampiric LA or some shit? The both of us?”
“Do you think we could?” Shilo asks.
Emizel shrugs. “Hell yeah,” he says. “We could try.”
“What if we can’t?” Shilo asks, sounding worried now.
“Is there anyone saying we can’t?” Emizel asks.
“... my brain?” Shilo says, sounding uncertain. Emizel just shrugs.
“You’re being stupid, then,” he says. “We’ll try anyway. Together.” There’s nothing to suggest they couldn’t. They’d need allies and power and more vampires on their side, but Emizel’s got an in with the Demons and Shilo’s got Deacon on his end, plus Arthur. Wherever he is. Yeah, Arthur’s gotta count for at least two points in their favor. Edward Twilight can’t be that hard to beat. And Emizel can’t die, at least for now. He’s not really one Emizel but like, six Emizels, in one body, all of them lined up in a row and ready to march to their deaths if they have to in order to win. He squeezes his fists and then his eyes closed, watching the starbursts explode on the insides of his eyelids.
They’re both quiet for a long time. Emizel thinks Shilo’s fallen asleep, sort of, but he’s startled out of his own thoughts about ruling Los Angeles when Shilo’s voice breaks through the quiet like a gunshot.
“I have never had a brother before,” Shilo says. Emizel thinks of the way Shilo had hugged him after he’d found out about the castle exploding, and something in his chest squeezes almost painfully. For a second he’s worried Edward Twilight is casting a spell again, but this time the squeeze isn’t around his whole rib cage– just his heart.
“Wanna know a secret?” Emizel asks. When he feels more than sees Shilo nod, he says, “Me neither.”
“Oh,” Shilo murmurs. “Cool.” Then he goes quiet, and asks. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always, my guy.”
Shilo sniffs. “I have sort of… always wanted a brother.”
His chest squeezes again, but Emizel plays it off. “Yeah, uh… me too.”
There’s a rustle, and then Shilo’s head bumps against his shoulder. Emizel opens his eyes, glances down and finds him curled closer, still mostly obscured by the comforter. He’s not warm, just pleasantly neutral. At this angle, all Emizel can really see is the top of his head and the tension in his shoulders. Shilo’s forehead is pressed against his shoulder and upper arm, and he settles in there like he’s staying.
Emizel lets him.
“Goodnight,” Shilo says. Emizel fights back a yawn, and loses.
“Night,” he says, looking up at the ceiling again and closing his eyes.
Emizel Tucker, only child. He thinks about it for a second, then kicks off his old last name like a shoe, and slips on a new one.
Emizel Bathroy, Shilo’s brother. Prince of the vampires.