Teeth

Chapter Nine

August placed his hand down on the desk. He gritted his teeth, the sharp points of his fangs digging into the inside of his bottom lip. The man across from him watched serenely, a note of humour behind his colourless eyes. Charles was waiting and August knew what he expected. He expected some kind of outburst, or show of hatred. Perhaps he, like others, assumed that he would leave after being asked to dispose of Cleo. While none of them knew that he had been Cleo's, it was common knowledge that they had arrived together, and had remained in the city so that they could stay together.

He lifted his hand from the desk, leaving two white fangs on the dark wood. Taking a step back, he clenched his hands behind his back and waited. He held back the anger that was expected of him. It was too soon. He needed to stay calm until he was ready.

"It is such a pity that she had to be so public," Charles said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, if she hadn't been so public about it, maybe you could have killed off the child before he had turned. That is what you've done in the past, is it not?"

The papery skin on his face didn't move the way August assumed it once had as he smiled in calm amusement. He reached out and picked up each tooth, rolling them around in his pale palm. Closing his fingers, he shook them like dice, his smile broadening as they rattled and clacked against each other.

August watched his hand. If this was when two others would come in and wrestle him upside down to be bled, they would have a good fight on their hands. He remained silent.

"Now, August, no need to be so modest, we both know you've handled matters for a long time now."

"I didn't..."

"Let's not lie to each other. With Cleo passed, there is no need for your little secrets."

"I didn't know you knew, Charles."

Charles chuckled. His voice was throaty, soft, and unnerving. He was used to brute force, to people who were loud and brash with their anger. He was used to William and the young who let their emotions get the better of them far too often. Charles was always so calm and gently spoken, even though everyone knew he had been able to kill without a second thought. You didn't survive as long as Charles had without being very good at what you did. Though, that was before time and blood had taken the beauty once afforded to him. Now, August could not remember the last time Charles had taken a kill for himself. He wasn't even sure if the man still knew how. As long as August had been here, he'd only seen the man drink that which was offered him in patronage. Not that he needed all that much these days. As the decades passed, the hunger abated. The new were the greediest of them all.

He was much older than anyone else August knew of. Despite having had the face of someone in their early twenties, the years had taken a terrible toll. Charles now resembled a mixture of someone in their thirties and an old man. His skin had the appearance of being detached from his bones in places, where others it was perfectly set. It made August think that half his body had decided to age and had forgotten to tell the other half.

August had never known him to look normal, so to speak, but the last century since his and Cleo's arrival had only made things worse. Charles now ruled from his apartment on the top floor of the house. He didn't go out, he didn't make his own kills, he rarely saw others. It was pathetic. Perhaps if he'd continued on he would have stayed healthy for longer instead of becoming the half-man, half-corpse he was now. He relied on others for everything, mostly August, and August hated him for it.

"There was little point in telling you," he admitted idly. "You killed the new ones off before they were fully turned, therefore, no rules had been broken. I wouldn't be able to punish everyone who killed someone now, would I?"