Blood: The Third Course

Chapter Thirty-One

"I suppose I could ask Heather to go with them, select out items that should be kept, and organise photographing the rest for sale," August said.

He sat on the end of the bed, a notebook next to his thigh. He peered over the list again, sighing. Things had been less complicated in the past, though organising a legal funeral had been a headache, from what he'd heard. He was lucky, he supposed, that he'd never had to do it. His father had organised his mother's funeral, August still little more than a child at the time. Of course, he'd been long gone before the time had come to organise his father's funeral, and he had heard through a newspaper article that the task of organising the funeral and his family's affairs had fallen to his aunt. Not that she didn't profit greatly from such a task. With no heir to take on the family mantle, she had gained far more than shoving an old man in a box had cost her.

Still, he figured that, at that time, it would have been much easier. Organise the items to be sold into a room and have people come and pick over them, like vultures over the remains of a corpse. Paige had already organised most of her belongings, things that should remain with family and such. She had made the trip to see her family on a couple of occasions, telling them that she'd met a man, was in love, and she was moving to be with him. Heather would be able to keep up the letters Paige wrote them, she'd already agreed to it and it was ticked off on August's list of jobs to manage.

"I suppose," Spencer replied absently, after much too long. The fact he gave no specifics made August wonder if the younger vampire had even been listening.

He glanced over to find Spencer stood in front of his dresser, undoing the buttons on his shirt. Spencer tore the shirt from his shoulders and tossed it unceremoniously in the direction of the laundry hamper. He scruffed his hands through his damp, curly hair and returned to the wardrobe, flinging the doors open.

"You know," August said, "you keep stripping like this and we'll never leave this room. I'll get distracted."

Spencer pulled two shirts from his wardrobe and held them up in front of him, his gaze flitting between them. He frowned and shoved one back into the wardrobe, grabbing the next from the rail. Getting to his feet, August went to the shirt he'd discarded to the hamper, even though he knew for a fact that it was perfectly clean. Spencer had only tugged it from a hanger, like the rest he'd discarded, moments before it had been flung away.

He grabbed the collection of shirts from around the hamper and hung them over his arm. Spencer whirled away from the wardrobe, a shirt hanging from each hand.

"I shouldn't go," he said, sighing. "I think... I mean, no, I shouldn't go."

August straightened out the first shirt and laid it on the side of the bed. He stood before Spencer, frowning.

"That's crazy. Of course you should go. Paige was your sired, they'll be expecting you."

Flinging the two shirts, hangers included, away from him, Spencer crossed his arms across his bare chest, staring down at his hands.

"It's my fault. I got her killed and it'd be..." he gulped, not looking up. "It's disrespectful."

August laid the other shirts on the bed, collected the two Spencer had thrown, and placed them aside before going to him. He placed his hands on Spencer's arms, and decided that looking at his face, not further down, was best.

"Spencer," he said, dipping his head and trying to catch Spencer's gaze. "You did not kill Paige. This is not your fault."

"Thomas doesn't see it that way," he mumbled dejectedly. "He blames me."