Teeth

Chapter Twenty-One

The sun was rising outside and yet the inside of the apartment on the top floor was dark as midnight. August took every step with care. This was not a place for stomping around. Unlike the bottom three floors where there was activity every hour of the day in one way or another, the top floor gave off the quiet reflection of a church or library. This was a home made for the quiet reading of dusty books.

The scent of polish clung to the silver frames and ornaments. Spindly, intricately carved furniture looked like they had never been used for their true purpose, merely positioned to give the impression of grandeur and class. Every time he stepped inside he was reminded of his childhood, though this was no place for a child. Just like his own home had not been designed for a rambunctious young boy.

August lifted his head a little higher as the door clicked closed behind them. Perhaps it had been his years of watching staff come and go as silently as air but the noise irked him in a place like this. He glanced over his shoulder.

William did not seem perturbed by the disturbance. In fact, his expression was not as icy as usual. He gaze darted around the apartment he rarely visited with interest but when he stopped next to August, he was as still as stone. Usually, August might have watched him, looking for some sign of weakness he probably wouldn't find. Not today.

"William, my dear, dear boy. How infrequently you visit."

Charles sat in his usual chair. A large book was open in front of him and an oil lamp flickered on the corner of the desk. He drew his hands back from the volume and lay them delicately along the arms of his large chair. It was the only item of furniture that looked at all used.

August had often wondered if Charles missed the old days. He was never anything less than impeccably dressed, the way a proper gentleman should be, and he surrounded himself with classic design and style. Seeing him read the slab of a book, he looked as if he were sitting for some historical portrait.

William cleared his throat and stepped forward before he spoke. How quickly they all became ghosts of their former selves around the oldest among them. William clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his stance. The lack of uniform did nothing to detract from the soldier standing between them.

"Had you asked to see me, I would have, of course, come," he said, his tone as stoic as his expression.

"Of course," Charles replied.

The smile he offered William may have spread to his cheeks but with the loose skin, decaying after so long, it was impossible to tell. One thing was for certain, the smile did not reach his colourless pinpricks of eyes.

"Yet you come now," he continued when William did not speak again. "Always at the end of a leash, my dear boy."

"I am no dog," William answered briskly. Behind his back, his hands clenched and flexed. He rolled his shoulders back and August heard a distinctive cracking of joints.

Charles' gaze landed on August just long enough for him to feel the stare shoot straight through him before the older man's attention returned to William. August wasn't surprised that the man chose William for his interest. August had been up here many times. It was probably quite rare that Charles saw someone other than the person bringing him blood.

August glanced around. Sure enough, an empty blood-bag lay in a waste paper basket and a tall silver goblet stood on the mantle next to the handle of an ornate sword Charles boasted to have come from the court of some French monarch.

"My dear boy, you have been a dog as long as I have known you," Charles said cordially, as if telling him he was intelligent or handsome. "A vicious dog, hard to control, for sure, but you always come when your leash is pulled."