Chapter 2
Donnell lifted his brows at this flamboyant pronouncement. “Oh, really?” he drawled. “And I’d bet that you ride a unicorn and bathe in rainbows too, right? Tell me, what’s Arthur doing these days? Working in a strip club showing women his mighty ‘sword’?”
The youth laughed heartily. “No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that I’m THAT Merlin! I mean that I’m A Merlin. There’s a big difference.”
Donnell frowned. “Are you a druid, then? Wasn’t Merlin a title customarily passed down to one of their priests?”
“You’re knowledgeable,” the boy said admiringly. “And I am a druid…well, sort of. I never formally joined the priesthood or anything – they just showed up at my door one day and told me that I was the Merlin, because I’d been born with the capacity to to do real magic. That, and these,” he pointed to his own eyes, “All of the Merlins who’ve been magic-users had these eyes. Apparently they’re part of what makes us magic…oh, and part of what makes us crazy, as well.”
“So you’re saying that you ARE daft? Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Donnell remarked dryly.
A grin. “I like you. You speak your mind,” the tall youth said admiringly. “Listen, can we go somewhere and talk? It’s been ages since I met a supernatural creature. I’m fascinated. I want to know everything about you.”
Donnell sighed in a long-suffering sort of way. “I don’t really…” he began.
The youth cocked his head a bit. “Do you have something important that you need to be doing?” he asked. “Something that’s so urgent that you can’t spend a few hours talking to me?”
Donnell gritted his teeth. “No,” he said stiffly. “But that does not mean that I want to spend time with you.”
The youth’s face fell. “Oh, come on,” he said wheedlingly. “I’m a good guy, I swear! You can totally trust me! But if you really don’t want to…” he sighed sadly. “I guess I’ll just have to go. But not before I start yelling at the top of my lungs about how the cute guy standing in front of me is a vampire. Nobody will believe me, of course, but it could make life hard for you.”
Donnell’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “That sounds like blackmail to me,” he snapped.
A nod. “You betcha. I’m not above blackmail to get what I want. So maybe I’m not such a good guy after all,” he added with a rueful, charming shrug of his shoulders. “So will you come? Or do I start yelling?”
Donnell blew out his breath, leaving a frost cloud on the air. “Very well,” he conceded. “I’ll come. But don’t expect me to be very good company,” he warned tightly.
The youth grinned happily. “Oh, I think that you’ll be very good company,” he told Donnell. He didn’t elaborate on what he meant, making Donnell frown again in a baffled way.
The youth led the way to a diner a few blocks away. It was one of those faux-Fifties places, with waitresses in poodle skirts and a juke box playing Elvis and Buddy Holly tunes. Donnell looked around in distaste as they slid into a booth. He hadn’t liked the 1950’s the first time; having them recreated in this gaudy, garish way made his eyes ache. The youth who claimed to be A Merlin waved to a waitress. “I’m going to have some cocoa,” he said as he removed his gloves. “It’s cold today. What about you?”
“I can’t digest cocoa or any other kind of food or drink,” Donnell reminded him.
“Oh? Yeah,” he replied, his face falling a little. “I forgot. That must suck righteously. I love this place; they have then best malts and fountain drinks ever. Makes me feel right at home,” he went on, looking around.
Donnell’s brows knit together. “Why would a place such as this make you feel right at home?” he questioned.
The youth grimaced slightly. “Well, I’m older than I look,” he explained. “Apparently the magic keeps us from aging. Well, we do age, but it’s really, REALLY slowly. I was born in 1943,” he said.
Donnell’s mouth opened slightly. “Are you saying that you’re sixty-seven years old?!” he blurted out, and then looked around when he realized that his voice may have carried.
The youth snickered. “The look on your face is priceless,” he said drolly. “And yes, I’m sixty-seven. My younger sister has grandkids. While I,” he laid a hand on his chest, “Look like I did in high school. I guess we stop aging when we finish growing. Which is not great when I want to get a drink,” he told Donnell. “Everybody always knows I’m using a fake i.d., although the funny thing is that the one I use shows me as being younger than I actually am, not older.”
The vampire considered this. Meeting someone who wasn’t a vampire, and yet had lived almost seventy years without aging…it was strange but interesting. “Merlin is a mere title, isn’t it?” he said at last, looking up at the human. “Do you have a name?”
“Yep. It’s Kieran. Kieran O’Mara. I’m as Irish as you are, at least by ancestry. Though I’ve never been to the ‘Old Country’,” he added.
“It's not all it’s cracked up to be,” Donnell said with a shrug.
Kieran’s parti-colored eyes studied him. “You’re really depressed,” he noted. “Why? I mean, not being able to eat or drink anything would be kind of bad, but…”
Donnell felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten. “My mental or emotional state is none of your business,” he snapped.
Kieran shook his head. “Touchy,” he chided. “I just thought I might be able to help cheer you up, is all. Here,” he did something under the table, and lifted his hand with something resting on the palm. He held it out toward Donnell.
He looked at Kieran’s hand, and saw that it was a plush toy of a black-and-white cat wearing a black cape with a red lining. The cat had long fangs and red eyes. “What is this?” he said, giving the youth a cool stare.
“What does it look like? It’s a vampire kitty,” the Merlin told him cheerfully. “Isn’t it cute? I thought it would cheer you up.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” Donnell replied in annoyance.
Kieran sighed and set the plush toy on the tabletop. He slid it toward Donnell. “Keep it anyway,” he told the vampire. “You could sleep with it at night or something. Everybody needs something to cuddle when they sleep.”
Donnell eyed the toy and then the human mage. “You are very odd,” he remarked in a dubious voice.
“Oh, I know that,” Kieran agreed, then smiled up at the pretty waitress when she came to their table armed with a steaming mug of hot chocolate complete with miniature marshmallows floating on top of it. “Thank you,” he told her. He handed her a ten dollar bill. “That should cover it, and give you a nice tip,” he went on with a wink.
She giggled and took the money, giving him a flirtatious glance in return. “Just let me know if you need anything else,” she said, swishing her hips to make her poodle skirt sway as she walked away.
“I’ll be sure to,” he said, making Donnell’s brows lower. Then Kieran glanced at his face, and his lips twitched when he saw the black look he was getting from the vampire.
“What?” he asked innocently. “Don’t you think that she’s pretty?”
“I don’t think anything,” Donnell told him coldly. “I’ve no use for children.”
“Yes, I guess she’d be a child to you, wouldn’t she?” Kieran said slowly.
“And to you, if you’re not lying about your age,” Donnell reminded him sharply.
“I suppose,” Kieran propped his chin on his hand on the tabletop. “But that means that EVERYBODY is too young for me, except for ladies and gentlemen at the old folks’ homes. And can you see me coming on to any of them? That would be pretty ugly, I should think. Hey, grandma, you want to make out?” he made his voice rather sing-song as he said this, and Donnell closed his teeth on another laugh that was trying to escape.
But the sharp eyes caught the signs on his face, and Kieran’s eyes began to gleam. “Ah hah! So you DO think that I’m funny!” he cried triumphantly, pointing a finger at Donnell. “I knew I could cheer you up.”
“How could I not laugh at the antics of a clown?” Donnell said dryly.
Kieran pretended to pout. “Don’t be mean.” He sipped at his cocoa, then made a satisfied sound at the taste. “I wish you could try this,” he told Donnell. “It's wonderful. They use real chocolate to make it, not that powdery stuff in the packet.”
Donnell shook his head. “It's not as though I know what you’re talking about,” he told Kieran. “I’ve never tasted either chocolate or powdered cocoa either. I was born in a poor village in Ireland; we couldn’t afford chocolate or anything except cakes sweetened with honey. And since I was turned, my only nourishment has been blood.”
Kieran grimaced. “I can’t imagine only being able to drink blood,” he said in disgust. “I’ve tasted blood before when I got a cut on my lip. It was awful.”
“You get used to it,” Donnell replied dourly. “You have to.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. But here…” he dipped a long finger in his cocoa. “You might not be able to digest it, but a little on your tongue can’t hurt. Just taste it,” he held out the finger to Donnell.
The vampire gave him a LOOK. “I am not going to suck your finger,” he said stonily.
“Why not? I expect that you’ve sucked worse things,” Kieran said with a twinkle in his eyes. “I meant necks and things,” he added when Donnell narrowed his eyes. “You have a dirty mind.”
Donnell breathed through his nose and tried to control his temper. He glanced at Kieran’s finger, which was still extended. “Nevertheless, I’ll not suck your finger.”
Kieran made a clucking sound with his tongue. “You don’t have to suck it, just taste it,” he urged. “Come on, what can it hurt? Or are you scared to?” he taunted.
Donnell’s cheek twitched a little as a tic formed there. “You are impossible,” he told Kieran.
“I know. But you’re changing the subject,” Kieran remarked, waving his finger in the air in front of Donnell’s face. “So you’re scared to taste something that isn’t blood? That’s sad.”
Donnell cursed in Gaelic and caught that impudent finger. He extended his tongue and very lightly touched it to the dark drop on the tip. It took a moment, but his blood adjusted taste buds finally kicked in and made sweetness explode in his mouth. He almost moaned like a woman lost in the throes of desire, his whole body shuddering as he tasted something besides blood for the first time in centuries. It was…wonderful. He’d truly forgotten what it was like to taste anything(over time, he’d grown used to not tasting blood at all when he took it in for nourishment). It was like an oral orgasm.
Kieran was smiling at his expression. “Not so bad, eh?” he asked smugly. “I thought you’d like it. It never occurred to you to just taste stuff, even if you can’t actually eat it?”
No, it hadn’t. Donnell felt rather stupid for not having thought of it before. Kieran leaned forward a bit and looked him in the eye. “See? Its good to have me around,” he said coaxingly. “I promise that I’ll grow on you.”
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Donnell lifted his brows at this flamboyant pronouncement. “Oh, really?” he drawled. “And I’d bet that you ride a unicorn and bathe in rainbows too, right? Tell me, what’s Arthur doing these days? Working in a strip club showing women his mighty ‘sword’?”
The youth laughed heartily. “No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that I’m THAT Merlin! I mean that I’m A Merlin. There’s a big difference.”
Donnell frowned. “Are you a druid, then? Wasn’t Merlin a title customarily passed down to one of their priests?”
“You’re knowledgeable,” the boy said admiringly. “And I am a druid…well, sort of. I never formally joined the priesthood or anything – they just showed up at my door one day and told me that I was the Merlin, because I’d been born with the capacity to to do real magic. That, and these,” he pointed to his own eyes, “All of the Merlins who’ve been magic-users had these eyes. Apparently they’re part of what makes us magic…oh, and part of what makes us crazy, as well.”
“So you’re saying that you ARE daft? Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Donnell remarked dryly.
A grin. “I like you. You speak your mind,” the tall youth said admiringly. “Listen, can we go somewhere and talk? It’s been ages since I met a supernatural creature. I’m fascinated. I want to know everything about you.”
Donnell sighed in a long-suffering sort of way. “I don’t really…” he began.
The youth cocked his head a bit. “Do you have something important that you need to be doing?” he asked. “Something that’s so urgent that you can’t spend a few hours talking to me?”
Donnell gritted his teeth. “No,” he said stiffly. “But that does not mean that I want to spend time with you.”
The youth’s face fell. “Oh, come on,” he said wheedlingly. “I’m a good guy, I swear! You can totally trust me! But if you really don’t want to…” he sighed sadly. “I guess I’ll just have to go. But not before I start yelling at the top of my lungs about how the cute guy standing in front of me is a vampire. Nobody will believe me, of course, but it could make life hard for you.”
Donnell’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “That sounds like blackmail to me,” he snapped.
A nod. “You betcha. I’m not above blackmail to get what I want. So maybe I’m not such a good guy after all,” he added with a rueful, charming shrug of his shoulders. “So will you come? Or do I start yelling?”
Donnell blew out his breath, leaving a frost cloud on the air. “Very well,” he conceded. “I’ll come. But don’t expect me to be very good company,” he warned tightly.
The youth grinned happily. “Oh, I think that you’ll be very good company,” he told Donnell. He didn’t elaborate on what he meant, making Donnell frown again in a baffled way.
The youth led the way to a diner a few blocks away. It was one of those faux-Fifties places, with waitresses in poodle skirts and a juke box playing Elvis and Buddy Holly tunes. Donnell looked around in distaste as they slid into a booth. He hadn’t liked the 1950’s the first time; having them recreated in this gaudy, garish way made his eyes ache. The youth who claimed to be A Merlin waved to a waitress. “I’m going to have some cocoa,” he said as he removed his gloves. “It’s cold today. What about you?”
“I can’t digest cocoa or any other kind of food or drink,” Donnell reminded him.
“Oh? Yeah,” he replied, his face falling a little. “I forgot. That must suck righteously. I love this place; they have then best malts and fountain drinks ever. Makes me feel right at home,” he went on, looking around.
Donnell’s brows knit together. “Why would a place such as this make you feel right at home?” he questioned.
The youth grimaced slightly. “Well, I’m older than I look,” he explained. “Apparently the magic keeps us from aging. Well, we do age, but it’s really, REALLY slowly. I was born in 1943,” he said.
Donnell’s mouth opened slightly. “Are you saying that you’re sixty-seven years old?!” he blurted out, and then looked around when he realized that his voice may have carried.
The youth snickered. “The look on your face is priceless,” he said drolly. “And yes, I’m sixty-seven. My younger sister has grandkids. While I,” he laid a hand on his chest, “Look like I did in high school. I guess we stop aging when we finish growing. Which is not great when I want to get a drink,” he told Donnell. “Everybody always knows I’m using a fake i.d., although the funny thing is that the one I use shows me as being younger than I actually am, not older.”
The vampire considered this. Meeting someone who wasn’t a vampire, and yet had lived almost seventy years without aging…it was strange but interesting. “Merlin is a mere title, isn’t it?” he said at last, looking up at the human. “Do you have a name?”
“Yep. It’s Kieran. Kieran O’Mara. I’m as Irish as you are, at least by ancestry. Though I’ve never been to the ‘Old Country’,” he added.
“It's not all it’s cracked up to be,” Donnell said with a shrug.
Kieran’s parti-colored eyes studied him. “You’re really depressed,” he noted. “Why? I mean, not being able to eat or drink anything would be kind of bad, but…”
Donnell felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten. “My mental or emotional state is none of your business,” he snapped.
Kieran shook his head. “Touchy,” he chided. “I just thought I might be able to help cheer you up, is all. Here,” he did something under the table, and lifted his hand with something resting on the palm. He held it out toward Donnell.
He looked at Kieran’s hand, and saw that it was a plush toy of a black-and-white cat wearing a black cape with a red lining. The cat had long fangs and red eyes. “What is this?” he said, giving the youth a cool stare.
“What does it look like? It’s a vampire kitty,” the Merlin told him cheerfully. “Isn’t it cute? I thought it would cheer you up.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” Donnell replied in annoyance.
Kieran sighed and set the plush toy on the tabletop. He slid it toward Donnell. “Keep it anyway,” he told the vampire. “You could sleep with it at night or something. Everybody needs something to cuddle when they sleep.”
Donnell eyed the toy and then the human mage. “You are very odd,” he remarked in a dubious voice.
“Oh, I know that,” Kieran agreed, then smiled up at the pretty waitress when she came to their table armed with a steaming mug of hot chocolate complete with miniature marshmallows floating on top of it. “Thank you,” he told her. He handed her a ten dollar bill. “That should cover it, and give you a nice tip,” he went on with a wink.
She giggled and took the money, giving him a flirtatious glance in return. “Just let me know if you need anything else,” she said, swishing her hips to make her poodle skirt sway as she walked away.
“I’ll be sure to,” he said, making Donnell’s brows lower. Then Kieran glanced at his face, and his lips twitched when he saw the black look he was getting from the vampire.
“What?” he asked innocently. “Don’t you think that she’s pretty?”
“I don’t think anything,” Donnell told him coldly. “I’ve no use for children.”
“Yes, I guess she’d be a child to you, wouldn’t she?” Kieran said slowly.
“And to you, if you’re not lying about your age,” Donnell reminded him sharply.
“I suppose,” Kieran propped his chin on his hand on the tabletop. “But that means that EVERYBODY is too young for me, except for ladies and gentlemen at the old folks’ homes. And can you see me coming on to any of them? That would be pretty ugly, I should think. Hey, grandma, you want to make out?” he made his voice rather sing-song as he said this, and Donnell closed his teeth on another laugh that was trying to escape.
But the sharp eyes caught the signs on his face, and Kieran’s eyes began to gleam. “Ah hah! So you DO think that I’m funny!” he cried triumphantly, pointing a finger at Donnell. “I knew I could cheer you up.”
“How could I not laugh at the antics of a clown?” Donnell said dryly.
Kieran pretended to pout. “Don’t be mean.” He sipped at his cocoa, then made a satisfied sound at the taste. “I wish you could try this,” he told Donnell. “It's wonderful. They use real chocolate to make it, not that powdery stuff in the packet.”
Donnell shook his head. “It's not as though I know what you’re talking about,” he told Kieran. “I’ve never tasted either chocolate or powdered cocoa either. I was born in a poor village in Ireland; we couldn’t afford chocolate or anything except cakes sweetened with honey. And since I was turned, my only nourishment has been blood.”
Kieran grimaced. “I can’t imagine only being able to drink blood,” he said in disgust. “I’ve tasted blood before when I got a cut on my lip. It was awful.”
“You get used to it,” Donnell replied dourly. “You have to.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. But here…” he dipped a long finger in his cocoa. “You might not be able to digest it, but a little on your tongue can’t hurt. Just taste it,” he held out the finger to Donnell.
The vampire gave him a LOOK. “I am not going to suck your finger,” he said stonily.
“Why not? I expect that you’ve sucked worse things,” Kieran said with a twinkle in his eyes. “I meant necks and things,” he added when Donnell narrowed his eyes. “You have a dirty mind.”
Donnell breathed through his nose and tried to control his temper. He glanced at Kieran’s finger, which was still extended. “Nevertheless, I’ll not suck your finger.”
Kieran made a clucking sound with his tongue. “You don’t have to suck it, just taste it,” he urged. “Come on, what can it hurt? Or are you scared to?” he taunted.
Donnell’s cheek twitched a little as a tic formed there. “You are impossible,” he told Kieran.
“I know. But you’re changing the subject,” Kieran remarked, waving his finger in the air in front of Donnell’s face. “So you’re scared to taste something that isn’t blood? That’s sad.”
Donnell cursed in Gaelic and caught that impudent finger. He extended his tongue and very lightly touched it to the dark drop on the tip. It took a moment, but his blood adjusted taste buds finally kicked in and made sweetness explode in his mouth. He almost moaned like a woman lost in the throes of desire, his whole body shuddering as he tasted something besides blood for the first time in centuries. It was…wonderful. He’d truly forgotten what it was like to taste anything(over time, he’d grown used to not tasting blood at all when he took it in for nourishment). It was like an oral orgasm.
Kieran was smiling at his expression. “Not so bad, eh?” he asked smugly. “I thought you’d like it. It never occurred to you to just taste stuff, even if you can’t actually eat it?”
No, it hadn’t. Donnell felt rather stupid for not having thought of it before. Kieran leaned forward a bit and looked him in the eye. “See? Its good to have me around,” he said coaxingly. “I promise that I’ll grow on you.”
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