Page 8 of The Arrival
Haruka gasps, his eyes wide. “He—he’s Sherlock Holmes!”
Asao wiggles his eyebrows. “A brilliant deduction.”
“Why couldn’twehave done that? And Holmes has Watson! They are both well known.”
Nino pouts. “I didn’t want to be Watson—”
“Then you could have been Holmes, andIcould have been Watson—or Moriarty—”
“Haru, are you going to spend the whole night complaining about your costume?” Nino asks. “Or are you going to trust me and try to have fun? When have I ever steered you wrong?” Between Giovanni giving him the cold shoulder, Nino’s own ineptitude in shattering the salt-shaker and Haruka’s displeasure, his patience is suddenly wearing thin.
God. It’s like I can’t do anything right lately. Why should I be anyone’s father?
Soon, Asao is out of the car and opening the door for Nino. He climbs out, taking in the glowing lights and the rolling fog pouring from the front doors to the estate and onto the ground at their feet. He inhales deep, shaking off his frustration and taking in the crisp autumn air laced with wet leaves, wood-fire and smoke.
When Haruka stands at his side, he takes one of Nino’s palms in both of his hands and looks into his eyes. “I apologize,” he says. “I trust you. Always. You know this.”
“I do.” The tension in Nino’s shoulders eases. “Thank you.”
“I love you.”
“Il mio cuore è solo tuo. Ti adoro.”
My heart belongs to you only. I love you.
Haruka’s gaze softens and Nino can sense his mate’s stifled rosy aura swirling within him in a familiar way—the prelude to a knowing moment. A void, where everything around them ceases to exist and all that matters is the intensity, heat and love between them.
Nino shakes his head to rouse himself from the trance. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not supposed to kiss you or mess up your face. Let’s go inside.” Nino walks up the path, pulling his groaning mate along behind him.
“Then don’t say those things to me,” Haruka contends, a smile behind his rich voice. “You know how it affects me… Are you wearing underwear?”
Nino beams, casting a glance at Haruka as they walk side by side. “Should I say no?”
Haruka’s eyes flicker down, then back up. “Yes.”
Biting his lip, Nino snickers as they step over the threshold. Eerie instrumental music floats along the cool breeze of the entryway, which is also caped in heavy cobwebs and fake spiders.
In the foyer, the fog rolls thickly around their ankles, bubbling and churning like smoke in a witch’s cauldron. Nino looks up. There are hundreds of tiny glass skulls glowing in purple hanging from the high ceiling, casting everything around them in ultraviolet light. When he holds his arm out, the golden flecks are peppery, like an interstellar constellation against his skin. Nino glances at his mate, and Haruka is literally glowing.
Having visited the Ito estate before tonight, he notices the change in the wall decor as well. Where there were once expensive, abstract modern art pieces, now there are antique framed photos of skeletons posed and dressed in formal attire. One wears a traditional British military uniform and stands beside a tall and skeletal horse, while another mimics the Mona Lisa, except this rendition shows her as nothing but skull and bones.
“Lord Bianchi, Lord Hirano. You honor us with your presence.” Hana Ito glides toward them as if she’s on roller skates, her elaborate white Victorian ball gown sweeping the floor. Her face, skin and hair are the same stark white as her dress. The front of her dramatic wig is piled with pin curls, while the back falls in ringlets over the puffy satin sleeves of her shoulders.
She smiles despite the dark circles smudged underneath her eyes. “Oh, you both lookmarvelous—Wait, let me guess… Hades and… not Zeus. Hercules?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Nino says, returning her smile and offering a slight bow. “Thank you for having us—this is incredible.”
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Hana,” Haruka says, mirroring Nino’s bow.
“You as well, your grace. It wouldn’t have been much of an affair without the two of you here. Ah, Asao, let me see…” Hana scans the older vampire, considering. Asao smoothly lifts a bent wooden smoking pipe from his large pocket and brings it to his lips. Hana gasps, clapping. “Sherlock!”
Asao pulls the pipe from his lips. “Precisely.”
“How thrilling, you handsome devil.” Hana floats over to Junichi next, her arms outstretched as her hips sway. “Speaking of handsome devils, is this mysterious masked man Mr. Takayama?”
Junichi bows, lifting one of Hana’s hands to his lips and placing a kiss there. “Good evening, my lady.”
Hana swoons, then snaps open a lacy white accordion fan. She waves it furiously with her free hand. “Heavens, please don’t let Ren catch us. The thought of his reaction makes me feel even more ghostly than I am now.”
