Dead in the Family

maker and your personal cred, but let’s spare a tip of the hat to those guys he killed.”
    Eric shrugged. He was worried and he was at his wit’s end, and he didn’t care at all about the deaths of two humans. He was probably thankful that Alexei had picked victims who wouldn’t attract much sympathy and whose deaths were easily explained. Gang members killed one another all the time, after all. I gave up on making my point. At least partly because I’d had a thought—if Alexei was capable of turning against his own kind, maybe we could steer him onto Victor?
    I shuddered. I was creeping myself out. “So your maker brought Alexei to you hoping that you’d have some bright ideas about keeping your half brother alive, teaching him some self-control?”
    “Yes. That’s one of the reasons he’s here.”
    “Appius Livius having sex with the kid can’t be helping Alexei’s mental health,” I said, since I simply couldn’t not say it.
    “Please understand. In Ocella’s time, that was not a consideration,” Eric said. “Alexei would be old enough, in those times. And men of a certain station were free to indulge themselves with very little guilt or question. Ocella doesn’t think in the modern way about such things. As it happens, Alexei has become so . . . Well, they are not having sex now. Ocella is an honorable man.” Eric sounded very intent, very serious, as if he had to persuade me of his maker’s integrity. And all this concern was about the man who’d murdered him. But if Eric admired Ocella, respected him, didn’t I have to do the same?
    And—it popped into my head that Eric wasn’t doing anything for his brother that I wouldn’t do for mine.
    Then I had another unwelcome thought, and my mouth went dry. “If Appius Livius isn’t having sex with Alexei, who is he having sex with?” I asked in a small voice.
    “I know this is your business, since we’re married—something I’ve insisted on and you’ve belittled,” Eric said, and the bitterness was back in his voice. “I can only tell you that I’m not having sex with my maker. But I would if he told me that was what he wanted. I would have no choice.”
    I tried to think of a way to round this conversation off, escape with some dignity. “Eric, you’re busy with your visitors.” Busy in a way I’d never imagined. “I’m going to that meeting at Alcide’s Monday night. I’ll tell you what happens, when and if you call me. There are a couple of things I need to bring you up to speed on, if you ever have a chance to come to my place to talk.” Like Dermot appearing on my doorstep. That was a story Eric would be interested to hear, and God knows I wanted to tell him about it. But now was not the right time.
    “If they stay until Tuesday, I’m going to see you no matter what they’re doing,” Eric told me. He sounded a little more like himself. “We’ll make love. I feel like buying you a present.”
    “That sounds like a great night to me,” I said, feeling a surge of hope. “I don’t need a present, just you. So I’ll see you Tuesday, no matter what. That’s what you said, right?”
    “That’s what I said.”
    “Okay then, until Tuesday.”
    “I love you,” Eric said in a drained voice. “And you are my wife, in the only way that matters to me.”
    “Love you, too,” I said, passing on the last half of his closing statement because I didn’t know what it meant. I got up to go, and Pam appeared by my side to walk me to my car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric get up and walk over to the Boudreaux table to make sure his important visitors were happy.
    Pam said, “He’ll ruin Eric if he stays.”
    “How so?”
    “The boy will kill again, and we won’t be able to cover it up. He can escape if you so much as blink. He has to be watched constantly. Yet Ocella argues with himself about putting the boy down.”
    “Pam, let Ocella decide,” I warned her. I thought since we were by ourselves I could take the huge liberty of calling Eric’s maker by his personal name. “I’m serious. Eric’ll have to let him kill you if you take Alexei out.”
    “You care, don’t you?” Pam was unexpectedly touched.
    “You’re my bud,” I said. “Of course I care.”
    “We are friends,” Pam said.
    “You know it.”
    “This isn’t going to end well,” Pam said, as I got in my car.
    I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
    She was right.
    I ate a Little Debbie cinnamon roll when I got home,