For some time now, my parents have been hinting to my older brother Martin that "it's time for you to get serious and think about your personal life". Fortunately, Martin has always been rich in excuses and declared that "fate will find him without his interference". Love his humour.
Vampire fate always finds us on its own. Even if we desperately hope to keep her away from us even a mile away. She can be a blessing. Oh, then the vampire is happy forever, for he loves the one who loves him. Mutuality. But in many cases, fate simply mocks, throws an immortal leech into our hearts, sucking our blood just as we drink it from a person's veins. Love is a disgusting thing.
***
– Martin! I didn't expect it! – I exclaimed happily when I saw my brother waiting for me at the exit of the terminal at Prague airport.
Martin stood leaning against the counter of a closed ticket office and looked at me with a smile. And I walked towards him with a smile. Soon we hugged, kissed, he took from me my big wheeled suitcase in which I had brought my best camera and presents for my nephew and Misha, we got into the car and went straight to the Morgan Castle. For everyone else, except Mariszka, of course, my appearance in the clan circle is already a gift. And maybe this righteous woman missed me? Eight years. I don't remember for what reason, but I missed Cedric's first two birthdays. Probably because of the anticipation of boredom.
– Where are you staying? – I asked as we briefly updated each other on the latest news of our lives. Briefly, because we regularly skype-called once or twice a month, substituting "blood" for "wine" and "killed" for "met". So when Martin would say, "Yesterday I met an Irish businessman and drank some wonderful Irish wine with him," I knew that yesterday he had killed an Irishman and drank his blood. How entertaining it was to cipher our conversations about hunting!
The last time I spoke to Martin was before the Oslo shoot, and I didn't have to listen long to hear about how he'd managed to have fun in those six days. But I did share with him my short trip to Oslo, emphasising that despite the gypsies and beggars, I had fallen in love with the city and bought a flat there. If he wants, he can use it whenever he wants. Martin grinned and said he'd think about my offer.
– Like everyone else. Mariszka and Markus have it, – he answered my question. – Misha and Fredrik are also at the castle. Everyone is here, waiting for you.
– That's nice," I said sarcastically, imagining how I'd have to hug everyone. – And your parents?
– They flew in yesterday.
– I'm not surprised.
– Brandon's at the castle, too.
A sigh of surprise escaped my chest.
– Brandon? – I asked, raising my eyebrows mockingly. – Since when did he become Mroczek?
– He's Markus's best friend," Martin shrugged.
– Yes, and he refused to be Cedric's godfather! – I reminded him.
Mariszka insisted that her son be baptised in the Catholic Church. The godmother was, of course, Misha (my name wasn't even mentioned in the discussion), and Brandon was to be the godfather. But he refused, saying that his lifestyle made him unworthy of such an honourable title.
An unworthy lifestyle. He sleeps with mortal women. So, by his reckoning, I am unworthy. Narrow-minded bastard.
– He had a reason, and frankly, I agree with his decision not to be Cedric's godfather," Martin said.
