The Song of David

“Stand up, buddy. You kicked it hard. You gotta watch out for the swing, make sure you step back a little, time your kicks and your punches.”

Henry rose to his feet as if the bag was going to take his legs out from under him at any minute. He jabbed at it, jabbed some more, kicked a time or two without falling, and then moved onto the speed bag while I threw out instructions. Amelie stayed quiet, listening intently, and I realized that I’d kept my hand on her elbow all along, clutching her to my side as I coached Henry. When Henry seemed to get a bit of a rhythm going on the speed bag, and began chortling happily to himself, she spoke up.

“David?”

I almost looked around to see who she was talking to and then remembered my own name. It sounded different on her lips.

“Yeah?”

“You’re so nice. I didn’t expect you to be so nice.”

“Why?”

“Because all the girls at the bar are either in love with you, and they want to sleep with you, or they hate you, and they still want to sleep with you. I thought you were one of those bad-boy types.”

“Oh, I’m plenty bad. I just try not to be an asshole to people who don’t deserve it. I guess you could say I’m a nice bad guy.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” she said softly.

“Trust me. It does. I’m good with people. But don’t cross me. And don’t cross the people I care about. Or you’ll see my bad side.”

“I’ll remember that,” Amelie said seriously, nodding as if she had been contemplating crossing me only seconds before. The thought of the dainty, blind brunette with the pearly skin and the sweet smile screwing me over was comical.

“You plotting something?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

“I was. But I thought better of it.” She shivered dramatically. “Don’t want to see bad Tag.”

“Bad Tag and Silly Millie.”

“Millie?”

“Doesn’t anyone ever call you Millie for short?”

“No,” she answered frankly.

“Henry and Amelie aren’t names you hear every day. They sound kind of old-fashioned.”

“That’s because we were actually born in the late 1800s, when our names were more popular. We vampires don’t age, you know. And my blindness is just a ruse to make people feel safe.” Her lips twisted in a smirk.

“Is that right?” I drawled, “Well, I’ll be damned. So you and Henry are forever gonna be, what, thirteen and twenty-two?”

“Fifteen. Henry’s fifteen.”

“But you’re actually one hundred and twenty-two?”

“That’s right. We’ll still look this good in another hundred years.” That was a sad thought for Henry, but for Amelie, not so much.

“You’ll outlive us all.”

Amelie’s face fell a smidgeon and her smile slipped. If I hadn’t been looking directly into her face I wouldn’t have seen it. But I did, and I realized Amelie had already outlived someone she cared about.

“Are your parents among the undead too?” I asked lightly, wondering if she would abandon the banter.

“No. My dad isn’t in the picture. Haven’t talked to him in years. My mom died a while back.” She shrugged, the fun completely ruined by reality.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” It was an endearment that I used easily. I’d called more women sweetheart in my life than I could count, but Amelie’s cheeks pinked and her chin dipped almost shyly. People must not call her sweetheart very often. “My dad didn’t handle it very well when I went blind. Two kids with issues was one too many for him, apparently.

“So you take care of Henry . . . by yourself?” I was stunned and tried not to let it show, but she heard it anyway, from the set of her chin and the stiffening of her back.

“Do you really want to know, or are you doubting me?” She turned her face toward me, as if confronting my question head on, and when I stared down at her, I felt a quaking in my chest that was instantly familiar. It was a jumping-off-a-cliff kind of feeling, a heart-swelling, chest-bursting sensation, and I’d stumbled across it a few times in my life.

I felt it when I watched Moses hold his new baby girl for the first time. He and Georgia were so happy, so deserving, and the joy in his face had spilled over and filled my heart with wonder. I felt it two years ago when I came back in the fifth round to win my first big fight. I’ve actually felt it a lot of times over the last few years, seeing Moses at work, seeing people weep at his gift. But the first time that feeling took my breath away was in Venice. It was a year after I’d gotten out of Montlake, eight months since Moses and I had taken off across the globe. I’d been so sad and so lost for so long that I’d gotten used to not feeling anything else. But there, in a little boat in Venice, as I watched the sun set—a fiery, hellish, red ball turning the water and sky into shades of heaven—my eyes had filled up with tears at the violent beauty of it all. In that moment, I realized I wanted to live again. For the first time in a long time, I was glad to be alive.

Looking down into Amelie Anderson’s heart-shaped face, her mouth set in a stubborn line, I had that feeling again. It rushed through me, taking my breath with it.