The Old

The right work, Chris reflected philosophically, was always so hard to find. In a normal life and in a normal time, one had to think of the career that fit his life for forty or fifty years, but by now Chrishad lived several lives and some times he was inclined to be one thing and then sometimes another. In the last few years he was inclined to be left alone, and unimpressed by all the goodies other people, immortal and otherwise, seemed so fond of. Hence the job at the junior college, hence why what he preferred to do was rise early, five in the afternoon, and get himself ready to show up at around six and begin janitorial work. The students coming for the evening classes were mothers fresh off of work trying to make a new life for themselves, students freshly arrived from other countries trying to put their first two years of school in before transferring somewhere else, young people who had given up on school and were trying it again, or men and women fresh out of jail or juvenile hall or a flop house, and they all made sense to him, and he respected them and they respected him, a very lean, tall, youngish blond janitor with a long mildly sleepy facewho usually kept his eyes to the ground, minding his business, who had no fear of the dark in him, and did not mind being left alone after the last of the students was gone and the halls of Roosevelt College were empty except for the few security people left.

Around one o clock Lawrence arrived, so out of place if anyone had seen him they would have been as perplexed as Chris, and Chrisdidn’t even have to turn around to know he was there, not after all this time, and he didn’t have to see him to know he was in a black car coat and expensive shoes, freshly shaved, dark hair immaculate, shades over his eyes even though they were both in a fluorescent lit lobby in the middle of the night.

“And you got in here, how?”

“The same way you leave, Brother,” Lawrence smiled, not taking off the shades.

“It’s good to see you, but you could have waited. I’m almost off.”

“And spook you in the parking lot?”

“You know I wouldn’t be spooked. You know I can feel you from a hundred feet away.”

“From a mile away by now,” Lawrence lowered his glasses. “You coming out tonight?”

“I’m going home tonight.”

“You haven’t been home in three nights, so that’ll be a change.”

And then Lawrence said, “Wait. What’s going…? Wait. Did you… Has the Hermit Card becomes a Lovers Card?’

“What?” Chrislooked mildly annoyed as he propped his broom against the elevator. “I hate it when you talk in Tarot cards.”

“I was a gypsy for twenty-five years.”

“No, you were pretending to be a gypsy for twenty five years. You can’t just be a gypsy.”

“You are so fucking literal,” Lawrence said. “and so into not having a good time. I hope this new boyfriend of yours is as gloomy as you.”

“He’s actually just like me.”

“He’s an overly tall, overly thin, pale blond vampire who doesn’t talk to strangers.”

“No,” Chris said, his mouth shutting like a trap.

Then he said. “He gets me. He gets me and he’s up right now at his place working, cause he’s up all night working and he knows I’ll be there and when I get there he will be happy to see me. But he’s alone. Like I’m alone. He doesn’t mind it. He likes his own company and we understand each other.”

“How much does he understand about you?” Lawrence said. “Because, I don’t care how much you think you all fit together, the little hurdle of you being—”

“He’s a witch,” Chrissaid, shortly.

“Oh,” Lawrence blinked. “You mean… you don’t mean like a ‘Hi, I got this book on Wicca off a shelf at B Dalton’s, witch.”

“No, I mean, I saw it in him at once, and he knew what I was. He just knew.”

“When can I meet him?”

“Meet him?”

“Yes,” Lawrence said. “Meet him. Or… Am I not your family?”

“Laurie, you’re pretty much the only family I have.”

“Then why would you hide me? You didn’t even tell me you met someone.”

“It was literally over the weekend. And…”

“You are hiding me. You’re doing that thing we did when we were with ordinary people and we didn’t want them to know. We kept all the odd things away from them as long as possible, were afraid that if we invited family members around it would give it all away. But, if this guy is all that you say he is…” Lawrence shrugged.

“By the way,” Lawrence said, “I’m not being a dick. I’m just trying to see if you’re real about this. About him.”

“Maybe I’m just jealous about him. Maybe I just want to get back to the man I thought I would never meet again.”

Chris reached into his pocket and dialed a number. A moment later Lewis picked up.

“Hey, are you on your way?”

“Lewis,” Chris said, “I hate to put you on the spot.”

“Okay?” Lewis sounded dubious.

“My brother is with me. He wants to know if he can meet you, and—”

“Sure. I’ll make myself look a little more decent.”

“Are you sure?”

“I just said yes. Don’t keep the man waiting. How long before you all get here?”

“By the El—” Chris began but Lawrence took the phone away from him and said, “Hello, Lewis, it’s good to meet you. My brother’s a knob, but I bet you know that. We’re not taking an El. I’m driving my really expensive car that he thinks is pretentious. We’ll be at your place in twenty minutes.”

Lewis nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”

Lawrence

I think--I hope!—that Chris Ashby knows I love him. He is the last person from those old times, and I wonder if a long time ago, no one knew, no one understood. I am one of those people who, no matter what, things come out of their mouths the wrong way. Or people think I’m too loud or too abrasive, and I’ve been that person for longer than most people are alive. When I was little, in a different life, my grandmother told me that when I grew up I would grow out of that, but I never have, and to this day something will fly out of my mouth and I will look at it and wish I could pull it back in.

I don’t say a word, or try not to, about Chris’s whole thing of living like a poor person. Well, not living like a poor person, he is being a poor person. Perhaps he looks down on me the same way I look with confusion on him. His El passes, his night shift jobs, his little apartment full of books, his desire to be left alone. Except for me. I feel like he tolerates me sometimes. But then, that is what family is for too.

We’re driving along Fullerton, and we stop at Chris’s place so he can change into something else besides a janitor’s uniform, though he has got to be the best looking janitor ever. No one can think he belongs there. And then we are off, up Fullerton, headed north. We are breaking the speed limit but there is no one to see us and there are few cars or people out. The people who are about to cross the street, or the drunks doing it without watching anyway are never in danger. The dead do not travel as fast as they did in that shitty book about the Transylvanian vampire, but we can shift from gas to brake faster than mortals, or avert disaster. I have never hit a squirrel or a deer in all my years of driving, let alone a person. We speed across this large city, and even with the stop at Chris’s we are at the large old apartment building of this Lewis within the promised twenty minutes.

There is a security lock on the front and back doors, but this doesn’t mean anything to us. We travel up the east wing, skip the elevator, head up the stairs and go around to the U of the west wing. Even though the security doors don’t matter, Lewis’s door does, and we stand outside and knock even though I imagine Chris doesn’t really have to, and Lewis says from within, “Why are you knocking?” and then he says, “Oh, yeah.”

A moment later the door opens and I don’t know what to make of him. He kisses Chris and they hold each other, and then he is standing before me, and I have to explain that vampires do not see as other people do. I mean, the accidents are that Lewis is bespectacled, black, five foot eight, and broad shouldered. Beyond that is the way that he receives me, holding out his hand, nodding with decorum and saying, “Welcome into my home,” as he takes my hand and then formally kisses me on both cheeks.

His apartment is not much different from Chris’s. It’s too small. It’s a studio. It is filled with art, and Lewis says, “What can I get you? There’s beer in the refrigerator. Or coffee, or juice. I think some wine is left. Here, let me take your coat.”

I am trying to understand him. The last time anyone treated me this way was when I was still mortal, in a different time, a far different time than this. People do not act like this anymore, except in foreign countries, and certainly not when they know you are no longer human. But this Lewis is not acting. This Lewis has two vampires in his house, and he goes about like… well, like it is his house, I understand what Chris meant. He is fearless.

We sit in the kitchen drinking wine and Chris and Lewis are on the little sofa while Lewis has dragged in a huge chair for me. At first it looks as if they are cramped on it, but Chris wants to be as close to Lewis as possible, and it is clear that what Lewis is trying to do is be a good host, to be solicitous, and not give into what Chris has already done, which is have eyes only for Lewis. I have known Chris my whole life, solitary, taciturn, kind but in a distant way, content to be left alone to walk along the beach and look at the water with his unreadable expression, and I don’t know that I’m saying this right. He is not a gloomy person. He has his excitements. It is a rare thing for one of us to be… cheerful to make people laugh, but he can make me laugh, my brother. However most of the time he is internal, and it is as if no one else makes him laugh. If this makes sense, and here he is, his arm wrapped about Lewis, looking on him every moment, so apparently sweet on him. Sweet on him, something out of the 1950’s. But Chrisloved the 1950’s. It was one of his favorite decades. The only moment Lewis is not self contained, not the completely gracious host, is when Chris kissed him quickly, and his brown cheeks go a little red.

“Stop,” Lewis says now, obviously smiling. “We have company.”

He turns to me.

“I always hated those people who would make out in public in front of everyone. It was always so…rude, I think.”

“I was going to say desperate,” I say.

Lewis laughs and Chris says, “Well, then I’m desperate. So,” he turns to me, “Does Lewis pass inspection?”

Lewis does not react. I think it would take a great deal to make this man react with shock to anything, and I say, “There was no inspection. I just wanted to meet him for myself.”

Later, while Lewis is in the kitchen, I say to Chris, “I’ve never met a witch before.”

“No?” Chris says as if he doesn’t really care.

“But you have.”

“Yes,” Chris looks visibly irritated. “I have. You know that.”

“You think he’s Malachy… Don’t you?”

Chrisshrugs.

“You do. Don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“And what if he isn’t?”

“Then how would we ever know? All I know is Lewis—”

Lewis was coming back into the room now, and Chris continued, looking at me almost defiantly, “Lewis makes me happy.”

As Lewis looked at us, Chris said, still looking up at him, “And making him happy makes me happy.”

Lewis walked me out, leaving Chris in the apartment.

“Surely there was some measure of inspection,” he said, half smiling as we walked downstairs.

“Chris is the only family I have.”

“You have clans, no?”

“Yes,” I say, “but that’s not quite the same thing.

"I was going to say something and then thought, but I’m probably wrong. I was going to say you might not understand how difficult it is to find someone. Only a drinker can really know another drinker. Or, I suppose, if not another drinker, something like you.”

“A witch.”

“Yes.”

We turn down the stair well and pass another floor.

“And when Chris said you were, then forgive me, I had to meet you. It wasn’t because I didn’t believe you would be good for him. He is so obviously happy, and no one makes him feel that way. Not in a very long time. And not so quickly. It’s only, in all my years I have never known anyone I could share my whole self with, who would understand what I was, and also, you must understand, though I have heard of witches and know they exist, I have never actually met one.”

“I find that…” Lewis started as we were walking down the hall to the entrance of the building, He said, “Surely that can’t be.”

“It is,” I said, “and I wanted to finally meet one.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know what to make of you.”

Lewis blinked at me.

“I mean, I don’t know what to make of the what of you. The who of you, who you are, I trust immediately. You are fearless. You are… gracious. You are like us. But the what? I’m afraid I still don’t know anymore of what a witch is than I did before I saw you. I feel like I may know less.”

Lewis nods as we step out into the cool night.

“I don’t know that I feel terribly different about it than you,” he admits.

Lewis smiles.

“Goodnight, Lawrence, Travel safely. You are welcome into my place any time.”

We both know what this means. Against all of my caution, I cannot help but love him.