Well, looks like someone went wild with the alcohol budget, huh? Seriously, though, how much did her shopping spree cost?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and squint at the low table. I can't help but judge the number of wine bottles scattered on it. Does Eve truly expect us to drink everything tonight? Sorry, not sorry, but I'm out. Nuh-huh, I'm not drinking until I puke or pass out, whatever she says. That's frigging too much for a human.
"I didn't know what your brother likes, so I took a bit of everything," she hums with a grin. The mischievous light in her eyes is betraying her inner thoughts, though. Girl, I know you're a drunkard. "Next time, I'll be more careful with the selection, but for tonight…!"
Wait. She's already thinking about the next time? We haven't even started! Come on!
A sigh, and I try to ignore the proverbial headache drumming at my temples, turning my attention toward the kids. They're busy bickering about what Jonathan and James should wear tonight for sleep. Ellena is hellbent on her uncle wearing her nightgown. No surprise there. The thing is, she also wants her little and big brothers to wear her nightgowns for some reason. I'm not sure I want to know how it came to this.
"I don't drink wine often," my brother's voice draws my attention back to him, "so I wouldn't say I fancy one in particular, though I guess I do prefer red over white wines."
Right. Bryan has never been that much of a drinker. Regardless, he intends to take a glass or two tonight.
I eye him, and he eyes me back. I feel a smile tug at the corner of my lips. He's decided to stay, even though the presence of two patriarchs, a matriarch, and an angel mustn't be easy to handle for him. It's not like James, who woke up from his nap and came down to see what the fuss is all about, or Todd, who's been dragged onto the sofa by Eve, are weak, either. They have a strong presence as the heir of the vampire clan and an ice demon on the verge of sprouting his fifth pair of wings.
For Seers like us, these guys' true forms can be a little overwhelming. I'm used to it, my brother isn't.
Eve claps her hands and shifts on the sofa, giggling, "Good thing I've bought a shit load of red wines then—"
"Eve," I interrupt her, narrowing my eyes at the happy-go-lucky woman, who seems to have forgotten she's a mother before being a drunkard. "Before drinking, we have to tuck in the kids first."
"Eeeh?" Elois whines. "But I'm not tired!"
"I'm not tired either!" Ellena gives me the puppy eyes. "We wanna spend more time with uncle Bryan! Pretty please!"
Ah, I can feel the tantrum coming miles away. Kids, it's past your bedtime.
"Don't you think it's fine even if they go to bed a little later than usual?" Jordan takes his children's side, and I glare at him. He smiles in response and says in a coaxing tone, "They're healthy demon children. They could skip a night's rest or two, if not more, and they would be fine. Don't worry too much."
I feel my mouth twitch. Dude, you just don't want to handle their tantrums, don't you? And the problem is not the sleeping part! It's drinking in front of kids! I don't think any of us will end up dead drunk, but, y'know, just by principle. Although sometimes, I wonder if I'm the one making a fuss over nothing. In the end, humans and demons don't see eye to eye on quite a few things, especially what we consider morally wrong.
Drinking with children around might not be inappropriate to them. Demons aren't known to be saints.
OK, alright, fine. Perhaps I'm overreacting. I'm just not comfortable with the idea. I blame Miria and how shitty she's when she drinks. I don't have particularly found memories of her drinking parties back at the clan. My brother doesn't, too. And maybe that's the real reason Bryan doesn't drink much, now that I think about it. When we were young, the crazy woman almost split his skull open with an ashtray in a drunken fit. I'm sure it left a scar at the base of his skull, but his hair is hiding it. I wonder if it still throbs from time to time. Maybe. It was an ugly wound.
"Come and sit," Jordan insists when I keep quiet, patting the place beside him on the sofa opposite to where Eve, Lucy, and Todd are sitting. The kids are lying on their stomachs on the rug, with James and Jonathan sitting cross-legged beside them.
Fine. Whatever.
I stride to the sofa and plop my ass beside my husband while Bryan rolls his wheelchair next to me. He's sticking close, refusing to leave my side. To be fair, I'd probably do the same thing if the role had been inversed. He doesn't know shit about the freakish beings surrounding us, and I'm the only one he can feel truly safe around.
Todd, the ever-so-efficient butler, starts to pour us a drink. He hands a glass of red wine to my brother, then to me. I bring it to my lips and sip on it slowly. It tastes fruity.
It's strangely silent. I'd have thought Eve would be blabbering her mouth off, but she's busy looking at us instead. There's a certain tenderness in her eyes. Ah, I see. She's busy sorting out feeling from the future. I can't help but frown and peer at Jordan. He has a similar look in his eyes. It's tender, but not the same as when he looks at me.
I take another sip.
Bro, whether you like it or not, you're part of the family, and not just on paper as my brother. Not like I'm surprised, though. The kids' reaction when they first met him told me everything I needed to know.
To be honest, there's a giggly feeling sprouting in the pit of my stomach. My lips curve into a smile on their own. Well, I can't lie to myself. I like the idea of my brother growing close enough to what, I guess, is now my family. We've been apart for so long, and I'd rather we don't lose touch again.
A hand brushes against my thigh, snatching me out of my thoughts. I quirk an eyebrow at Jordan. What does he want now?
In his true form, I can see flicker of worry swirling in his golden eyes. Looks like he's still worried over what happened in the greenhouse.
That worry-cat…
I refrain from sighing and, instead, grab his hand, squeezing it slightly to tell him I'm fine. When I'm about to move it away, Jordan sneakily intertwines his fingers with mine, refusing to let go. I tug on his hand, trying to yank mine away. He pretends not to notice and brings his glass to his lips. All the while, his thumb is caressing the back of my hand.
Dude, you're getting a little too at ease.
Or could he be tipsy…? He seems to have drunk a few glasses already. I suspiciously size him up, only to fall upon those worried eyes again.
…I'm telling you I'm fine, no need to comfort me. But whatever. I decide to ignore him for the sake of my sanity. It's just holding hands, and it's not the end of the world.
Also, bro, stop it with the curious gaze. It makes me self-conscious.
"So, Eve." I try to distract him—and myself while I'm at it—with small talk. Eve mentioned it earlier, so I guess it's fine to discuss Oliver's trial it in front of my brother. "How did the trial go? You said it was successful, but…" But that's all I know.
"Not only was it successful," Eve smirks, "but that guy's done for. He's never leaving the depths of hell. That's what happens when you commit horrendous crimes in the human realm and can't even be bothered to cover your tracks. Tsk, tsk. You gotta abide by the rules of the world you're living it. That's basic courtesy. Anyway! It was an easy case."
"Well," Jordan hums, "it helped that his patriarch didn't try to save him, too. It'd have been another story politically wise if Anthony had meddled."
"I've told you he wouldn't dare without my permission," Jonathan yawns, and I tense slightly. Old man, don't talk without thinking about who's sitting beside me. Bryan isn't supposed to know your identity. But clearly, Jonathan can't care less and prattle on. "Now there are just the traitorous elders left to handle. I'll either have to do it internally, or we can try to drag them into a trial, too, once there's enough proof that their actions have impacted human life to an unacceptable degree."
"You want to handle them on your own? In that state?" Lucy arches an eyebrow, slouching against Eve. "Yeah, sure. Dream on. You'll only get yourself killed."
It earns her a glare, and I wisely keep quiet.
Maybe I shouldn't have brought up the trial. Or at the very least, not around my brother. Sometimes, these guys don't give a shit about secrecy. The problem is, I still can't tell when they care and when they don't. Tonight, it seems to be a "we're gonna say whatever we want and whatever happens, happens."
Ah, the headache is growing worse.