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Many thoughts played through my mind like a tune. One of the more popular ones was how much I disliked planes. My fingers clutched the armrests, much to the annoyance of the two businessmen on either side of me. Ivan’s snores could be heard all throughout the vehicle. Though he took no notice of my discomfort, just the sight of the back of his head slightly calmed me. At every strong gust of wind the vehicle heaved a violent shudder and jolted my nerves awake.

The second most popular thought was our destination. Hamir invited Jacob and myself along to England with him to manage his estate. I have accompanied him many times, but this will be Jacob’s first trip to Europe. On these trips I often assist him with his needs for a while, then manage my own estate. Or what’s left of it. My parents, were they alive, would never forgive me for not continuing their line and therefore increasing the family’s money.

But this brings me to my third and most troubling thought.

The morning before yesterday, I was rudely woken at 3 am by a foreign turn of my stomach, an ache forgotten as human. I rushed quietly to the bathroom in the dark and vomited the little blood in my stomach into the toilet bowl. For a vampire, the only possible reasons for this are eating food too dense, consuming unusable blood, or morning sickness.

Since this phenomenon has happened repeatedly, I can safely assume it is the latter.

Ivan does not know. I am unsure how to tell him. But I must figure out how soon, because I cannot keep it to myself much longer. Since that morning, when I gripped the side of the tub and hugged my stomach where a being now resided, I felt both incredible awe and utter disgust. Something that is both me and not me, something being built from my cells, sustained by my organs. The creation is beautiful, but the thought of the parasitic nature of the thing being created terrified me. That and every hour or so, no matter when or where, the parasite refused the blood I drank and forced it out of me. Twice already I have crawled over poor plane-riders to occupy the miniscule restroom and wish repeatedly that I were dead.

Many long hours later we filed out into the airport of Prestwick greeted by the brisk cold of early morning in England. The crisp air brought a sense of normality and peace, nostalgia settling on me like a wet wool blanket. We collected our two bags from the conveyer belt and entered the car waiting for Hamir. A butler I recognized as Mr. Daniels opened our doors and took the bags before driving us to a private ferryboat Hamir purchased as soon as it was available. Ivan held my hand while I closed my eyes and ignored the tossing of the boat. But since we had landed his eyes widened with interest. He gazed out the window at the coast, his chocolate eyes peering through the fog and soaking in the water and tiny lamplights of the streets. I shut my eyes and smiled at his childlike curiosity.

A few hours later just as the sun began to rise, the boat docked and the car sped through open country on roads I remembered well. The creek, the old wooden fence, the family cemetery, and then the forest surrounding the mansion. Spires and gargoyles and stairs and coloured glass windows came into view through the evergreens like they had so many times before. Although maybe a hundred years ago it was from a carriage or my horse. Jacob whistled as the car drove up the gravel driveway. “Wow, Vincent,” he said, sipping a drink from the installed bar. “Never knew you were a castle kinda guy.”

“I thought this was Hamir’s place?” Ivan’s head whipped around from the window.

“No, we’re dropping you guys off first.” Jacob rummaged through the snackbar- though why, I do not know since he can’t eat anything. “Spending the day here, then leaving tonight when it’s dark. I’m gonna make you show me around, by the way.”

I nodded, but knew there was no way I would feel well enough to give a tour. The vehicle halted to a stop in the cul-de-sac driveway. We stretched our numb limbs before grabbing as many bags as we could carry and trudging up the many stairs to the ostentatious front door. The flight of stairs was even difficult for me, and left me breathing a little heavily when we reached the top. Mr. Daniels worked the large bronze knob and pushed one of the great doors open to walk inside. I sighed at the dark familiarity. Black marble flooring, carpeted staircases on either side of the room, a lofty silver chandelier, thin colourful windows, artwork on every wall, and doors leading to a maze of other rooms. Though the sight brought back the feeling of home, it was accompanied by the knowledge that this place was too large for just myself. I thought, with a blush, of now being able to have a family here.

“Mr. Daniels, please escort Jacob and Hamir to their rooms. Ivan and I will make our way upstairs as well, then I can have someone give you a tour of the grounds.” Mr. Daniels began the ascent up the left staircase, while I started towards the right with an awed and curious Ivan and our luggage in tow. So many steps… 42, to be exact. Once we reached the top, my body ached and I became lightheaded. I caught myself on the railing before I tipped back down the stairs, causing Ivan to grip my arm. “Are you ok?” he asked while pulling me away from the steps. He looked me over with concern, stating that I appeared ill and would I like some water? But I lost myself in his eyes. I found myself hoping our parasite-child-thing would have his eyes. And I almost blurted it out right there, the exaultation rising in the back of my throat, mouth opened to tell this secret that he helped create.

“Ivan.”

He stopped his chattering and stared back at me, a fire to his gaze. “Vincent,” he answered.

Taking a calming breath and reaching for his free hand, I lifted my suitcase and slowly but steadily walked down the long windowed hallway, passing many closed doors until the right one appeared. We stepped into a spacious bedroom with a queen-sized canopy bed and a massive shaggy carpet, pastel green walls and covered stained-glass windows. A modest dresser sat at one end of the room by the door to the bathroom and a bookshelf rose almost to the high ceiling on our left. “Do you have any questions?” I asked him, my nerves hesitating me in my mission to give him the news. I released his hand and dropped the luggage by the dresser to begin removing my things.

Ivan followed me a little slowly. “Were you going to tell me something?” He sounded so confused, and I didn’t blame him. A warm hand rubbed at my lower back. “It sounded important.”

I nodded in response, though busily trying to distract myself with hanging the clothes. “Yes, but… I need a moment. Please. I apologize.” The more I spoke the more nervous I became, emotions building up in the back of my throat. My head hurt like the devil.

He waited patiently for a moment, watching me fold and hang. Then he began unpacking his own things. “Do your helpers know you’re a vampire?” he asked as he opened a drawer for himself.

“Only three of them,” I answered. “Mr. Daniels, his wife, and the gardener Mr. Alcott. Their families have worked for mine for generations.”

“So they keep the house up while you’re gone?”

“Yes, primarily. They may hire whomever they please to help them, but no one else knows about me. I pay them well, and my home is theirs- quite literally. They all stay here with their families. Unless, of course, they desire to live elsewhere. I am sure they have their own houses.”

Our little talking soothed my jumpy nerves quite a bit. That combined with the fact that I was lightheaded out of my mind gave me the courage to finally break the dam. Our clothes were neatly put away (although Ivan had to mock my 19 century wardrobe before I could close the dresser doors). I turned to him, took in his dark eyes and tanned features. His brows, I finally figured out. His brows are what gives him that intensity to his gaze.

“Are you tired?” I asked, my own weariness showing in the softness of my voice.

“Yeah, I could use a long nap,” he said with a toothy grin.

I nodded and led him to the bed, waiting for him to get in first. Once he took off his jeans and worked under the covers, confused at why I was hesitating, I removed my own shoes and pants. Then I crawled over him while he watched with heavy, lustful eyes. One of his hands caressed my thigh, but before things could get out of hand, I leaned down and hugged his head to my stomach.

He inhaled deeply, sniffing at my stomach through my shirt. I yawned and closed my eyes. Why should I be worried? I thought. We both wanted this to happen anyways. We had talked about it many times. I drifted sleepily away from reality. Ivan’s repeated and excited sniffs eased my mind like a lullaby. He flipped us over so he almost sat on top of me with his nose glued to my navel. I nestled into the sheets, causing him to adjust to keep his head in place.

“…Oh my God,” I heard him whisper just before I fell asleep.

I squeezed Ivan’s hand on the armrest while keeping a polite and calm exterior in my conversation with the talkative elderly woman in the seat beside me. Damned planes! The past two hours Ivan was on his computer searching through a list of baby products as well as names. He would ask me every few minutes what I thought of this or that name, and whether or not I thought it would be a boy or a girl. Eventually we landed and my stomach rejoiced. We carried our bags off the plane and for the first time in my life I stepped into Russia. Ivan breathed deeply and nudged my shoulder.

“I love you a lot,” he whispered. “And I know you know that. But people here in this society don’t appreciate homosexuality very much. I’m not afraid to be seen with you, and I’m not afraid to show people that I love you. But I am afraid of you getting hurt. So I think we should keep the visible affection to a minimum.”

As we entered the car awaiting us outside the airport, I wondered why we came to this country. “…I completely understand,” I replied. He shut the door behind us, spoke some Russian to the driver as though they were friends, and we started off through the dark, damp, packed streets. “You just have to know when the wrong place and the wrong time are, and keep quiet. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

He looked sad, and the rest of the car ride was silent. I contemplated our reasons for coming here. Ivan thought since we were already in Europe, we might as well visit his family in Russia. Jacob and Hamir stayed in England to manage Hamir’s estates and companies. We would return by the end of the week.

A half hour later the car stopped. We exited, retrieved our luggage, and walked to a thin but tall home connected to an apartment building. So far everything about Russia was smoggy and colourless- but this house seemed to try its hardest to shine just a little. Curtains striped with the colours of the rainbow hung from each window, spotted with plants in tiny hand-painted pots. The door had been painted a neon blue, the shining sun against the backdrop of grey. Ivan wrapped an arm around my shoulder and walked us to the door to knock loudly.

“Who exactly are we meeting again?” I asked.

His eyes sparkled with happy eagerness. “My grandmother. Haven’t seen her in eight years. She’ll be surprised! But happy, I think. What do you think about the name ‘Cooper’?”

Just then the door opened to an ancient woman, thick grey hair tied back in a half-ponytail, tall and stately with broad shoulders and a slightly heavy, curvaceous figure. Her brown eyes mirrored Ivan’s exactly- the same beautiful brown and deep set.

I watched as she rejoiced and they exclaimed greetings to each other in Russian. They hugged, and before I had a chance to say anything she squeezed the life out of me, yelling something happy into my ear. I was too surprised to say anything and just hugged her back. Ivan’s smile shone as bright as her front door as he brought our luggage inside. She pulled me in after him and kept a firm hand on my shoulder while they jabbered away in a language I could not understand. But the sentiment was pungent in the air-

-and I realized that this is one of the few times in my life that I felt at home.