Storm clouds rolled in from the coast, leaving the accumulating ravens restless along the hotel roofline.
Mordechai and his younger yet ancient companion enjoyed the last, chilly evening sun with a postprandial stroll through the Japanese garden behind the resort.
Mordecai was used to the northwest fall weather. The chills along his spine were the work of Orion, who showed no sign of giving up his hostage, acting like he hadn't robbed Mordecai of a grandson to hold captive.
"You know," Orion said after a long, silent gaze on a Zen stone formation, "I had really hoped to be able to act my age once I was back among the living. My soul was tethered to the portrait at 35, but every time I hear one of the younger servants speak-"
"Employees, Orion."
"Yes yes, every time they speak, I feel so much closer in age to you. How do you deal with..." he gestured past the hotel, to Raven's Hollow where streetlamps had just activated, "modernity? It's only a small town but has so much worth owning nonetheless. Once we have the Sanguine Unrotting brewed in sufficient quantity to drive out those pale... *things*, we can again be the oligarchs of this area. Perhaps move our influence to Portland, even."
"You know," Mordecai said in his most grandfatherly tone, "the nocturnals are not what they once were and the family was doing quite well cooperating with the coven. I suppose, since you broke off our relationship with them, we'll have to reconsider our revenue options, but you should at least *visit* the city before you plan a take-over."
"True. It may not even be worth retaining holdings there with all those degenerates around. Alone the *music* they listen to these days. Dreadful. Though, that little box that plays every opera ever written right into your ears is a marvel."
"It is," Mordecai said and allowed himself to chuckle. Sometimes Orion seemed so childlike it was difficult to remember the threat he presented.
"I enjoy less modern music, too," Mordecai continued, now somberly looking into the swaying tree tops, "though *her* works ranged from the classical to the outrageous."
Orion gave him a pat on the shoulder. "I'm eager to hear it, once our work is done. And it *will* be done."
"Thank you," Mordecai said, and wondered how much he could allow himself to mean those words.
"I know your pain," Orion said, glancing up at the circling birds. "Bloodlines are a burden much of the time. But the ritual is nearly ready."
Having been the patriarch until Orion's arrival, Mordecai was broadly acquainted with the affairs of the supernatural, though he had not taken his duties as heir seriously until his father's unforgivable actions.
As a result of working against his father, Mordecai was thoroughly familiar with maledictions, curses, bindings -- though only in theory - and their adjacent matters of augury and summonings. This made him an ideal conversation partner for Orion, whose similar specialty had brought him into contact with the painter who had ultimately preserved his soul on canvas.
The hotel manager allowed himself to ponder their scheme seriously. However, Orion had made sure the ritual required his own presence by withholding information. Mordecai would be forced to choose between indebting himself to the new patriarch and sacrificing his grandson, or giving up on breaking the final burden his father had left him.
And so he chose.
A smile crept onto Mordecai's face, more genuine than his smiles had been lately.
"This calls for a celebration, I think," he said. "Just a small one. I'll have a bottle of wine opened that I've been saving for some time."
==========+++++==========
Jasper looked at his latest text. "Okay, this is it. Grampa says he's feeling drowsy."
Orion was paranoid enough not to pour from a bottle he hadn't seen someone else use first. The family had soon noticed as much but never commented on it.
If they wanted the wandering soul to imbibe sleeping pills, Mordecai would have to drink the same liquid.
"Get ready, he's coming up from the backstairs," Lazaro said.
The beefy guy in sweatpants, hoodie was back at the Raven's with a duffle bag of toys after Jasper had needled a security hole into the basement entrance. Keying somebody into the building had been tricky but Jasper was still a family member and Lazaro had left of his own volition, thus never being officially banished.
Beside Jasper and Lazaro, only Kamron and Sammy were in the northeast corner of the upper floor, positioned in front of the portrait of the Siren of Portland singing from the heart, partly obscured by rosy peonies on a walnut counter.
"Here we go," Jasper said. "For Alec."
"For Alec," came two responses, plus a nod from Lazaro.
"Take positions."
Storm clouds stretched over the courtyard's glass roof, darkening what light fell in from the interior windows. Wings fluttered overhead, the tapping of clawed feet outdone by the wind.
Orion scuffled up the stairs into an empty corridor, steps slightly unsure as expected of someone with a sudden onset of sleepiness.
He dragged his feet past the door to the Raven family apartment where two men hid, toward his grand suite, toward the corner.
Just as he turned, Jasper and Kamron rose from the floor, holding the old portrait of Orion's blurred form ahead of themselves like a shield.
The patriarch stumbled back one step and caught himself. He glared with disgust.
"You found it, huh?" He spoke with words slightly slurred and noticed his strange speech. "Wh-what have you done to me? You think I'm that easily defeated?"
