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Author's Note
This continues a re-telling of my Homelands series. I'm proud of the original versions but don't feel that they lived up to their full potential. This time around, you can expect a slower pace, stronger characterization, and a less grandiose plot. This is no longer an epic fantasy, with a huge battle between good and evil waiting at the end. If you read the original versions, you should feel as though you're revisiting old friends, but you shouldn't assume that you know how their story ends. If you haven't, there is no need to do so. This re-telling is meant to stand on its own and is my preferred version of the tale.
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The sun's rise preceded Frank's awakening by a matter of minutes. That was rather unusual for him, but so many things had changed in the past twenty-four hours that it would almost have been more surprising if his sleep schedule wasn't disrupted.
Besides, they'd gone to sleep early and a few hours' rest was generally all their kind needed. When Nat shared his bed, they rarely called it quits before three or four in the morning, and when his dad spent the night at Aunt Cindy's, Frank and his mom didn't bother to sleep at all, but Liz had passed out around midnight. Frank had stayed up a little longer, reading his book and listening to her breathe softly, but not much.
"I'll check in on you in a little while," he told his aunt, who was still fast asleep. Immortal bodies were incredibly resilient, but they were still prone to exhaustion of a sort. They just didn't experience fatigue in the same way that mortals did, or for the same reasons. No amount of exercise ever left them sore, for example. They were never closer to surrendering their immortality than at the moment of climax, however. When their Libidos turned fragile, many of their powers and immunities failed. Thus, an unbroken string of potent orgasms could really knock them the fuck out. Frank had done most of the work, at her insistence, but Liz had done more of the cumming. "Sleep tight," he added, kissing a mound of messy black hair. It smelled faintly of sweat, even though she'd cleaned herself up before falling asleep, as well as fabric softener from the pillowcase, flowers, sugar, and blackberries.
One spell stopped sunlight from getting past the appled curtains. Another ensured that Liz would have total silence even if a band put on an impromptu concert in the hall.
On his way to the kitchen, Frank gave himself a tour of Orwin Manor. His path was meandering, leading up to the third and fourth floors, out onto the roof, and down to the basement. He discovered indoor gardens where vegetables and herbs grew, a rooftop patio that sat between a bowling alley and a basketball court, several libraries that gave him the hugest nerd boner, art and music studios, two mini theaters with electronic devices that confused him as much as they caused delight, a fully stocked bar that put all the miniature ones found throughout the place to shame, and a huge gym with free weights, cardio machines, a sound system that might be state of the art in the mortal world ten years or so into the future, flat screen TVs, and an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Along the way, he also passed more bedrooms than one family could possibly need, even if every one of the new arrivals went on to have several kids of their own. All of the furniture was stylish yet comfortable, though what style it represented differed from room to room. Ultra-modern designs predominated, but several rooms had a more traditional aesthetic. A few were more rustic. Or was that French country? He'd sat through more hours of HGTV for the sake of a relationship that apparently hadn't been worth as much as a few passionate minutes with his older brother, but certain nuances were still lost on him. He'd have done an even worse job matching each painting and sculpture with the appropriate style of art, but they still impressed him. Best of all, though, given his preferences, were the numerous quiet places to sit and read. The bay windows on each floor granted stunning views of their pastoral Court, including the famous Orwin orchards and their somewhat less storied pumpkin patch.
The place could have been a dump and he'd still have no desire to return to the world they'd left behind, of course. He'd miss certain things, including grad school, but what could be better than having all of his family under one roof and nothing to keep them from spending quality time together? Orwin Manor's stunning decor, to say nothing of its myriad options for comfort and entertainment that he didn't expect to take full advantage of but would still enjoy from time to time, was little more than the layer of whipped cream atop a frappucino. Frank had enough of a sweet tooth that he never declined that, though.
With thoughts of caffeinated beverages on his mind, Frank decided to finish his tour at the master kitchen, even though he'd already seen it. There were smaller ones on each of the upper floors, in case anyone woke in the middle of the night and couldn't be bothered to go down a flight of stairs, or use their magic, but if anyone else was up, that's where they'd be, and Frank was feeling more sociable than he had the night before.
"Morning," his grandfather said, from behind the island counter. He'd been bent over, grabbing something from a shelf down low. A muffin tin, apparently. "You're up early."
"You're very perceptive," Frank replied.
His grandfather scowled, snorted, then jerked a thumb at the coffee machine.
The damn thing looked like a set of beer taps, and there were more varieties available than in most coffee shops. Apparently, all Frank had to do was put a mug underneath one of the handles, pull, and wait. He grabbed one out of the nearest cabinet, which looked liked a hollowed-out pumpkin, and chose kopi luwak. He'd only ever heard of that in grad school, though no one in Rochester could afford it. It was just that economists couldn't help but be fascinated by a coffee bean that sold for hundreds of dollars a pound.
And was worth every penny.
Or maybe Frank only thought that because he was in Autumn, where everything was better. The master kitchen was thrice as big as the one he'd grown up with. The appliances were stainless steel and the cabinets a rich burgundy that was shined to a finish. The island counter top was granite, as were the floor tiles. His mother had been trying to talk his father into renovating their kitchen for the past few years, and granite counter tops had been at the top of her wish list, but in the simulation, they either had to pay professionals to do hard labor or risk exposing their supernatural powers to their friends and neighbors. Such things hadn't occurred to him in the night before, when he'd been more focused on Liz and whether he'd get a goodnight kiss. Funny how his grandfather didn't have the same effect.
"Whachya making?" he asked his grandfather, noticing a big brown bowl with a bunch of ingredients already mixed together. "And since when do you bake?"
With a shrug, his grandfather said, "One only gets so many chances to welcome one's grandchildren to their ancestral home." From what Frank understood, the whole Court was only a few generations old, but he supposed that term still applied. His grandparents were his ancestors, weren't they? "Just apple muffins for now. When people start to trickle in, I'll fire up the skillet and make pumpkin pancakes, sausage patties, and bacon."
"Wow."
An eyebrow climbed his grandfather's forehead. "That it? No other smartass comments?"
Frank shrugged. "Something something Noreen be doing that?"
Grandpa Dick snorted. "I see you've taken to calling her by her first name."
"You want I should do the same with you?"
"No," came the prompt reply. "You can if you want to," his grandfather added, voice softening. "But don't do it on my account. And
if
you do, it's Richard. Not Dick or Dickie."
After saluting his grandfather with his coffee mug, Frank sat atop one of the stools.
