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Baldur and I didn’t speak for weeks. Even when the sun rose and we hid away together in our shared casket, I turned on my side with my back to Baldur. He would caress my hair and try to coax me into acknowledging him, but I refused. As soon as the sun set and Baldur unlocked the lid, I would leave the casket without a word. I spent every evening watching as my family packed their possessions into the traveling wagon Elijah had procured. As the date of their departure drew near, my desperation grew, and I made a reckless decision.

It was the evening before my family was to leave, and Baldur had gone out on one of his mysterious errands. I went to my former home once again and lurked outside while my family had supper. Once they finished, Lydia instructed Abigail to give grain to the horse that would pull their wagon in the morning. I stood in plain view some yards from the front door.

My daughter stepped outside with a pail of grain and halted when she saw me, her blue eyes wide. She wore a sober gray dress and had her golden curls pinned up under a white close-fitting coif. She looked me up and down, taking in my aristocratic livery, then focused on my face and smiled. “That’s so strange. You look like my papa.”

I died when Abigail was only four years old, and here she now was at fourteen. After ten years, did she truly remember what I looked like? I smiled back at her. “What’s your father’s name?”

“Elijah,” she replied. “He’s just inside.”

My heart broke, now knowing I indeed had no place in my daughter’s memory. Of course she meant my brother. Elijah’s hair was lighter than mine, but we’d been told all throughout our lives how similar we looked. “I see. Is he a good father?”

Abigail nodded. “Are you and Papa related?”

“We are.” I stepped closer, holding my breath so I didn’t take in her scent. “I’d like to speak with your parents. Could you go fetch them?”

“Um, all right.” Abigail hurried inside, and as soon as the door closed, a powerful hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and spun me about. Baldur stood before me, his monstrous countenance fully unveiled. “What are you doing?” he snarled, keeping a tight hold of my arm.

I tried to shove him off, but he was too strong. “I’m going to tell them I’m still alive.”

“You can’t.” Baldur pulled me close and vaulted up to a nearby roof, where we wouldn’t be seen.

“Let me go!” I cried.

Baldur shook me. “Ezekiel, if you tell them, I will have to kill them!”

“No!” I pounded Baldur’s chest. “Please, just let me go back to them!”

“You know I can’t.” Baldur hugged me close. “I don’t want to kill them, Ezekiel. Please don’t force my hand!”

I struggled to break free, hitting the back of Baldur’s shoulders, but I couldn’t escape his herculean embrace. My strikes grew feeble, and I soon sank in Baldur’s arms, pressed my face against his chest, and sobbed. “Don’t hurt them. Please don’t hurt them.”

Baldur rocked me back and forth and caressed the back of my neck. “If you want your family back, we will have to Anoint them. Is that what you want?”

“No,” I moaned. “They’re not predators. They can’t live like us. Please, don’t turn them into monsters!”

“I won’t.” Baldur loosened his hold on me and pressed our foreheads together. “If you don’t wish to Anoint them, and you want them to live in peace, you must let them go.”

Abigail came back outside then, and Baldur crouched low on the roof with me so we weren’t seen. Elijah and Lydia came out after my daughter, who looked around in confusion. “He’s gone.”

Elijah glanced about, eyes narrowed. “This man you saw—you say he looked similar to me?” I was eight years older than my brother, but we now looked about the same age. His once light tenor of a voice had deepened, almost matching my bass-baritone.

“Yes, and he said he was your relative.” Abigail held her hand midway down her chest. “His hair was this long, and he was dressed like a Cavalier. He had on a shiny gold doublet, a black cape with red lining, and a black hat with a large white plume in it.”

Elijah turned to Lydia. “I don’t have any other relatives, Cavalier or otherwise.”

Lydia, the love of my human life, pulled Abigail close and patted her head. “It’s late, sweetheart, and we have to set off early tomorrow. Come inside.”

I wanted to call out to them, but I held my tongue. If I could have produced tears, they would have been streaming down my cheeks.

“But what about the man?” Abigail fretted. “He said he wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have gone away then.” Lydia gestured to the bucket of grains Abigail had left on the doorstep. “Elijah, could you feed the horses while I put this one to bed?”

Elijah took the pail and headed for the meager stables near our house, and Lydia ushered Abigail inside. The door swung shut behind them, and that was the last time I ever laid eyes on my wife and child.

Baldur conducted me away, and we soon found ourselves in a deserted alley. I trudged a few steps ahead of my Anointer, my breathing hitched with stifled weeping.

“I’m sorry,” Baldur said, his voice gentle. “I didn’t consider how difficult this would be for you.”

I leaned my shoulder against the alley wall, refusing to look at him. “You should have.”

“Do you hate me?”

“How can you ask me that?” I snapped. “How could I possibly hate you when you have me enthralled?”

Baldur came up beside me and held his closed hand out. With a flick of his wrist, he cast several seeds before me. I stared at them for a moment, then lifted my weary eyes to Baldur.

“You’re not counting them,” Baldur noted with an unemotional expression.

I looked down at the seeds again. “I … I don’t feel that compulsion. Why?”

“You’ve been an Anointed One for ten years.” Baldur gripped my shoulders. “You’re no longer a proselyte. Those compulsions now have no power over you. The grave will no longer call to you, and neither will my enthrallment. What you feel for me in this moment is real, not an enchantment.” He cupped my cheek, a look of desperate anticipation on his face. “Do you still love me, Ezekiel?”

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