A fire blazes. Set deep in the massive hearth it spits showers of sparks as tall, strong flames lick out from maple logs. The room is as black as the coals the logs rest on save for the dancing orange light that flickers across wainscotting and wall paper. Two wing back chairs sit close enough to the fireplace so one of the occupants can lean comfortably and jab at the mass with a wrought iron poker. He does so now and a log splits in half with a loud pop, sending more orange sparks dancing up the chimney.
Despite the heat the man across from him wears a knit afghan across his lap. He is elderly, those prone to unkindness would call him enfeebled. His jaw works as if he perpetually chews cud. His thin lips constantly moisten themselves with a smack. His companion cannot see the yellow jaundice of his eyes, but he knows it's there, languishing just below the fire’s orange glow.
The old man has been silent for a half hour. He eyes the crackling flames with a practiced weariness before taking a swallow of brandy. Finally, sighing resigned, he verbalizes what the younger man already knows.
"I am dying, Lucian."
Despite the admission of the obvious, the bearded man nods imperceptibly, his Adams Apple works briefly. A quick bob up and down before resting peacefully. Across from Lucian, the old man's gaze moves to a wolf's head mounted on the wall. The white fur a slash of brilliance in the dark. Its lips are curled in a snarl. The aura of feral malice accomplished beautiful by the taxidermist’s skilled hand.
The old man sneers, Exhaling incredulously. It’s an expression Lucian has been subject to since childhood; yet the more his siblings dwindled the less it stung. He is almost impervious to it now. Almost. He still feels a nausea inducing urge to impress the old man, to have his father’s approval, if only for a second.
"Nothing to say? Perhaps it’s a secret not so closely kept as I’d hoped.” The old man’s features soften as he regards the fire once more. When he speaks again the edge has left his voice. “Christmas Eve always seems to drag on, and never so much than for those who must stay awake to endure it." He swirls the small glass in his hand, his other hand absently massaging his thigh before he lets it drop to his side.
The fire fills the silence of the room and thickens as Lucian coughs into his fist, his own brandy glass empty beside his chair leg reflecting the dancing flames. Across from him his father hasn't taken his eyes from the wolf's.
"I am sorry to hear that Pappa. Truly." It's all Lucian can think to say. As always Harmon Bradley remains a fixed statue unreadable to his youngest son and caretaker. He breaks the silence with yet another admission.
"I've never told you the story of the wolf." his words were adrift in darkness and heavy with memory, they'd taken on the sluggish quality of one reliving a dream. His father had always kept his wits, even as the family fell apart around him. Lucian remembered
The wolf. How his brothers would taunt him that the eyes would follow him. How if he misbehaved the wolf was watching. One night Brock had slipped it into his room in the dead of night, standing over his bed menacing him with it when he awoke. As he grew Lucian saw it for what it was, yet another trophy his father collected and forgot just as quickly. But still he eyed the predator with ancient mammalian fear of his body destroyed in the primal gnashing of teeth and snapping of claws. Survival of the fittest. He shivers and hefts another hunk of maple into the maw of the fire pit. He stands, embraced by the warmth of his already consumed brandy, his tongue loosened by it's auburn seduction, he makes his way to a cedar hope chest and pulls yet another blanket from the depths inhaling the intoxicating aroma that instantly brings to mind his mothers dark features. Hard eyes set above a soft smile as she set to work crocheting the blanket he now draped over his father's lap.
"refresh your drink?" he asked whisking the glass away before Harmon could answer.
"no need to bother Garmin." Harmon answered. "A dram will do."
When Lucian returned to the sitting room the darkness descended on him like a plague. Outside the world held it's breath. The rolling fields covered in snow that twinkled under the full moon's light. The servant cottages blazed with red and green Christmas lights that were identical to the ones draped among the manor's chalet roofs. Lucian delivered the glass, amber liquid kissing the lip of it as it sloshed in transition. He stirred the fire once more before settling with his own glass topped off.
"Alright Pappa. Your Wolf."
Harmon eyed it again, wincing against the burn of the liquor. He let out a single dry chuckle. "My wolf. hah. It was hers from the moment we landed." Lucian leans forward at the mention of another woman. Infidelity might mean a competing heir, and he could not have that. Lucian wondered if this was to be some sort of death's bed type of confession from his father. Harmon simply turned towards the fire and began his tale.
