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“Let’s sit down, Wesley. You can ask me anything you want to know.”
The next time Link went to see Macon, he didn’t ask me to come. I felt guilty about it, like I should’ve been there for him anyway. But Lena and I had
been apart in so many ways, for so long, that we had a lot of catching up to do. When Link told me he took Ridley with him instead, I figured their
train wreck of a relationship was bound to take its course, sooner or later.
“So I don’t have to drink blood?” It was the same question Link had asked Lena the night he told us about the bite, and the same one he’d asked
Macon the last time he was there. Link couldn’t seem to get enough reassurance about it.
“Ugh!” Ridley sighed dramatical y. “Haven’t we been over this, Shrinky Dink?” She was sitting next to Link, filing her purple polished nails. She
looked total y bored, but she had insisted on coming along.
“Sorry, Mr. Ravenwood. Lena told me some of the basics, but I was pretty freaked out that night, and I don’t remember much.”
“That’s
quite
al
right
and
completely
understandable.” Macon poured himself a glass of sweet tea. “And the answer is no, Wesley. You don’t have to drink blood. May I ask if you’ve
experienced any other cravings?”
Link shook his head. “Not for blood.”
Ridley stopped filing.
“Have you been craving something else, son?”
Macon asked.
Ridley examined her nails so closely you would’ve thought she was a professional hand model.
“Just a mother’s love,” she said. “And a record deal. Two things he’l never get. Right, Shrinky Dink?” She made a little sound in the back of her
throat that was probably meant to be a giggle, but it came out more like a snarl. It wasn’t a good sound.
“Ridley, let him answer.”
Link wasn’t sure he wanted to, or even knew how to, answer that question. “I don’t know exactly.” He hesitated. It was going to sound crazy.
“Sometimes I get the urge to…I don’t actual y know how to say this.”
“You can speak freely here, Wesley.”
Link glanced at the door like he was afraid his mother had her ear pressed against the other side.
“To watch people sleep.”
Ridley opened her mouth and shut it again, final y at a loss for words. She was paying attention now.
“Go on,” Macon encouraged. “It’s only natural now that you’re part Incubus. You aren’t going to have the same desires as Mortals. Just be honest—
there’s no wrong answer.” Not unless he was taking a page out of Hunting’s book and drinking people’s blood.
Ridley looked away.
Link ran his hand over his spiked hair nervously. “I kinda want—to know what they’re thinking.”
Macon nodded. “And do you know why that is?”
Link shook his head. Because I’m nuts?
“It’s an urge to feed, Wesley,” Macon explained.
“You wil always find yourself drawn to the thoughts and dreams of Mortals because that is what sustains an Incubus who does not consume blood.”
Ridley stiffened when her uncle said “Mortal,” as if he was talking about her specifical y.
“So I have to read people’s minds when they’re sleepin’?” Link asked.