Vermilion

Chapter 21

"As I have feared. He is no doubt son of his father!" the mortal yelled as he drank liquor from a clear glass. The decanter was nearing exhaustion as the mortal continued to pour for himself.

Pelferous watched the mortal from the sofa with lips pushed forward and doleful red eyes. He fumbled with his long red hair. If he admits to himself that he has an ill-temper, the mortal in front of him was worse but harmless. All the mortal could do was to shout, throw things, and hit anything within reach.

In the past month, he was ordered to search for the heir who he last saw in the manor he burnt. He could not understand how the young demon half escaped him. But considering it again, that was possible. The youngster is a demon. That information was the thing this demented mortal did not have to know.

"At the least, you know the heir is alive," he teased with an ill intention to infuriate the pathetic mortal.

"That's it!" the mortal shouted then the glass crashed to the carpeted floor and landed near his feet.

"Do you want me to finish the deal right away, after this talk? You just have to say it."

The mortal shot him a sharp look then softened as he sank into contemplation and took occasional sips from his new glass of liquor. It was long moments of silence that he had reclined on the sofa, half-lying on it.

"No not now. It should be cleaner than what you did to Thomas. This time I'll make a plan. Yes. A plan. You just wait until then you're free," the mortal said then dropped on his chair against his desk.

"Are you certain?" The he lift himself from the sofa and kicked the broken glasses from his way.

"Aye. Aye. Your presence in my house is rather depressing. I don't want anyone to see you, especially my son," the mortal sputtered then waved a dismissive hand.

He shrugged. "Then, I shall be off and if you need me you only have to call." He moved to the opened window then the sight of the seemingly busy town of London greeted him. He looked back to the mortal. The loose cravat revealed the scar around his neck. The man used to hide it with cravats whenever he would step out of the house. The memory of having his scythe through that neck made him smirk. "I can see your cicatrice."

The man hurriedly worked on his cravat, straightening it until it hid the circling scar. He left chuckling at the disturbed mortal.

When he landed on ground, he already wore a white sleeved-shirt and snug breeches. His hair was already tied back with the only ribbon he has. The cloak he wore a moment ago was nowhere to be seen. Changing clothes was an easy task. He flipped his hair back before mingling with the mortals. The night is beautiful, he thought.

***

Grate, mix and stir. Grate, mix and stir.

Zachary could feel the eyes of the servants as he worked on the small portion of the kitchen. Robert was just silent nearby and waiting for any command from him. Primvine was shushing the loitering servants back to work so that they would not be watching him. Primvine had learned from his previous stay in Felton House that he did not want anyone watching him.

He ignored, as much as possible, the itching of his shoulder blades so he could get the draught finished.

The smelled ready. He asked Robert for a goblet and a tray. Those were laid on the table as he dipped the wooden ladle. He took the goblet, filled it, and put it back to the silver tray.