Chapter 1: Compulsory Brunch

Alastair sits in the corner booth of a clean, minimalist cafe. It is extremely overpriced and the brunch menu they serve is certainly prepared for the sake of taking photos rather than satisfactory consumption.

Alastair was particularly fond of this place, but its high prices drive the average customer away, and the location is far enough away from the wealthiest part of town that it’s almost always deserted on a Wednesday morning. This collection of facts makes it the perfect location for him and his two utterly helpless siblings to meet weekly, which they do, and have for many years now.

‘Utterly helpless,’ may be a harsh way to describe them or, more accurately, inaccurate according to most of the world given their money and power.

The Lenoir family is well known for the billions they have made in their production of ethically sourced blood products. Cecil and Violet Lenoir could be seen at their lavish charity events and fundraisers, but otherwise leave the public to scramble after their glamorous children. The trio of children, of course, have their own claims to fame.

The eldest, Virdia, is an influencer with millions of fans hanging on her every word. Azazel, the youngest, is more famously a failure as he invests in his interests without so much as a second thought and then is shocked when the spelled sneakers he signed off on producing don’t take off without painful magical intervention.

This leaves Alastair, the middle child. He is painfully mysterious to the public in comparison. He dresses neatly, keeps to himself in his high rise apartment, and is only ever seen hustling his siblings out of trouble on the rare occasion the tabloids catch a photograph. He doesn’t care for the spotlight and he’s set for life. Alastair always supposed keeping his brother and sister out of trouble was a fair enough price to pay.

He peers over his glasses as they clatter through the door and toward him. They are late and already bickering over something. Alastair sets his jaw to keep from sighing, funny how such a habit can form in a being who has no need for breath to begin with.

Him and his siblings, as well as many other vampires over the years, may have found a way to procreate similar to the ways humans naturally do. But the fact remains: they are technically and governmentally considered undead. Still, Alastair fights back a sigh nearly every other minute with his darling siblings around.

He glances at the singular worker behind the register, who nods in turn and rushes off to fetch the things Alastair has already ordered for the table. Alastair focuses back on his siblings just in time for them to scoot on either side of him. He braces to be suddenly involved in their argument.

“Blood Root is cute! Roots come from plants! What do you have against cute things?” Virdia waves about in her passion.

She then leans across Alastair in a display of her blatant disrespect for his personal space just to stick a pink pointed nail in Azazel’s face before continuing.

“Does it challenge your fragile masculinity?” She mock pouts and giggles impishly as Alastair pushes her away before Azazel can reach her with tantrum driven hands.

“Enough,” Alastair announces, for good measure.

He throws a look at his sister who’s fangs dampen the effect of her innocent grin. Alastair does sigh now and takes off his glasses so his fingers might have better access to pinch bridge of his nose.

“What’s this about?” he asks His tone is only kept safe from exasperation by the appearance of the waiter with their orders of vampiric cakes and teas, all carefully prepared with no human blood.

It’s all rather bland, but beautiful to look at and Alastair welcomes the break in tension. They each pick at their meals for a moment or two. Virdia makes them all scoot left so the lighting on her blood sausage is better for photos. Azazel takes her distraction as an opportunity to share his side of the story.

“Remember last month when mom and dad told us how they're ready to put vegan blood on the market?” he asks.

This does grab Alastair’s full attention since he already has a guess where this is going. He knows his brother can be nervous and extremely sensitive to push back of any kind, so Alastair remains silent and merely nods.

He does remember this, after all, that much is true. It wasn’t shocking, exactly. Their parents were working on eliminating the use of both human and animal blood in the diet of vampires since the three siblings were kids.

As investors in the forefront of environmentally and morally conscious blood consumption for over several decades and, given the strides being made with the marriage of magic and technology, the scene was set for something of this nature for a long time.

Now, none of this would cause Alastair to give his brother anything to be sensitive about except for every time their parents announced they were coming out with something big, Azazel became desperate to get involved and prove himself.

“I want to open the first shop they sell it in,” Azazel says in a rush, clearly fearful of his siblings' reactions.

Virdia snorts softly without looking away from her phone and quips: “Yeah and he wants to name it ‘VLOOD.’” She says the name with an old European accent that is often used to mock vampire’s from older generations.

“It’s chic! It’s simple! Market research says it's on trend,” Azazel immediately puffs in frustration.

Alastair is very aware of Azazel’s obsession with what CEOs on Twitter tell him the market wants.

“If Elon Tusk told you that sticking a rusty stake through your chest would get you millions, you would do it,” Virdia shoots back loftily. She has a piece of cake with blood red icing on her fork that she waves around as she speaks.

“You-!” Azazel moves to stand in a rage, but Alastair cuts him off with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“VLOOD works,” he interjects, then tosses a look at Virdia before she can do more than roll her eyes.

When he glances back at Azazel, he sees his brother’s eyes light up. His dark irises show off their red undertones as they gaze upon Alastair with that same painful hope that keeps Alastair from denying his baby brother anything. Once again, a small sigh escapes his lips.

“I will assist with the details,” Alastair notes carefully, raising his voice only to keep either of his siblings from speaking before he is finished. “It will have to be perfect for Mother and Father,” he continues with an edge that makes even Virdia stop her texting to frown slightly in serious acknowledgement.

They may not always get along, but if there's one thing that they will always take seriously, it is their parents' approval. They were given a lot of space over the years to grow and make mistakes, even public ones despite Alastair’s best efforts, but never enough to earn their parents scorn. None of them were certain they’d survive it. They hardly survive the occasional dinners they are required to attend every time their parents have some large announcement.

Alastair knows they all take different things away from these dinners. Virdia can’t wait for the new project to raise her overall claim to fame so she might outshine her parents. Azazel becomes frankly feral over inserting himself in the project so that he might catch even an approving nod from their father.

However, Alastair leaves with the world on his shoulders after sharing a knowing glance from his mother. He must keep his siblings from embarrassing the Lenoir name, at least until their newest product is announced and on the shelves.

They spend the rest of their brunch chattering and bickering, as they normally do, between shop talk over the new cafe. Alastair will have his hands full for the next few months, but he supposes its better than sitting at home alone.

“Any girls catch your eye this week?” Virdia chirps as the waiter takes away their picked over dishes. Alastair very nearly flinches. She brings this up every time, but he’d nearly forgotten while his brain was busy calculating how likely this cafe is to fail.

“No, Virdia,” he groans, glaring at Azazel until he gets the hint and shuffles out of the booth to free his weary brother. Alastair hastens to the register to pay for them all, but the others are close in tow and without remorse.

“Boys, maybe? I can never get a read on you,“ Virdia teases, picking at a loose thread she discovered on his shoulder.

“VLOOD is a good name, isn’t it?” Azazel prattles nervously, desperate for validation. Alastair puts his sunglasses back on and bushes them both away while heading for the door.

“I’ll call you about the details, Azazel,” he promises as he pushes the door open.

“God! You’re so boring! What the hell am I going to write in my blog this week? Screw someone, anyone! I’m begging!”

Virdia rifles through emotions as they exit, but somehow manages to pause and smile for the phone cameras that flash on the street. Alastair keeps his head low and unlocks his car.

“I’ll see you both next week,” he says and then doesn’t look back before closing his door and driving home to perhaps have a bit of quiet today.

The last thing he needs is to drag some poor innocent into this carnival his family calls life. A thousand sweet kisses could not change his mind let alone his sister’s obsessive nagging. He spends the drive wondering if his ancestors in their big empty castles, long before vampires could tolerate the sun or reproduce, were really living in the dark ages or if, perhaps, they were the last generation of vampires to know true peace.