The Black Rose Chronicles

by Linda Lael Miller

“But can you?” Benecia retorted, almost simpering.

  “You have no magic now. You are nothing but a mortal woman.”

  “Nothing but what you have always wanted to be,” Kristina replied.

  “Let’s go,” Canaan said, breaking her silence at last. “I don’t like it here.”

  “A wise child,” commented a third voice, but it wasn’t Valerian who spoke. Even before Kristina whirled to look, she knew it was Dathan who had materialized in her kitchen, not the fearsome vampire.

  Canaan retreated a step, but Benecia advanced, snarling, her china-blue eyes demonically bright. She held a particular grudge toward Dathan, Kristina recalled; something on the order of a woman scorned.

  “You,” the vampire accused. “It was you, warlock, who gave us your vile blood while we slept!”

  Dathan was, once again, dressed for either the theater or the opera. Kristina deduced, stupidly, that he must be quite an aficionado of the arts. He dusted the impeccable sleeves of his greatcoat with white-gloved hands before replying. “Hold your tongue, you demon’s whelp, or I’ll give you a dose that will make arsenic seem like ambrosia.”

  Benecia made a primal sound, like the hiss of a jungle cat about to spring, and Dathan raised one hand and snapped his fingers.

  A circle of flame danced around Benecia’s feet.

  Canaan shrieked and fled immediately; sensible vampires fear fire as they do sunlight and the point of a wooden stake. Benecia, though visibly frightened, glared at the warlock as the blaze grew.

  Kristina clasped both hands over her mouth, horrified. “Stop,” she whispered. “Please, Dathan—stop.”

  He sighed, and the flames died down to a black circle on Kristina’s floor.

  “Get out,” he said.

  Benecia scowled at him a moment longer, then vanished.

  Kristina turned and flung herself against Dathan’s chest, utterly terrified. “You must help me—they’re planning to take over Max’s children—can they do that?”

  Dathan gave her a gentle shake, then held her close again. “We shall not allow it, you and I,” he said tenderly, kissing the top of Kristina’s head. “Leave the ‘littlest vampire’ and her more judicious sister to me.”

  “What will you do?”

  He touched a finger to her lips. “Shhh,” he said. “Do not worry yourself with such matters, Kristina. After all, you will soon be my queen. Think on that instead. Imagine what it will mean.”

  She could not bear to consider the full scope of her vow, not then. She had told Benecia and Canaan she would do anything to save Eliette and Bree from them, and she’d meant it. The price was high indeed, but Kristina would not stint.

  “You must give me just a few more days to end things with Max.”

  “I cannot pretend I am not jealous,” Dathan said. “But I will grant you that request or virtually any other. But you must give me your word, Kristina. You will become my bride.”

  She swallowed hard, blinked back tears, and then nodded. “I promise,” she whispered.

  With that, Dathan bent his head and kissed her gently on the mouth. She was not unmoved—he was a creature capable of great passion—but there was no spiritual connection as there was with Max. No sense of rightness, of something ordained in a time when stars, now long dead, were tumultuous and new, bursting with fire.

  Then suddenly he vanished.

  Valerian arrived an instant afterward, popping in in his usual spectacular fashion, bringing Barabbas with him. Or did Barabbas possess that talent in his own right? It didn’t matter, for Kristina had just sold her soul, and she was as good as damned.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded, and then gave a deep, wrenching sob.

  Valerian put his arms around Kristina, in the way her father might have done, ignoring her outburst. He was not at her beck and call, and he had the good grace not to point that out—though he could be depended upon to raise the subject later. “I have been doing what I could to assist your mother,” he said simply.

  Kristina looked up into his face, full of sorrow, glad that she was human, that she would die. “I will be wed to Dathan within a fortnight,” she said.

  Valerian looked truly startled, an emotion she had not seen in him in all the length of her memory. “What?” he demanded.

  She explained Benecia’s threat, brokenly, trembling all the while, and the somber expression on the vampire’s face told her that such a thing was indeed possible.

  “They have made some unholy bargain,” Valerian reflected. “They must be destroyed before they can carry out their plans, or other vampires will do the same. I do not believe I need to tell you how Nemesis would react to that.”

  “What can I do?” Kristina asked, desperate.

  Valerian cupped her chin in his hand, wiped away some of her tears with a thumb as smooth and cool as marble. “Only wait,” the vampire said. “You were very foolish to promise yourself to Dathan, however. He will not release you from the pact.”

  “It is worth it to me,” she replied.

  The vampire kissed her forehead. “I hope so,” he answered. And then he, too, was gone.

  Kristina took Barabbas, drove to Max’s, and knocked on the front door. Maybe she couldn’t protect Bree and Eliette, with her lapsed magic, but there was a chance that the wolf could. And besides, she wanted to be able to summon Dathan if Benecia and Canaan decided to put in an appearance.

  Max didn’t ask questions, bless him. He just led Kristina to the guest room, kissed her lightly, and left her alone.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, Bree and Eliette joined Kristina in the double bed, cuddling up close, but she knew it wasn’t because they were afraid. They had sensed her sorrow, somehow, and wanted to console her.

  Kristina was sipping coffee the next morning in the kitchen when Max found a moment to talk to her alone. The girls were on their way to their separate schools, via the neighborhood carpool.

  “Okay,” he said. “What’s the deal? How come you showed up in the middle of the night?”

  “I got lonesome,” Kristina hedged. “Besides, you invited me, didn’t you? You said I could come over any time I wanted.”

  “And I meant it.” He glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink, and his jaw tightened. “I have to get to work. We’ll talk about this later.”

  Kristina nodded, though she had no intention of explaining, ever, that two vampires wanted to possess his daughters. She had all day to think up some story that would bear a resemblance to the truth.

  “I’ll stop by the shop after practice. Around five o’clock?”

  He would find out that she was liquidating her stock and getting ready to close down the business, but that was the least of her problems. In fact, she needed to hurry home to shower and put on makeup and a power suit, because two of her European colleagues were arriving that day to take their choice of her merchandise.

  “Make it six, and I’ll take you out to dinner. Bring the girls.”

  If Bree and Eliette were along, they could avoid a lot of subjects Kristina didn’t want to talk about just yet. Like why she’d showed up at their house after midnight with a wolf in tow.

  Max didn’t fall for it. “I think I can get Cindy from down the street to babysit,” he said. “I’ll see you at six.”

  Forget the battle, the whole war was already a lost cause. Kristina was putting herself through hell just so she could have that one special weekend in the mountains with Max before she told him it was over, and it was selfish and unfair of her to do it.

  But then, she had never claimed to be perfect.

  77

  Two of Kristina’s European colleagues were still at the shop when Max arrived that evening, at five after six. Between them, Adrian and Enrique had purchased nearly everything in the place, and the few items they hadn’t claimed had been sold via telephone and fax to still other dealers. Both men had hired shipping companies, and Kristina’s treasures were being bound up in bubble wrap, taped into boxes,
and put into huge wooden crates with shredded paper for padding.

  Adrian and Enrique oversaw the whole process, each one jealously guarding his spoil, and many things had already been taken away in trucks. Adrian’s purchases would go to a small shop in Avignon, and Enrique owned an exclusive place in Toronto.

  Max, who had had no idea what to expect, in that charming way of mortals, was flabbergasted to find the shop in the process of being emptied.

  Adrian and Enrique paused in their noisy supervisory duties just long enough to assess the newcomer, then ignored him. He was definitely not their type.

  Max was still standing just inside the door, looking stunned, when Kristina went to him, took his hand, and gently pulled him into the back room, where they could have a modicum—though not much more—of privacy.

  “What in hell is going on here?” Max demanded in a loud whisper. Kristina knew he was worried, not angry.

  “There are some things I need to tell you,” she said. “We established that this morning. Now, are you ready to go out for pizza and some intense conversation, or shall we stay here and make sure Adrian and Enrique don’t kill each other?”

  Max’s large, football player’s shoulders rolled under his sports jacket; he might have flung out his arms if the back room hadn’t been so small and so jammed with Kristina’s personal belongings—the microwave, the stash of herbal teas, the mugs, the table and chairs. There was also a small desk, which held a laptop computer, a miniature printer, and her fax machine.

  “There are definitely some things you need to tell me. How about starting right now?”

  She moved close to him, slipped her arms around his waist, laid her cheek against his chest He smelled of a recent shower and crisp, fresh air, and she wished she could hold Max like that forever.

  It was then, of all times, that she realized who he was—or more properly, who he had been, once upon a time. The knowledge nearly buckled her knees, but she wouldn’t let herself fold up now. There were too many things to be done.

  “I don’t want to talk here,” she said, blinking back tears, her forehead pressed against Max’s breastbone. “Please—there’s a quiet place down the street with candlelight and soft music and tables tucked away in the shadows. Let’s go there.”

  Max held her tightly for a moment then took her shoulders in his hands and looked down into her eyes. “Fine,” he said. “But what about those hairdresser types out there? Do you trust them?”

  Kristina couldn’t help smiling at Max’s description of her colleagues. “They’re art and antiques dealers, Max, not cat burglars. Besides, I’ve already put through their Gold Card numbers. Thanks to the wonders of electronics, the money for what they’ve bought is being transferred into my business account even as we speak.”

  He smiled at that, and kissed her forehead, but she knew he was still troubled. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Unlike most people, I get hungry when I’m stressed.”

  In the main part of the shop the circus of labeling, packing, and arguing in four languages continued. Kristina explained that she and Max were leaving, and would be back later to lock up. She didn’t bother with introductions.

  It was a short walk to Luigi’s Ristorante, only a block or so, and the night was cold. The stars were out, but seemed somehow more distant than before, as though they had taken a step back from a doubtful Earth. Max held Kristina’s hand, but neither of them spoke until they had checked Kristina’s coat and taken a seat at one of the most private tables.

  They chose a red wine and ordered the house specialty: a wonderful, thick-crusted pizza with an astronomical calorie count, preceded by insalata mista—a simple mixed salad.

  Max held his peace until the greens arrived. Then he stabbed a forkful of lettuce leaves and said, “All right, Kristina. What’s the deal?”

  “Are you asking why I showed up at your house in the middle of the night or why I’m shutting down my business?”

  Max laid his fork down again, the food untouched. “Both,” he said. He looked like a man who didn’t want to hear the answer he himself had demanded.

  “Unfortunately it wouldn’t be quite accurate to start with either of those events,” Kristina said, resigned. Amazingly, she found she had an appetite and began to nibble at her salad. She hoped she wasn’t going to turn out to be one of those mortals who ate when they were stressed, like Max—with her circle of friends and relations, she’d double her weight in a month. “I’ve discovered something very interesting about myself, Max. I’m human. I mean, fully, completely, flesh-and-blood human.”

  She had expected him to be pleased, but as Kristina watched Max’s reaction, she saw something peculiar in his face. Not fear, exactly. She couldn’t be sure what it was she’d glimpsed, and it wasn’t the right time to ask. He began to eat.

  “Maybe you were always mortal and just didn’t know it.”

  Kristina shook her head. “I had magical powers, and they’re gone now. My father has performed tests—he was—is—a doctor, you know. There’s no doubt that I’ve changed.”

  Max let out a long sigh, polished off his salad, and started on the breadsticks. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

  “It was late, and I felt bad enough about disrupting your household that way as it was. Besides, the timing wasn’t right.”

  “Okay. Let’s move on to that. What brought you to my door in the wee small hours, with Barabbas at your heels, looking as though you’d just barely outrun the devil?”

  “Maybe I had,” Kristina said, reaching for her wine, a rich Chianti, and taking a thoughtful sip. She set the glass aside. “I wanted to protect you and the children, and I knew I couldn’t manage without my magic. So I brought Barabbas to serve as a sort of watchdog.”

  Max leaned forward, his second breadstick forgotten in his hand. “Protect us from what?” he pressed quietly.

  Kristina was still a little wounded that he wasn’t happier about her being mortal, which didn’t make sense, of course, because she was going to have to tell him, very soon, that they couldn’t see each other anymore. What she would never tell him was that Benecia and Canaan had plans to possess his children; he could do nothing to save them and would only be tormented by the knowledge that they were in danger.

  And he’d hate her for bringing that peril into their lives.

  “Just—things in general,” she answered after a long, painful silence, during which she indulged in several more sips of wine. “I’ve already explained about my unfortunate connections with the supernatural underworld, Max. Please don’t force me to say more, because it would serve absolutely no purpose.”

  Max was quiet, indulging in his own wine, though in gulps rather than sips. Finally, pale under his year-around suntan, he said, “Let’s get back to the subject of your mortality for a moment. I don’t give a damn about your lost magic, and it isn’t your job to protect me or my family anyway, though I appreciate the effort. Does this mean that you can die, like everybody else?”

  The food arrived, with exquisitely bad timing. They both sat in silence while the waiter gave them plates and forks and red-and-white-checked napkins, then cut the succulent pizza into wide sections dripping cheese.

  Kristina watched Max the whole time, feeling as though she’d been struck. Maybe Max had never truly cared for her at all. Maybe he’d only wanted her because he thought she couldn’t get sick or be killed in an accident. The way Sandy had been.

  “Yes,” she said when the solicitous waiter had finally left them alone. “I’m as vulnerable as anyone else.” She tried to smile but didn’t quite achieve it. “Guess I take after my father’s side of the family—he was still a mere man when I was conceived.”

  Max waited until Kristina had taken a serving of the steaming, fragrant pizza for herself, then slid a double helping onto his own plate. He ate with his fingers, while Kristina used a fork.

  “Why are you closing the shop?” he asked, after refilling both their wineglasses. She knew, tho
ugh, that he was still mulling over what she’d just told him, that she wasn’t going to live forever.

  Kristina bit her lower lip. Lying had never come easily to her, and it was almost impossible with Max. She was already straining the limits of her abilities. “I guess I’m tired of working for a living,” she said. “I don’t have to, you know—I have more than enough money.”

  “I’d guessed that,” Max replied. “That you weren’t poor, I mean. But you’ve got to admit the decision might seem sudden to the casual onlooker.”

  “I’m impulsive,” Kristina said with a little shrug. She hadn’t meant to sound flippant, but there was so much she couldn’t say. Not yet.

  “Am I about to be dumped?” Another Max-ism. If you want to know something, ask. A simple concept, in theory at least, but damn hard to emulate in practice. Or so it seemed to Kristina, who felt mired in lies and omissions.

  She didn’t want to give up Thanksgiving dinner with a real family, or the long, delicious weekend in the snowy mountains. It was pure selfishness, and she knew it, but there it was. The rest of her life looked too long and too lonely to survive, without the comfort of these last few precious memories.

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Kristina said. “Whether or not you’d decided to break things off.”

  “I don’t know,” he finally replied, meeting her gaze straight on. She loved him for that, for so many things. “I love you, Kristina—I’d like nothing better than to marry you and make babies—but it scares the hell out of me, and I’m not talking about warlocks and vampires here. It’s the idea that you could—that what happened with Sandy could happen all over again—”

  Kristina reached out and touched his hand. “It’s okay, Max,” she said softly. “I understand.”

  He interlaced his fingers with hers and squeezed. “I’m not going to ask you what your plans are,” he said hoarsely, “because I don’t think I could deal with the answer right now. So let’s just take things one day, one moment at a time, at least until after this weekend. Agreed?” Kristina swallowed a throatful of tears. “Agreed,” she said.