Dark Changeling

by Margaret Carter

  “Yes.” Roger's throat went dry at the thought.

  “Have you bonded with her? They say that's even better—Chateau Lafitte Rothschild, as it were. I admit I've never gone that far with an ephemeral myself.”

  “No,” said Roger. “The idea frightens me.” He moved to the office couch, resting the phone on his lap.

  “How long have you been intimate with your Dr. Loren?”

  “A little over a month.”

  “She knows exactly what you are, doesn't she? From the way you described her, she wouldn't tolerate unanswered questions.”

  “That's right.”

  “And you're still holding back?”

  “I don't even know that she'd want the two-way bond. We've never discussed it.” Roger plumped a cushion against the sofa arm and lay back on it.

  “She's interested in psychic research, isn't she? Have you tried teaching her some of your skills?”

  Roger thought of how the process both intrigued and frustrated Britt. “All she's been able to pick up is the biofeedback—controlling her autonomic functions to some extent. And she seems to be developing an empathic talent. She reads my emotions too accurately for chance.”

  “Of course,” Claude said. “Prolonged contact with a vampire has that effect. But you can't teach her most of those skills without the bond. She'd love it.”

  Memory of his mutual blood-sharing with Volnar scraped on Roger's nerves. Could he face that again, even with Britt? “You don't know her. I'm not sure, myself, how she would react.”

  “Still, it sounds as if you're getting along swimmingly. So why are you so miserable?”

  Roger told him everything that had happened from the moment Alice's mother had called on Wednesday. The rehearsal made the prospect of repeating the story to Britt slightly less formidable.

  “So she didn't die?” Claude said in an offensively offhand manner.

  “No, the antibiotics seemed to have the pneumonia under control.”

  “Then you aren't a killer. Your conscience ought to be clear.”

  The image of Alice in the ICU made Roger queasy all over again. “You don't understand.”

  “No, old thing, frankly, I don't. I haven't got a conscience, just a set of pragmatic ethics. After all, what else are ephemeralsfor?” After a pause he continued, “Is it because the girl's your patient? You've used patients before, haven't you?”

  “Not since Britt and I—” Depression settled like a damp cloud on Roger when he thought of Britt's probable reaction to his behavior. She would rightly insist that the nights of torment he'd suffered in her absence were no excuse.

  “Let's see if I have this straight,” Claude said. “A twenty-year-old girl threw herself at you, and being half-starved, you didn't resist very hard.”

  “Not starved. I'd gone without for only four and a half nights.”

  “Sounds like hell to me,” said Claude, “but then you have that half-human streak, old chap.”

  “I should have exercised better self-control.” Roger recalled his shock when he'd pulled back from Alice's limp body and realized how much he had overindulged. With the metallic tang of her blood lingering in his mouth, he'd still felt empty. “The worst of it is, I knew she wasn't well. But since it wasn't serious enough to spoil the—the flavor, I ignored the signs.”

  “Unwise of you, but understandable in the circumstances. Now she's recovering, so all's well—except that you're agonizing about what your Dr. Loren will say when she finds out. You're afraid to confront her?”

  “That's essentially correct.” Roger wished Claude wouldn't use such a flippant tone.

  “You're a fool as well as a coward, old thing.”

  Roger felt too near exhaustion to bother resenting this remark. “Because I have scruples about violating a patient?”

  “That's beside the point,” Claude said. “Because, given your Dr. Loren's attitude on the subject, you risked losing the kind of relationship few of us find even once in a century.”

  “Spare me the lecture; I've delivered it to myself a hundred times.” He rubbed his eyes, stinging from the fatigue of five days without proper sleep. “And stop calling her my’ Dr. Loren. After this weekend, she may not be.”

  “Was the girl worth it?” said Claude.

  “You know the answer to that. It wasn't much better than animal blood. Worse, in fact, since it made me sick.”

  “You do have a severe case,” Claude said, his voice radiating genuine empathy. “You're thoroughly fixated on your friend. And you care about her, don't you? Enough to want her around even when you aren't thirsty?”

  “Of course.” What kind of selfish hedonist did Claude take him for? Or was that mind-set the vampire norm?

  “Not that I'm any expert,” said Claude, “but this sounds an awful lot like that thing ephemerals call love.”

  “I haven't even begun to think of that.” A dull ache was building in his forehead.

  “In all seriousness, I think you should consider bonding with her. It would minimize or eliminate any chance of future misunderstandings. And they say the depth of the union is—indescribable.”

  Roger shifted uneasily on the couch. “The question is academic, since she probably won't care to speak to me again.”

  “You know, you could simply not tell her what happened.”

  Roger retorted in a blaze of indignation, “Lie to her? Don't be obscene!”

  “Calm down,mon frere. I'm convinced of your commitment. Isn't it about time you tried convincing her?”

  Roger sat up, his hand spasmodically tightening on the receiver. “I can't explain all this to Britt over the telephone.”

  “Then you must do it the moment you see her. However, I'd give her some advance warning that all isn't well; don't spring it on her out of the blue.” He chuckled. “Hell, any magazine advice columnist could have told you that.”

  Roger's head ached. He felt as if he were being backed into a corner. “Perhaps you're right.”

  “Of course I am,” said Claude. “Given the condition you're in—”

  “Good Lord, is it that obvious?” Glancing down to check his free hand for any sign of a tremor, Roger caught himself clenching it into a fist in his lap. He uncurled his fingers.

  “To another vampire, blatantly so, even over a long-distance line. I don't think you've got much to worry about; your friend won't care about anything other than relieving your obvious distress.”

  Roger's throat went dry at the image of Britt's tall, slender body in his arms, her green eyes gazing into his, offering herself. “I can't count on that.”

  “Considering the alternative, what have you got to lose?Au revoir, mon frere."

  After breaking the connection, Roger stared at the telephone for at least five minutes before lifting the receiver again. He dialed Britt's sister's number in Long Beach.

  After he'd endured the embarrassment of asking a pre-teenage boy to call Dr. Loren to the phone, Britt came on the line and said, “Colleague, it's wonderful to hear your voice! I wasn't expecting a call so soon before I'm due home.” The delight in her greeting momentarily silenced him. “Why do I get the idea that you're feeling underloved and underfed?”

  The teasing tone brought her image vividly to mind—her sparkling green eyes, her fair redhead's skin, her magnificent titian hair. “That's true, but it isn't why I called.”

  “I'm glad you did. I miss you.”

  “That's entirely mutual.” How could he possibly work up the nerve to tell her what he needed to?

  “Have you been getting any rest?” she said.

  “I've tried.”

  “Meaning you haven't slept well since I left.” The concern in her voice brought a lump to his throat. “Dreams?”

  “Too many.” He'd explained to her how little REM time he required, so she understood the significance of excessive dreaming. “The kind that make me miss you even worse.”

  “Then let me give you a visualization to tide you over. I'm lying on t
he bed upstairs in Hal and Darlene's room, in a Navy housing unit in San Pedro,” she said, dropping her voice to a sensual murmur. “I'm looking out the window toward the ocean and Catalina. At least, I could see Catalina in the daytime. Right now all I see is dark water with a streak of moonlight. What are you doing?”

  “Sitting in my home office talking to you.”

  She laughed. “Oh, Roger, you're so literal-minded.” He heard the creak of bed springs as she shifted position. The sound made his heart race. “There's something I wanted to run by you, anyway. Darlene's pedigreed Siamese just had kittens, and she offered to give me one. She'll have him shipped to me by air when he's old enough. I had to ask you about it, though.”

  “Why? Your cat, your house.” He relaxed a trifle at the conversational reprieve.

  “Would it be safe for me to have a pet when you're around all the time?”

  “Well, I won't eat it for breakfast in a fit of absent-mindedness!” After weeks of intimacy, did she think he was that dangerous?

  “Silly, that's not what I mean at all. I'm asking whether he would be too afraid of you or too hostile to adjust.”

  “Oh.” Roger's annoyance was replaced by a pang of sadness at the thought of Katrina. “No, if the animal grows up in close contact with me, he won't mind.”

  “That's great. Now, your turn, why did you call?”

  He took a fortifying breath. “I need to talk to you about an important matter that's come up, as soon as you arrive home Sunday.”

  Alarm crept into Britt's voice. “Not another murder?”

  “No, nothing like that. It has to do with a patient, and it does need immediate attention.” His nerves twitched under his skin; they felt as raw as if she could sense his deception over the three-thousand-mile gap.

  Her voice lightened again. “Oh, I see. You're getting desperate, and you want to be sure I'll come right over for a bite.”

  Desperate? She was all too right about that. “Colleague, I wish you wouldn't talk that way over the telephone.”

  “Stop being paranoid, Roger. I'm alone with the door closed. Anyway, if Hal or Darlene overheard, they wouldn't give it a second thought. Now, can't you tell me anything specific?""I would rather wait until Sunday. It's too involved to go into right now.” Surely she could hear the dishonesty in that excuse.

  Sounding puzzled, Britt said, “All right, colleague. I'll drive right over to your place after I get home. I would have anyway. Goodnight, then.”

  * * * *

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON he went to confession. This time he had no need to exaggerate his contrition. For this sin, he was heartily sorry for his offense and sincerely intended amendment of life.If it's not already too late! The priest's absolution and the imposed penance did little to lift Roger's spirits. He wanted Britt's forgiveness more than God's.And if that's blasphemy, I suppose I've added a few more years to my term in Purgatory. Early morning mass on Sunday didn't help much, either. He hardly needed the reminder from the Epistle for the First Sunday in Advent that “love does no harm to a neighbor.”

  When Britt called Sunday night to say that she'd just arrived from the airport and would be over within twenty minutes, Roger almost yielded to panic and told her to stay away. All that stopped him was the certainty that she would ignore any such request. Only one fact mitigated his anxiety about confessing to her—Alice had bounced back quickly from the pneumonia and had gone home that morning.

  Roger prowled from kitchen to study to living room, seething with impatience. When he considered a shot of brandy to settle his nerves, his stomach knotted in protest. Perhaps some warm milk? No, only one thing could appease his thirst now.

  He lost track of how many minutes passed before the doorbell rang. Through the wooden barrier he heard Britt's heartbeat and breathing. When he opened the door, both quickened in anticipation. One level of his mind automatically registered her clothes—tapered slacks and an emerald-green pullover, no bra—and the way she wore her hair, in a long ponytail as a compromise between her dress-for-success chignon and the unbound wildness that delighted him. But the deep pink of her aura and the intoxicating scent of her clean, healthy flesh overwhelmed his senses.

  Britt waited for him to latch, bolt, and chain the door, then opened her arms to him. Her wounded expression when he drew back without touching her almost destroyed his resolve.

  “Colleague, what's wrong?” she asked.

  “We have to talk first.” He led the way into the living room, and waited for her to settle on one of the twin sofas.

  He sensed Britt struggling to suppress her anxiety and hurt. “I don't know that you're in any condition to talk,” she said. “I doubt you can even think straight. I know you're hungry—why won't you let me take care of you?” She lowered her mental barrier, strong for an ephemeral's, enough to let him feel her eagerness for that sharing.

  He hardened his own shield in resistance, painful as the effort was. Though the two of them had no telepathic rapport, Britt had developed enough empathy to sense Roger's withdrawal. She gave up and said briskly, “All right, I'm listening.”

  Pacing back and forth in front of the bare, cold fireplace, he told her of the past week's events in a brief, dry style, as if reporting any other case history. With no display of emotion, she asked a few pointed questions about the patient's condition. He answered them.

  “You expect a full physical recovery, then?” she said.

  “I don't anticipate any problems there.”

  “And what are you planning to do with Alice?” Aside from the tightening of her lips, Britt showed no outward sign of the anger he knew boiled inside her. He heard her pulse racing.

  “I'll turn her over to you, unless her parents choose to send her elsewhere,” Roger said. “I've told them she's becoming too emotionally involved with me, and I can't do her any more good.”

  “Well, at least that's the truth!” Britt's calm facade cracked. “Roger, how could you? Couldn't you control yourself for one lousy week?”

  He stopped, spun around to face her. The anger that flooded him took him by surprise; he had to choke it down before he could speak. “I regret what I did. However, I don't think your reaction is quite fair.” He wanted to erase the words as soon as they popped out.Why did I make a stupid remark like that?

  Her aura turned a smoldering red. “Fair! Are you implying that I shouldn't have left? That I have some obligation to chain myself to your side?”

  He realized that his visceral reaction had implied exactly that. Good God, what was the matter with him? “Colleague, I didn't say that, nor would I ever—”

  “You're implicitly blaming me for your failure. And I thought we'd developed some kind of mutual respect!”

  He was tempted to grab her and shake her until she saw things his way. He restrained himself, trembling with the effort. If he touched her, it would be all over. He kept his voice icy. “Does it disturb you so much that I fed on someone other than you?”

  Britt sprang to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. “You arrogant—monster! You don't even understand! She wasn't just anyone; she was your patient. And if professional ethics don't matter, you made a promise. You promisedmeyou'd stay away from the patients. I thought that meant something!”

  He did understand, of course, and heartily agreed with her judgment. Damn, why had he blurted out that reckless, defensive remark? It was too late to explain; Britt was deafened by her indignation. “What are you going to do? Report me to the board?”

  “I should. But you know I can't. Damn you, Roger, I couldn't expose you that way.” Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes.

  He took a step forward, reaching for her. Her heartbeat thundered in his ears. “Don't touch me,” she said flatly.

  A fresh surge of anger inundated him.How dare she! She belonged to him; she was his lawful prey. He could take her here and now, by force, feed on her pain instead of her passion—

  What am I doing?Though she must have felt the searing rage spewing out
of him, she stared him down, as fearless as ever. He stepped back, quivering with leashed emotion. What he'd almost done would have lost her forever.

  “Get away from me,” she said, blinking back angry tears. “I wish you'd—oh, just change into a bat and fly away!”

  He had to get out before he did something unforgivable. “With pleasure!” He stalked out and slammed the door.

  He ran blindly along the wooded roads. When the crimson fog cleared from his vision, he found himself approaching Route 50. For once its cacophony of blinking stoplights, the glare from fast food restaurants and used car lots, and the roar of traffic didn't batter his senses. Nor did the night air soothe him. His inner turmoil drowned out all external stimuli. He vaguely noticed a clump of blue-jeaned teenagers, their hands full of paper bags and Coke cups, dodging out of his way. What must they think of a tall, ascetic-looking man storming along the sidewalk with the ferocious concentration of a tiger running down a gazelle?

  The comparison snapped him out of his passion-induced trance, and he moderated his pace. Unbidden, the memory of the thin flavor of Alice's blood sprang to mind. How could he have settled for a mere orgasmic robot? He wanted only Britt.

  Was it just wanting? What did he feel for her? He confronted the emotions he had so far avoided analyzing. Britt had become his life—and not only because her blood sustained him. He felt that without her warmth he would wither into an empty husk.

  Across the street shone the logo of a restaurant highly regarded for gourmet seafood dishes at upscale prices. Roger charged through a crosswalk against the “Don't Walk” sign, darting past the bumper of a Cadillac that screeched to a halt, its horn blaring. He needed to wind down and think over his predicament; why not do it in the traditional spot for such ruminations? Though he'd rushed out without his wallet, he did have loose bills and change in a side pocket.

  He walked around to the side entrance of the restaurant and into the cocktail lounge. To his relief, the live entertainment consisted of a pianist playing unobtrusive blues tunes. Roger took a stool at the bar and ordered a shot of Glenlivet, which he gazed at for a couple of minutes without tasting.