Double Image

by Jaye Roycraft

  All the little things she had thought were strange but had shrugged off now came flooding back to her mind. The speed. The strength. The not eating or drinking. The compelling eyes. The sense of age in one so young. And yet there had been nothing incontrovertible. Nothing that couldn’t be a trick. She hadn’t seen any flying, or climbing up the sides of buildings, or shapeshifting into bats or wolves. And both Dallas and St. James had been in the Chapel of Light graveyard yesterday while it was still light out. No, it couldn’t be. There was just no such thing as vampires.

  They were just two sick men having a good time at her expense. Well, no more.

  She pulled the Colt from her waistband and slid out the magazine. It was fully loaded. She popped off one of the cartridges and examined it as closely as she could in the moonlight that brightened and dimmed like a child playing hide and seek. The tip of the bullet was indeed silver in color, but she couldn’t discern more than that. She reloaded the cartridge and the magazine and checked to make sure a cartridge was in the chamber, then checked her own gun, the Glock. It, too, was ready to go. The handguns didn’t have the offensive power of the shotgun, but they were good defensive weapons. Whatever the men wanted from her, they wouldn’t get it.

  A rustle of grass and a rattle at the window snapped her out of her reverie, but she had no time to react. A very real flesh and blood body flowed through the window, scooped her up, and cradled her hard against his body, one large hand over her mouth. She tried to reach for the Colt or the Glock, but the man snatched her right arm in a tight grip, and she couldn’t reach the weapons with her left hand.

  “It’s Dallas, so be still!” He poured the irate words directly into her ear, and she swung her head madly, as if to shake the words back out.

  She was just as incensed as if it had been St. James. How dare he do this to her? She struggled against his hold, not really expecting to break it, but wanting to let him know she wasn’t playing his games any longer. It did nothing but exhaust her further. His grip was tight, and the more she resisted, the more he increased the pressure.

  “Listen to me, Tia, and listen well! St. James will hurt you. I won’t. I’m your life. If you want to live, start doing as I say, right now!”

  He ground the words into her ear, and she shivered from the combination of the nearness of his body and the power of his anger. He pulled his hand from her mouth so she could answer, but for a moment she just lay in his arms, breathing heavily while she caught her breath and thought out her next move. As if she had many choices. To struggle against him was fruitless. His strength was far too overpowering. Better to bide her time and go along with him.

  “I heard the gun blast. Is St. James dead?”

  “No. Unless the silver takes his head, his heart, or severs the spine, he won’t die. I’m happy to say I caused him some bother, though. He got in the first shot, but I got in the best.”

  The meaning of his words sank in, and Tia twisted in his embrace. Blood glittered darkly against the gray of his shirt and ran down his left arm in a stark contrast to his pale skin. As she turned, she felt him draw the gun from her waistband.

  “I’ll take this back for now if you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want you to finish the job St. James started.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been shot? Here, let me do something with that.” She didn’t want to play his games, but she wasn’t quite ready to see the man bleed to death.

  He shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do. It’s a silver shot. Only Gillie will know what to do with it.”

  “Then for God’s sake let’s get out of here and go back to your house.”

  His head moved back and forth again, and in the light that struck his face, she saw pain compete with strength in his glittering eyes. “I can’t leave. Not until I’ve finished St. James.”

  “What are you going to do? If you’ve already shot him and he’s still alive . . . ”

  “I don’t know, but we’ve got to get you out of here. He’s nearby, and he’ll want your blood.”

  “What?”

  “There isn’t time to explain. He’s too close.”

  “But how . . . ”

  Before she could finish her question or hear his answer, she felt herself being picked off the floor like a doll and flung back out the window. She hit the ground hard and heard a crash, but the splintering noise didn’t come from her hitting the grass. It came from inside the house. She got up and hobbled to a shed at the rear of the yard, the collection of broken boards providing concealment, but no real cover. She pulled her Glock, the only weapon she had left. It didn’t feel familiar. It was too big. She looked at the gun. It was the Colt. Dallas had pulled the wrong gun from her.

  A shout, a shot, and another shattering of wood ripped the silence, and two bodies hurled through the air to tumble to the ground. She tried to distinguish the dark of Dallas’ hair and clothes from the light of St. James, but the two were a blur. It was disorienting, like trying to watch a movie played in the wrong speed. She concentrated on holding the Colt steady.

  Suddenly time seemed to slow down, and the bodies disentangled. Both gleamed dark and wet with blood. She had seen gunshot victims before, lots of times, even shotgun victims, and it was never a pretty sight. She felt the heavy Colt waver in her grip.

  “Aldgate is right, Tia. I do want your blood. I need it to help repair this damage. But then so does Dalys. He showed such foresight in bringing you along tonight. You’ll be the salvation for one of us, Tia, but which one?” St. James tried to laugh, but the sound was strangled and held none of the gusto it had before.

  “Shoot him, Tia, now!” shouted Dallas.

  “If you shoot me, Tia, be sure to shoot your lover as well. He’ll kill you to save himself just as easily as I will.” St. James paused for a heartbeat, but she had no answer in either action or words. She felt dizzy, almost mesmerized. The gun in her hand felt heavier by the minute.

  “Go on, Aldgate, deny it. Tell her you wouldn’t take her blood in an instant.”

  Dallas answered only with his eyes turned toward her. Not as if he were trying to compel her, but to reach out to her.

  “You see, Tia? He doesn’t deny it. He can’t. He knows you know the truth now. And you do believe, Tia, don’t you?”

  The nightmarish figure grew larger and larger on the Colt’s sight. She could see his wounds clearly now, the gaping dark hole in his abdomen, the peppering of dark stains on his chest and arms. A few pellets had even reached his face, spoiling the mask of beauty.

  “Behold the power of the Undead, Tia. Behold, and believe.”

  “Don’t look at his eyes, Tia.”

  She looked, and she saw the truth, and her vision narrowed to a pinpoint. She heard the gun go off, over and over, the shots punctuated with screams of pain and fury. Her target gone from her sight, she tried to look around, but saw neither Dallas nor St. James. She slumped against the shed, dizzy and exhausted, until a bright light hurt her eyes. She squinted and saw flames lick at the abandoned house. In a feeding frenzy, the fire grew, and the walls were consumed in a ravenous feast.

  She tried to move back from the shed, but her feet tripped on a half-buried barbed wire fence, and she fell over backward into the high grass. A shadow loomed, blocking her view of the fire. Silhouetted against the light, Tia couldn’t see who it was. She glanced down to check the gun still in her hands. No lock-back. She had at least one bullet left. She leveled the gun at the shadow.

  “No closer.”

  “It’s me, Tia. If I were St. James, you’d already be dead.”

  “And you’re going to tell me you won’t kill me?”

  “Put the gun down, Tia. You can’t kill me, and Gillie will have enough work to do on me when we get back.”

  The fact that he hadn’t denied he’d kill her didn’t escape her attention.
“Maybe I should shoot you just to convince myself you’re not human.”

  “I can convince you in any number of ways that are less painful and messy, but if that’s the only you’ll be convinced of what I am, go ahead. But decide quickly. We can’t stay here.”

  “What’s all this ‘we’?”

  “You’re stalling. Shoot me or help me.”

  “Give me one reason I should help you.”

  “I can’t. Only you can find the reason for that.”

  She couldn’t do it. She put the gun up. There was a reason somewhere in her heart that wouldn’t let her injure him further. She wasn’t sure at the moment what it was, but she knew it was there. “Damn you, Dallas.”

  “You can’t damn me. I was already damned two hundred years ago.”

  She sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Right now, help me get out of here.”

  When he extended his hand toward her, she wasn’t sure if he wanted the Colt or her hand. She reached her left hand to his, and he took it, pulling her effortlessly to her feet. He didn’t ask for the Colt, so she kept it. Not much was making her feel good right now, but keeping the gun, knowing it had at least one silver bullet left, was some comfort. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice told her that he could take the gun by force any time he pleased, but right now she clung to every solace she could.

  She wasn’t sure that she was needed to help him to the car. More the opposite. He kept an arm on hers, and when her sore ankle would have balked at supporting her over the uneven ground, his strength kept her from falling or tripping. Once they reached the road they ran for the car. Tia didn’t look back.

  “You drive,” he commanded when the Lincoln, still perched sideways in the road like some giant watchdog, loomed before them. “Get us back to Rose Hill as fast as you can without attracting the law.”

  She concentrated on negotiating the big car along the narrow lane while Dallas used his cell phone.

  “Mac, pick up. It’s Dallas.”

  When Dallas next spoke into the phone, his voice was lowered, and Tia couldn’t hear anything more. When he disconnected the call, she turned her head briefly in his direction.

  He answered her unspoken question. “Gillie’s all right. I told him St. James is dead and that you and I were on our way back. He’ll be ready for us.”

  “Is St. James really dead?”

  Dallas nodded tiredly. “The correct term is ‘truly dead.’ He’s experienced the True Death. What the silver didn’t accomplish, the fire did.”

  “I still don’t understand, you know. What you . . . and he . . . are. Were.”

  “Oh, I think you do. You just can’t say the word.”

  “You tell me.”

  “The politically correct term, I suppose, is ‘Undead.’ However I prefer not to be lumped into the same category as revenants. A revenant is a foul, brutal creature with no sophistication and little intelligence. The word that has gained popularity with humans over the centuries is actually much more accurate.”

  She felt his gaze on her as she drove, but kept her sight on the road. It was hard enough negotiating the twisting lane in the dark without being distracted by his eyes. Especially while he was telling her things she didn’t really want to hear. Silence was a gloomy passenger between them. She didn’t want to ask, and apparently he was in no hurry to enlighten her with the word.

  But the companion of stillness grew restless and uncomfortable as the Lincoln bounced over the crude road, and Dallas finally relieved the pressure of what was unsaid.

  “The word is amazingly similar wherever you go on earth. Drago would say he is le vampire. St. James in his quest for the theatrical would have called himself a vampyre. I suppose I am nothing more than the Vampar of Natchez.”

  Eleven

  TIA HIT THE smooth pavement of Highway 61 almost a half hour later, but her thoughts were anything but level. A vampire was slouched next to her, bleeding all over the deluxe leather seats. As it had years ago on the job, her mind bottled up her fear and stored it away. She had a job to do now, and this one was just as important as the job she had done then. This was survival.

  She limited her immediate questions to that end. “What can Gillie do once we get to the house?”

  “When I was transformed, I passed into a realm that’s the reverse of everything you know. The silver that humans love is nothing but deadly poison to my kind. The bullets are still in me. Once they’re removed, the wounds will heal, but only if I . . . feed.”

  She studied the pavement stretching out before her, the Lincoln swallowing the lane markers like a steady heartbeat. “You mean blood.” It was not a question.

  “Yes, fresh blood. And energy. Life force. For that I need human blood, not animal blood.” His voice was tired and matter-of-fact, but it affected her more than if it had been strong and menacing in tone.

  Her mouth felt dry, but amazingly her foot remained steady on the gas pedal. She wasn’t sure what question to ask next. Liar, she thought. She knew the question. She just didn’t want to ask it.

  Once more he seemed to know her mind. Not that her question would have been hard to guess in any case. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask it of you. Gillie’ll do it.”

  “Gillie’s an old man! And after what he’s already been through, how can you?” The words tumbled out before she could think about what she was implying.

  “Gillie has long been aware of the risks of being my servant. He accepted those risks long ago.”

  “But to die for you?”

  “I won’t kill him.”

  “You’re so sure of that?”

  Silence sat between them again, making her feel anything but close to the wounded beast she conveyed.

  Finally, he answered. “No, I can’t be sure.” The words were hushed, so much so she barely heard them, and yet the pain they rode was all too clear.

  She let the stillness settle in again, thankful for the barrier, and pushed the Lincoln well above the speed limit. Tia wished she could speed up time as well. The half hour journey south on The River Road seemed endless.

  The glow of the auto’s clock read half past one in the morning when Tia pulled the car into Rose Hill’s driveway. She stopped adjacent to the steps leading to the back door and finally ventured a good look at Dallas. He was awake, but his skin had a strange ashen appearance, and his eyes had a dead, glassy look to them. “Can you make it inside the house?”

  He nodded, but the feeble dip of his head didn’t inspire much confidence.

  “Damn it, Dallas,” she mumbled, more to herself than him, as she got out. Rounding the car and opening his door, she put an arm around his waist to help him. Gillie met them at the back door with all the worry and censure of a father whose children had stayed out too late.

  “Come upstairs. I have the red room prepared,” said Gillie, dispensing the disapproval of his lowered brows equally on Tia and Dallas.

  “I took two silver bullets, Gillie. One in the arm and one in my side.”

  “Yes, I can see that, can’t I? I just hope you did St. James one better.”

  Dallas managed a small smile. “More than one better, Gillie.”

  Gillie nodded, the frown lifting a little. “I’m glad. He was a nasty piece of work. Is Miss Tia injured at all?”

  “I’m fine, just a sore ankle,” she answered. Fine, right. The man she had made love to the night before was something she thought only existed in one’s imagination. She almost laughed. She had had the same thought the night before, but then he was a fantasy come true. Now he was a nightmare come true.

  “She knows, Gillie. Everything.”

  Gillie only nodded, accepting Dallas’ words as truth. She wanted to set the record straight. She didn’t know nearly enough. But she said nothing as she helped Da
llas up the stairs.

  The bed was turned down in the red and cream-colored bedroom, and towels, bandages, and a primitive looking set of surgeon’s tools sat at the ready. She sat quietly and watched Gillie perform the impromptu surgery with the care, if not quite the skill, of a doctor. If there was any doubt in her mind before that Dallas wasn’t human, it was gone now. Gillie used no disinfectant and no anesthesia, yet there were no cries of pain from Dallas when Gillie probed for the bullets, only a ragged sigh of relief after the second bullet was successfully removed.

  “Gillie, you know what I need now.”

  The old man dropped the bullet into a dish with a plink. “I’m prepared, sir.”

  “No.”

  Both men looked at Tia, but it was Dallas who spoke. “I don’t have a choice, Tia. I can heal ordinary wounds without blood, but not wounds like this.”

  “I mean, I’ll do it. Not Gillie.”

  “Gillie trusts me. He knows I won’t kill him or try to transform him. Do you have that kind of trust? You were going to shoot me not two hours ago.”

  “Exactly. I had all the reason in the world to, and I didn’t, did I?”

  “This isn’t something you can consent to and then get cold feet halfway through. Once I start, I won’t be able to stop until I’ve satisfied my need.”

  “I won’t suffer any permanent damage?”

  “There are . . . consequences. But I don’t have time now to explain all of them to you. As I said, you’ll have to trust me. Decide quickly. The moon is setting.”

  “The moon?”

  “Moonlight has certain revivatory properties. It will help to do this outside, before the moon sets.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  “You’re sure, Tia?”

  “Don’t ask me to explain something I don’t understand myself. All I know is that I can’t let you perish, and I can’t let Gillie do this.”

  “As you wish.”

  They descended to the veranda at the rear of the house. Elegant patio furniture graced the area that was also dotted with urns of flowers and a small water fountain. An old fainting couch had a clear view of the night sky, including the small moon that was swiftly sinking to its daytime lair. Dallas stretched out on the couch and held out his hand for her, but his eyes were more of a handhold than his reaching fingers. She locked her gaze on his. His eyes had lost some of their glassy, injured-animal look, and in its place was the bright intensity of hunger. It wasn’t a cold, predatory look, but one of desire and need. And of things she saw but couldn’t understand.