Double Image

by Jaye Roycraft

  Lecherous old bastard. Aside from the wink at the house and the bold appraisal he had made of her on the Trace, Drago had expressed little interest in her as a woman. He had touched her in the car and had fingered her hair. She hadn’t enjoyed his handling, but the movements had seemed almost detached and dispassionate, done more out of habit than desire.

  St. James, on the other hand, had fondled her and kissed her in the Chapel of Light cemetery. If Dallas hadn’t prevailed there and at Rodney, Tia had no doubt St. James would have either taken her against her will or destroyed her will to the point she didn’t object to his advances. Strangely, Tia had no such fear of Drago. He seemed to have no real interest in her other than as some kind of game piece involving Dallas. And now that Juliana was with Drago, Tia’s fear of being an object of vampiric desire lessened even more. That was not to say that Tia didn’t fear Drago. Quite the contrary. She just wasn’t afraid that Drago lusted after her.

  Tia’s thoughts turned to Juliana. Why was she here? To assist l’ enforcier, she had said, but assist in what? Tia couldn’t believe that Juliana was merely some sort of baby-sitter or watchdog, here simply to keep an eye on her. Just moments ago Tia had overheard Drago say he had brought Juliana from Australia for a very specific purpose. What purpose? Australia. Was it just coincidence that Juliana was from Sydney and Dallas had lived there as a convict? Perhaps Dallas had also lived there during his two hundred years as a vampire. Tia knew Dallas had been in England and Mississippi during the early 1800s, but that still left the post Civil War years unaccounted for. An unreasonable jealousy started to grip Tia, and she curled into a ball on top of the bedspread.

  Could vampires love each other? Tia had no way to know. Even if she had been familiar with vampire lore, she was fast learning that the truth had little to do with the legend. The jealousy hurt, and Tia tried to fight it with logic. What did she care if Dallas knew Juliana from years past? Tia had been trying to leave Dallas, hadn’t she? What did she care about him, or what he did now? What did she care what he had done decades ago? But she did care, and the hurt was not so easily dismissed.

  The questions and emotion drained her, and Tia took off her shirt, pants, and shoes and crawled under the bedclothes. The comfort of the bed and the quiet of the room soothed her, and she realized how tired she really was. She had not slept well the night before. Her final waking thought was of Dallas and how badly she wanted to see him again.

  She was alone in the dark, and the only thing separating her from the other creatures of the night was the box of windows surrounding her. More visible to her enemies than they were to her, she drove and drove, but her fear only increased with the distance. Suddenly she was running, and the shots sounded all around her. There was no safe direction to flee, no target to fight back against.

  She awoke with a start, the thin blanket twisted around her. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, then saw the glowing numbers of the bedside clock and remembered. The hotel. She had napped for three hours. She rubbed her face and fell back on the bed. At least she hadn’t had any strange “presentments.” The cop dream, while disturbing, was familiar. It made her long for Dallas even more. Somehow, in his presence, her fear of death disappeared.

  She rose and stepped to the door but heard no sounds from the other side. She had no doubt, though, that at least one vampire infested the next room. There was no strange odor to either Drago or Juliana, but Tia nevertheless felt dirty. She took a shower, wishing she had fresh clothes to change into, but she made do with what she had. Her last morning at Rose Hill seemed a long time ago. Her growling stomach confirmed the feeling.

  Dressed, she tried the bedroom door. It was unlocked. She pushed it slowly open. No lamps were on, but enough light seeped into the room from the edges of the drapes for her to see that the hideaway bed was open and supporting Juliana’s body.

  At first she didn’t see Drago, then he was directly in front of her. Dallas had done the same thing, but with Drago the inhuman movement truly annoyed her. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “My apologizes, mademoiselle. Did you rest well?”

  As though he cared, she thought. She was in no mood for meaningless pleasantries and didn’t bother answering. What would Drago care about dreams of fear? “You said if I was hungry I could eat.”

  He blinked, but the hooded eyes revealed little. “But of course. Choose whatever you like from the menu, and I’ll order for you.”

  He turned a light on for her, and she scanned the room service menu, deciding at last on a salad, filet mignon, and cheesecake. She didn’t feel one bit guilty. It was going on a vampire’s expense account.

  The delivery of the meal woke Juliana. Tia ate with exaggerated relish, hoping that at least one of the vampires missed the human pleasure of satisfying hunger through food. But they ignored her even more than she pretended to ignore them, and they continued conversing with each other in tones too low for Tia to hear. Juliana had closed the hideaway bed and sat sideways on the sofa, her slender legs draped over the cushions. Drago stood just feet away at the window, lifting the edge of the drapes just enough to peer out.

  Only when Tia had her fill did she decide to question Drago again. “So, Drago, tell me again why I’m here.”

  “You’re our guest, mademoiselle. We are here but to serve you.” His voice sounded like that of a host greeting a very unwelcome visitor. He didn’t bother turning towards her.

  Tia wanted to laugh. “Right. Well, if I’m going to remain your guest much longer, I’m going to need some clean clothes.”

  Drago finally let the fabric fall into place, and he faced her, inclining his head, but his voice sounded no less bored. “Of course. Juliana will go out tonight and get some for you.”

  The look Juliana gave Drago told everyone she begged to differ. She dropped her feet to the floor and leaned forward. “You didn’t bring me all the way here so I could toodle around town running errands for the chookie, did you? Let’s do this thing tonight and get it over with.”

  He turned toward Juliana, a benevolent smile at odds with the dispassion of his eyes. “Cherie, cherie. You must learn patience. If you’re going to suffer eternity, you must learn to make time your friend, not your enemy.”

  Juliana ignored the smile. “Don’t preach to me, Drago. I’m not a novice begging for your wisdom. I know all about waiting and being patient.”

  The smile vanished. “Really, cherie. Then you will do it now and not complain. When it is dark enough, you will go out and purchase appropriate clothing for our guest.”

  “I’m not your bloody servant, Drago.”

  “You will do as I say, cherie.” The words were very soft.

  His eyes held Juliana’s until a look of fear washed over her face. She flinched, and Tia saw a drop of red well up on the woman’s cheek, as bright as her lipstick. Juliana wiped the blood from her face before it could run down her cheek, and she stared at the smudge on her fingertip, disbelief joining fear in widening her eyes.

  “There. Now you are my ‘bloody’ servant, cherie. You will do as I say, c’est compris?”

  Juliana answered only with a glare at Drago. A second later she was in the bedroom, moving so fast that Tia wouldn’t have known where she had gone but for the slam of the adjoining door.

  Drago drew a deep breath, and Tia sat very still. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it didn’t take a genius to know that it was not a good idea to challenge Drago’s authority past a certain point. She would have to remember that.

  He looked at her. She swallowed down the rest of her questions. He smiled and bowed. “Not to worry, mademoiselle. A new wardrobe is as good as yours.”

  Tia gave him a wan smile in return and turned on the television. Watching the evening news gave her a good excuse to avoid interaction with Drago. Had she really thought, just hours before, that this psycho
vampire cop was charming?

  THE FOLLOWING evening, Dallas retired to the scented breezes of the veranda. He sat slouched on the chaise lounge and let the fresh air and moonlight wash over him. The gardeners had come earlier and mowed the lawn, and the sweet smell of freshly cut grass combined with the bouquet of azaleas, camellias, and dogwood to tease his senses. Dallas relaxed and pondered his future. It was something he didn’t often do, but it had been a hellish week.

  Perhaps the week’s turmoil was a sign that it was time for Dallas to move on. He was forced to make a change every twenty years or so. One couldn’t stay in a place forever, not age, and have it go unnoticed. He would hate to leave Rose Hill and Natchez. The place had both a natural and man-made beauty to it and an Old South grace that gave him peace. More than that, though, was the timelessness of the place. In a world so full of changing technology and changing faces it was comforting to be around buildings that were as old as he was, around legends and stories that didn’t die out with time. He was as rooted here as an unnatural creature like himself could be. But he had been here twenty-five years now, and it was getting harder and harder to pass for fifty when he looked thirty-five. Perhaps it was time to move back to England again.

  Tia. Nothing this past week had shaken him to his core as had his reaction to Syntia Martell. He was already missing her more than he would miss Rose Hill, Bishop’s Inn, or Natchez itself. He could always return to the city again in another fifty years, but Tia was gone from his life forever. She had indeed been special, and, as with Veilina, he hadn’t realized how special until she was gone.

  He heard a car in the drive and somehow knew it would be Drago. Fencing with Alek Dragovich was the last thing Dallas felt like doing, but perhaps it was best to get it over with tonight. Come tomorrow Drago would be winging his way back to Paris or wherever, and Dallas could get on with his life.

  Dallas opened the front door, not at all surprised to find Drago lounging on the front steps, impeccably dressed, as usual, in black and white. Dallas held the door wide in mute invitation. Once in the parlor, Drago began circling the room slowly, like a restless animal in a cage.

  Dallas was in no mood for Drago’s melodramatics. “What is it this time, Drago?”

  “Nothing more than a follow-up to my last visit. Ah, I see you were able to clean the carpet. I’m glad. Have you heard anything more from St. James?”

  It was all Dallas could do to keep his composure. “If I had, I’m sure you would know about it.”

  Drago shifted his eyes from the floor to Dallas, and Dallas felt their weight.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” said Drago, his voice low with warning. “And what of the mademoiselle?” he asked in a considerably higher voice.

  “What about her?”

  “Her scent is faded from the house. Have you already taken care of her as I asked?”

  It would be fruitless to lie to Drago. “No.”

  Drago’s brows arched. “No? Yet she is not here, is she?”

  “No.”

  “Monsieur, these monosyllabic answers tire me. Tell me where she is.”

  Dallas sighed. “I don’t know where she is. She left earlier in the day. I assume she’s headed back home.”

  Drago ran a hand over the carved backrest of one of the Chippendale chairs. “That was rather careless of you, don’t you think?”

  “I thought the mark would hold her.”

  “Hmm. It would appear you either overestimated yourself or underestimated her. Which do you think is the case, mon ami?”

  Dallas felt like a fish on the end of a line, but there was nothing to do except let Drago play him. “I don’t know. She has an usually high resistance to us.”

  “Us? Or just you?”

  “I don’t know, Drago.”

  Drago tipped the chair backwards to balance on two legs, then slammed the chair forward to thump the floor. “You don’t know. Well, mon ami, your sanction still stands. So what are you going to do now, I wonder?”

  Dallas’ patience was at an end. “You enjoy asking me questions I don’t have answers for, don’t you? There’s nothing I can do, as you damn well know.”

  Lines appeared at the corner of Drago’s mouth, and his teeth clenched, just visible through the unsmiling mouth. “You can find her and bring her back!”

  “Listen, Drago. I’m tired of your theatrics, I’m tired of your tactics, and I’m tired of you. You’re not going to bully me into something I either cannot do or will not do. As I told you before, do what you will to me, or leave me in peace.”

  To Dallas’ surprise, Drago laughed. “Bravo, mon ami! I’ve always liked you, Allgate. Never more than now, when you’ve got your back against the wall. You may yet make a fine enforcer.”

  L’ enforcier looked to be in no hurry to leave, exiting the parlor only to loiter on the veranda. He suddenly seemed content to sprawl on one of the lounge chairs and forgo his usual pacing. Drago didn’t say so, but perhaps even the Anti-God himself delighted in the languor that hung in the warm night air. He spoke with his eyes closed, as if savoring the very night with his remaining senses. “So, mon ami. What now?”

  Dallas’ limited patience was at an end. He said nothing in reply.

  Drago appeared to digest the silence, then sighed and pulled a small cell phone from his belt and slowly tapped in a number, as if he had all night. The message, though, was brief. “Rose Hill, now. Both of you.”

  It was an unusually succinct conversation for Drago, one he didn’t seem inclined to want to explain to Dallas. “I have people I want you to meet,” was all Drago would say.

  Dallas was too tired to run all the possibilities through his mind. Enforcer business? Perhaps Drago intended on issuing more sanctions against him and needed witnesses. Whatever kind of business it was, Dallas had no doubt it would neither be to his benefit nor liking.

  Dallas and Drago moved from the veranda back to the parlor to await their mysterious guests. The waiting was as brief as Drago’s phone conversation had been. A scant ten minutes later the front door chime sounded. Dallas rose to answer it, aware that Drago was right on his heel. Dallas swung the door open, and there, framed by the two white columns flanking either side of the entranceway, were two women he knew only too well.

  “My God,” he breathed, stepping backward with an uncharacteristic stumble right into Drago. Dallas didn’t feel Drago’s hands steady him or see his mouth curve in a sly smile. His full attention was on the dark-haired women facing him, neither of whom looked too happy to see him.

  “Sabra . . . ”

  Juliana strode into the hallway, pulling Tia with her. “What? No greeting for your . . . what did Drago call her? . . . your grande passion?” With that Juliana shoved Tia in front of her, but Tia halted, her eyes wide in shock, advancing no farther towards Dallas.

  “Sabra?” parroted Tia, her eyes shifting between Dallas and Juliana.

  Seeing Sabra was the last thing Dallas had expected. That Drago had Tia could have been predicted, but Dallas hadn’t seen Sabra since she’d left him two hundred years ago. He honestly thought she had died the True Death. In all his travels around the world, he had neither run across her nor heard anything of her. And now she stood before him, looking exactly as he remembered her, her thin frame belying the strength behind her dark eyes. The only thing that was different was the brittle quality that hardened her features.

  She spoke up, obviously not as surprised to see him as he was to see her. “Drago, since our host has apparently been rendered speechless, introductions, please?”

  Drago stepped to Juliana’s side. “Bien sur. I have the pleasure of introducing Juliana Sage, my associate on this assignment. She’s a member of the Australian Council based in Sydney. I asked her here for several reasons, one of which, of course, is that she is acquainted with Dallas Allgate. He k
new her long ago as Sabra Sage. However she prefers now to be addressed as Juliana. She is also here to help me make recommendations. And, I believe, everyone here knows mademoiselle Syntia Martell. She is the reason we are all gathered here tonight.”

  Drago dipped his head, pulled on the cuffs of his sleeves, and straightened again. “Well, mon ami, here she is. I ask you again. What are you going to do?” The tail of one heavy eyebrow wagged.

  Dallas studied Juliana. Her dark eyes, once so full of warm desire, glittered now with a cold lust, but it wasn’t for him or for any part of the life they had once shared. If he had doubted she was lost to him forever, he doubted it no more. His gaze slipped to Tia. She wasn’t lost to him. Not yet.

  Dallas saw Tia glance sideways at Drago, and he saw fear vie with the confusion in her eyes. It was she who first replied, not Dallas. “What do you mean, I’m the reason you’re all here?”

  Dallas could feel his heart pounding deep inside him, and he realized with surprise that he was afraid—more afraid than he had been since the night Sabra brought him across to the other side. That night he had lost his soul. Tonight he wasn’t afraid of Drago. It was loss, again, that he feared.

  “Tia, come here.” Dallas loosed no compelling power on her nor any other vampire trick. It was just a simple entreaty, spoken softly. He kept his attention on Tia, aware that neither Drago nor anyone else had answered her question. It came down now to trust. Was anything left of the night they had shared in his bedroom only scant days ago? His heart pounded harder, a painful pressure in his chest.

  Her eyes met his, and a thousand questions swam in their blue depths. She didn’t move. She wouldn’t come to him. Not Tia. She was too cynical, too suspicious. The ex-cop’s mind would want too many of her questions answered first. She turned her head, and her gaze touched Drago and Juliana. Dallas thought Tia was going to repeat her unanswered question when suddenly she stepped quietly to his side, still keeping her eyes on the two enforcers.