“Don’t tell me she again wishes to run from the vampire . . . No, I think not. It is you who wishes to run, mon ami. Am I right?”
“I don’t want to kill her, Drago.” It was as close as Dallas could force himself to come to telling Drago the truth.
“And you won’t. The answer is an easy one, Allgate. Live as one being, not two. Bonne chance, mon ami.”
The line went dead. Good luck? Did Drago actually believe in such rubbish? What did luck have to do with anything? Damn Drago and his riddles! He wished Gillie was here. Gillie would understand such nonsense. Dallas looked at the window. The sky was beginning to lighten. It would be dawn soon. It was time.
He descended to the cellar and gazed at Tia. She was still sleeping, the faintest of smiles on her mouth. He stood before The Seine at Giverny and stared at the painting. It depicted the river, with the trees on the shore above, and the upside down reflection in the water below. There was no difference in the reality and the reflection. All was a haze of green, blue, and white. He heard her stir behind him.
“Well?” she asked without preamble.
His inability to come up with a solution left him no choice. He answered her still facing the painting. “I’ll call Mac. He’ll give you a ride. He’s a good man. You’ll be perfectly safe with him.”
Even turned away from her he could feel the hope drop from her features. “I’ve already voiced every argument I can think of. I said I’d abide by your decision, and I will.” Her voice was hushed, almost as though she were being strangled.
He closed his eyes, as if that could help keep the sound of her pain from his ears.
“I would like just one favor from you before I go, which was all I wanted in the first place. To photograph you.”
He kept his eyes shut. “I told you. I don’t photograph. The camera sees only the reality of what I am, not the image the rest of the world sees. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a face of shadows. If not, you’ll get a mask of death. Is that how you want to remember me, Tia?”
“Well, the first shots I took weren’t great, but they weren’t that bad, either.”
He opened his eyes. “What first shots?”
He heard her slide from the bed and stand behind him. “You know. At the Chapel of Light cemetery when you were fighting St. James. When I tried to distract St. James with the flash.”
He turned slowly to face her.
“When I ran away I left my equipment, but I took that film with me. When Juliana went shopping for me yesterday I gave her the film to get it developed at the one-hour photo. The photos are upstairs now in the suitcase of things from the hotel.”
He unlocked the door for her. “Get them. Now.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed, then fled up the stairs. Two minutes later she was back, breathing heavily, the suitcase in hand.
“Show me,” he ordered.
She swung the suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. She took out the packets of photos and handed them to him. “You’ll need a better light. Some of them are pretty dark.”
He turned on the table lamp next to the bed and pulled out the photos from their sleeve.
“The first ones are all of St. James, when he was posing for me. They didn’t come out. All shadows, like you said. I thought it was my fault at first. My inexperience in shooting outdoors at that time of day. The light was very tricky.”
He stared at the photos under the lamplight. He couldn’t distinguish St. James’ features in a single one, not even in shots that were close-ups. His face was an out-of-focus blur, a collage of shadows. In one shot, Dallas thought he saw lurid eyes and the hint of a leer from behind the shadow. “See? The vampire doesn’t photograph.”
She handed him another set. “Look at these. The last ones are those I took when St. James had that weapon and was about to kill you. I tried to aim the flash at his eyes to divert his attention, but I caught you in the shots as well.”
He took the photos from her and shuffled through them, his fingers feeling clumsy for the first time in his life. He came to the photos she referred to and let the rest slide to the floor. In the first he saw nothing but the back of his own head and the blur that was St. James. In the next shot, though, Tia had caught his profile. His face showed pain, but it was there. His eyes, closed against the light and the dirt St. James had flung at his face. His nose, flared in anger. His mouth, showing teeth clenched in the life and death struggle. It wasn’t a pretty picture, but there he was. He studied the rest of them. They all depicted his features clearly.
He set the photos down on the table carefully and turned to her. “I don’t understand.”
She reached out to touch his face, and the warmth of her fingers seared him. “I think I do. This is your reality, Dallas. As much as you keep trying to deny it. Accept it. And forgive yourself. That’s all.” She let her hand drop to her side.
“But the beast . . . you saw what the beast did last night at the inn. That’s my reality.”
“No, Dallas. Last night wasn’t the beast. Last night was the human. You asked for Veilina’s forgiveness. Maybe St. James didn’t know what you were doing, but I did. Asking forgiveness is a very human thing to do. There isn’t only one image and one reality, Dallas. The human and the beast are both your reality. Accept your human side, Dallas. It’s your strength, not your weakness. Veilina forgave you. Now forgive yourself.”
Live life as one being. Drago had said it was easy. Could it really be as simple as that? Forgiveness? Veilina had forgiven him. Could he forgive himself two centuries of vengeance and horror? And acceptance. Tia accepted him. If he could accept himself as well, was that enough?
Fate. Destiny. Luck. Love. All the things he no longer believed in stared at him in the form of Miss Syntia Marie Martell. Her blue eyes, so reminiscent of the daytime sky, were once painful to gaze upon, but no more. They no longer teased him with what could never again be his, but held the promise of what could be his. If he could only believe.
The last photo still in his hand fluttered to the floor. “No.”
Pain welled behind the blue eyes, and this time it was her suffering he felt, not his own. “I mean no more photos. You won’t have any need for them. You’ll be seeing my face often enough from now on.”
Her liquid eyes rounded in surprise. “What?”
“But we won’t be able to stay here any longer. How do you feel about California? I have a rather nice estate near San Francisco.”
Joy lit her face until worry darkened it once more. “What about the danger you spoke of?”
“There will always be a risk, I can’t deny it. But if you’re willing . . . ” He held out a hand to her. “Accept, Tia, and be loved.” The words were voiced to her, but they cast back to his own mind and heart. Accept, and be loved.
She took his hand, and this time, when his mouth met hers, the only image that burned in his mind’s eye was the reality of her love for him, and his for her.
Life could indeed be sweet.
Epilogue
BISHOP’S INN EVENTUALLY reopened, with Angie Cole as the new owner. The inn’s resident spirit seemed more animated than ever, and a new legend was born. Some claimed that the ghost was still that of Veilina Bishop, but others insisted that it was now that of Jaz, the young waitress who was abducted and never heard from again. The second-floor banquet room was permanently closed. The manifestations that were seen and heard in that room were too much even for the most intrepid and undaunted of employees and patrons.
Area residents and caretakers never saw the mysterious Mr. Allgate at Rose Hill again, and neighborhood gossip had it that a young man named MacLaren had moved into the townhouse.
Only a few like John Giltspur knew the truth of the reclusive Dallas Allgate’s whereabouts. Those few would tell you that he and a young woman named Syntia Martell traveled th
e country with the leisurely ease of a couple with nothing but time on their hands, spending part of the year in California and part in Alaska. When eyebrows were raised at the choice of Alaska, John Giltspur would only smile, lift a brow, and reply with three short words.
“It’s the nights.”
As for l’ enforcier, he was never successful in recruiting Dallas Allgate into the Brotherhood. Alek Dragovich gave up on Dallas at long last, but the one thing he never gave up on was the belief of his own counsel. The elusive affaire de coeur.
After all, it was the one thing that made eternity bearable.
The End
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