From Fear to Eternity

by Michelle Rowen

  Frowning deeply, he fell silent before he finally took the amulet from Thierry.

  “Very good. Well done, de Bennicoeur. And . . . Sarah. I will store Tasha somewhere she won’t be able to cause trouble again.” He glanced at Veronique as if noticing her standing there for the first time. “Do you have anything to add?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I was here to offer additional protection in case you chose the wrong path, Atticus.”

  “Additional protection? You would have, what, killed me?”

  That earned him the edge of a smile on her beautiful face. “Oh, darling, no. Violence has never been my style. But I would have helped to get you back into that rather uncomfortable-looking chest.”

  “Mmm.” Atticus pursed his lips. “That won’t be necessary. But now I must make some phone calls and figure out how best to go about explaining the disappearance of Tasha Evans to the world, as well as Jacob Nelson. They were two very high-profile people. Not to mention the other casualties tonight.”

  “It’s been an eventful night,” I said. “Thanks for handling the paperwork.”

  He swept his gaze over me, as if appraising my current worth. “Perhaps I was wrong about you. Tasha wanted me dead and your actions may have thwarted that.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  That reply got me another studious look. It wasn’t with the interest of earlier in the evening; this one held much more distaste. Which was all right with me. Just because I didn’t think he was totally evil didn’t mean I wanted to invite him out to a celebratory dinner.

  “So you two are happy together,” Atticus said after a moment, still with disbelief coating his words. “What you told me earlier was only a lie, Thierry.”

  Thierry and I shared a glance. “Yes, that’s right,” he replied.

  “Happy.” He frowned as if the concept of this escaped him. “With a fledgling. Who would have guessed it?”

  Leaving us with that canny observation, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and began making calls now that there was reception again.

  “I can’t believe you gave him the amulet,” Veronique said with disapproval as we moved away from Atticus’s presence.

  “I don’t want it anywhere near me,” Thierry replied. “And I know Atticus won’t risk summoning Tasha out of it for fear she’ll escape. I have faith that he will put it somewhere very safe for the indefinite future.”

  “And what about Frederic’s dagger?” I asked.

  “That is a more delicate matter. We saw for ourselves that it can bestow true immortality. That is a dangerous goal that many might want to achieve. I will have it destroyed.”

  His words surprised me. “Dangerous? But wouldn’t that be a good thing? Living forever and not fearing death?”

  “We already live forever, darling, if we’re very careful,” Veronique said. “But true immortality is a curse. Not just hundreds or thousands of years, but millions. Trillions. Forever is far too much to contemplate, even for someone like me.”

  She had an excellent point. The idea of forever was kind of mind-blowing. I think I’ll stick with the indefinite ending of a normal, run-of-the-mill vampire, thanks.

  Suddenly I felt rather sorry for Tasha.

  Be careful what you wish for, indeed.

  We headed back downstairs and found Melanie consoling Sebastien. He seemed open to her attention, and she’d even coaxed a smile back to his face.

  Maybe they wouldn’t need my matchmaking skills at all.

  Jack gave me another hug. “It’s time for me to leave.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I have absolutely no idea.” But he grinned as if that wasn’t a bad thing. I noticed that the red line around his throat had disappeared. He was whole again, the damage Tasha had done now healed. “But I figure Los Angeles is a great place to start. Remember, though, I owe you one. You saved me when I didn’t think it was possible to be saved.”

  “You were worth it. Have fun—but not too much fun, okay? I still don’t totally understand the ‘a sort of demon’ thing.”

  I watched as he departed through the front doors. He didn’t ask for any money or any help, but he practically glowed with hope as he waved good-bye to us.

  Actually . . . yeah, I think he was glowing a little bit in the early-morning light. Definitely not just a mortal, that was for sure.

  When I returned to the parlor, the first thing I saw was Veronique standing at the doorway with her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. I followed her line of sight to Marcellus, who’d sat down on a large chair and was currently reading her memoir, quickly flicking through the pages.

  “What is he doing?” She closed the distance between them and snatched the book away from him.

  Marcellus looked up at her, his face a mask of confusion. “Is this all true?”

  “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t be reading that.”

  “Did I die like it says? But—if I died, how am I here? How is this possible?”

  She wrung her hands. “I didn’t want to have to tell you. I’ve been waiting all this time, not sure what would happen next. I thought you might disappear, but you haven’t. You’re still here. You’re different from what you once were, but you’re also completely the same. You are my Marcellus from that book brought to life.”

  “From this book?” He frowned. “What you’re saying . . . how is this possible?”

  “Magic made it possible.”

  Marcellus shook his head. “I’m not even real, then. I’m a figment of your imagination given breath.”

  He pushed the book aside and stormed out of the room.

  She didn’t chase after him. I exchanged a worried look with Thierry and he turned to follow after Marcellus. I drew Veronique into a corner of the large parlor.

  Her expression remained calm, her chin raised. She didn’t look upset at all; she looked resigned.

  “It’s expected,” she said with a nod. “I’m sure it’s quite a shock to him.”

  I had no idea what to say to help, but I had to try. “Of course. I mean, it’s not every day you realize you’re nothing but a fictional character.”

  “He is different from the Marcellus I knew in real life, of course. I took certain liberties with his less savory characteristics.” She sighed. “For example, I deleted the part where he was constantly unfaithful to me.”

  “The delete key does wonders,” I agreed.

  “This Marcellus is wholly devoted to me and only me. He’d never even want to look at another woman.”

  “It’s a perfectly respectable edit.”

  She met my eyes and reached down to clutch my hand in hers. “I have no time for a relationship, especially one with an updated version of someone I loved a long time ago. I have far too much else to do.” She nodded as if she’d managed to convince herself that this was the right response. “But, Sarah, I did want to tell you that I am so very happy for you.”

  “For me?”

  “All this time, I’ll admit, I belittled your relationship with my hus—” She paused as if to correct herself. “With Thierry. But to see you together, to see how you believe in him no matter what happens. You love him so much—as much as he loves you.” She smiled, and her eyes had become shiny. “It warms my heart. I’m glad he found you. He deserves to be happy after all these years.”

  I swear, I’d never have thought I’d see the day that Veronique admitted that she believed in Thierry and me like this.

  “I appreciate that more than you know.” I hugged her, my own heart warm from her words. Veronique didn’t lie about stuff like this. She saw the truth.

  Although, perhaps not her own truth.

  “Your own soul mate just walked back into your life,” I told her. “And he’
s a damn miracle looking you directly in the face. Do not even try to tell me you’re going to let him walk away.”

  “Soul mate?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe in such nonsense. Marcellus was my first love, but that was a long time ago. This—this manifestation isn’t even him.”

  “I don’t think you really believe that. Look, I know you’re jaded. At your age, no offense, it would be hard not to be. You’re a survivor and you don’t believe in love anymore. Well, get over it. A little while after I first met Thierry you told me that when the world’s gone mad and you’re feeling really lost, that’s when you have to trust your heart to lead you where you need to go.”

  Her brows went up. “I said that?”

  “Yes. And at the time, I thought it was kind of lame. But you know what? It’s also completely true. Trust your heart, Veronique. Take it from me—it never lies.”

  She stared at me as if I was speaking a different language. And then a smile touched her lips. She grabbed me and planted a kiss on both of my cheeks.

  “Thank you, my darling. You are not nearly as silly and naive as I always thought you were.”

  She ran out of the parlor.

  “Gee . . . thanks?” I laughed and followed her.

  Marcellus stood at the open door next to Thierry, who was talking to him. Marcellus had his arms crossed over his chest, his face a mask of despair. He looked up as Veronique appeared.

  “I may not be the man you once fell in love with,” he said, his voice hollow. “But I stand before you with my heart on my sleeve. If I’m not real, then what I feel can’t be possible, because it is real. I love you, Veronique. You are my other half. Please give me a chance to show you that we were destined to be together again.”

  Tears now streamed down her cheeks. Had I ever seen Veronique cry before? I honestly didn’t think so.

  “You’re real, my darling. I didn’t want to believe it, but you are. And I love you, too.”

  They embraced and he kissed her. Seriously, it was like something out of a movie.

  “Where shall we go, my love?” Veronique asked him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he told her, “as long as you’re by my side.”

  “You know . . .” Thierry drew up next to me and took my hand in his. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  I looked up at him, so relieved that we’d made it through this night even stronger than we’d been when we arrived. Funny how a few hours can change so much. “You and me, what do we have . . . forty-nine years and eleven months of servitude to the Ring left? And I have a funny feeling Atticus isn’t going to be in the mood to promote you anytime soon.”

  “You never know what the future will hold.”

  “No, you really don’t. Except I know one thing yours will hold, if I can make a wild guess.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Me.” I grinned.

  He smiled and drew me closer to him. “Even if that future will have more vampires, witches, werewolves, ghosts, and other sundry creatures giving us a difficult time whenever possible?”

  “Things like that keep an immortal life interesting, Mr. de Bennicoeur.”

  “Indeed, they do, Mrs. de Bennicoeur.”

  I didn’t know where life would take us next, or what adventures lay ahead, but I wasn’t lying about where I wanted to be. Wherever I went I’d be perfectly happy, as long as we were together.

  Call me a hopeless romantic, but I considered that the best ending, ever.

  Read on for a look back at the first Immortality Bites Mystery,

  Blood Bath & Beyond

  Available now from Obsidian!

  The fangs don’t get nearly as much attention as you’d think.

  Your average, everyday person doesn’t notice that they’re sharper than normal human canines. If they did, they’d have to deal with the possibility that vampires really exist. It’s a survival instinct on their part, culminating from centuries of living side by side with something they’d prefer to think of as a fictional predatory monster. Or, more recently, as an eternally sparkling teenager.

  Real vampires make up approximately 0.001 percent of the population—that’s one in a thousand. So, worldwide, there are about six million vampires.

  Humans just don’t see us. It does help that, despite what you might have heard, we can go outside into the sunshine on a lovely early June day like today without turning into a pile of ashes. We blend in with regular human society just fine and dandy.

  It’s kind of like we’re invisible.

  Someone bashed into me when I glanced down at the screen of my phone as I walked down the busy sidewalk.

  “Hey!” the woman snarled. “Watch where you’re going, you dumb bitch!”

  “Bite me,” I replied sweetly, then added under my breath, “or I might bite you.”

  She gave me the finger, stabbing it violently in my direction as if it were a tiny, flesh-colored sword.

  Okay, maybe we’re not totally invisible.

  I couldn’t help that I had a natural-born talent to rub people the wrong way. It had very little to do with me being a vampire and more to do with me just being . . . me. I liked to think it was simply part of my charm.

  I looked bleakly at the phone again. No messages. No calls. It felt like everyone I knew had recently deserted me. It wasn’t far from the truth, actually. Last month, my parents had moved to Florida to a retirement community. Two weeks ago, my best male friend, George, had headed for Hawaii to open a surf shop after he won a small fortune in a local lottery. And now, my best girlfriend and her husband were in the process of moving to British Columbia so she could take a job in cosmetics management.

  “We’ll totally stay in touch,” Amy said to me at the airport before she got on her flight an hour ago. I’d met her there to say a last good-bye.

  I hugged her fiercely. “Of course we will.”

  Her husband stood nearby, giving me the evil eye like he usually did. We’d never really gotten along all that well. You win some, you lose some. “Are you finished yet? We’re going to miss our flight.”

  I forced a smile. “I’m even going to miss you, Barry.”

  He just looked at his wristwatch.

  Amy smiled brightly. “This is a new beginning, Sarah. For both of us. We have to embrace change.”

  I hated change.

  I did hope to see her again soon, not too far into the future.

  The future was something I thought about a lot these days. After all, as a fledgling vampire, sired less than seven months ago, I had a lot of future to look forward to. I just hoped it wouldn’t suck too much.

  Yes, that was me. Sarah Dearly, immortal pessimist. I had to turn my frown upside down. Right now, I was so far down in the dumps that the raccoons had arrived and were starting to sniff around. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

  It seemed as if new opportunities and new adventures had been presented to everyone but me, like they’d won the lottery—literally in one case—and I’d mistakenly put my ticket in the wash and now couldn’t even read the numbers.

  “You look sad,” someone said.

  I glanced over my shoulder, surprised to see a clown standing at the side of the street holding a bunch of balloons.

  White makeup, poufy costume covered in colorful polka dots. Red hair. A hat with a fake flower springing out of it. Big red nose. The works.

  It was like a bad omen. Clowns scared the crap out of me.

  “Sad? Who, me?” I said warily, slipping my phone back in my shoulder bag. “Nah, I’m just melancholy today. There’s a difference, you know. Please don’t murder me.”

  “Somebody needs a happy happy balloon to make her happy happy.” He handed me a yellow ribbon tied to a shiny red balloon. I looked up at it.

  “Yes,” I said. “This will make all
the difference in the world. Thank you so much. Now life is happy happy for me again.”

  The clown glared at me. “No reason to be sarcastic, lady.”

  “I don’t need a reason.”

  “The balloon’s five bucks.”

  “Three.”

  “Four.”

  “Sold.” I grinned, then fished into my purse and pulled out the money. “Thanks so much, Bozo.”

  “It’s Mr. Chuckles.”

  “Whatever.”

  The balloon did cheer me up more than I would have guessed. It reminded me of going to the National Exhibition with my mother every fall when I was a kid. Popcorn, cotton candy, hot dogs, and balloons. High-calorie memories with a little bit of helium and latex thrown in for good measure. Those were good times.

  I’d needed the walk to clear my head. My head was officially cleared, so I returned to the huge luxury townhome I shared with my fiancé and let myself in.

  Immediately, I sensed there was something different there. A big clue to this was the large black suitcase placed by the front door.

  I heard Thierry on the phone, speaking French to someone. He was fluent, since he was originally from France centuries ago.

  Yes, my fiancé was significantly older than me—by about six hundred years or so.

  Some of the words I understood:

  “Aujourd’hui,” which I knew meant “today.”

  “Seul,” which meant “alone.”

  “D’accord,” which meant “alrighty.”

  “Importante” . . . well, that one didn’t really need a translator.

  Thierry entered the front foyer with his phone pressed to his left ear. He stopped when he saw me standing there gaping at him.

  “À bientôt, Bernard.” He slipped the phone into the inside pocket of his black suit jacket. “Sarah, I was about to call you. I’m glad you’ve returned.”

  He didn’t have an accent. His English was flawless, since he’d spoken it for at least five hundred years.

  Thierry de Bennicoeur appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was six feet tall, had black hair that was usually brushed back from his handsome face, and piercing gray eyes that felt like they could see straight through you clear to the other side. He always dressed in black Hugo Boss suits, which wasn’t the most imaginative wardrobe choice, but looked consistently perfect on him anyway. He was, in a word, a total fox. Even after all the time we’d spent together, there was no doubt in my mind about that.