"Yes," I replied, staring at the empty chasm of the open doorway, through which Gilbert had just passed.
"I can't see the likes of him raising a hand to a woman," Minerva observed in a righteous tone, rising from the window seat with the cat squirming in her arms.
"No,'' I agreed, but I feared Gilbert would do violence when he returned to Cheltingham, and I was right. Word came to London, several weeks later, by way of an intricate network of grooms and footmen and others who handled horses and carriages, that Gilbert had gone home to find Michael preparing to come to the city and fetch me.
They had argued heatedly, as the story went, and Michael had taken up a fireplace poker, in a fit of temper, and swung it at Gilbert's head. Gilbert had deflected the blow, fracturing a bone in his forearm in the process, but had managed, all the same, to administer a memorable thrashing. Our stable hands had it on good authority, and passed the word to the household servants, that Michael Bradford had been dumped, bruised, chastened, and humbled onto a ship bound for Australia. As long as he kept himself within those far shores, he would receive an adequate allowance. Should he return to England, for any reason, however, he would be utterly penniless.
I received one letter after that, from Gilbert. He wrote that he was to be wed at last, to one Ethel Grovestead of Devonshire, and that there had still been no word of Joseph…
Kristina laid the letter aside. Joseph.
She seldom allowed herself to think of the little boy, but he was very much on her mind that evening. She had found him, some seven years after his disappearance, with Valerian's reluctant assistance, working with a gang of pickpockets. Once a cherubic baby, the child was now feral and ratlike, hardly even human. Michael had put him into a foundling home after taking him away from Cheltingham in secret, a terrible, cold place where he'd been beaten and half starved. At five he'd fled the institution and taken up with a gang of cutthroats, orphans, and other lost boys like himself, and Kristina had realized at last, looking into his fevered and hateful eyes, that there was no saving him.
Valerian had understood that all along, and perhaps Gilbert had, as well. They had been shielding her, the pair of them, and she did not appreciate their efforts.
She'd given the boy, once called Joseph, all the money in her bag. He'd snatched the coins into his grubby hands, spat at her, and fled. After that, she'd done her best to provide for him, again with Valerian's aid, but after only a few months the child had perished in an alleyway, a small bundle of dirty rags and brittle bones, racked with consumption.
If Kristina had hated Michael before that, it was nothing compared to what she felt afterward. Life might have been so very different for Joseph, for all of them…
She pulled her thoughts forcibly away from that dreadful time. She had dwelt on the past long enough, for one night. Now she must look forward, make plans for a new life.
Kristina switched on the computer at the small desk in the family room, got out her address book, and began composing letters to other antiques dealers all over the world. Her wares were envied far and wide, and selling them would be an easy matter, once her colleagues knew she was going out of business.
She worked into the small hours of the morning, then went upstairs to shower and crawl into bed. Barabbas slept at her feet, heavy and warm, and hers was a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
The next day she went to the shop and sent off the letters she had written the night before, via her fax machine. By lunchtime she was already receiving offers. Several dealers, in fact, were flying in from other parts of the world, while others asked for a complete inventory list. Kristina kept her stock catalogued on the shop computer and updated the information once a week. It was an easy matter to print out a copy and begin responding to the requests.
All the while she waited for the brass monkey-man to show up, human again and bent on revenge. Benecia Havermail could hold a doorstop hostage as long as she wanted to, but even she wouldn't be able to reverse the spell Kristina had cast. She would, however, have a better chance of defending herself.
At home Kristina let herself in, half expecting her assailant to pounce on her. Instead she was greeted by a whimpering Barabbas, eager for a walk and supper.
Kristina let him out, trusting him to return when he was ready, although she knew he wanted to go home to Valerian, who was his true master. Because the wolf had been commanded to keep watch over Kristina, however, he would do so, no matter how lonely he was.
While Kristina was making supper—a light pasta dish—the telephone rang. She didn't need her lost magic to know the caller was Max.
"Hi," she said.
He let out a long breath, as though he'd feared she wouldn't answer. "How was your day?"
She smiled as she chopped red, yellow, and green peppers to roast and put on top of her pasta, to give it some color and pizazz. "It was pretty good, really. Nothing jumped out at me, or anything like that. How about you?''
Max laughed. "Wish I could say the same," he said. "My players are all keyed up for the four-day weekend, and most of them were on hormone overload in the first place. I spent the day letting the smaller guys out of lockers."
"I don't know how you stand the little devils," Kristina said, cooking as she spoke. A little salad would go nicely with the pasta, she decided.
Max, too, was making dinner; she could hear the homey, accompanying sounds over the wire. "Coming from you, that's an ironic remark," he teased. "Given the sort of company you keep, I mean."
His words reminded Kristina of all she would have to tell him, in the very near future, and dampened her spirits a little. Thinking of Michael, she said, "Considering the cruelty of some human beings I've known, I marvel that Valerian or even Dathan could be called 'monsters.' "
"Did I hurt your feelings?"
That was Max for you. No beating around the proverbial bush; just get right to the point. The concern in his voice made Kristina want to weep.
"Maybe a little, but I know you didn't intend to."
"Sorry," Max said. She hadn't known anyone even remotely like him since Gilbert Bradford, Duke of Cheltingham.
"It's all right," she insisted. Her appetite was gone, though. She turned off the burner under the pasta and took the chopped peppers out of the electric grilling machine she'd ordered off an infomercial one night, a few years before, when she hadn't been able to sleep. "Vampires and warlocks aren't subject to the rules of political correctness."
"Just give them time," Max said ruefully with a grin in his voice.
There was so much she wanted to tell him—that she was human, that she was fertile, that she was closing her shop and leaving Seattle, but none of it could be said over the telephone. She had had to give up Gilbert, and now she would lose Max, but this time she would have some very sweet memories to take away with her, along with a freshly broken heart.
"How are Bree and Eliette?" she asked, holding her breath while she awaited his answer. She was still very afraid of Benecia and Canaan; they could so easily turn their envy on Max's little girls, who had everything they wanted. Innocence. Mortality. Not just one future, but many.
"Only slightly less rowdy than my football players," Max replied. "They're getting excited about Thanksgiving—not that they're all that thankful. It's just that, thanks to TV, they know it's a greased track from Turkey Day to Christmas."
Kristina smiled again, but wistfully. Although she had had plenty of beautiful toys as a child, and a great fuss was made over her birthday, even the boldest vampires did not dare to observe the holy days of any of the great religions. Nemesis and his Superiors were very touchy about such matters, and no sane fiend would invoke their ire.
"That must be fun—filling stockings, keeping secrets…"
"To tell you the truth," Max confessed when Kristina's voice fell away, "it's something of a hassle. And it bothers me a lot that the central idea is Getting Stuff. Whatever happened to peace on earth and goodwill toward men?"
"I think both are
where they always were—in the hearts of men and women. It's just a matter of what you focus on."
"You're right," Max said. "First my mom and dad made Christmas happen, then Sandy took care of it. The last couple of years I've been—well—going through the motions."
Again Kristina's heart was touched with sadness. She wondered if being in love was always like riding a roller coaster, or if her mood swings were connected to her new humanity. "I bet you're not giving yourself enough credit," she said.
"Maybe," he allowed.
It was then that Barabbas scratched at the kitchen door. Kristina stretched but couldn't quite reach the knob. "Hold on a second, will you, Max?" she asked.
His voice was warm and low, sexy as a caress. "Maybe I'd better let you go. The spaghetti is about to boil over. Call you tomorrow?''
"I'll be looking forward to it," Kristina said.
She hung up the telephone and opened the door. Standing behind Barabbas, in the early darkness of late November, were Benecia and Canaan. They were dressed as ludicrous little pilgrims, complete with buckles on their shoes, Puritan bonnets, gowns, and aprons.
"Barabbas," Kristina commanded in an even voice, "bring Valerian."
The wolf darted away into the night, and while Canaan looked unsettled by this development, Benecia smiled. Her uncanny beauty made her all the more hideous, all the more vile.
"Aren't you going to ask us in?" she asked in her small, bell-like voice.
Kristina had no choice, and she knew it as well as they did. She just hoped Valerian wasn't too far away to help.
The fact that Benecia didn't seem particularly worried about the other vampire was not encouraging. Stepping back, Kristina admitted them.
"Where is the doorstop?" she demanded.
"I haven't the faintest idea," Benecia replied. "I gave it to a junk dealer. It'll be interesting to see where the thing turns up, don't you think?"
Kristina might have gone for the little beast's throat if she hadn't known it would mean instant—or worse yet, not instant—death. She said nothing. What could be keeping Valerian?
"I believe he's busy elsewhere," Benecia said with acid sweetness, as if Kristina had asked the question aloud.
Kristina drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She must stay calm, at all costs. Vampires of this ilk were like wild, vicious animals, unreasoning, provoked by the scent of fear. "What do you want from me?'' she asked in what she hoped was a reasonable and even tone of voice.
"A plan has occurred to us," Benecia said.
Canaan was still keeping an uneasy eye out for Valerian.
"What sort of plan?" Kristina went for a tone of contempt, in what was probably a futile effort to distract Benecia from the terror she felt.
"One that would allow us to be human, to live out normal lives." She paused and smiled, showing her white teeth, as perfect and pearly as a doll's. "We might even be your daughters. Wouldn't that be fun?"
Kristina swayed inwardly as the full weight of Benecia's words struck her. Great Zeus, the little beasts were talking about possession, planning to abandon their own vampire bodies and take over those of Eliette and Bree!
"I will do anything to stop you," she whispered. "Anything."
"But can you?" Benecia retorted, almost simpering.
"You have no magic now. You are nothing but a mortal woman."
"Nothing but what you have always wanted to be," Kristina replied.
"Let's go," Canaan said, breaking her silence at last. "I don't like it here."
"A wise child," commented a third voice, but it wasn't Valerian who spoke. Even before Kristina whirled to look, she knew it was Dathan who had materialized in her kitchen, not the fearsome vampire.
Canaan retreated a step, but Benecia advanced, snarling, her china-blue eyes demonicly bright. She held a particular grudge toward Dathan, Kristina recalled; something on the order of a woman scorned.
"You," the vampire accused. "It was you, warlock, who gave us your vile blood while we slept!"
Dathan was, once again, dressed for either the theater or the opera. Kristina deduced, stupidly, that he must be quite an aficionado of the arts. He dusted the impeccable sleeves of his greatcoat with white-gloved hands before replying. "Hold your tongue, you demon's whelp, or I'll give you a dose that will make arsenic seem like ambrosia."
Benecia made a primal sound, like the hiss of a jungle cat about to spring, and Dathan raised one hand and snapped his fingers.
A circle of flame danced around Benecia's feet.
Canaan shrieked and fled immediately; sensible vampires fear fire as they do sunlight and the point of a wooden stake. Benecia, though visibly frightened, glared at the warlock as the blaze grew.
Kristina clasped both hands over her mouth, horrified. "Stop," she whispered. "Please, Dathan—stop."
He sighed, and the flames died down to a black circle on Kristina's floor.
"Get out," he said.
Benecia scowled at him a moment longer, then vanished.
Kristina turned and flung herself against Dathan's chest, utterly terrified. "You must help me—they're planning to take over Max's children—can they do that?"
Dathan gave her a gentle shake, then held her close again. "We shall not allow it, you and I," he said tenderly, kissing the top of Kristina's head. "Leave the 'littlest vampire' and her more judicious sister to me."
"What will you do?"
He touched a finger to her lips. "Shhh," he said. "Do not worry yourself with such matters, Kristina. After all, you will soon be my queen. Think on that instead. Imagine what it will mean."
She could not bear to consider the full scope of her vow, not then. She had told Benecia and Canaan she would do anything to save Eliette and Bree from them, and she'd meant it. The price was high indeed, but Kristina would not stint.
"You must give me just a few more days to end things with Max."
"I cannot pretend I am not jealous," Dathan said. "But I will grant you that request or virtually any other. But you must give me your word, Kristina. You will become my bride."
She swallowed hard, blinked back tears, and then nodded. "I promise," she whispered.
With that, Dathan bent his head and kissed her gently on the mouth. She was not unmoved—he was a creature capable of great passion—but there was no spiritual connection as there was with Max. No sense of lightness, of something ordained in a time when stars, now long dead, were tumultuous and new, bursting with fire.
Then suddenly he vanished.
Valerian arrived an instant afterward, popping in in his usual spectacular fashion, bringing Barabbas with him. Or did Barabbas possess that talent in his own right? It didn't matter, for Kristina had just sold her soul, and she was as good as damned.
"Where have you been?'' she demanded, and then gave a deep, wrenching sob.
Valerian put his arms around Kristina. in the way her father might have done, ignoring her outburst. He was not at her beck and call, and he had the good grace not to point that out—though he could be depended upon to raise the subject later. "I have been doing what I could to assist your mother," he said simply.
Kristina looked up into his face, full of sorrow, glad that she was human, that she would die. "I will be wed to Dathan within a fortnight," she said.
Valerian looked truly startled, an emotion she had not seen in him in all the length of her memory. "What?" he demanded.
She explained Benecia's threat, brokenly, trembling all the while, and the somber expression on the vampire's face told her that such a thing was indeed possible.
"They have made some unholy bargain," Valerian reflected. "They must be destroyed before they can carry out their plans, or other vampires will do the same. I do not believe I need to tell you how Nemesis would react to that."
"What can I do?" Kristina asked, desperate.
Valerian cupped her chin in his hand, wiped away some of her tears with a thumb as smooth and cool as marble. "Only wait," the vampire said. "You wer
e very foolish to promise yourself to Dathan, however. He will not release you from the pact."
"It is worth it to me," she replied.
The vampire kissed her forehead. "I hope so," he answered. And then he, too, was gone.
Kristina took Barabbas, drove to Max's, and knocked on the front door. Maybe she couldn't protect Bree and Eliette, with her lapsed magic, but there was a chance that the wolf could. And besides, she wanted to be able to summon Dathan if Benecia and Canaan decided to put in an appearance.
Max didn't ask questions, bless him. He just led Kristina to the guest room, kissed her lightly, and left her alone.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Bree and Eliette joined Kristina in the double bed, cuddling up close, but she knew it wasn't because they were afraid. They had sensed her sorrow, somehow, and wanted to console her.
Kristina was sipping coffee the next morning in the kitchen when Max found a moment to talk to her alone. The girls were on their way to their separate schools, via the neighborhood carpool.
"Okay," he said. "What's the deal? How come you showed up in the middle of the night?"
"I got lonesome," Kristina hedged. "Besides, you invited me, didn't you? You said I could come over any time I wanted."
"And I meant it." He glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink, and his jaw tightened. "I have to get to work. We'll talk about this later."
Kristina nodded, though she had no intention of explaining, ever, that two vampires wanted to possess his daughters. She had all day to think up some story that would bear a resemblance to the truth.
"I'll stop by the shop after practice. Around five o'clock?"
He would find out that she was liquidating her stock and getting ready to close down the business, but that was the least of her problems. In fact, she needed to hurry home to shower and put on makeup and a power suit, because two of her European colleagues were arriving that day to take their choice of her merchandise.
"Make it six, and I'll take you out to dinner. Bring the girls."
If Bree and Eliette were along, they could avoid a lot of subjects Kristina didn't want to talk about just yet. Like why she'd showed up at their house after midnight with a wolf in tow.
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