Tonight and Always

by Linda Lael Miller

  Billy dangled a strand of pink pearls from one index finger. They were real all right, and old. They glowed, even in the darkness, as though there was moonlight inside them. His ma would have given anything, including him, probably, to own a necklace like that.

  Not that his old man woulda let her keep it very long. Thing like that you could pawn for serious change.

  Billy dropped the pearls into his pocket. He'd check out the other jewelry later, after he'd made himself at home for a while, after he'd had revenge on Ms. Holbrook. When she got home from wherever she was, she'd find a big surprise waiting for her.

  He grinned at the thought and opened drawers until he found her nightgowns and underwear. Silk, all of it. A single pair of her panties probably cost more than everything he had on, even when it was new.

  His grin faded, though his fingers worked the smooth silk back and forth. It wasn't fair that some people had so much, while guys like him got squat.

  He'd make her pay, he thought, and felt better. Lots better.

  Billy put the panties back and scooped an armload of nightgowns out of the drawer. Then, carefully, still with only the fading beam of the flashlight to guide him, he began laying the costly garments out on the bed, one by one, tracing the lace edgings with his fingertips, running his hands over the cloth. It felt as fine as a butterfly's wing.

  God, he thought, he was getting to be a regular poet.

  It took a long time to pick out which gown he wanted the bitch to wear when he took her, but he finally chose a little thigh-length number the same pink color as cotton candy, with ivory trim. Hedraped it over the back of a chair for later.

  Then, very neatly, taking his time, he refolded all the other garments and put them back in place. After that, he went back downstairs, found a roll of duct tape, scissors, and fresh batteries for the flashlight, all in the same junk drawer he'd raided before.

  Finally Billy Lasser stretched out on Kristina Bitch Holbrook's satin bedspread, hands cupped behind his head, booted feet crossed at the ankles, and waited for her to come home. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of sweet, sweet revenge.

  Max and Kristina spent the whole night making love. Their couplings were poignant, frantic, even greedy, for both of them believed that this would, indeed, be their last night together.

  In the morning they awakened to find that the snow had stopped. According to the weatherman on TV, the pass was clear again, and traffic was moving at a steady rate in both directions.

  Resigned, Kristina and Max showered, had breakfast in the lodge's restaurant, and set out for Seattle. Max was already running late, and although he'd called the school office from the cell phone that morning to explain his absence, he was anxious to get to work.

  Or did he just want to get away from Kristina?

  They stopped at her house first, of course, and Max walked her to the door, waiting while she let herself in. The pain in his eyes was so intense, such a clear reflection of what she herself felt, that Kristina could barely look at him.

  "Do you want me to come inside and have a look around?" he asked.

  Kristina's heart might have been in agony, but her brain was numb. She shook her head. "It's okay," she murmured.

  Max touched her cheek with the backs of curled fingers. "Shall I call later?"

  "It would be better if you didn't," she answered.

  He nodded, leaned forward to kiss her forehead briefly, then turned and walked away. Kristina watched him until he'd gotten into the Blazer and driven off, longing to run after him, convince him that somehow everything could be all right. But that was a lie, and they both knew it.

  Thoroughly weary, Kristina went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. It was a paradoxical thing to do, considering how badly she needed sleep, but nothing about Kristina's life made much sense at that moment. She was too soul-weary to sort things out in any reasonable fashion.

  If she slept, she would dream. If she stayed awake, she would think of nothing but Max, and how she'd lost him forever.

  She couldn't win.

  She dialed Daisy's number at home and got the new Brazilian nanny. Ms. Chandler, the woman told her pleasantly, was on a case at the moment, but Kristina's message would be relayed.

  Kristina sighed and hung up, feeling utterly alone.

  It was only when she'd poured her coffee and climbed the stairs that she realized she was not alone. There was a faint, strange scent in the air, something dangerous. And things seemed disturbed, out of place, though this last was strictly a subjective matter, a fact discerned in her gut rather than her head.

  She paused, almost on the threshold of her room, the hairs on her nape standing upright. Some of the coffee splashed over her hand, burning her, but she barely noticed the resultant sting.

  Her visitor could not be Benecia or Canaan—they were vampires and thus asleep in their lairs. Dathan, though fully capable of being abroad in the daylight, liked to make flamboyant entrances, a la Valerian.

  Who, then… ?

  Kristina closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed hard.

  Of course. It was only her housekeeper, Mrs. Prine, back at last from her vacation.

  Kristina stepped into her room and stood frozen in place, staring into the grinning face of the young man she had turned into a doorstop months before. He was lying on her bed, cleaning his fingernails with the point of her antique letter opener.

  He gestured toward the chair, and she saw one of her silk nightgowns there, laid out for her. A shiver went down her spine.

  "Put that on, baby," he said. "Billy-boy wants to see you in it."

  Kristina's response was two words long and most unladylike.

  "That's kinda what I had in mind," Billy answered, sitting up. She'd have to burn her white satin bedspread after he'd lain on it, with his filthy clothes and greasy hair. "Only it ain't gonna be good for you, honey. Just me."

  "No," Kristina said flatly. If her life was to end in this room, at the hands of this awful man, that was that. But she wasn't about to cooperate in any way, and she would die fighting.

  "Come here," he said.

  She did, but only to fling the scalding hot coffee into his face.

  Billy was screaming in fury and pain when she turned, an instant after the deed, and bolted for the rear stairway.

  She was halfway across the family room, headed for the side door that led out onto the deck, when he caught up to her, grasping a handful of her hair and wrenching her back against him. Bile rushed into her mouth, and the pain in her scalp was blinding.

  Billy intensified it by giving her a little shake. She caught her breath; nearly fainted.

  "Let me go," Kristina said, forcing herself to speak calmly, "or I'll turn you into a toad."

  Billy laughed. "I figure you would have done something like that already, if you could. What's the matter, little witchy-bitch? Have you lost your magic somewhere?"

  Tears of fury and frustration filled Kristina's eyes. She didn't want to become the warlock's bride, but neither did she want to die.

  Dathan, she thought desperately. Help me.

  Billy tightened his hold on her hair, nearly pulling it out by the roots. "Answer me," he said.

  Kristina spat another ungracious invective and tried to stomp on his instep.

  He hurled her back toward the stairway, and she landed on the steps, bumping one shoulder hard. "I've got plans for you," Billy said with a leer that made her stomach roll again. She hated being so defenseless, and yet she was glad she'd turned down Max's offer to check the house for her before he left. Max was much bigger and stronger than Billy, not to mention brighter, but the little creep might have gotten the jump on him somehow. There was no question in Kristina's mind that Billy was armed.

  She gave him a look of contempt and got to her feet slowly, using the wall for support. She was breathless with fear, on the verge of vomiting, but she wasn't going to let this little weasel know it.

  "I'm afraid
you're just going to have to cancel your plans," she said.

  He produced a .38-caliber pistol from the waistband at the back of his jeans. Kristina recognized the weapon from the night he'd tried to rob her shop and wished she'd made him eat it. The idea had occurred to her at the time, but she'd dismissed it as gauche.

  "No, ma'am," Billy answered, brandishing the .38. "We've got business to attend to. It's going to hurt, it's going to take a long time, and face it, baby doll, it's going to happen." He was standing by then, with his back to the window over the kitchen sink, leaning indolently against the counter. "First, you're going to take off all your clothes, then I'm going to look at you for a while. Have a little fun, maybe. Then you're going to put on that silky thing—''

  Kristina's gaze was caught by something at the window—a flash of white—and then suddenly the glass splintered in a thousand directions, and Barabbas came through the chasm, all sleek, glorious, snarling wolf. Billy shrieked as the animal landed on him from behind, catching him by the nape and shaking him as though he were no heavier than a rat.

  Wide-eyed, both paralyzed and speechless with shock, Kristina simply stood there, unable to believe what she was seeing.

  There was blood and glass everywhere, and after an indeterminate length of time, Billy stopped screaming. Barabbas flung him aside and trotted over to Kristina, as docile as a lapdog, nuzzling her thigh with a bloody muzzle.

  Sobbing, she dropped to her knees and flung both arms around Barabbas, burying her face in his lush fur. Billy lay still a little distance away, and Kristina knew without touching him that he was dead. She clung to the wolf, who sat patiently, and waited.

  Kristina knew she should call the police, but she couldn't move, and her mind was doing peculiar things. One moment she would be cognizant, then she'd drift off into a dream. The hands of the clock over the stove had advanced significantly every time she looked at them, and finally the quality of the light began to change and soften. Gold became lavender, and then charcoal, then black. A cold wind blew in through the broken window over the sink, bringing flakes of snow with it.

  That was how Valerian found them when he arrived only moments after sunset, woman, wolf, and dead man.

  Muttering an expletive, Valerian rushed to Kristina and drew her into his arms. "What happened?" he demanded, and Kristina felt him trembling.

  "The—the brass monkey—'' she managed to grind out. "He was here—Barabbas broke the window—I think he's dead."

  Valerian carried Kristina into the family room as tenderly as if she were a fragile child and laid her on the sofa. After covering her with his cloak, he rummaged through the liquor cabinet until he found a bottle of Grand Marnier. After pouring her a double dose and ordering her to drink it immediately, the vampire returned to the kitchen.

  She heard him speak softly to the wolf, but Valerian spared no word for the man whose blood covered the floor and cabinets.

  "He's dead all right," he said flatly upon returning to the family room.

  Barabbas followed, and Kristina noticed that the blood that had stained his coat and muzzle was gone. No doubt the kitchen had been Valerianized as well; the body had probably vanished already, along with all traces of the killing. This was not a matter any of them would want to explain to the police.

  "Please don't say 'I told you so,' " Kristina whispered, recalling how many times Valerian had warned her to use her magic with caution.

  He smiled and drew up a chair. "I won't. Not until you're over the worst of it, anyway."

  "Did you—is he—?"

  "Yes, darling," Valerian said gently. "He's gone. And this time it will be forever."

  Kristina was almost sick with relief. She held out a hand to Barabbas, and he came to her, licking her fingers affectionately. "Thank you, my friend," she told the animal. "I don't know how you knew I needed you, but your timing couldn't have been better."

  Barabbas made a whimpering sound and sank to his haunches.

  "And thank you," she added, turning her gaze to Valerian.

  He blew her a kiss. "Don't mention it. By the way, the Dimity-Gideon crisis has been resolved somewhat."

  Sipping her Grand Marnier, Kristina was beginning to feel calmer. "Really? How?"

  "I'll leave that tale for your mother to tell, since it was mostly her doing. She'll be along shortly, I should guess. By now she's probably sensed that you've had a near miss and are something the worse for wear." He glanced at his watch, another affectation, or perhaps just a habit since, like all vampires, he always knew the time. "I must feed," he said. "Unless you need me to hold your hand until Maeve arrives, I'll send Barabbas home and take my leave."

  "I'll be all right," Kristina said, and she knew it was true, despite all her problems.

  Valerian vanished, after planting a light kiss on the top of her head, without reclaiming his cloak. He hadn't been gone more than a moment when the telephone rang.

  Kristina reached for the receiver of the cordless phone, which was lying on the lamp table at the end of the couch. "Hello?"

  "Kristina?" The voice on the other end of the line was Max's, and even though he'd only spoken a single word, her name, she knew he was in a terrible state. "Oh, God, Kristina—I need your help. Bree and Eliette are missing!"

  * * *

  CHAPTER 19

  « ^ »

  Max's children were gone.

  Kristina's personal ordeal was forgotten in the face of all that might mean. "What happened?" she whispered into the receiver, one hand raised to her throat. She held her breath, waiting for the answer, and could see Max shove a hand through his hair as clearly as if she'd been standing in the same room with him.

  "I picked them up from my parents' house after work," he said evenly. Kristina knew what a supreme effort it was for him to remain calm. "They were playing in their room. I phoned for a pizza, and when it was delivered, I called to the kids to come down to supper. They didn't, so I went up to look for them. They were gone—nowhere in the house."

  Kristina closed her eyes, agonized. "Have you called the police?"

  "Of course," Max answered. He couldn't be faulted for snapping a bit; he must have been frantic with fear. Kristina certainly was, and Bree and Eliette weren't even her children. "They're sending somebody over," he finished, less abruptly.

  "What did they say on the phone—the police, I mean?"

  Max let out a long sigh, and in it Kristina heard frustration as well as terror. "That the girls are probably at a neighbor's house or hiding somewhere. They asked if I was divorced—I guess the non-custodial parent is usually the culprit."'

  Kristina bit her lower lip. She felt a fluttering motion at her side and was relieved to see Dathan standing there, his brow furrowed as he eavesdropped.

  "I'll do whatever I can to help, Max. This is my fault."

  "We can argue about whose fault it is later," he replied. "Just get over here, please—if I don't find my kids, I don't know what I'll do."

  "I'm going to find Bree and Eliette," Kristina answered, meeting the warlock's steady gaze.

  "But your magic—"

  "I have somebody to help me," she said gently. "We'll resolve this as soon as we can, Max—I promise. Just try not to panic."

  Without speaking a word, Dathan took Kristina's free hand while she hung up the receiver with the other.

  "Benecia and Canaan, I think," Kristina said, answering Dathan's unasked question. "God, I hope it's not already too late!"

  Dathan tightened his hold on Kristina, and together they vanished.

  Kristina was breathless when, only moments later, they reassembled.

  She had expected a cavern far beneath the earth, like the one in the stories Valerian and Maeve had told her about the Brotherhood, the lost forefathers of all vampires. Or the inside of some elaborate tomb. Instead they were in a sunlit garden next to a cottage with a thatched roof and painted wooden shutters.

  Kristina glanced nervously at her future mate, confused. "Benecia and
Canaan are here? But the light—"

  "An illusion, all of it," the warlock said. "And quite probably a trap."

  Benecia appeared in the open doorway of the charming cottage, a beatific smile on her face. "So," she chimed, "you've come at last." She was looking at Dathan, not Kristina, who might have been invisible for all the notice the vampire gave her.

  "Yes," he replied, his tone absolutely expressionless. "Where are the Kilcarragh children?"

  Benecia gestured. "They're inside. We're having a tea party. Do come in and join us."

  Kristina started toward the door, desperate to reach Bree and Eliette, gather them in her arms, protect and reassure them. Dathan stopped her by extending an arm, and though he said nothing, the sidelong glance he gave her was a stern one.

  He bowed at the waist—this grand gesture was, of course, directed at Benecia—and then walked toward the fairy-tale house and his hideous little hostess.

  "You've certainly taken your time to come courting," Benecia said, pouting prettily. "Canaan said nothing would entice you, but I knew she was wrong."

  "You must allow me to serve the tea in order to make up for being remiss," Dathan said smoothly. His smile and manner were charming now; he would have made a fine actor.

  Benecia's cornflower gaze found and acknowledged Kristina at last and lingered maliciously. "Why is she here?"

  "She wants the Kilcarragh children," Dathan answered, standing close to the small vampire now, casting back a warning glance at Kristina. "That is the bargain, isn't it, my sweet? I take you to wife, and you give us the little girls, unharmed."

  "How do I know you'll keep your word?"

  "You don't. That is one of the perils of entering into an affair of the heart." He took her doll-like hand, bent, and kissed the knuckles. "No more arguments, my darling. We shall drink a toast to our future together." With an elegant motion of one wrist, he conjured a golden goblet, probably medieval, studded with emeralds and rubies, diamonds and amethysts. It glittered in the false sunlight.

  Kristina did not want to obey Dathan's unspoken edict that she stay where she was; every instinct compelled her to storm the bastions, to collect Bree and Eliette, to see for herself that they were all right.