by Lori Devoti
Hit in the head, Randall staggered to the side.
Harry landed back on both feet and pulled a second blade from his boot. Knowing Marie Jean wouldn’t come alone, he had come prepared.
The female vampire circled away from her fledgling, forcing Harry between them. He knew their game, though, and didn’t care. Let Randall take him down. All that mattered was that Harry’s blade taste Marie Jean’s blood at last.
He waited until he heard Randall move, then, head lowered, he rushed forward.
Marie Jean was unprepared. His knife found its target, or close. The blade cut through leather. He smelled blood.
Marie Jean did too. She shrieked and bit down on his arm. He gritted his teeth and thrust with the blade again. Somehow, she turned, and the knife met nothing but air.
Cursing, he spun. Marie Jean slipped from his hold. He slashed out again. His knife cut through muscle, into bone. He pressed forward, blinded by rage but energized by adrenaline.
He had her. Finally. He had her. With his other hand, he slashed down again, and this time his blade found its mark—a heart.
Blood covered Harry’s hand, its heady smell surrounding him, rewarding his dhamphir half as nothing else could.
Smiling, he jerked his blade free. The body fell to the ground in front of him. He stared down, ready to embrace the moment and feel the hollow core inside him finally fill.
Randall’s dead, glazed-over eyes stared back at him.
A car engine roared, warning him to spin. Marie Jean stared at him over the black import’s steering wheel. Determined not to let her escape, Harry jumped onto the hood, but, his hands slick with blood, he couldn’t maintain his hold. He rolled to the side, off of the car, and onto the street.
The car sped away.
His plan had failed, and Marie Jean was out of his reach again.
Chapter Ten
Marie Jean
1835
St. Louis, Missouri
As the driver reined the carriage horses to the side of the road, Marie Jean fluffed her skirt and waited.
After only a moment, the door to the carriage opened, and Henry climbed inside. He was pale and his suit stained.
Marie Jean pursed her lips and scowled. “You have been absent too long.”
Henry reached a gloved hand toward her, but she hid her fingers under her muff.
His gaze falling, he lowered his body onto the seat across from her and dug something out of his pocket. His fingers closed over whatever he held, he said, “I thought you had heard.”
“Of the whelp?” Marie Jean turned her attention to the scene outside the carriage window. Henry’s home was out of the city, on a bluff overlooking the Meramec River. In the summer, tourists rode down on trains to frolic, but in the winter, no one without cause visited. Yet Henry chose to call the area home.
“A boy, born yesterday.”
She turned to stare at him. “Has he fangs?”
Henry’s eyes widened. “No!”
She shrugged. “Then perhaps he isn’t yours.” She had heard that vampire males could father a child after their turn, but she had never encountered such a happening herself.
“He has no teeth at all. He is but a babe.”
“A babe who will grow up to kill you.” If the child truly was Henry’s and the stories of such half-breeds were true. “You should rid yourself of him first.” She couldn’t risk losing Henry. He had done little enough to help with her plan, but he was loyal, and he was hers.
“He is a babe!” Henry’s horrified expression told her he had yet to embrace the favor she had given him.
“He is a dhamphir. Do you know nothing? They grow into monsters who hunt and kill their fathers.”
“As you hunt your family?”
Henry’s voice was low but the words impossible to miss—or ignore. Marie Jean closed her eyes to hide the anger that rippled through her—not at the question but the gall to ask it, to question her at all. When she was sure her true feelings were no longer visible on her face or in her eyes, she opened them. “I…you know why I have done what I’ve done. You know I take no pride or pleasure in my acts.” She turned her face away again, this time with a sob.
“I know… I’m sorry.” Henry fell to his knees on the floor beside her; again he reached out one hand. The other he kept closed and pressed against his thigh.
This time she allowed him to take her trembling fingers into his grasp. “They are the monsters. They are the ones that must be stopped.”
She bit her lip and sniffed. “And your son, if the stories are true, will be the same. He will grow to adulthood, and he will take you…from me. Would you allow that? Would you leave me alone, again?”
“You know I would not.”
“Then you’ll do it?” Her voice went soft, filled with regret. “You will kill him?”
“I—”
She could see Henry was torn. Over a babe! The idiocy of it was infuriating, but railing on him would get her nowhere.
Finally, he spoke. “There is more. His mother is dead. She passed moments after his birth. The midwife said he was too large and too determined to find life—he took hers in the process.”
Henry’s wife was dead. Marie Jean had dreaded this day, but at the moment, she had other concerns, other opportunities.
She chose another tack, smoothing her face into sorrow and understanding. “As with all things, it was God’s plan. There is never another explanation.”
His face resolved, Henry nodded.
“But perhaps there is more. Perhaps God has bigger plans for him and for you.”
Hope lit Henry’s face. He glanced down at the fisted hand resting on his thigh. Slowly, he opened his fingers. A tiny cross shone silver against the dark leather glove. “It was hers,” he murmured.
Marie Jean bit her lip, her annoyance with him almost too great to keep silent. A vampire, damned to hell, and he still held out hope and faith in his god. Held the uncaring deity’s symbol in his gloved hand!
Fool!
She sucked in a breath to calm herself. “Vampires fathering babies is rare as snow in August, but this babe is yours. He is a miracle, Henry, sent to save you and me from fates not of our choosing. He’s already taken his mother—one of the bonds that kept us from being together, being free, but that can’t be all God has planned for him.”
“No. You are right. There must be more.”
She laid her free hand on top of Henry’s and stroked his skin. “I have worked to stop the horror flowing through my own family line, and for that God has given me a reward.” She shifted her gaze again, staring unfocused out the window. “Horrible as it seems, blood from my own makes me stronger. I hate what I have to do, hate every moment leading up and leaving—but God knows my mission, and he gives me this gift—makes me strong so I can carry on.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Soon, I may even be strong enough to break away. To leave Rodrigue.”
“You would leave him?” Henry clutched at her hand. His fingers felt fat and heavy. She wanted to shake them off but knew she couldn’t.
“If I could. If I was strong enough and had someone strong beside me. Your wife is gone. God took her, and he gave you her killer. Don’t throw his gift away.”
Hope, stupid and blind, shone from Henry’s eyes, but then reality and his own misplaced morals returned. “But he is a babe.”
A babe who would grow up, but Marie Jean had already made that argument. She would have to let it rest for today or risk losing Henry completely.
“He will grow, and as he does, you will see what is right.”
He hesitated, his gaze again dropping to the cross.
She waited, suppressing the urge to scream what was truly in her mind.
Finally, he slipped the cross back into his pocket and looked up. “And until then?”
She smiled. “Until then, we wait.”
o0o
After disposing of Randall’s body, Harry cleaned up in his office. He had the tools the
re not only to remove the blood from his clothing and skin, but also to purge the dark emotions left behind by his failure.
Bottle of scotch resealed and placed behind the bar where Brett would expect to find it, he left the bar and went upstairs to check on Lindsey.
A knock on her door brought no response. His hand pressed against the wood, he felt for her presence. Nothing. No heartbeat. No life.
His mouth like cotton and his stomach hardening to a brick, he took a step back. He’d sent Brett off with her, armed with the talisman to get him past the building’s wards. Lindsey should be tucked into her bed now, sleeping off the drug Harry had injected into her neck.
But she wasn’t.
Had Marie Jean been forewarned? Faced him down herself, sacrificed her most valued fledgling, while another ambushed Brett and stole Lindsey away?
He touched the cross that dangled from his wrist to assure himself of what he already knew. The charm was calm. Wherever Lindsey was, assuming she still wore her cross, she was calm too.
He turned on his heel and strode down the stairs.
Lindsey was safe but missing. As, he suspected, was Brett.
Brett, his best friend and most self-righteous critic.
o0o
He found his friend, the traitor, sitting in the café that called the apartment building’s main floor home.
The place was dark and practically empty. Only one table was occupied, by a man with his back to the door. Harry couldn’t see his face, but he could sense what the man was—a vampire—and he recognized the false comfort with which this particular vampire slumped down in his chair.
Every muscle in Harry’s body contracted, and his nostrils flared. His fingers twitching with the desire to form a fist, he walked slowly, lightly forward.
A chair slid out in greeting, pushed by a Red Wing-clad boot.
“Where is she?” Harry asked without taking the seat.
Brett looked up from his beer mug. “I could ask who, but that would be pointless, wouldn’t it?”
“Very.”
Brett took a sip and stared over the top of the mug at some point beyond them. “Did you kill her?”
A different her, but Harry knew well enough to whom Brett was referring. “You know I didn’t.” Marie Jean’s death would have been too huge. Every vampire within a 300 mile radius would have felt the ripples as her cursed soul left her body.
Brett shrugged. “I figured, but I felt something. I thought perhaps sweet Marie Jean wasn’t as powerful as we’d built her up to be.”
“Randall. I thought he was Marie Jean. I was wrong.”
Brett held his gaze for a moment. Then he picked up his beer. “Oh. That explains it, I guess.”
Harry waited to see if his friend would have any other comments. Good or bad, Brett had known Randall a long time, longer than he had known Harry. And while Harry knew the two vampires were no longer friends, he hadn’t known how the news of Randall’s death would hit Brett.
If the bartender felt any regret for Randall’s passing, he hid it well. He set his mug down and returned to what Harry knew was truly on his mind. “You sent Lindsey out with no protection except that cross around her neck and a couple of sips of whoever’s blood you’ve been feeding her.”
“My father’s,” Harry replied. His father’s blood, on his hands and in his keeping. It was finally serving some good—or so Harry had hoped.
Brett tapped one finger against his mug. “That was my guess, and a smart move, since he was made by Marie Jean. Or maybe it wasn’t. Did you consider that it would make Lindsey more susceptible to Marie Jean’s will?” There was an edge of anger in Brett’s voice that he either couldn’t or didn’t bother to hide.
Harry stared his friend down. He’d known the risks, but he’d also known what was at stake. Hopefully, giving Lindsey a few vampire abilities justified the decision.
Reading Harry’s face, Brett replied, “Always the gambler, aren’t you? At least where getting your revenge is concerned.”
Harry turned his attention to the café wall where a collection of baseball images and objects were displayed. “Where is she?”
Brett had been instructed to take Lindsey to her apartment and stay with her until Harry returned.
“She’s safe. I just didn’t feel like playing babysitter for your crimes.”
Harry started to object. Eliminating Marie Jean wasn’t a crime. It was a service, to everyone, but especially to Lindsey, her next intended victim. He quickly realized, though, that Brett was referring to his plans to kill Marie Jean; he was referring to using Lindsey in them.
Brett watched him, waiting for his words to soak in. “Innocence should be protected, not used.” He laughed without humor. “A lesson my blessed parents learned all too late—for them.”
Harry opened and closed his fists. He didn’t want to think about what his friend’s words meant, didn’t want to feel sympathy for him right now, not that Brett had or ever would accept such a thing from Harry.
“Are you threatening me?” he asked after a moment.
Brett raised a brow. “Would I do that?”
Harry stared at him, completely unsure of the answer. They sat in silence so thick Harry could feel it weighing on his shoulders. Finally, he took a breath. “You made your point,” he said.
“Have I?” Brett wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I doubt it. I sincerely do.”
“You have. Where is she?”
“Are you going to send her away?”
Harry shook his head. “You know it’s too late for that. Marie Jean knows Lindsey is alive. If she doesn’t find and kill her this May Day, she will the next.” Saying the words out loud made them real, made Harry realize how true they were—how right his friend was. Harry was committed, and so, unfortunately for her, was Lindsey.
“Or the next. Or find her children and kill them. Beauty of being a vampire, you never have to desert a plan.” Brett held up his mug in a false salute. “So what will you do?”
“It’s not your concern.” Harry kept his face impassive, hiding his doubts from his friend.
“But it is, seeing as how I have Lindsey and you don’t.”
Harry’s hands balled, and the anger returned. He didn’t answer to others, he never had, and he never—
“You want your bait, I suggest you rethink whatever it is you are about to say,” Brett murmured. His words were low and filled with warning.
“I will do everything within my power to keep Lindsey safe.”
Brett set his mug down. “Not good enough. She needs more.”
“More? What?”
“Education.”
“You want me to tell her her ‘cousin’ is a vampire who wants to destroy her?”
“She’s going to find out—one way or another.”
Harry’s lips thinned. He had never revealed the truth of what he was, or of the world he lived in, to any human, and as far as he knew, neither had any vampire.
“If I do, and she tells others, the bar will cease to exist.” No vampire would step in the place again. Harry didn’t think much about his future, past killing Marie Jean, but if he had, it would include his bar. It was all he had.
“Sucks to be you.” Brett slid his mug back and forth over the tabletop.
“It would affect you too, and what good would it do? Even if I could convince her that her cousin wasn’t really a cousin at all but was instead a centuries-old bloodsucking demon, how would that provide her with protection?”
“She wouldn’t trust Marie Jean, and she would know. She has a right to know.”
“She won’t believe me. Any trust she has in me would be lost. It might even send her running to her ‘cousin.’”
Brett straightened his arms in front of him, pushing his body back from the table and tilting his chair on two legs. “You have to do something else to protect her. If you don’t, I might as well just kill her myself, or let one of Rodrigue’s vamps. Then at least Marie Jean won’t get h
er and gain the extra power she so desperately wants.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Brett’s jaw jutted to one side. Then he sighed. “No. I won’t.” He seemed disgusted with the admission, as if saying he would take the life of an innocent would have been more honorable. “She’s in your apartment—doors and windows locked.” He reached around his neck and pulled off the talisman that protected against Harry’s wards. “And for future reference, that thing stinks. It was all I could do to stay inside your apartment long enough to tuck Lindsey into bed.”
With that parting shot, he tossed the talisman into the air and strode from the café.
o0o
Cursing Brett, both for the lecture and for taking Lindsey to his apartment—a place Harry had taken care to reveal to very few over the years—Harry reentered the main building.
In the lobby, he walked to the right, to a paneled wall and the elevator hidden behind it. The machinery moved quickly, smoothly, and so silently he knew Lindsey would have no warning of his arrival.
On the second floor, the doors slid open, and he stepped into his home. The walls were adorned with a mix of weaponry and objects thought around the world to hold protective powers. Most had no power at all, and of those that did, few offered protection against vampires, especially vampires of Rodrigue’s or Marie Jean’s rank.
But Harry’s hobby had brought him the knowledge to keep his building warded and his place of living secret from all but Brett.
Until now.
There were no windows in the apartment, and the lights were off, leaving the space as dark as the deepest part of a cave. Harry’s vampire blood gave him better vision than an average human, but even he preferred at least some illumination. Today, however, he opted to leave the lights off and proceeded with as much silence as possible.
As he opened the door to his bedroom, he found Lindsey stretched out on his bed, her hands folded over her chest in imitation of death or, knowing Brett’s dogged need to make a point, a sacrifice. In support of the latter, one of Harry’s blades, an obsidian dagger once used by Aztec priests to feed their gods’ need for blood, lay beside her.