Night is Magic: A Vampire Romance (Hearts of Dagon Book 1)

by Alix Adale

  His dear, sweet Dez. He crushed against his body. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  Her sob startled him. “I had to see you one last time.”

  She should be happy, not sad. Worry overshadowed the joy of reunion. “What do you mean? I’m free—you’re free. We’re together.”

  Sobs racked her body. “Come downstairs, let’s make the most of our final moments. We have an hour, then it’s done.”

  He followed her deeper into the tomb. Behind a false drainage pipe, a long ladder led deep into the bowels of the earth. He stopped her before she began her descent. “What do you mean done, Dez? Tell me!”

  She shut her eyes. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s the only way.”

  Chapter 15: Eros & Thanatos

  Desiree

  Falling in love. Being in love. Making love. She could scratch those items off her bucket list. That was almost funny. Almost. No, be honest. It wasn’t a laughing matter at all, but looking at it any other way proved too raw, too overwhelming. She reached the bottom of the ladder and dropped. Her sandals slapped the stone tiles.

  Through some horrible combination of bad luck, her own abysmal decision-making, and the malevolence of others, the one man who ever loved her would now undergo magical amnesia and forget she ever existed. What a way to break up with someone. Classy. She should be writing a romance advice column.

  But there was literally no other alternative. No way would she let her clan send him to prison. She was not going to take him as a blood-thrall and eke the life from him, year by year, leaving him a shadow of his former self.

  So turn him. Wait, what? Where did that idea come from? For a second, it sounded appealing. But no, no. It was unthinkable. No doubt he’d leap at the suggestion, in his eagerness and naïveté, but he knew nothing about the Underworld. It would be beyond selfish to turn him. Think about what Armando had done to her. She had no right to do that to him or anyone else. Mabon’s Enthralling Eye was the only way, and better Mabon than the Queen. Mabon struck her as reliable and in control of his emotions, devoted to his duties. The Queen, not so much.

  No matter. She avoided Xerk’s eye as she led him by the hand through the underground lair. The others, for the time being, remained aboveground, giving them privacy. Armando, however, would want to change out of his filthy clothes before long. And Mabon was on his way—an hour, more or less.

  Xerk’s head swiveled, taking in the posh, subterranean surroundings. Mud and dirty pond water soaked his filthy jeans and leather jacket. Blood caked his basketball jersey. The stray cowlick on the left aside hung out of place.

  With a lick of her finger, she pushed it back.

  His hand squeezed her fingers. “This is better than that old pipe in Springwater Corridor, huh?”

  Oh, god. Yes. So good to hear him laugh. “And the shack in Respect Village.”

  “Yeah, but we had fun.” Needful, his fingers squeezed hers, worry putting a quaver in his voice. “Dez, what’s going on?”

  Had they only been together a couple days? It felt like a lifetime. Her chest tightened as she faced him. “There was a condition—a bargain, if you will. For your release.”

  “What? It can’t be that bad. Tell me.”

  “You have to forget everything about the Underworld. Even about … me.”

  “Impossible!” He threw back his head, roaring with laughter—but she picked up on the edge of tension in his voice. “I will never forget you, Dez. Never.”

  This wasn’t working. Maybe Colin should talk to him instead… No—no. These were her problems, her mistakes, and it was time for her to own them, to stop letting others manage her world while she malingered in her tomb. Her voice cracked. “Babe, there are supernatural means of altering memories.”

  Understanding flashed across his face, followed by revulsion, a twisting away. “That bald guy with the silver eyes! Agent Gideon, the one who tried to get me to confess to murder?”

  Yikes. “That’s him, yeah.”

  “And we’re going along with this—why?”

  “Would you rather go to prison? It’s the best I can do!”

  “These assholes!” Anger flashed across his face and he spun, punching the nearest wall. Human fist hit solid granite.

  Oh, not a good idea. She winced in sympathy as he bent over, clutching his hand and squealing. “Xerxes, be careful! Let me see it.”

  He pulled away. “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you think? You don’t want me!”

  “I told you! I love you, but I have to save you! Your life is important.”

  “Running away is not love, Dez!”

  The ladder-rungs squeaked as more figures descended. They were George and Colin, drawn by the raised voices. Worry showed over Colin’s face while George rolled his shoulders and cracked his back, something he did before stepping into the training ring—or getting into a fight.

  “Is there a problem?” Colin asked.

  Huge, huge problem. But she couldn’t blame Xerxes for overreacting. “He won’t listen.”

  Colin took her forearm. “Come with me. Give him a moment, let him work it out.”

  She let Colin lead her away through the complex, away from Xerxes. George, however, remained, keeping an eye on their guest. That wasn’t surprising.

  Her head spun this way and that. Rush back into his arms, hug him, enjoy this last hour together—part of her said that. The other part said stay the course, hope reason would win him over. It needed to sink in that this was the only thing they could do.

  They ended up in the kitchenette. Colin opened it and took out a strawberry blood milkshake from the fridge, complete with a straw. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She sipped. “Are we doing the right thing?”

  “Oh, aye. Surely, lass…”

  “Yes,” said a sharper voice. Armando joined them, still dripping wet from his dunk in the funerary pond. “It’s right. We are not wavering. Bradens keep their bargains. We are true to our word.”

  The fight had wrecked his 19th century attire, if not his pride. That had been something to see. Watching her big guy charge Armando like that, tackling him without fear—the words did not come out how proud it made her. Xerxes, fighting for her! He was so brave and beautiful that she wanted to call the whole thing off. She wanted to beg Armando—implore him—to help her and Xerxes run away, escape the Kingdom of Dagon, run off to Paris or Australia or somewhere else the clan maintained connections.

  That would only delay the inevitable. Running was as bad as the other options, a short-term fix only. Living underground, pursued by vampire hunters, forced to scrounge for blood from animals, from stray humans … Xerxes deserved better. He deserved a life, a human life: his dream job in the fire station, kids that would play Little League and make the honor roll, a spouse who wouldn’t turn to dust in the middle of the day—or slurp a neighbor’s blood off the pavement.

  Their relationship was dead and buried. At least the hardest part was over with. Xerxes knew the truth and what needed to happen for his own good. She squeezed her fists, facing Armando. “I’m not wavering. We’re doing the right thing.”

  He kissed her forehead, chaste yet unexpected. “Good. Time for me to change and shower. I have much to do. And Dez?”

  Now what? Gulp. “Yeah?”

  “I expect you at solstice, as well. That gown is becoming, but it’s besmirched with mud from hugging that fireman.”

  This guy! What made him so impossible all the time? “I can’t. No nanorian, remember? No lawn darts for this bloodsucker.”

  “You think I’ve forgotten? I had to stand there and watch the Queen punish two Bradens in front of others, a deep and painful humiliation. No, you will stay down here and watch the festivities on video. But after the sun sets, I expect you to mingle and socialize, make yourself known. Who knows, you might find a charming vampire to take your mind off—what was his name again? Hercules?”

  Damn him! Was he trying to b
e funny? Her arm lashed out. “Xerxes! His name is Xerxes!”

  “Ouch!” Armando rubbed his elbow.

  Colin whistled. “Too soon, mate.”

  Then a shout from the far end of the tomb interrupted. It was George. “Little help!”

  Xerxes had tried to run off into the tunnels. George tackled him and, with Colin’s help, dragged him back into the seating area. Together, they sat him in a chair and got him to calm down. There he sat, face in his palms, slumped over. The two elder Bradens watched him from a wary distance.

  God, the big fool. It took all her self restraint not to rush over and comfort him, but that would only make matters worse. This is not how she wanted their last hour together to go, not at all. She thought they could hug and kiss, maybe even make love one, last time. How sweet that would have been.

  What a naive thought. His passion ran too deep to accept his fate like a passive sheep. How stupid of her, selfish even. She should’ve known. It was like trying to cope with the outside world. Her lack of experience was killing her. She lingered in the periphery of the scene, within the shadow of a column.

  Armando stood beside her, shaking his head. “It’s a pity you can’t see.”

  Maybe Armando should go take his shower. She grew tired of his constant observations. “Can’t see what?”

  “That someone as strong and brave as your fireman would make a fine Braden.”

  “I thought you hated him? You almost punched his head off.”

  “Hate him? Whatever for? He is but a man, nothing more. He attacked me; I defended myself.”

  The strawberry blood milkshake—she’d drunk it too fast. That’s why she was getting a headache. “What are you saying?”

  His elbow prodded her forearm. “Go on, turn him.”

  How could he even suggest a thing like that, especially after what happened to her? “You want me to turn him?”

  “It’s not what I want, it’s what you want. You’re old enough to take a spawn of your own. We’ll help you restrain him during the feral, newborn phase. Otherwise, it could get messy. If you wish, I will make a formal request to the Queen tonight. He’d make a fine Braden. Strong, loyal. Brave.”

  “Too bad he’s not in a coma. Then you could do it.” She stalked off.

  A quarter of an hour later, she returned to the kitchenette, keeping a wary eye on Xerxes at the far end of the room. He still sat, head bent, guarded by Colin and George.

  A ruckus of stone scraping stone overhead signaled a visitor. Every neck strained upward toward the high, vaulted ceiling to see.

  Mabon descended the ladder into the visitation tomb, carrying a black valise that matched his faux government attire. Pocketing his sunglasses, he surveyed the room. “Are we ready?”

  Armando emerged from his alcove, scrubbed and redressed. “We are ready.”

  Ready or not, time to get this over with. She followed them to the far end of the tomb. They ringed the seated figure of Xerxes. Her lover kept his head bent and face buried in his large, strong hands.

  Ex-lover, now, to be honest. The whole scene gave her the creeps, having the air of an execution. But it wasn’t that, only the death of their relationship, a sacrifice yes—but necessary. She clung to that.

  Mabon pocketed his sunglasses and flashed a cruel smile. “Last chance, Desiree. Blood thralldom? Turning?”

  Dammit, did everyone have to keep goading her? She couldn’t even look at Xerxes. Her voice came out a husky whisper. “Do what you need to do.”

  At the sound of her voice, Xerk’s head shot up. The anguish across his face burned so real, it twisted his features into something gruesome. “Why? Why are you doing this to me, Dez?”

  “I told you!” Her chest tightened. She rushed forward, dropping to her knees and seizing his hands. “Please, trust me!”

  “Trust you? I trusted you with my life—you reward me with death!”

  “It’s not death.”

  “It’s the death of our love. I never want to be apart. Please.”

  It was impossible to look at him, now. She pressed her face against his knees. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I love you, Xerxes. I always will. Goodbye.”

  “No, you don’t love me. This isn’t love.”

  The pain in his voice cut like a knife, punching through her sternum. She raised her head. “Don’t go away mad.”

  “If you’re going to throw this away—if I’m not good enough for you—then wipe my mind. I don’t want to remember you. I never want to see you again.”

  Her voice quavered. She leaned in. “Please, kiss me one last time. Kiss me goodbye.”

  “No. Stop pretending, you monster. You don’t care.”

  A mighty hand from the netherworld reached into her chest and shattered her happiness. That’s what it felt like, anyway. She leaped to her feet, unable to speak. When Armando grabbed her arm in passing, she blew right by him. Her vision blurred red and she fled to her alcove. A few minutes later, when Mabon started chanting, she covered her head with a pillow, muffling the sound.

  The Enthralling Eye was the right thing to do. Nothing else made sense. But in that instant, it felt like a crime against the world.

  “We appreciate the help, Mabon.” That was Armando. Their voices carried from the outer chamber into her alcove, resounding on the marble. Good acoustics in these Eibon tombs. Nice work, fellows.

  “Don’t mention it,” said Mabon. “I’ll see myself out. Can one of you take him home? We’ve got so many guests coming in for the solstice, all the cars are out. It’s a busy day.”

  “We’ll take it from here.” That was Colin. “I’ll run him home myself, make sure he gets into his apartment. You know where you live, right big guy?”

  “Yeah. I got a studio over on Vernal Lane in Overlook.” And that was Xerxes. He sounded—normal. Chipper. As if he had no idea what had just happened to him. Which he didn’t.

  The agony proved unbearable. Mabon’s instructions commanded him to forget everything that had happened, to move down to Vallejo with his mother, to never return. In a moment, Xerxes would walk out of her life forever.

  She dashed out into the main chamber, joining the group at the base of the ladder. Mabon had already ascended through the portal in the ceiling.

  Xerxes saw her and gave a friendly, boyish smile. That was it. Not a flicker of recognition showed in his eyes, not a hint of remembrance of the last couple days. Not a trace remained of secrets shared, dangers faced, or the love they’d made. He put his big hands on the lower rungs, addressing the group. “Thanks for showing me your museum, guys.”

  “No problem, lad.” Colin clapped him on the back. “Firemen always get the nickel tour. Up you go, then.”

  That must be some sketchy cover story they fed him. Museum, be real. This place was a crypt, a tomb, no place for humans.

  Xerxes ascended, Colin following a rung or two behind. In a moment, the two men climbed through the portal and into the aboveground mausoleum.

  The love of her life vanished. She sunk onto a divan. “I want to die.”

  Armando hovered around her, but, instead of the expected tongue-lashing, he took a gentle tone. “Death does not become you, Desiree. Life is what we battle for every day, we who are already dead.”

  His words ran like water, flowing by. She slumped deeper into the couch. “Dead people battling for life, wow, great oxymoron. You should found, like, the Dead Poet’s Society.”

  Armando’s eyes flashed, and he stalked off into the mausoleum, toward his alcove. Only George remained.

  She looked up into his grizzled face, his hard eyes. “Go on, say something sketchy.”

  He removed his cigar and grinned. Then he pulled a small, white square out of his pocket and tossed it at her. “Nothing to say, ‘cept hang on to this.”

  She snatched it out of midair. It was a piece of notepaper, folded over several times. “What is it?”

  “A note from your lover boy.”

  Could it be? She started unfold
ing it. “From Xerxes?”

  George bit his cigar. “Yeah, but don’t read it yet.”

  “Huh? Then when?”

  “You’ll know when the time is right.” He ambled off.

  A note from Xerxes! What did it say? She wanted to read it, more than anything, she wanted to read it. But maybe George was right. Better wait. She clenched the paper and retreated to her alcove. It was hours until the solstice. She could not sleep, but she could draw.

  Part IV: The Night is Magic

  Detective Zenkowski relaxed at his desk, checking his phone. There was a new message from Suzanna, his eHarmony gal. She enjoyed Wonder Woman and loved his morbid anecdotes about work. Did he want to meet for coffee later in the week? He was typing a reply when the door opened.

  Agent Gideon walked in clutching a thick file folder. The bandage was gone but his nose still showed bruising.

  “Gideon. I thought the Feds reassigned you?”

  The agent flowed into the chair opposite. “They did. I’m handing the investigation back over to you, along with a fresh lead. It’s a good one.”

  Zen took the folder and spread its contents over the table. Newly enhanced images showed the two female suspects near the body of Mike Malone. The scene looked clear as day, despite the low light conditions. He sat up straight in his chair. “Where are these photos from? They’re amazing.”

  “I found an undercover anti-terrorism unit operating a stealth drone in the neighborhood that night. We got lucky.”

  Zen nodded. “Wow. So the women are trying to help the guy! They’re bandaging him up.”

  “That’s right,” said Mabon, tapping sunglasses against his chin. “They’re innocent. We tracked them down, a couple of migrant workers. The interviews are in the file, English and Spanish. They tried to help him, got covered in blood, got scared, and ran off. Happens all the time.”

  “So it’s not the missing D’antonio woman.”

  “No. She’s dead, Zen. Accept it. We all have those special cases that haunt us, but let that one go.”