Then the blue depths were overshadowed as the red glow flickered to life again. She forced herself to look away from his eyes, watching the side of his face. He lifted his head to look at her and rolled over onto hands and knees. After trying and failing to push himself to his feet, he began to crawl toward her on hands and knees, making a weird, high, keening moan that finally resolved into words. “The blood. Fresh, hot blood.”
He moved faster than he had last time, but fortunately still not with the uncanny speed he’d shown earlier. She could still dodge him. It made for a bizarre and pathetic situation, though, as he crawled around the floor, trying to get to her, and she ducked one way and the other to avoid letting him get too close.
It felt like it took forever before the craving that held him in thrall began to recede and he dropped back onto the floor beside the big desk, waiting to recover some strength. When he rolled over, the red glow flickered fitfully in his eyes, but it was fading.
After a minute or two of heavy breathing, he said, “Drop a cushion on the floor for me?”
She got one from the loveseat and tossed it to him. He made no attempt to catch it. When it hit the floor beside him, he grabbed it and set it against the side of the desk. Pushing up with his right arm, he managed to wedge the cushion behind him so he could rest his shoulders against it.
“That was bad. Carol… I might not be able to restrain myself next time.”
“You’re so weak now, you can’t catch me.”
He shook his head. “Don’t depend on it. It would only take one good burst of energy. I may still have that in me. Maybe more. Desperation could drive me to more than you might expect.”
“All right. I hear you. I’m keeping my eyes open.”
“Good.” His head lolled back against the pillow as though it took too much energy to keep it upright. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to six.”
“Not much longer. Fill the time for me. Tell me about the family you hope to have some day when you finally meet your fantasy hero.” He barely had strength enough to get the words out. She didn’t know how anyone could look worse and still be alive. Little flesh covered his bones. Hollowed-out cheeks made his face look skeletal and his lids drooped over his eyes as if holding them open took more energy than he had.
Carol shrugged. “I don’t know what there is to tell. I’d like to have a few kids, maybe a couple of boys and a couple of girls. A nice house, a yard with a garden, you know… the standard things. I’m not really very extraordinary, even if I do like science fiction and fantasy stories.”
“I suspect you’re much more unusual than you think,” Michael responded. “Most other women would have already locked themselves in that room upstairs and barricaded the door. Or run back to the car to take their chances there. I think there’s a lot more heroine in you than you realize.”
“I don’t think so. It seems to me adventures are generally more fun to read about than to live. I wouldn’t choose it. But what about you? What did you want from life?”
He shrugged, barely and painfully. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Family. Friends. Success in my job. Thought about maybe going into politics eventually, but I don’t really know.”
“Why politics?”
“I saw so many things that were wrong with the government that I wanted to fix. So many injustices. I thought I might be able to get elected and do something to right them. You think some of the laws we have now are bad. You should have seen what it was like in 1900.”
“And you wanted to— Oh, drat.” She spotted the mist first time this time because it was just a couple of feet from her.
“This is just so sweet,” Antoine said as soon as he’d fully coalesced. “I’m almost in tears.”
“Don’t waste the effort,” Michael told him.
Antoine shook his head. “You’re looking bad, Michael. Seriously bad. Hey, look at me, guy. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
Michael refused to look him in the eye, keeping his gaze focused on Antoine’s chest. “Yes, it does. This is how I want it.”
“It’s almost six. Sunrise in an hour and a half. You really think you can hold on that long? I don’t think so. You’re in bad shape now, mon galant.”
A strained smile crossed Michael’s face. “I’ve held out this long. I can manage another hour and a half.”
Antoine’s eyes narrowed and took on a brilliantly red glow. Carol backed away from him and looked down as he turned toward her. “Even with this succulent invitation standing here, waiting for you to take her, you stubbornly hold out.” He drew a deep breath, let it out on a dramatic sigh and turned toward the other vampire again. “Michael, I’ve underestimated you. It was a mistake. But there’s still time to right it.”
He moved so fast Carol couldn’t follow. She had no time to react. Antoine was beside her before she even realized he wasn’t where he’d been in the previous second. She hadn’t seen him draw out the knife or pick it up, nor did she see what he did, exactly. It happened so quickly, her eyes couldn’t track it.
She only knew he’d injured her when a violent, burning pain raced along her left arm and she glanced down. A long slice began two inches below the elbow and ran down to just above her wrist. He’d cut through her sweater and the skin below. Blood already stained the edges of the blue knit fabric, and as she watched, a thin stream emerged from under the edge of it at her wrist.
Chapter 7
“Shit! What did you do?” Carol screamed, jumping back away from him. “Crap.” She tucked the arm against her body, squeezing hard, and brought the stake up.
Antoine glanced at the stake, an amused look spreading across his features. “Just making it easier for our friend here.”
He glanced back at Michael. “He’s looking very pale and bloodless right now. Can you smell it?” he asked. “Nice, fresh, warm blood.”
He turned back to her. “Don’t you feel sorry for him? You’ve seen him suffer. You can help him get better. Just offer your arm. Give him the blood.”
“What did you do?” Michael surged to his feet, his words sharp and strong. He stared at Carol, eyes widening at the sight of the blood.
“Just prepared a little snack for you,” Antoine said. “She’s not badly damaged. And I left her pretty face alone.”
Quicker than she could blink, Antoine grabbed the hand on the injured arm and pulled it forward, away from her chest. He extended it out toward Michael. “Just a small snack. Enough to get you going again. Then you can go find someone else. Some lowlife that doesn’t deserve to live.”
“Let go of her,” Michael said, the words hissing through clenched teeth.
Antoine dropped her arm. “Of course.” A few drops of her blood smeared the vampire’s hand. He raised it to his face, sniffed and let a blissful smile curve his mouth. “Prime vintage,” he said. “Young, healthy female.” His tongue flicked out and licked at the blood. Eyes closed, he licked again, savoring. “Oh my, yes.”
He made another move, again too quick for her to follow, but Michael could and did.
Faster than she could actually see, Michael was there, pulling Antoine away from her. Michael latched on so hard that the two vampires overbalanced and pitched to the floor together. Michael wrapped his hands around the wrist that held the knife and banged it against the floor until the blade dropped free. Carol grabbed it before the vampire could get hold of it again. She stepped back and dropped the knife into a side drawer of the desk. Meanwhile, Antoine tried to push to his feet, but Michael used his hold to drag him back down again. The two struggled, Michael trying to keep him down, Antoine wriggling to break free.
She had no idea where Michael got the strength to do it and it couldn’t possibly last long, but for the moment he kept control of Antoine. The two rolled around on floor, first one, then the other on top. They smashed into the loveseat, pushing it back into the wall, and an end table. Both it and the lamp on it crashed to the floor.
Their struggle took them
dangerously close to the fire, but then Antoine twisted, nearly escaping from Michael’s hold, and they rolled away from it again. Antoine raised a fist and brought it down toward Michael’s face.
Michael dodged the fist, but he looked weaker. One of his hands slid off Antoine’s arm and the vampire pushed back against him. She had to do something. Michael couldn’t last much longer.
The two moved and rolled until they stopped in a position where Michael could see her, but Antoine faced the other way.
She raised the stake. Michael flicked his eyes in acknowledgement.
She’d only have one shot at this, so she’d better make it good. She had to trust Michael could hold Antoine steady long enough.
Raising her arm to bring the stake up as high as she could, she rushed toward them. At four feet away, she launched herself forward, bringing her arm down at the same time, putting every ounce of her strength behind it as she jammed the stake into Antoine’s back, right over where she hoped his heart was.
It was the most horrible thing she’d ever done. She felt the stake hit bone—a rib she assumed. Ignoring the nasty, crunching feel of it, she jiggled the stake until it slid past and punched deep into the vampire’s torso.
She waited for him to dissolve or go poof the way vampires did on television, but Antoine just froze for several long moments, then gave a small grunt and collapsed onto the floor. He lay still, chest no longer rising and falling with breath.
Carol backed away a step, staring at the still figure, struggling with her own breath. “Is he…dead?”
Michael rolled over to look. “For the time being.”
“’For the…time being’? What does that mean?”
“As long as the stake’s in him.” He let his head sink back down to the floor and his breathing sounded harsh, too rapid and uneven.
She shivered. “Oh. How can we make him dead dead? I mean, like permanently dead?” A small, remote part of her brain reacted with shock that she should even think such a thing.
“Drain him and…let the sun finish him off,” Michael answered. He was careful not to look at her injured arm.
“What does that mean?”
“It won’t be easy, and I don’t think— Hell…another problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Your stake’s in Antoine and we don’t dare take it out.”
“I don’t— Oh. Ideas?”
He shook his head. For a few minutes, while he’d defied Antoine, he’d looked more normal, more like he had earlier when she’d arrived. He seemed even more wasted now, his body and face fleshless, skeletal.
“Wait,” Carol went to the desk, opened the top middle drawer and found what she sought. A pencil. A nice, sharp, wooden pencil. She held it up so Michael could see. “Will this do?”
“Real wood?”
Carol smelled it. “Yup. Real wood.”
His lips barely pulled into a smile. “Then it will.”
The clock tolled the hour of six.
“Listen.” Michael’s voice was weaker now, sounding thready and strained. “Not much time left. You’re going to have to help me with this.”
“What’s ‘this’?”
“Getting rid of him. And getting me ready for sunrise.”
She stared at him. Every now and then a flicker of red showed in his eyes, but he seemed to be holding it back by sheer force of will.
“What do you need me to do? And what do we do about him?” She nodded toward Antoine.
“Take him outside.”
“All right.”
Carol went around him to get her coat. By the time she put it on, Michael had staggered to his feet again. He looked none too steady, but quite determined.
She grabbed Antoine’s legs and Michael took his arms. Though Antoine was more than six feet tall and Michael had the body’s arms stretched out above the head, it still put her closer to Michael than she felt safe with. Especially when that red glow still sometimes winked in his eyes. She kept the pencil in her hand even though it made it harder to carry the dead vampire.
After ten minutes of struggle, they’d dragged Antoine as far as the kitchen. Michael had to stop twice along the way, conserving his energy to fight the hunger that doubled him up in pain. Each time, she heard him swearing softly to himself and praying for strength.
The back door was off a short hall beyond the kitchen. When they got there, Michael dropped Antoine’s legs and reached for the deadbolt to unlock it. Before he laid fingers on it, though, his hand froze in mid-motion.
Seconds later, he turned and the red glow shone steadily in his eyes. Intense concentration made his face fierce when he glanced at her bleeding arm. Lips pulled back to show his fangs gleaming.
“Shit.” Carol dropped the dead vampire and backed away. “Michael. Resist it. Remember? You’re not giving in.”
For the moment, he’d forgotten. The furious red color filled his eyes and his gaze remained steady on her arm as he took a couple of steps toward her. An odd, keening growl poured from him, interspersed with the word “blood”.
Carol kept her eyes on his chin, watching him advance. She groped for the cross at her throat and held it out. “Michael, please. You don’t want to drink from me. You want your soul back. Remember? Remember?”
Backing away, she stumbled and almost went to her knees, but stuck out a hand and used the wall to steady herself.
He continued to stagger toward her. She raised the pencil in her right hand, holding it point-out so that if he attempted to charge directly at her, he’d be impaled on it. Her left hand lifted the cross up and out.
“Michael, don’t.” She put everything she had into the plea.
He ignored it and continued. At least he didn’t use that super-human speed. Probably couldn’t anymore, though she dared not depend on that. His breathing was loud and heavy. Each harsh exhalation carried a groan with it.
When he was only a couple of steps away, she steeled herself and got the pencil ready, praying it would work. Instead of moving forward any more, though, he surprised her when he stopped, grabbed the wrist that held the pencil, and drew it toward his face. The fangs showed stark white as his mouth opened wide. She tried to shift the pencil in her grip to get it close to him, but almost lost her hold on it entirely.
“Michael, no!” She screamed as she struggled to yank her wrist loose from his hold.
Chapter 8
A hard tug pulled her arm out of his control. Carol brought up the pencil ready to stab him, but changed her mind at almost the last second. Following an instinct she couldn’t fathom, she lifted the cross in her left hand and held it out as far from her throat as it would go. She leaned forward to put it inches from his face.
He drew a breath and began to reach for her arm again, then stopped. For several long moments, he stayed in that position, breath heaving in and out harshly, arm extended, reaching to grab hers. Very slowly, he lifted his head to look up from her arm to her face, stopping to focus on the cross for several long moments.
“Carol?” The word was soft, almost hesitant.
He sounded rational, in control. She raked a quick glance across his eyes. Flashes of red flickered off and on there, but it was no longer the steady fierce glow of a few minutes ago. His gaze traveled upward from the cross to her face. The tension of the attack drained from him. Shoulders slumped and arms relaxed down to his sides. “I’m sorry.” He said it so softly she could barely hear.
Then he straightened again. “I can’t control it any longer.” He glanced around, looking at the dead vampire on the floor and then the back door. “It’s time. I’ll be right back.” He walked past her, heading toward the living room.
Carol didn’t follow. Instead she went to the back door and looked out through the window. The snow had stopped. That might even be moonlight reflecting off the pristine white fluff that blanketed the ground. Was there a hint of slightly less dark sky near the horizon on the left? Yes, surely. Pretty soon Michael would find an end to his
suffering. An end to the horribly transfigured life he’d never wanted.
Why did a funny little internal pang stab into her gut at the thought? Where did that twist in the region of her heart come from? All he wanted was to die human, to find peace at last. He’d shown no bitterness about the years of normal human lifespan stolen from him. He’d accepted he couldn’t have those back.
No sound alerted her to his return. He still moved with that eerie quietness that must be a vampire thing. Instead a flash of movement in her peripheral vision made her whirl in alarm.
He carried a canvas tote bag that bulged in odd ways and places. The way he held it out from his body, as though he couldn’t bear to have it too near, made her wonder about the contents.
Then he offered it to her. “Take this,” he asked.
She debated which hand to use. The pencil was in her right and she didn’t want to risk moving it to the weaker hand, but the left arm also bore the bloody slice and she didn’t want that getting too close to him. In the end, she took that bag with her right hand and kept the pencil there as well.
The bag weighed considerably more than she expected and clanked oddly. She looked down into it. “Chains? For him?”
Michael shook his head. “For me. I’m at the end. Can’t trust myself anymore. That was too close. I almost… I nearly…did it. Next time I may not stop. I can’t risk it again.” He drew in a deep breath and looked at the sprawled figure on the floor. “I hate to ask, but… I can’t do it myself.”
“Do what?”
“All of it. Won’t be pleasant, but…” He started to shake and the red flickered in his eyes. “Outside. Please. Quickly.”
He sped past her and opened the door. A blast of cold air hit her, but there was no breeze and the sky had cleared. A sliver of moon shone down. Reluctantly, Carol followed him down three steps and out into the back yard. Her tennis shoes sank into the four inches of snow and crunched on the layer of ice beneath it. He crossed a stretch of pure white ground, stopping where four upright metal poles had been driven deep to form an eight-foot by three-foot rectangle.
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