Besides, religious or not, lying to a priest just seemed very wrong to me.
“All I can tell you, Father,” I began slowly, choosing my words carefully. “Is that there are some of us in this world for whom the regular rules don’t apply. It’s how I was able to save your grandfather and how I’m sitting here with you today.”
Mallory watched me and I could see his mind working, trying to solve a puzzle he only had a few scarce pieces of.
“What are you?” He finally asked.
I shook my head. “Likewise, there are also some things that it’s better not to speak about. I will tell you that I will not harm you. There are those of us who simply want to exist and live our lives as best we can.”
I practically saw him latch onto that statement and quickly match those puzzle pieces to the others he had.
“And the others?”
He was quick, I had to give him that. He could probably solve those infuriating twisted metal and string puzzles within just a few moments.
I pondered what to say next. “There are others who would seek to use certain advantages we have for their own benefit.”
That sounded neutral enough and hopefully wouldn’t give him anymore puzzle pieces. Everyone knew the puzzle got easier to solve once you had all the outside edges put together and just had to fill in the middle.
And I was going to hold onto every edge piece I could.
“Mr. Dorian,” Mallory’s voice was quiet. “My entire life and career are based on faith and belief. When I was a boy, my grandfather told me how even when he and my great grandfather thought they were going to die, God sent an angel to save them. He told me of seeing this man break through a wall and shove aside a fallen shelf that easily weighed two hundred pounds just to reach them and clear the way for them. He told me of how this man had picked him up with one arm then used the other to pull my great grandfather to his feet and turn him towards the way out. How he had guided them without hesitation along the only clear path through the flames and fallen debris and the same second he handed my grandfather back to his father and they were clear of the building, the entire roof crashed down on him, seeming to seal his fate.
“He told me how his father had set him down and rushed back to help the man, finding him pinned under a flaming beam. And how that beam had seemed effortless to lift off the man with them both pushing on it.”
I didn’t say anything. That sounded like he had it down pretty much the way it happened.
Though personally I don’t think the shelf I’d moved weighed that much. Maybe closer to one hundred fifty pounds. It had been a big metal and wood thing, with doors and drawers. But it hadn’t been fully stocked, and the wood was on fire.
Mallory fell quiet, studying me. “You walk through walls of fire, have the strength of fifty men. Can breathe and see through heavy smoke and flames. You are buried beneath wood and flames and still walk away. And now you sit here with me, looking only a few years older than me, bearing scars of a profoundly heroic act and you see nothing remarkable about this.”
“Not really, no,” I replied, being completely and totally honest. “I have been different from most men for the majority of my life,” I continued after a long moment. “And heroic is never a word that should be applied to me, Father. I heard a child crying and knew I was the only one there who could save him. I did what I was able to and saved two lives doing it. How you wish to view that is your prerogative. As for myself--” I paused to stand up from the chair. “I disappeared that night because I do not want recognition, accolades or attention. I sell my art without ever making appearances. The people who buy it know my name and my skill, but nothing else. I am content to live my life quietly, with as little of society knowing I exist as possible.”
Mallory also stood from his chair, nodding his head. I could see that he did understand in his expression. That was another thing about priests, they were good with the humility bit, too.
“This one who was here earlier,” he said, obviously changing the subject. “He’s like you?”
Now that was a question that could take a lot of explaining to answer. Probably better to go the simple route. Sometimes philosophy just gets in the way.
“Aleksander,” I nodded. “He would be one of those ‘others’ I mentioned. You’d do well to avoid anymore contact with him if possible, though I understand that might be difficult if he shows back up again.”
Mallory nodded. “The one good thing about being in charge here, I can lock the doors for whatever reason. As a matter of fact, I think I might smell a gas leak coming from the basement. It might be in the best interest of our worshippers if I closed things up until the city can be contacted to come check things out.”
I raised my left eyebrow at him.
“Wouldn’t that be lying, Father?” I asked, honestly trying very hard not to smile.
Father Mallory looked shocked. “I’m simply looking out for the well being of my church and parishioners,” he returned. “As a matter of fact, I think you’d better leave as well. I’d hate to have the building blow up while you were here.”
I paused before opening the door. “Thank you, Father,” I told him. “For not pressing for answers I’m unable to give.” Or at least unwilling to give.
I truly meant that, too. It was safer if he didn’t know. It always was.
Mallory nodded his head. “Perhaps in time,” he stated. “But I know God works with what he has. For now, you will remain in the past, as simply the stranger who saved my grandfather’s life.”
I nodded and left the church, not sure what I was going to do next. I suppose I had nothing to do except wait for Aleksander to get back in touch with me. Hopefully this latest lackey of his would get my message back to him quickly.
I walked at a steady pace, heading back to my studio. I preferred walking, it let me control how much I interacted with my surroundings. Taxis were all right in emergencies or if the circumstances made walking impracticable, but I preferred not having to talk to anyone. Besides, taxi drivers would undoubtedly remember me if there were ever anyone questioning where I’d gone.
I kept to the sides of the sidewalk as I walked. Even then noting the way people moved out of my way. I got a few shocked looks from people who took more than a half second to look at me and caught one or two children staring at me, but no one tried speaking to me and no one tried following me.
There might be hope for society yet.
Though at this point that largely depended on what happened with Aleksander.
Once back in my studio, I hung up my coat and hat by the door, then took a moment to look around.
It was fairly large as studios went, but also small compared to a normal house or apartment. It was an all right size for me, with a small kitchenette and dining area, my work area and sleeping/living area. I’d put up wooden screen dividers between my bed and the living area, but it was still fully open on one side. There was no real privacy here and no way to close off my work area for safety.
Yes, I was going to have to find somewhere else to live. Or let someone else adopt Dawn.
Neither was an idea I really wanted to spend much time on, or it would ruin what was left of my mood.
Instead I went over to my painting area and studied my painting, deciding which part I wanted to work on next. The rose bush was nearly finished, with only a small section left near the one side. I picked up my palette and took a moment to find the right colors of paint. Squeezing a small bit of each out, I got my brush and started mixing them. Every few seconds I glanced at the photo clipped by the easel, adding a bit more yellow, then a bit more blue until the paint matched the colors in the photo. Switching to a smaller brush, I went to work, brushing, dabbing and blending each leaf and stem into the area already finished. It took focus, concentrating on each tiny stroke and angle of the brush to hide the texture of the brush strokes in the texture of the leaves. But that was what made this form of art so detailed.
As I worked, I turn
ed my attention to the discussion with Father Mallory. He had obviously been very familiar with his grandfather’s story to have made that connection so quickly. I got the feeling his family was close and they appreciated their links to the history of where they’d come from. The events of that night at the shelter had obviously been something his grandfather had long kept prominent in his mind and had passed onto his children and grandchildren. I could appreciate that, wanting to keep their family history alive and make sure their children knew what events had helped shape them as individuals and as a family.
I had to wonder what Dawn would want to know about her family. If she went to another family, it was very likely she’d know nothing about her mother until she was possibly much older and then all she’d find were the couple of brief newspaper articles and April’s grave. She’d know nothing of the kind of person her mother had been.
I suppose I could always ask that the adoption be open, so she would know who I was and possibly someday contact me for the answers. Or maybe she just wouldn’t want to know.
On the other side of the coin, if she stayed with me, I could make sure she knew who her mother was. Would she also want to know the stories from my own past? They wouldn’t be her family by blood, but if I raised her as my own daughter, they would be by association. Would she want to know about my mother and father? About my father’s travels before he settled down and the way my mother had taunted him for so long? Marcella had told me Dawn would know what I was. She’d figure it out on her own, just as each of Marcella’s grandchildren had. Some of hers it had scared off and they’d wanted nothing to do with her. But there had always been at least one who’d stayed.
I switched to a shorter brush, using one side to blend the paint in the shadows behind the leaves.
And Father Mallory knew I existed now. I was no longer the nameless stranger who’d broken down a flame-engulfed wall to save his grandfather and great grandfather.
And he knew I wasn’t like others.
I had to wonder if he suspected what I was. He seemed intelligent enough, I was sure he had to be aware of the concept at the very least. Would he possibly try to stop the courts from giving me custody of Dawn? Somehow I didn’t think so. Whatever he knew or thought he knew about me, he also had enough faith in his grandfather’s story to take that into consideration.
What I did was evil. What this infection demanded of me was the very core of true evil. Some small part of me died with each feeding cycle. I had no redemption. I had no consolation. I had no reason to try to do more than exist.
But I was not the monster.
“I think you need this baby.”
Marcella’s words jolted through my thoughts. She’d been sincere, direct and had spoken in full honesty. She was right. She had Rosie and her hopes of another baby in her family to give her a reason to fight on and to do more than just exist. She had the joy Rosie brought to her life and the grace of waking up each morning knowing she had a family to care about.
I needed a reason to actually live. To accept what I was and to know that while it demanded evil of me, it did not have to dictate the burdens of my entire soul.
I needed this baby.
I needed to raise Dawn as my daughter and see life through her eyes.
I switched back to my first brush, bringing a little more outline to the leaves.
“So I keep my studio to work in and find someplace better to live,” I said to myself. I suppose that meant I was going to have to sell another painting to pay for it.
My thoughts were distracted by a knock at my door. I turned slightly, sniffing the air cautiously, then again, trying to sort the scents around me.
Rasmussen.
I hooked my bush under my thumb with the palette and went and unlocked the door, motioning for him to come in. He was still dressed casually and I could hear that his heartbeat had strengthened even more. The outside edge of his eyes looked a bit redder than usual, though from the infection or lack of sleep I couldn’t tell.
“I trust you’ve had some luck?” I asked him, locking the door again behind him.
“I asked around some,” he nodded, taking off his jacket and setting it on the back of a chair at the dining table. I could tell his arm was still bandaged under his shirt sleeve. I remembered my own bite on my hand had taken a while to heal, though still faster than usual.
“And?” I asked, walking back to my work area and going back to work on the leaves.
“Your friend has been busy.” Rasmussen came over to sit on the arm of the sofa. “So’s his girlfriend. They’ve been seen all around the city talking to people in the bad areas of town, inviting them to ‘meetings’ of some kind, then swearing the people to secrecy. The people I talked to said people either come back from them scared to death but committed, or don’t come back at all.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I nodded. “He’s probably using the fear to keep those with potential in line and getting rid of those he thinks would be--” I paused, trying to find a diplomatic way of saying he was weeding out those who would be too high of a risk for him. “Less than beneficial.”
Rasmussen nodded. “The couple of guys who would talk to me said they’d been invited to meetings but hadn’t been able to make it. They’re taking place down by the river, in one of the old warehouses on the south side.”
That at least fit in with what the kid had told Marcella and me. I probably should have gone ahead to the river to find which one, just so I knew what to expect in that area.
I’d had other things on my mind at that time, however.
“That’s probably all you’re going to get from them,” I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I’m sure he wasn’t too forthcoming with more information to them before he knew if he could trust them.”
“I did find one who’d been to one of these meetings who’d talk to me,” he said.
“Oh?” Now that was interesting. Apparently Rasmussen could be scarier than Aleksander. That was something to consider.
“He said they were told they had to prove themselves to him before he’d ‘bring them into his family’, or some crap like that.”
“Did he say how they were supposed to do that?”
Rasmussen nodded. “They had to steal something and bring him the money for it, or they had to kidnap someone and bring them to him at the next meeting.”
I frowned. I suppose the first made sense, Aleksander wasn’t likely to want to use his own money to fund this little scheme aside from getting it off the ground. The second, however, bothered me. Unless he was planning on using them for food for those in a feeding cycle.
So much for the books about us being wrong.
“Word might get back to him that you were asking about him,” I said. “He may come looking for you.”
“I already expected that,” Rasmussen said. “Believe it or not, it’s a job hazard, so I’ve lived with that threat my entire career.”
“Yes, I suppose it would be,” I nodded. At least I didn’t have to worry about making anyone that angry with me in my chosen profession.
“That’s what I got,” he said standing up. “I thought you’d want to know first thing.”
“I do,” I said, then paused as something occurred to me. “By the way, why didn’t you go to Marcella’s? I thought that’s where we agreed you were going to take the information first.”
Rasmussen paused, shrugging. “Just in case anyone followed me, I didn’t want to put them in danger,” he explained. There was no quickening to his heart rate, no jump in anxiety. He was telling me the truth. “I figured this guy already knows you, so it wouldn’t be giving anything away to come here.”
“Except making them wonder how you know me.”
“I’m sure one of us can come up with something.”
“Probably,” I agreed. I paused to glance from the photo to the painting, then decided to add a bit more yellow to the ends of the thorns by the leaves. They needed just the slightest touch more. “Where ar
e you staying?” I finally asked after I’d mixed the right color.
“I’ve got a place on the west side,” he replied. “Little dive, but it’s away from my wife and all of her friends.”
I nodded again. “Best not to draw attention back to them.” I glanced at the door when someone knocked. I sniffed the air, recognizing the scent immediately and put down my palette and brush. “I don’t suppose you have a gun with you?”
“Not officially,” he said, his expression serious.
“Good, if this turns bad, shoot to kill,” I told him as I walked towards the door. “Head and heart shots only.”
“I’m not sure I know how to hit anything else,” he noted.
I opened the door, meeting Aleksander’s gaze without hesitation. “I suppose you got my message?” I asked him.
“Which one?” he asked me. “The one where you killed two of my followers, or the one you sent my messenger back with today?”
“Either works,” I shrugged, then stepped back, letting him into the studio. I noted he’d left Gianna behind. “Must have been the latter, you don’t have your pet.”
Aleksander’s attention went immediately to Rasmussen and he glanced at me. As he walked past me, I noted he was still wearing some kind of makeup, hiding the more sallow tones in his skin. His hair was combed back, giving it a vague appearance of there being more than there was. He was still wearing the leather trousers and now a dark silk shirt. He’d added gold rings on each hand and a gold length of chain wrapped a few times around his wrist.
He turned from Rasmussen to look at me, his gaze questioning. “Acquiring pets of your own now?”
“You wish,” I locked the door again, going back to my work area. “Detective Rasmussen, this is Aleksander. Aleksander, this is Detective Rasmussen. The good detective here had the misfortune of running into two of your flunkies and getting into a bit of a scrap with them.” There was no point in lying about that. Aleksander would know Rasmussen was infected and likely be able to figure out who had done it. “He was smart enough to put together the resemblance of them to me and came with questions. I did my best to answer them.”
Bloodlust Page 19