Vampires Gone Wild

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  A woman of my means can afford the best, I’m sure you mean to say.

  Stellan, who was studying the photographs along the far wall, chuckled.

  “I’ll take it.” Angelina smiled. “How soon will it arrive?”

  “The tripod is in stock. The rest will be sent as soon as I telegraph the order through. Call back late next week. We should have it by then.”

  She sighed. “That long?”

  “I’m afraid so, unless you’d like to rent in the interim? A similar setup for, say one dollar a day, with your tripod and plates?”

  “Done!” She signed the various documents Mr. Higgins pushed in front of her and nearly jumped out of her skin when Stellan appeared at her side as if from nowhere.

  “You’ve found what you were looking for?”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “I believe I have, but you must see something over here.” She stopped herself from taking his hand. “This way.” Angelina went to the visual arts display and looked on as he studied the range of oil paints, tube upon tube, mounted in fans of colors on the wall.

  “Extraordinary!” He leaned in very close and motioned her to do the same. “Look at the subtle shifts. From yellow ochre to sienna to gold. Like the sun.”

  She quivered, wondering if he could hear her heart pound. “I love the names,” she whispered. “Terra Rosa, Prussian Green, Quinacridone Magenta . . .”

  “These are the colors of daylight, but your photographs are of the night, the shades of gray.”

  “I capture the truth of light,” she said. “What is seen in the absence of color.”

  You would love my world then . . .

  “Pardon?”

  He stared at her blankly, and in her nervousness, she reached out to touch the indigo tube at the exact same moment he did. Their hands collided and seemed to entwine of their own accord. She pulled back. “Pardon me . . .”

  Gerald cleared his throat behind them, and they both straightened. “Are you ready to proceed, Miss Ralston?”

  “Quite.” She looked to Stellan. “Join me for late lunch? The clam chowder on Fisherman’s Wharf is beyond superb.”

  “It would be a pleasure.”

  Gerald frowned but hoisted the camera gear and followed them out of the Emporium.

  Fisherman’s Wharf was across town, across being a misnomer. They drove up steep inclines, streets rattling with cable cars and all manner of traffic, and down such severe slopes that if the brakes failed, there would be no saving them. Angelina let it all rush by as she sat in the backseat, chatting with Stellan. “Do you want to stop in Chinatown?” she said, her face lighting up. “It would make an exotic background for a portrait of you, Mr. Fletcher. I shall try the camera today.”

  “Is Chinatown wise, Miss Ralston?” Gerald said from the driver’s seat. He made no apology for eavesdropping. “The quarantine has only just been lifted.”

  She shrugged. “I suspect that affair was motivated more by politics than good medical practice, a heinously racist move by Governor Gage.”

  “As you say, Miss Ralston.”

  She glared at the back of Gerald’s head.

  Stellan spoke before she could say more. “I agree he’s not taking his custodianship seriously, at least not in favor of American-Chinese civil rights.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded to Stellan. “Far from helping, it appears Gage is thwarting all advancements.”

  “Still, is it wise?” Gerald let his protest hang.

  As they crested Telegraph Hill, she gazed out at the East Bay. “Very well. The fog’s rolling in anyway.”

  “It will be a cloud sea about us,” Stellan said.

  She smiled. “We’ll take photos here then.” She gestured out the window. “While we still have the sunlight.” Her eyes danced. “I will capture you yet, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “Perhaps.” Stellan smiled.

  “Are you shy of being photographed?” she asked.

  “Not by you.”

  Gerald parked the Ford, and he and Stellan made to unload the newly rented camera gear. Angelina elbowed in before they could get very far. “I’ve got it,” she said to both men. “I need no assistance, thank you.”

  STELLAN WAS CAPTIVATED as Angelina moved here and there, testing the light, feeling the wind. She chose a gnarled old oak as the backdrop and had him stand beside it, his hand resting on the trunk. The light dappled through the branches like ripples in a tide pool. The touch of the wood was solid as reef.

  “You like trees?” Angelina approached him to straighten the fall of his coat.

  “I like all living things.”

  She paused. “What a splendid and unusual response. Are you a humanitarian?”

  “You could say so, yes.” He was lost in her dark eyes and the gentle floral scent that rose from her body. He memorized her every movement, comment, and instruction, letting her fill his mind completely.

  “With the coat over your shoulder, I think.”

  He obliged her.

  “Perfect. Can you hold that?”

  He didn’t answer but instead studied the tree with its twisting branches that reached for the sky, dark arms against the glimpse of blue.

  “You’re a very good subject,” she said, sliding in a glass plate. She had him strike different poses until Gerald pulled out his pocket watch and cleared his throat, a practice that was beginning to make Stellan’s upper lip twitch.

  “One more,” Angelina said, and she turned to Gerald. “It’s all set. Just shoot when I give the word.”

  Gerald’s face became even more dour as Angelina stood on the other side of the trunk and placed her hand on it as well. The sensation, through the tree, jolted him. He could hear her heartbeat through the living wood.

  “Now, Gerald,” she said.

  They were meant to be looking at the camera, but somehow their eyes found each other’s and remained engaged until Gerald, having taken the shot, asked them if that would be quite enough.

  “To the wharf?” he whispered before she could move away. “For lunch?” If he didn’t get a full breath of sea air in his lungs and fog on his face soon, he didn’t know how he would continue.

  Angelina touched her neck, feeling the edges of the dressing. “Yes, to the wharf!” she replied, and gathered her camera gear. He carried the tripod back to the car while she speculated on how the shots would turn out. Best not think about that . . . They jumped in the backseat laughing, while Gerald’s posture became even more rigid than usual.

  Chapter Four

  5:30 P.M.

  Tuesday, April 17, 1906

  THE WHARF REVIVED him. Angelina revived him, and relief flooded his body. The fog formed droplets on his lashes, and the lull of the waves below made it possible to relax though he longed to strip off and dive headfirst into the sea. They sat across from each other at a small table outside the fishmongers’. The aromas were heavenly, a mixture of salt air, whitecaps, and fresh fish. Colored lanterns hung on strings overhead. They radiated bright, glowing auras that turned Angelina’s hair red as starfish. Stellan took full mouthfuls of the chowder. “Delicious!”

  “Not too salty for you, Mr. Fletcher?” Angelina looked up from her bowl.

  “I enjoy the salt, Miss Ralston. You can be sure of that.” His left hand rested on the red checkered tablecloth.

  Angelina laid her gloved fingers on top of his. “I’m so glad you do.” She pulled back immediately, as if she’d touched a hot stove.

  Heat rushed through his body from the contact. “I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t enjoy in your presence.”

  She laughed, a light sound. “I’m sure you exaggerate, sir.”

  For moments uncounted, he basked in her presence. The distraction and bustle of the wharf receded until all he could hear was her, the rhythmic flow of her breath, and, unfortunately, Gerald�
�s incessant throat clearing. The man stood over them, his look admonishing.

  Angelina turned to the valet, her eyebrows raised.

  “I believe we must leave at once, Miss Ralston, if we are to arrive on time for dinner.” Stellan watched her response. It was a shrug at best even though Gerald made it sound as if they were breaking universal laws with their impromptu repast. The man was actually getting his watch out, again, and throwing them both accusatory looks.

  “Shall I bring the car around?” he asked in a flat voice.

  Angelina dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “We’ll walk, thank you.”

  “It would be more expedient if I . . .”

  “We’ll walk fast.” She cut in. “If you go start the car, we’ll not lose a moment. You know how long it takes to crank over in the cold.”

  Gerald’s frown lines creased. “Very well.” He left at a clip, apparently wanting to set an example.

  Stellan rose, as Angelina did, but instead of heading for the car, she went to the edge of the wharf. He joined her, and they stood side by side, listening to the water slosh against the pilings.

  The lanternlight made extraordinary patterns on the surface.

  “How beautiful,” she whispered, and her whole body shivered.

  “You’re cold.” Stellan took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “Shall we go?”

  Yes, do hurry, Stellan. You’re missing all the fun.

  Stellan’s blood froze. Salila? Where are you?

  I am having quite a time entertaining the Ralstons and that delectable Mr. Blackwell.

  “No!”

  “Pardon me?” Angelina turned toward him.

  “Gerald is right. It’s best we return home with all haste.”

  ANGELINA DIDN’T HAVE time to ponder the change that had come over Stellan. Their easy intimacy and the pleasure of the day had suddenly evaporated, and he seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. She inquired again to no avail and decided to let it drop. Whatever had assailed him on the wharf would come out, or not. A person was due his privacy. She knew she needed her own. And why would he want to discuss his personal feelings in front of the enormous ears of Gerald anyway? She clasped her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead. I’ve been too forward.

  Never. . .

  She stared at him, but he didn’t acknowledge her until they were home.

  “My apologies, Miss Ralston,” he whispered, when they reached her front door.

  It flew open before she could respond. “Dinner is already served, Miss,” Jeanie said behind the butler. “Shall I help you get ready?” They were ushered into the foyer.

  “I’m sure my tea dress will do tonight, Jeanie. Better that than arriving any later.” The look on her maid’s face told her something was quite out of the ordinary, but she stuck to her decision. “Shall we, Mr. Fletcher?” Angelina offered him her arm, and they headed for the formal dining hall. Nothing could have prepared her for the scene they walked in on.

  The room was a din of conversation, laughter mostly, and much of it coming from Mason and her father. Mrs. Blackwell and her mother seemed quite stiff, if anything, and it didn’t take her long to discover why. Between her fiancé and the esteemed Mr. Ralston was a woman in a provocative evening gown, a gold-and-black affair that plunged far lower in front and back than even the latest fashion from Paris demanded. She had shimmering hair done up high on her head with a few curling strands falling down her flawless white cheeks. Her face was extraordinary, with full lips and feline eyes. The air around her positively zapped and crackled.

  Both men were intoxicated, displaying manners far less than formal. Their guest, this Aphrodite, was telling a story about a voyage in the Mediterranean. Stellan and Angelina stood in the doorway, staring, until all conversation stopped.

  “Stellan! There you are!” The shimmering goddess put her hand on Mason’s forearm while leaning in to Mr. Ralston to whisper none too quietly, “You have no idea how long I’ve been looking for him.” The men laughed and swigged down their wine. Then she stared at Angelina, and said, “Whatever have you done to my brother?”

  “Salila.” Stellan’s voice was icy.

  Heat rushed to Angelina’s face. “Your brother?” Somewhere in the shock of it all she felt relief, until noticing Mason again. Mason, my fiancé. She’d had no right to entertain thoughts of Stellan, not when she was spoken for. Angelina, pull yourself together. She stepped forward. “How delightful to meet you. Miss Fletcher is it?”

  Mason and Mr. Ralston got to their feet, dropping their napkins and scraping their chairs. “Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Fisher, of late from the Mediterranean.” Her fiancé slurred his words and smiled stupidly.

  “Pleased, I’m sure.” Angelina gave a very small curtsy.

  Stellan mumbled something under his breath. She couldn’t catch the words. There was much fuss settling everyone back at the table, but once they were seated, the story of the voyage, to Crete, it turned out, continued. Angelina didn’t think her mother’s face could get any tighter, but Mrs. Blackwell appeared to be surrendering to the fiasco. She started guzzling down wine as fast as the servant could refill her goblet. Stellan didn’t say a word as Mrs. Fisher carried on though his jaw clenched tight, and his eyes stared daggers. Angelina would not have wanted that gaze turned her way under any circumstances. No sooner did she think this, he looked at her, but his expression had changed. Instead of frightening her, it brought a rush of heat and excitement. Angelina fanned her face and took a sip of wine.

  As the food was served, the whole table became even more animated. Salila devoured an entire salmon, then downed a whole bottle of Napa Valley white herself, alternately enveloping Mason and Mr. Ralston, whispering in their ears and hanging off their broad shoulders. During one prolonged intimacy, Mrs. Ralston stood, tossed down her napkin, and said she would oversee the coffee. She turned to Mrs. Blackwell, but the woman was sound asleep in her chair. That seemed to disgust her mother even more, and she left abruptly.

  STELLAN GLARED AT Salila. What in the dark tomb’s mercy are you doing here? He gripped his goblet tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

  I could ask you the same thing! She wrapped herself around Mr. Ralston and whispered into his ear. The man bellowed with laughter.

  “Why have you come, dear sister? What news?” Stellan spoke aloud.

  “Brother! You’ll be thrilled. I’ve a message from our father!” Salila said, as the servant took her plate, with its entire fish skeleton.

  “Do tell.” He tried to keep his voice even.

  “He wonders when you’re coming home.”

  I said I would be back in due course!

  True, but nobody thought “due course” would involve sightseeing trips through the city with your little angel. You were to get in, get the information, and get back.

  I’ve done my part! Studied the plans for the Golden Gate Bridge. Discussed them. . .

  And?

  They’re preposterous. Enormous cantilevers to counter the span. The cost of materials alone is prohibitive. More importantly, even if they could build it, such a monstrosity won’t touch us.

  How can you be sure?

  It’s a suspension bridge. The pilings are nowhere near our tombs. He was aware of Angelina, her face pale as she stared at him. “I’ll be home soon enough, Mrs. Fisher.”

  “Really? Father will be so pleased.” Salila batted her eyelashes. “You must come back with me then.” What I mean to say, Stellan, is I’m not leaving until you do, and you know what that means. . .

  You’re not to touch these people!

  But my fun on the dock has already made the papers, twice. I shouldn’t risk a third.

  Then go back to the sea! Angelina isn’t food, nor is her family!

  Really? What keeps you in the daylight then?

  His grip tigh
tened, and the glass shattered in his hand. The contents spilled over the white tablecloth.

  Angelina startled and immediately reached out to him. She blotted his hand with her napkin as servants came to clean up the mess. “Are you hurt?”

  His eyes softened. “I’m sorry I alarmed you.” He lowered his voice. “I’m fine.”

  Salila burst out laughing. I see. Love?

  You see nothing at all!

  Salila went on as if he hadn’t spoken. But your little angel is engaged. Silly human tradition. Anyway, it’s not like you could offer her your hand. Is that how they say it? “Your hand?” So quaint. She looked over at Mason. Though he’s hardly interested, is he? Not with me here anyway. How fickle. . .

  “Salila, stop!” Stellan shouted aloud, bringing all eyes to him.

  Mrs. Blackwell roused for a moment, snorted, then went back to sleep, her chin dropping toward her bosom.

  I think you best call me Mrs. Fisher, while we’re guests, don’t you? It already appears we are overly familiar. She winked. Just as Mason leaned in to whisper something in her ear, she turned to him and planted her lips on his mouth.

  I will not witness this! Angelina clenched her fists.

  Angelina? Stellan pressed his temples and turned to her. Did you say that?

  What are you talking about, Stellan? The girl hasn’t opened her mouth all night. Salila caught the look on his face. Unless . . . She leaned back in her chair and slowly clapped her hands. My dear Stellan, I do think you have created a blood bond. How utterly inconvenient.

  Don’t be ridiculous. Blood blonds can only be formed between two Mar who are. . .

  Yes, I know. Deeply in love. For an instant, Salila’s eyes softened, and she touched the hollow of her neck. Or of the same family line, she went on briskly. Unless she’s our lost sibling, or secretly Mar, I believe we have something rather unique! Salila cackled as she applauded them both. Wait until Teern hears of this! Another Mar-human coupling. It will kill him!