Even Vampires Get The Blues do-4

by Кейти Макалистер

  Sam?

  Hmm?

  How do you feel?

  I'm not sure. Am I sleeping?

  Yes. Wake up now.

  All right.

  I opened my eyes. We were still in the storage room beneath the streets of Edinburgh, faint light coming in through the opened doorway. An odd wind seemed to be howling somewhere in the distance, as if a storm was building. Beneath me, the ground was wet and sticky with blood. My blood.

  "I'm not dead?" My voice sounded choked, hoarse and rough.

  Don't speak out loud, not yet. Give your body time to heal the injury on your neck.

  Memory returned to me. Pilar stabbed me?

  Slashed your neck. He cut your jugular, damn near decapitating you, otherwise I would have rushed you to the hospital. But there was no time, Sam, no time. You were dying. You were leaving me and I couldn't stop it.

  The wind picked up, its shrieks painful to my ears.

  But I'm alive now, I said, still confused about what happened. So much of it was a horrible blur in my mind.

  Paen said nothing, just watched me with a face that bore so much guilt, I wanted to weep for him.

  I held out an arm. It was shaky and covered with blood, but it was my arm. See? I'm here. I'm alive. I'm … I stopped, horror crawling over my skin as I realized what was wrong. The wind that roared so loudly it hurt my ears wasn't coming from outside… It came from within me.

  From the place my soul used to reside.

  "Sweetheart, if you keep trying to scream, you're going to bring the ghost hunters down on us, and you really do need to rest in order to heal up that neck wound."

  The horrible rasping, squeaking noise that was my attempt to shriek in horror stopped. I slumped back against the wall, panting with the effort and stress. "Where's my soul?" I croaked.

  Pain darkened his eyes, pain and regret and pity. For me. "I'm sorry, Sam. It was the only way I could save you. I had no choice. It was either turn you or let you go, and I couldn't do that. You may hate me for the rest of your life, but at least you're alive. And I swear to you, I'll find your soul and restore it to you."

  "Turn me?" My voice was still hoarse, but growing a bit stronger. "You turned me? You made me a female Moravian?"

  "Yes," he said, watching me carefully.

  I shook my head, wincing slightly at the pain in my neck. "No. When I was a Beloved, you said that was the same thing as being a Moravian. But I had a soul then. I don't now. Where is it? Who has it? I want it back!"

  "There is a price for everything, Sam," he answered, his eyes sad, so very sad. "The price of turning a person is the loss of their soul. That's why it's so seldom done—the cost seldom outweighs the act."

  I digested that. I was weak from the loss of blood, hungrier than I knew was possible, but inside me, I was hollow. Empty of everything but that damned endless wind. Paen had done this in order to save me, in order to keep me alive. But was it worth the cost?

  "Am I immortal again?"

  His thumb stroked over my knuckles. "Yes."

  "Can I get my soul back?"

  "I'm… not sure." He didn't even try to disguise his hesitation.

  "Has it been done before? Has someone who has been turned reclaimed their soul?"

  His eyes were so polished, I could almost see my reflection in them. "Not that I know of."

  A tear rolled down my cheek. "I know you wanted to keep me alive, but Paen… I don't want to spend eternity without a soul."

  He pulled me into his arms so my face rested against his shoulder as I sobbed. His voice was rough with emotion, but thrummed inside of me like a thousand strings set vibrating. "I swear to you that you will have your soul back. I swear that on my own, Sam. You saved me when I needed you, now I will save you."

  A soul means different things to different cultures. To most, it's the thing that makes us more than just sentient, the part of us that lives on when our bodies fail and turn to dust. As Paen drove me home, I came to realize another function of a soul—it connected us to humanity, made us a part of a common experience. Empty as I was inside, I watched dispassionately as people hurried through the streets of Edinburgh. I felt detached from them all, an observer who found them interesting, but not particularly of any value. I didn't care about them.

  With one exception.

  Looking at Paen brought tears to my eyes. Not tears of sorrow or self-pity—I had shed the last of those crouched on the floor of Mary King's Close. What made Paen different from the rest of the world was his soul—it shone so brightly around him, giving him a corona of warmth and love that drew me like a moth to flame. I wanted to be close to him just to bask in the glow of life that radiated from him. Touching him, being pressed up against him made the howling inside me die down just a little, and warmed a tiny fraction of my cold being.

  "How did you live like this?" I asked him as he helped me up the stairs to my apartment. "How did you live so long without going mad?"

  "I didn't know anything else," he answered, his lips brushing my temple. "Until I met you."

  Paen insisted I rest and have a cup of tea. "You've lost a significant amount of blood," he said as he tucked a blanket around me where I sat curled up on the couch. "In addition, your body is using up a good deal of energy to heal your neck. You'll need fluids and sugar to help regain blood and finish the healing."

  I touched my neck, pleased to see that my fingers came away without any fresh blood on them. The wound was slowly closing, the bleeding having stopped a short while before. Tea didn't sound the least bit appealing. I craved protein instead. "What I could go for is a steak. A nice big, bloody ste—" I stopped, appalled with the image in my head, my skin crawling at the thought of what I'd become. "Dear god—am I craving blood?"

  "I don't know. Are you?" He plugged the electric kettle in and rustled around the kitchen, finding mugs, the milk, sugar, and tea biscuits.

  "You needn't sound so unconcerned about it. This is a big deal to me," I said rather snappishly (allowable, I felt, given the situation).

  He shrugged and brought the tea things out to the table next to where I sat. "It's not a big deal to me. I am and always will be a male Moravian—I must take blood from others, or I'll die."

  "Well, I hope you're not peckish now, because this diner is closed for repairs."

  He smiled and went to check the water. "I'm hungry, but I can wait."

  "For how long?" I touched my neck again. It was hot, as if the skin was feverish.

  "For however long it takes. Here." He thrust a cup of heavily sugared tea in my hands. "Drink."

  "Sam? Is that you—oh, good, you came back." Clare traipsed out of her room, her long silk bathrobe almost exactly matching the shade of the pink rose she absently carried. "Finn and I were wondering when you would be ba—Goddess above! What happened to you?"

  Clare stopped in front of me, striking a dramatic pose with her hand to her throat as she stared at me in horror. Behind her, Finn emerged from her room, tucking his shirttail into his pants. He, too, froze when he saw me, quickly turning his gaze to Paen.

  "I turned Sam," my lover said simply, sitting down next to me. "The man who had been trying to kill her was finally successful. Or he would have been if I hadn't turned her."

  I gave both startled faces in front of me a wan smile, waving Paen on when he offered to tell the recent events.

  "We will find your soul," Clare promised when he was done, my hand clasped between hers as she sat at my feet, the remains of a mostly eaten rose on her lap. "I have absolutely no doubt that we'll find it. Is there a soul repository of some sort?"

  That last bit was addressed to Paen. He shook his head. "Not as such. Her soul exists still, but it is held in the Akasha."

  "Akasha?" Clare asked, puzzled.

  "Limbo," I said, my voice still husky. "You know the Akasha—it's the place where faeries are sent as punishment."

  The glare she shot me was fulminating but short-lived. "How do we find Sam's soul?" she asked Pa
en. "Do we just go to this Akasha limbo place?"

  "You could go, but Sam couldn't, and only she or I could reclaim her soul."

  "Then you go get it for her," Clare ordered, giving my hand another supportive squeeze. "We'll wait for you."

  Paen rubbed a hand over his face. He was tired and hungry, facts I knew without even touching him. But his light and warmth drew me. His arm wrapped around me, holding me tight as I snuggled up against him, soaking in his heat with a relieved sigh. "It's not that easy. Beings of dark origins cannot enter the Akasha."

  "Sam isn't dark—she's an elf, a sun elf," Clare pointed out.

  "She was. She's Moravian now, and more importantly, soulless. All beings without a soul are by their nature dark. She can't enter the Akasha unless she has a soul, and she can't get her soul unless she can enter the Akasha."

  I pushed myself tighter against him, half wishing I could crawl inside him to where that glorious soul glowed with life and love and everything that had been stripped from me.

  "You can get it, then," Clare said, her face taking on a stubborn look. "You have a soul now, so you can enter this Akasha."

  Paen shook his head. "I have a soul, but my origins are still dark. I was born without a soul—I will always be tainted by that, at least so far as the Akasha is concerned. I am forbidden entrance."

  "Well then, what are we going to do?" she wailed, her big blue eyes swimming with tears. I felt mildly upset on her behalf. She seemed so distraught.

  "Tell her about your project," Finn said, taking a seat in the chair opposite. Clare abandoned me for him, curling up in his lap with a distressed look on her face.

  "I've spent the last forty or so years researching a rumor I heard long ago. It concerned a manuscript that detailed the origins of the immortal races."

  I pulled back enough to look up at Paen, surprised by the words that echoed ones I'd heard not so many hours before.

  "What does that have to do with recovering Sam's soul?" Clare asked.

  Paen's eyes were bright with determination. "Somewhere in the information about the origins of the Dark Ones are details concerning how a soul may be restored without the means of a Beloved. What would work in that case for a Dark One should also work for Sam."

  "Are you sure this is a manuscript?" I asked, a vague sense of curiosity flickering inside me. "Not a statue?"

  "No, it's a manuscript. Sixteenth century. It was named Simia Gestor Coda because the mage who wrote it supposedly had a fascination with monkeys."

  "But," I said, my mind grinding to a halt, "I know about the Coda."

  "What?" Paen whirled around to stare at me. "How?"

  "It's the manuscript Owen Race hired us to find. He said it was stolen from his house."

  Paen swore passionately. "I've been searching for it for almost forty years!"

  "Is anyone else curious about the coincidences here?" I asked. "The Jilin God—"

  "Is a statue of a monkey, yes," Paen answered. "I noticed that as you have, but the two are separate objects, related only by the fact that both share a common theme."

  "More common than you know," I said, then told him what I had learned on my first trip to Caspar's house.

  He was pacing the small area in our living room by the time I finished. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

  I held up my hand and ticked off the reasons. "Trapped in the beyond, lost the bird statue, meeting with seer, murdered by Pilar, resurrection. Besides, you never asked me."

  He glared at me. I shrugged. "All right, that wasn't fair, but to be honest, there has been so much going on, I didn't think of telling you about an item I'm trying to find for another client."

  "Owen Race," Paen said as he paced by me.

  "Yes."

  "The same man who was said to know where the Jilin God was."

  "Yes. Oh." I frowned as I glanced up at him. "You think he's involved with Pilar, don't you?"

  "It makes sense that he could well be involved, yes."

  "But you said Pilar was in the employ of Caspar Green," Finn pointed out. Clare nibbled on a rose leaf.

  "Yes, but Caspar wanted the statue at all costs," I said, pieces of the puzzle starting to slide together. At least a few of them were. "Pilar knew I had the bird statue, but he evidently didn't tell Caspar that."

  "He was acting on his own," Finn said, nodding.

  "Or on someone else's behalf," Paen corrected.

  "Like Owen Race's," I said.

  "He's a double agent?" Clare asked, her eyes huge. She turned to Finn. "This is so exciting! It's just like a spy movie!"

  "The Jilin statue and the manuscript are clearly tied together," I said slowly, watching Paen as he paced. He was thinking like mad, too. "You never heard reference to a statue when you researched the manuscript?"

  "No, never. That's why I'm so surprised now—I've never seen mention of any other object in connection to it. But the coincidences are too striking to not mean something. Just what, though, I'm afraid I don't know."

  "Mr. Race might know how they're related."

  "Yes, he may well. He seems to be the mysterious figure behind a number of things," Paen said.

  I glanced at the clock. "It's a little after two—is that too early to drop in on him?" I asked the room in general.

  "I think we should," Clare said, getting off Finn's lap. "Right now! Client or not, it would serve him right if he's been hiding something from us."

  "The sooner we can talk to him—and get the statue back—the better for Sam and Mum," Finn said, getting to his feet as well. "I say let's do it."

  "No. Sam needs rest," Paen declared, stopping in front of me. I looked up to his face. His eyes were glittering brightly, and not just with concern. "She's been through hell tonight. A few hours' rest won't make a difference to Mum or the Coda, but will do much to help Sam recover."

  His scent teased me almost as much as his warmth and light attracted me. I got to my feet with languid grace that was only partially due to weakness, a slow smile on my lips. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

  "But—" Finn started to protest.

  Paen's hand was warm on my back as he gave me a gentle shove toward my bedroom. "Sam needs time," he said. "We owe her that much."

  The door to my bedroom closed on Finn's protests. I flipped on the light and frowned. The jungle of plants that inhabited my room looked more like a wasteland blighted by some horrific pesticide. Everywhere I looked were dried, brown fronds drooping lifelessly over the sides of containers, dead stems standing stiff and brittle, and spotted yellow and brown leaves carpeting the floor so completely that it was almost invisible.

  "It appears my plants don't approve of the new me," I said as I stepped over a sagging palm frond.

  "So it would seem," Paen said, watching me as he leaned against the door.

  "What's it going to be?" I asked, striking a pose next to a draped swatch of mosquito netting. "Fucking or lovemaking?"

  "Which do you prefer?" he asked, his face unreadable.

  I shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. I enjoy both."

  That got him moving. He strolled across the detritus of plants to where I stood, wrapping one hand around my neck, his thumb brushing my pulse point. "Sam, I know what it's like. I lived as you are now for almost three hundred years. But you were right when you told me there was more than just sexual gratification to be had from a relationship."

  He was so warm, so alive, the light of being shining so brightly from him I just wanted to rub against him like a cat and bask in its rays.

  "Remember how it was," he said softly, his hand caressing my neck now. "Don't let that memory slip away. Hang on to what you felt with me before."

  Inside me, the howling wind rose until my eyes burned with tears. "I don't want to live this way, Paen. I hurt inside. I feel so… distant. Separated. Alone."

  You have me, sweetheart, he said as I wrapped my arms around his waist. His arms closed around me and I drank in the glorious warmth that emanated from h
im, both physically and spiritually. I won't let you go, Sam. You managed to find a way into my cold, bleak heart, and I'm not going to let you leave me now.

  You say the nicest things, I said, burrowing myself closer to him. But there's way too much talking going on here, and not nearly enough lovemaking.

  His lips closed over mine in the sweetest kiss it was possible for me to imagine. Made your mind up, then?

  Yes. I want you to make love to me, Paen. I want you to show me again just what a wonderful thing we have together. I want you to remind me how beautiful your new soul is. I want you to save me from this coldness inside. Love me, Paen. Please, love me.

  The tenderness with which he disrobed me, kissing every inch of skin exposed, almost undid me. But I decided equal time was only fair, so I concentrated on making him squirm with want as I removed his clothes.

  "I thought I was supposed to be making love to you," he said, his voice strained as I cupped both hands around his erection.

  "We're taking turns." I flicked my tongue in his ear and bit the lobe gently, suddenly pulling back in surprise. "Paen?"

  "Not really, no, more of an ache, a good ache, but if you continue to stroke me like that, I'm not sure I'll last."

  I let go of his penis and blinked a couple of times before saying, "Heh. Joke. Kiss me."

  His eyes lit with mingled humor and arousal. "Ah, you wish to role-play? Normally I prefer to be the aggressor, but if it will please you, I suppose I can give in to your demands."

  The touch of his mouth on mine sent familiar zings of pleasure through me, heightening my anticipation of the moment when I would taste his desire. I couldn't wait and slipped my tongue into his mouth, teasing his until it followed mine back into my mouth.

  "Ow!" His head snapped back in surprise.

  "It just happened," I said, running my tongue carefully over the unexpected sharp, elongated points of my canine teeth. "When I bit your ear, suddenly these… they just were there. Where did they come from? Why do I have them? I thought you said I didn't have to drink blood? Can I get rid of them or am I stuck with them? What am I going to tell people?"

  He laughed, pulling me close against him, kissing me again, but carefully this time. "You're Moravian now, sweetheart. You have the sharp canines because you can, if you choose to, drink blood. Your body will process it and use it as fuel just as it does food. Your body is low on blood now, and wants you to take in more. That's why they manifested—you can pull them back if they bother you, otherwise they will be gone when your body no longer craves blood."