“Dunking is against the rules!” she protested. “But tell me you don’t feel younger after that.” She slicked back her wet hair and smiled triumphantly.
“I feel silly. Not young precisely.”
“What did you do when you were young?”
“I worked.”
“I mean as a kid.”
“I worked. I started sweeping up at the butcher shop when I was five. I always had odd jobs, as a messenger or errand boy. I kept my father’s equipment clean and ordered and when I could write, I did a good deal of his records as well.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a poor country surgeon in County Cork. We immigrated to the States for opportunity but to the Boston crowd he was nothing but another ignorant Mick fresh off the boat.” His voice was bitter. “He couldn’t even get on at a hospital. No one came to his practice but prostitutes and hobos. Couple of Communists, which got our doors smeared with red and eggs thrown at us in the streets. His mind was already failing—you don’t want to hear this.”
“I do. I want to know you.”
“I’m not keen to share sad stories standing waist-deep in cold water. To the shore, Paxton.” As they waded awkwardly across the wet sand to the towels she’d brought, Paxton realized that his father’s senility was the inciting incident, the whole reason for his single-minded mission to cure dementia.
“What happened to your mother?”
“Died in childbed,” he muttered. “And the infant two days later.”
“So was it only you and your dad? Did you have other siblings?”
“Just us two since I was seven. For a long time—it seemed a long time to me—I kept things together. His mind began to go when I was nine years old. I was big enough then that I found and fixed his small mistakes in patient records, in dosages, when he was just beginning to slip. I convinced him to stop doing surgeries and just consult with patients before he could actually kill anyone out of absent-mindedness.”
“When he couldn’t do surgery, how did you live? What did you do for money?”
“Any number of things. I swept chimneys till I got too big to fit down them. I was a butcher’s boy—growing up around a surgery, I had a lot of the same skills, but it didn’t pay much. I hung around at the bare-knuckle bouts, helped the local boss pass betting slips through the crowd for his gambling ring…that paid well but I wound up in the clink a couple of times and my Da was furious.” He chuckled despite himself.
Paxton had tears in her eyes for that small boy who had so much responsibility and grief. She knew her sentiment would displease him so she bit her lip bravely.
“What did he do?”
“Whipped me. Told me I wasn’t to work for trash like that any longer. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that trash like that was paying for the bit of meat in our stew and good bread to go with it. I did as he said because I respected him and I had a lifetime habit of obeying him. I was afraid to ask another doctor to treat my father because if it were known his wits were gone, what little custom he had would be gone. I stole what we needed and that’s how we went on until—I couldn’t steal much in the way of wood for the fire and he got a chill that went to his chest and…it took him quickly. I was grateful for the speed of the illness at least. It stopped his suffering and confusion.”
Elias sank down onto the sand, head in his hands. Paxton slid her arms around him and drew his head down on to her shoulder. She stroked his hair comfortingly. His eyes were shut tightly, thinking how young, how small he felt at that moment leaning on Paxton. He didn’t say a word, didn’t tell her she’d won because he wanted the same thing she did—for her never to leave him.
Chapter 4
They sat together in silence for a long time. Slowly, Elias lay back on the towel and drew Paxton down beside him. Staring up at the sky, he watched the cumulonimbus clouds smooth out their ragged edges and become rounder, more wholesome cumulus…the puffy clouds of a pastoral scene. He knew the moment she drifted off to sleep with her head on his shoulder, felt the relaxation of her arms, the subtle shift of her weight as she snuggled against him. Hours passed before she woke up, and woke him in the bargain. Elias Townsend, who hadn’t slept outdoors since the nineteenth century and only then in the extremity of poverty, had drifted off on a public beach, embracing a near stranger. Shifting off of his shoulder bashfully, Paxton told him to wait and took off at a run down the beach. She returned with an armful of driftwood, which she laid at his feet.
“What time is it? I’m starving! Here, I stole you some wood. Now build us a fire.” She watched as he raised his hand to his lips, just for a moment, speechless. Without a word or glance, he rose and began to dig a pit and arrange the wood. Paxton wandered off and returned with a pair of sticks suitable for toasting marshmallows. She rifled through her beach bag and produced graham crackers, chocolate bars and a bag of marshmallows.
When the blaze flared up, she scooted closer to it, realizing there was a chill on the breeze and the warmth of their fire felt good. Busily piercing fat marshmallows on the pointed branches of the sticks, Paxton smiled at Elias.
“Here you go. Roast away. When was the last time you cooked over an open fire? I promise food tastes better this way, outside and eaten with your hands. Messy.” She licked marshmallow stickiness off her thumb unselfconsciously. He accepted the proffered branch and held it gingerly toward the flames.
“I cannot believe you made me build the fire. Vampires can burn, you know.”
“I didn’t think you’d throw yourself in it. I just wanted a campfire.” She wrapped the beach towel around her shoulders and blew on her flaming marshmallows. “I think these are a la flambé,” she remarked, scraping one onto a chocolate-laden graham cracker.
Elias followed suit and then offered her the resulting confection.
“Don’t you eat?”
“It isn’t necessary. That sugary monstrosity certainly holds no temptation for me,” he sniffed. The burnt sugar scent was mouth-watering but he felt stubborn, didn’t want to relent in this small thing. Paxton licked her lips and took the cookie from him. Leaning over toward Elias, she took a bite and held the s’more out to him, offering to feed it to him. Aloof, he regarded her, the golden play of flames on her skin, lightly dappled with freckles, her playful smile. Suddenly he leaned forward, gripped her wrist and took a bite of the cookie, his lips brushing her fingers. Tasting the gooey explosion of molten sugar, he chewed as she watched him expectantly.
“Well? What do you think? I’m a terrific cook, right?”
“I think s’mores remind me of you. Much too sweet, but I want more.”
Kissing her by firelight, his hand curved around the back of her neck, pulling her near, was sweeter than the confection she’d fed him, sweeter even than her sleeping head on his shoulder. For a man who’d embraced bitterness, coldness and single-minded focus, that sweetness was corroding his defenses, melting him at the core.
“This was a terrible idea,” he said, his voice remote and crisp again as he pulled away.
“The s’mores? The beach? Or us?” She tried to say it lightly, willed herself not to tear up and chew her lip and look at her hands. This is what putting myself out there got me, she thought ruefully.
“All of it. Tell me more of your bad ideas. I—like them very much.” His voice faltered slightly but she noticed it, the catch before he would have said he loved her ideas…he would not give her even that concession.
“Tonight, we’ll take an owl walk.”
“A what?”
“It’s like bird-watching at night. You have to be super quiet, no talking, practically no breathing. Not that breathing is a problem for you. We put on hiking clothes, head out to the woods and start walking. When you’re way into the forest, you stop and do an owl call, a trilling sound like this—” She paused and made a shrill sound in her throat that was by far the most ridiculous noise he had ever heard issue from a human, and he had once been a member of the state legislature.
“Owls sound nothing like that. Has that sound ever attracted a response from an actual owl or just laughter and perhaps the arrival of emergency services?”
“Make fun of me all you want, Elias NOT the Fifth. We’re going to find an owl tonight and see it up close. I have seen one before and it was the most awe-inspiring thing I ever saw. It filled me with a sense of wonder and you’ll feel it, too. Then you’ll donate to the trip so I get my promotion, you’ll give me the formula and admit that I made you feel alive again.”
“Shall I also fashion for you a princess crown?”
“No, I don’t want to be anybody’s little princess, thanks.” There was an edge to her voice that surprised him. “I’ve got hiking gear in my backpack. Can I change at your place?”
“I suppose you could change here on the beach if you like,” he said indifferently.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Let’s go.” She kicked sand on the fire and piled her things back into the bag. “You could help,” Paxton said. Elias bent over grudgingly and folded a beach towel into a small, precise rectangle and passed it to her. She handed him the overstuffed bag and carried the towel.
At his apartment, Elias dropped her bag on a guest room bed.
“You can stay here. There’s an en suite.”
“What?”
“A lavatory. Through that door.”
Paxton showered and washed her hair with an exquisite lime-mint shampoo. Toweling off, she smiled at her reflection. “I smell really expensive,” she said aloud and giggled. As she dressed methodically, she reviewed her plan and reminded herself to stay focused on the goal. If everything stayed on track with Elias, she’d be immortal by midnight on Sunday.
She shrugged a hoodie on over her jeans and T-shirt, braided her long golden hair simply and secured it with an elastic band. She pocketed her phone and the twenty dollars she had stuffed in her backpack for emergencies. She was almost ready to face Elias. Doubling back, she slicked on a sheer rosy lip gloss just for confidence.
He sat on the low white sofa, leafing through an art journal and making notes on his tablet. She dropped down beside him on the couch and peeked over his shoulder.
“That looks like a first-grader made it.” She wrinkled her nose at the collage pictured in the journal.
“You have a great deal to learn about art beyond the basics.”
“Are you the man to teach me?” Somehow, when she tried to be flirtatious she sounded even more innocent to Elias. It gave him a pang that was something akin to protectiveness or affection.
“I could teach you a great many things, Paxton. Many of them I’d rather you not learn at all.” He shut the magazine and squared it on top of its proper stack. “Are you ready to go owl walking?”
“Yes. We should grab some granola bars and water. Do you have any?”
“There should be water in the faucet, Paxton. There may be crackers in the pantry.”
“Do you really not eat at all?”
“Only if I want to which isn’t often. It’s an inefficient use of time.”
“So is the owl walk, I guess. But fun isn’t a waste of time. I’ll show you.”
They drove outside the city until they were so far beyond the haze of its lights, its artificial urban hum that Paxton could roll down the windows and hear the sound of rustling leaves and the roar of the wind itself. When Elias parked the car near a wooded area, she giggled nervously.
“Not the forest you had in mind?”
“It just looks…”
“Boring?”
“Creepy. Like a crime scene. There should be yellow police tape up here, maybe.”
“If you’re frightened, we can leave. This was, I might point out, entirely your scheme, Paxton.”
“No. I’m not afraid. What do I have to be afraid of? I’m with a vampire, right?” She said it shakily, nodding her head as if convincing herself. She hopped out of the car and headed for the nearest thing to a path she could see. He trailed behind her and she asked herself silently if she was afraid of Elias. She decided firmly that she wasn’t afraid…the worst he could do was turn her into a vampire, she supposed. Or maybe exsanguinate her. That term she’d learned from quizzing Gillian for her nursing exams. To drain all the blood from. She shuddered, made a show of pulling her hoodie more closely around her. She flicked off her flashlight when they stepped into the woods because the light might frighten the owls away. She felt Elias behind her and she leaned close to whisper.
“We’d have better luck in December when the owls are looking for mates.”
“So this isn’t mating season?”
“No. It’s still too warm...it makes the owls sluggish.”
“Why owls, exactly?”
“Other birds are too easy to see. I like a challenge.”
“That might explain your continued interest in me.”
“Are you sure it’s not just your charm? Or maybe your supersexy vampire smell?” she teased. He nudged her shoulder almost playfully.
“Be quiet. You’ll scare the owls,” he said. “And whatever you do, avoid making that infernal bird call again.”
“It’s a very skilled imitation of the call of the Western Screech Owl, native to California,” she hissed.
“If it makes a noise like that, it’s a miracle the benighted creature isn’t extinct,” he mused.
She elbowed him and walked on, picking her way through the darkness, trying not to crack twigs in the path and moving as silently as she could. Stopping to listen, she waited but heard nothing other than her own breath.
“Can you smell owls? With your vampire senses or anything?”
“I’m not Spider-Man. Or a bloodhound. What do owls smell like? I smell moldy leaves, pollen and lime shampoo.”
“Oh. I find that disappointing somehow.” As they walked on in silence, she listened to the rustle of animals in the underbrush, the chirp of crickets. The quiet lengthened with the shadows and Paxton felt her limbs relax, the tension in her neck uncoiling as they walked on, scanning the dusk for any signs of movement.
Suddenly, a loud clambering through the underbrush heralded an explosion of movement…a large creature leapt out of the woods toward them. Paxton gasped and whirled around into Elias’ arms, burying her face in his chest.
“Fear not. I’ll protect you from the deadly mule deer that crossed our path,” he said, sarcasm warring with humor in his voice. She looked up and saw the hind legs of the jumping deer as it bounded out of sight. A nervous laugh and she disentangled herself from him.
“I’m sorry. It startled me. I think I thought it was a wolf or something.”
“Then embracing me would have done you little service. I’m no match for a wolf, Paxton, whatever you may think of my invincibility.”
“I didn’t expect you to battle to the death or anything. I just got scared and grabbed on to whatever was convenient,” she grouched.
Elias dropped a kiss on top of her head.
“Then I’m happy to have been a convenience for you.” He said it almost graciously.
“This misanthropic Elias-Not-the-Fifth is being nice to me. That’s not normal. Is there a predator behind me? Do I smell like I have cancer so you pity me?”
“What is your obsession with my imaginary olfactory sense?”
“Well, why don’t you have a heightened sense of smell? I’m sure you have some enhanced abilities. What sort of superpowers do you get in this bargain?”
“I am immune to disease and aging. I can heal from any major injury short of decapitation or immolation. I don’t have to eat, drink or sleep. I don’t feel cold or hot beyond a cursory awareness while other sensations like texture are amplified so that silk sheets feel like very heaven. I have limitless reserves of energy and vitality dependent only on the consumption of a modicum of required nourishment.”
“Blood.”
“Yes. Also I’m resistant to the very human failings of mental frailty or what is commonly referred to as ‘stress.’ I hav
e superior ability to govern my emotions such as they are along with increased capacity for memory and recall. “
“Can you eat and sleep if you want to?”
“Of course. The only real drawback to immortality is the inevitable ennui.”
“Boredom? That’s your big problem?”
“Yes. If I must admit to a weakness it is that.”
“Not loneliness?”
“One ceases to be lonesome for fellow creatures when there are none.”
“You don’t know any other vampires?”
“I certainly do. They are not like me. They are creatures of passion, romanticizing the notion of a tortured soul out for blood or redemption. It would be almost pitiable if it weren’t for the truly dreadful impact on our image. We can be creatures of reason, men of science, not reduced to animal urges but elevated above them.”
“That sounds very sterile. You must be so proud,” she said sarcastically.
“If we’re going to proceed with this discussion, let us return to the car before we’re beset by more homicidal mule deer, shall we? We’ve effectively frightened away any owls that might have been nearby.”
Paxton shivered, realizing she was cold and belatedly understanding that his combative behavior had been meant to distract and comfort her. She reached out and took his hand. Elias allowed it.
“Are you ever sorry you did it?” she asked softly.
“Never for a second. No. I’m not a man to make decisions impulsively. I was at a conference in Vienna, listening to an eminent clinician present the result of his trials and there was something about him that was different. He was completely composed, in no evident hurry. Every man of business or medicine I’d ever known was plagued by how little time there was in the day, the week, the lifetime. His brilliance was enhanced by his repose. I asked him about it and he told me that he was immortal. He made me wait months before he would turn me. I had to write for him a manifesto proving my intent to use immortality to further the sciences, explaining all my past and my reasoning, disavowing any close personal relationships that could be complicated or bring about exposure. I was made to understand the risks of sunlight, of other vampires discovering me and fighting for some form of dominion, of the bravado that leads a man to be reckless and court scrutiny by publicly defying death one time too often. Of the blood lust that ungoverned hunger can cause, the need to manage the urges.”
A Distant Echo: Book 1 (Grim's Labyrinth Series) Page 3