A Distant Echo: Book 1 (Grim's Labyrinth Series)

by Grim's Labyrinth Publishing

  “My lady,” he said softly, a sad smile playing at his lips thinking how she would laugh at this formal address. “You were the finest woman I have known. Brave and loving. Would that things had been different…I might have introduced you to my mam and da and asked their blessing. We could’ve made vows in the country church over the hill from the cottage where I was born. In another life we might have been free. In another life I might have saved you.”

  She stirred, he felt the flutter of movement in her fingers and looked up. Paxton’s long lashes seemed to tremble as she unclosed her eyes. Where they had once been blue as the sea, now they were dark as night. Weakly she smiled at him, her dry lips working as though she wanted to speak. He leaned nearer to hear the rasp of her whisper.

  “My love,” she said and fell back on the pillow.

  “Are you well?” he asked solicitously. She nodded in response and went to sleep. He climbed in bed beside her and kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips, overjoyed that she had been returned to him.

  “I am of your blood now, a part of you. You can never send me away,” she murmured.

  “I never wish to,” he swore, kissing her. She curled against him and clung to him, his bloodstained shirt clenched in her hand as she slept. At last he gave himself up to sleep as well, content that she would survive.

  Elias woke consumed and surrounded by Paxton, her hair, her hands, her mouth devouring him. She pulled his shirt off, strong hands gripping his arms as she crouched above him, drawing him up to her mouth so she could kiss him. She parted his lips before he could speak, her tongue sliding in his mouth and probing, claiming him. His bare arms clutched her hips, pushing aside clothing impatiently and at last tearing it and throwing it to the floor in their urgency.

  Paxton took his hands in hers, twining their fingers together and forced him onto his back, pinning his hands above his head. Grinning, she bent over him and he felt the juicy sting of her fangs slipping into the untried skin of his throat. She moaned as she drank from him. She released his hands and her nails grazed his chest as he caressed her, twisting his fingers in her hair. She withdrew from him, sitting up on his stomach and sweeping her hair back with a sensuous smile.

  “That was lovely,” she murmured and slid her hands up his sides. He claimed her then, kissing her and clutching her to him.

  “You were lovely. So valiant, so rare. I might have lost you,” he said, only now feeling how real that fear had been. Their embrace was tender, slowly tracing their love on each other’s flesh as the shadows lengthened in the room.

  Later, she had a long shower and washed her hair, struck by how even the water had a strong scent now…that she was sensitive to the chlorine smell and the faint undertone of fishiness, how the lime shampoo’s citrusy bite was almost too sharp and acidic for her to stand. The water seemed to thunder around her and crash into the shower walls, the sound reverberating around her, while she was scarcely aware of being wet unless she concentrated on the sensation. The heat of the water was strangely remote to her, while sounds and scents bombarded her. She kept catching herself inhaling even though she no longer needed to breathe and those instinctive inhalations brought a flood of scents to overwhelm her. She made a mental note to tell Elias’ laundry service to use less fabric softener so she wouldn’t feel like the towel was trying to suffocate her with the freshness of a spring meadow. She laughed at the notion and twisted her wet hair into a knot. Paxton came bounding out of the bathroom and flung her arms around Elias, dragging his lemony scent into her body and detecting a spicy note that made her want to lick his neck.

  “Come to the lab for a minute,” he said. She slipped into a pair of sandals and followed him into the elevator, kissing him as soon as the doors shut.

  “Was I awful when I was sick?” she asked playfully.

  “No. You were only ill for a day…it took me three days to die and another two to recover. You’re remarkably resilient. The first thing is to feed you. It’s best to stay near your source for the first few months….that mentor trip is out of the question for you, I’m afraid, since you likely don’t want to put blood in the hotel room refrigerator or bite one of the children. The hunger comes on suddenly and strongly in the first half year. You don’t know how often you’ll need to feed.”

  They entered the lab and she accepted a bag of blood from him.

  “I was fine with biting you but this is sort of disgusting and clinical. Can I put it in coffee or something? At first?” she asked squeamishly. He nodded but she saw the amusement in his sardonic expression. He took a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator and mixed in the blood for her. She swallowed it with a grimace and managed a rictus smile for him when she was finished. She felt euphoric despite her initial distaste, with a surge of energy that made her feel like stretching her muscles by doing a triathlon or similar. She bounced up and down.

  “Does it always feel like this? Is this an initial high or something?”

  “You’re not used to it. Ordinarily I do not feel as though I want to…are you spinning?” He paused as she twirled around, arms flung out, sundress billowing around her. “What would you like to do now?” he asked. “I have journals of my early days after conversion if you’d like to read them over and see if any insights might benefit you,” he offered.

  “Maybe another time. I feel way too good to sit around reading. Let’s go for a run!”

  “I should have warned you about compulsive behaviors. For the first weeks especially you may be tempted to overindulge. It could take the form of overeating, shopping to the point of indebtedness or in your case, overexercising may be the drug of choice. Balthasar went on an art buying binge, he said. He often told the story of trying to locate and acquire every known work by Caravaggio. Since many of those are held in museums, you can imagine that he got into some trouble when they wouldn’t sell. Janet was furious. She still speaks of it.”

  “Janet your secretary?”

  “Yes. She was Balthasar’s wife.”

  “What happened to Balthasar?”

  “He is, I suppose, still alive. He renounced all possessions and human ties perhaps, oh, eighty years ago and joined a monastery in Tibet. I’m not sure I’d have chosen a life of contemplation while staring down the barrel of immortality but he always had the fortitude of a hundred men.”

  “That’s a long time to navel gaze. How did Janet feel about it?”

  “She was glad for him to go. By that time his melancholia, what would now be diagnosed easily as clinical depression, had advanced beyond a simple malaise. We were concerned he would expose himself to sunlight intentionally just to end it. That kind of mental torment is, to my mind, second only to dementia when ranking anguish.”

  “Will that be the next disorder you cure when you’ve finished eradicating senility?”

  “It would be presumptuous to expect I will be the one to put a halt to neurodegeneration.”

  “Of course it is, but you’re nothing if not egotistical.”

  “True. Actually I plan to shift my focus to the role of glutamate in motor neuron disorders, specifically amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. It dovetails nicely with my existing research into other degenerative neurological diseases.”

  “Can I help you with your research? Reviewing data, typing reports?”

  “It would be very beneficial to have a lab assistant at times if you find the material interesting. I can make you an expert second only to myself in a matter of months since neither of us has to sleep.”

  “I’d like that. I was always into biology at school.”

  “You have the spirit of a crusader, however ill-advised that may be. You’d make an excellent researcher.”

  “That is potentially the nicest thing you’ve said to me since I died.”

  “If you’re going to be nonsensical I’ll have to seek another assistant.”

  “You’re stuck with me, Elias. But I’ll want joint publication on your next project.”

  “When I’m finishe
d with my dementia vaccine, you may have joint billing on the ALS project.”

  “If I prove myself worthy?”

  “You will. I have no doubt.”

  “Thank you. That…means a great deal to me. Nobody since my mother has really seemed to think I had much potential.”

  “They were benighted fools, Paxton. Now let me put sunblock on you.” With the greatest of care, Elias applied a layer of his special sunblock formulation to every inch of exposed skin, a studious expression on his spare, beautiful face.

  She turned to him and stroked his face, tracing those sharp cheekbones, the angle of his jaw and the straight brows, all planes and jagged edges. With a surge of wonder, Paxton realized he would always be like this. Experience and age would alter his personality but his face would remain unchanged…heartbreakingly youthful and impervious to outrageous fortune. It was bittersweet to know she would not see him grow older, lines of concentration forming on his forehead and filaments of silver at his temples. Her lip trembled, thinking what a grave, beautiful child he must have been and how terribly lonely. He would not, she swore, be lonesome again because now he had her. All the years she had feared putting herself out there, dreaded scrutiny and attention and had secreted herself away out of self-protection, she had yearned for someone to truly know her. Now she had Elias.

  “Elias Alexander Townsend Not the Fifth, I want you to marry me,” she said thoughtfully.

  “You returned my ring.”

  “It was fake.”

  “That is hardly the salient point, Paxton. I offered you an apology and unqualified affection. You rejected them.”

  “Now I’m proposing. Plus I’ve died since then. I think it’s safe to say we’ve moved past that point,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “Did you like the ring? Or would you prefer to visit a jeweler and select your own?”

  “It was gorgeous but I’m not turning down a chance to go to Tiffany & Co. and pick out what I want. It’s sort of been my dream since I used to watch Audrey Hepburn movies on late-night TV with my mother.”

  “Shall we go to New York and visit the store or will the web site be sufficient?”

  “My Audrey Hepburn dreams had nothing to do with a computer screen. I’ll be happy to ogle the ones online but I need to see them in person. Possibly while wearing sunglasses and a big glamorous hat.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

  “I’ll have to produce my falsified Social Security card to get a marriage license. Unless you prefer to marry overseas?”

  “I thought we might go to Ireland if you want to.”

  “I would like to show you Ireland. In fact I find myself wanting to take you on holiday and visit places you’ve never been.”

  “I’m from Ohio. I moved to California. I haven’t been anywhere else. Not even Mexico and it’s like only a few hours from here.”

  “I have a helicopter if you want to go to Mexico tonight.”

  “Wait. You have a helicopter?”

  “Sitting in traffic is an inefficient use of my time.”

  “When you could be isolating enzymes and reading wine magazines?”

  “Precisely. If you want to go, I can have a passport ready for you by five.”

  “Do they issue passports that fast?”

  “No. But I forge official documentation out of necessity to change my identity. It’s sinfully easy once you’ve mastered the software. Very authentic looking.”

  “So we’re going to pass off fake visas at the border?”

  “Yes. If Harvard didn’t notice my forgeries either time, I doubt Mexican border officials are going to pause in their search for diseased produce to scrutinize my documents. You underestimate my skills.”

  “Never. I don’t fancy a vacation in a Mexican prison.”

  “I would persuade them to release us if there were any little difficulties.”

  “Using your sexy vampire smell, obviously,” she teased.

  “Using bribery and, if necessary, fangs or enhanced vampire strength.”

  “You take white male privilege to the next level, Elias.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. There are a multitude of advantages to my way of life. Wealth softens the way, I’ll admit.”

  “You are so haughty sometimes I’m unsure if I should laugh.”

  “Mexico?”

  “Absolutely. Give me your tablet. I want to surf jewelry sites.”

  “Those tablets are dedicated exclusively for research purposes. If you introduced a computer virus by downloading something sketchy—”

  “Yes, I’m here to corrupt your data. Which you have backed up anyway in probably five locations including, like, a microchip in your molar.”

  “I do not have a microchip in my teeth. But I do, as you say, back up my files. Nevertheless it would be a considerable inconvenience to have to—”

  “Use your valuable time waiting in line at the Apple Store for tech support?” she guessed.

  “I was going to say that troubleshooting any complications would be irksome.”

  “Fine. I’ll look on my phone. You’re so possessive about your electronics. Go ahead and get some work done. I know my death and resurrection have monopolized a lot of your time this week.” She kissed him and took off downstairs.

  Chapter 9

  Paxton licked the salt from the rim of her icy margarita as she looked out over the impossible cobalt blue of the Sea of Cortez. Elias was speaking Spanish with elaborate hand gestures, discussing local history with the waiter at the resort. It was a lifestyle so far removed from the way she grew up and the way her mentees lived that she felt almost disoriented. Her surroundings had been curated to be secure, immaculately clean and graciously appointed. A turquoise sarong rippled around her ankles in the evening breeze that carried a tang of salt in the air.

  Elias’ discussion grew more vehement and he gestured toward her in exasperation. When the waiter exited, Paxton edged closer to him on the balcony.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You paid way too much for that doll today.”

  “It’s for Pepper. It was six dollars. I don’t care if I could have gotten it cheaper. She’ll love it.”

  “It is insulting to the artisans if you don’t bargain. You have to be sensitive to the cultural differences.”

  “See, I consider it insulting to tell some guy that the gorgeous doll he made is only worth four bucks. I’m not doing that.”

  “Next time leave the bargaining to me.”

  “We’re leaving in the morning. Don’t worry about it. Plus, you have a helicopter and you think I wasted money?”

  “No, I think you were cheated. I’m not judging expenditure, obviously.”

  “I’m keeping my job. I won’t live off your largesse.”

  “I’m not to be your benefactor then? Your Mr. Darcy?”

  “Well, you are singularly ill-tempered and antisocial so I suppose you qualify.”

  “But he was an aristocrat and I was born in obscurity.”

  “Obscure or not, I found you. That’s what matters.” Paxton draped her arm around his neck and nuzzled him.

  “Hungry?”

  “I’m okay. I have a headache.”

  “We don’t get headaches. You have to feed. It’s in the mini bar behind the pistachios.”

  “You hid blood in the mini bar?”

  “It was the only cooling appliance in the room. I had no choice. I didn’t want you feasting on the chambermaids.”

  “That isn’t something you get to say every day. Feasting on the chambermaids. I like it.”

  “Oh, go drink your blood,” he said dismissively. “We have an appointment in half an hour.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We are not going anywhere. Someone is coming to us.”

  Soon, he ushered her to the sitting room of their suite and rang the front desk. An unassuming man in a cardigan sweater
totally inappropriate for the weather entered with a briefcase. He placed it on the table before Paxton and unlocked it. He spread velvet display wands and cushions on the table and donned white cotton gloves to position diamond rings to show their best advantage. Blindingly white diamonds and colored gemstones of every imaginable shape arrayed on black velvet. She pressed her fingers to her lips, overwhelmed.

  “You may have had pretensions to be Holly Golightly, but I would rather treat you as a princess than a courtesan.”

  “I thought she was a party girl.”

  “I was speaking euphemistically. Do you see anything you like?” He could not contain a smile. He prided himself on his solemnity, being above emotion, but her simple enthusiasm was infectious.

  Paxton reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing a princess-cut diamond solitaire reverently as though she were not permitted to touch such a fine thing. The jeweler spoke about the design of the ring and its carat weight as he handed it to her as casually as if she handled valuable gems every day as a matter of course. She slid it on her ring finger and held it up to the light. It was a pretty thing but it didn’t suit her. She shook her head, smiling apologetically, and took a lustrous emerald set in a diamond band. She wiggled her fingers happily as she admired it. If she closed her eyes she could imagine herself, hair bobbed and sporting a feathered headband as she danced the Charleston with Gatsby. A small smile played at her lips as she remembered the unflappable Elias standing calmly in the elevator after kissing her into a frenzy. She had thought that night how Daisy Buchanan mused that Gatsby always looked so cool even on a hot day. It was how she thought of Elias, self-contained and impervious to the forces of nature.

  She set the ring aside and tried on others. A round brilliant diamond with rubies and diamonds set in the band like spots of light and drops of blood seemed oddly both apropos and repellent. The diamonds themselves with their deceptive whiteness refracting all the colors from within made her think of her intended, his icy demeanor, his clipped and formal speech, his callous dismissal of a few children more or less…but that had been a misconception. She had read his scientific mind as being without compassion but when he spoke of Balthasar’s depression, of having to burn wet garbage to try to save his father, she knew his coldness as nothing more than the armor of a warrior grown bitter from the fight.