"Here." Patrick handed me a slim silver device.
I took the cellular phone from him and peered at it. "More technology? Yuck. Take it back."
"A mom without a cell phone? Not possible." He smiled, and I knew he sought to break the tension between us. Too bad it wasn't freaking working.
"One for emergency use that I keep in the car. And I haven't driven a car in forever because, apparently, I have sidhe blood now and we have faster modes of transportation." I tucked the phone into the front pocket of my shorts. "So the phone is hooked up to some kind of vampire network?"
"Consortium network," said Patrick. "All the members' numbers are in the address book."
"Thanks."
We stood there, awkwardly staring at each other. Then Patrick sighed, leaned over to kiss my cheek, and whispered, "Good night, love."
He misted into silver and faded away.
Well, fine. Go brood. Suddenly restless, I ambled into the yard. The wet grass slapped against my bare toes. I thought about my childhood, about how I used to run through all the lawns barefoot, risking bee stings and stickers, just to feel the summer grass under my feet. Back then, the air was always tinged with honeysuckle, so heavy and thick with sweetness of those blooms it was like you could lick the air and taste syrup. The neighborhood kids would play hide-and-seek until dusk, our laughter and screams echoing into every backyard. When it got too dark, we'd chase lightning bugs, putting them into glass containers with punched-hole lids… until our mothers made us dump out the poor insects and berated us for ruining perfectly good Mason jars.
I used to hate the night. Yeah. I hated when the sun went down and robbed us of childhood delights. After daylight abandoned us, we had dinner and homework and baths and bedtime. The night had stolen from me, and I resented it. Now, all I had, all any vampire had, was the night. I guess it was a good case of being careful what you wished for.
I spent some time with Bryan and Jenny. We watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas, which was an odd movie for the kids to select, but there's no accounting for taste. Especially ours.
I made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole for dinner. It was a favorite meal of the kids, though watching 'em devour it was just a reminder that I would never consume regular food again, especially after they each got to dig into a chocolate pudding cup. I wondered what would happen if I ate real food? I probably didn't want to find out.
Later, after bedtime rituals were complete, Bryan hid in his room to play an hour's worth of PlayStation 2. Jenny and I read another two chapters about the adventures of a trio of best friends in the magical world of Droon.
"Do vampires celebrate Christmas?" asked Jenny as I tucked her into bed.
"Heck, yeah," I said.
"Wilson said vampires have their own religion and holidays and that him and his mom were converting."
Wilson was sixteen and his mother was Patsy Donahue. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. The hair stylist would sooner dye herself pink and run through town naked than celebrate any religious holiday. Patsy said the holidays were excuses for drinking and eating in excess, which she gladly did.
"Is Wilson the one that said vampires didn't celebrate Christmas?"
"Yeah, he said vampires celebrate Yule. And he said that on December twenty-fifth, he gets to say, 'you'll do this' and 'you'll do that' and we have to because it's honoring his new religion."
I laughed this time. That Wilson. What a card. I stroked Jenny's bangs away from her forehead. "No, honey. Yule is a real holiday and it's a very old tradition. And it wasn't started by the vampires."
At least I didn't think so. The vampires had been around a long damned time. I pulled the covers up to her chin and kissed her cheek. "G'night, baby girl."
" 'Night, Mommy."
With an hour or so left before sunrise, I sat at the kitchen table, finishing a letter to my husband. Charlene's confession had turned my world upside down. I don't know why she'd admit something that would put her in a bad light unless she thought making me feel like shit was worth it.
At any time during the last year, she could've told me about Rich leaving her, about Rich loving me and our kids more than her. But she'd waited. She'd held on to that knowledge like a miser hoarding gold. Why had she told me now?
The timing bothered me a lot. We were both vampires. We were both building a new community in an old town. We were both Turned by the same Master.
As I folded the letter and tucked it into my pocket, I wondered if Charlene had issued a challenge that related not to Rich, but to Patrick. I didn't get your first man, but I'll get your second.
I turned over that possibility in my mind. Would she be that stupid? Why would she care about my love life? Rich… well, I could understand her need for him. She worked in his office, observed our lives together.
Had she told the truth? Or had she lied?
I supposed it didn't matter. What mattered is that I had to forgive Rich. I had to forgive myself. And I needed closure to the situation. Life wasn't neat. You couldn't take sections, fold 'em, and put 'em into sealed boxes labeled "finished." Life was messy. Chaotic. Senseless. But you lived it. Every day you lived it. And every day you tried to make it mean something.
I checked the digital clock on the microwave, gauged how much time I had. Yeah, I could do it. Hmmm. I wondered if Patrick was inside my head right now. Sometimes, I felt him in my mind, just a whisper. Mostly, though, I didn't know if he was there or not. I hadn't tried to get inside his head. Handling my own thoughts was hard enough. Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted to run into information that… well, I didn't want to know.
Leaving the house, I waved to the security guard pacing my lawn, then rose into the air and headed toward the Broken Heart Cemetery.
Two months ago, on the one-year anniversary of Rich's passing, my children and I brought flowers to his grave. It was a sad day. The tombstone with his name on it was just a reminder that their father was gone forever. And that was why I didn't make them go every week or every month to show their respects. No matter what choices he'd made for our marriage, he loved his children. I knew he wouldn't want our kids to be in pain. I hired a service to maintain Rich's grave and paid extra to make sure fresh flowers were placed in the concrete vases on either side of the granite tombstone.
We didn't need regular trips to the cemetery to remember Rich. I made sure our family scrapbooks were accessible to my kids, that Rich's pictures were in their bedrooms, that keepsakes of vacations and trips were maintained throughout the house. Rich wasn't forgotten. And the love harbored for him and what he'd meant to them… and to me… still existed. It was still nurtured.
I settled in front of Rich's gravestone. I felt so nervous. My last words to him hadn't been kind. And since his passing, I hadn't tried to talk to him. I mean, he was gone. What was the point?
Grieving was for the living. And, so too, was closure. Here I was, still able to emotionally gnaw on the problems of my life, while Rich had no recourse at all. He couldn't ever reconsider his thoughts or words or actions.
I withdrew the letter and unfolded it. I stared at the words I'd written.
"Crap. What good will this do? It's stupid!" I clenched the paper so hard, it ripped.
It's not stupid.
I blinked away the tears in my eyes. Patrick?
Read the letter, Jessica. Your words will carry to the Universe and somewhere in it, resides the one you knew as Rich. He will hear you.
I felt comforted by his understanding and justified in my attempt to deal with my emotions for Rich. Had Patrick felt the same, done the same for his family when they were taken from him?
Releasing grief is necessary, Jessica. And perpetuating love is vital. Do you what you must, love, then come home. The sun will rise soon.
I felt him slip out of my mind. Once again, I looked at the letter. Then I read it aloud.
Dearest Rich,
This is really hard to write. The thing is, I'm not sure now about yo
u and Charlene. It's uncomfortable to think that she was a mistake, that she made you miserable, that things weren't as they seemed.
I was so mad at you! And I was justified! You screwed Charlene. Rich, Jr. is proof of that. But… to be honest, honey, even if we tried to pick up the pieces, everything about us, about what we had, would've been changed. How do you rebuild trust? How do you fix love? If our love was strong and we were happy… well, Charlene wouldn't have tempted you—no matter who chased who first.
Maybe you died thinking that if I could forgive you, we could re-create our lives. Or maybe you were thinking about building a new life with Charlene and your son.
My mama likes to say that we live the lives we're supposed to live. What if I had been Turned while I was married to you? Patrick would've known I was his soul mate and hell, I would've agreed. That's terrifying, to carry that kind of knowledge around in your heart.
I think that's what bothers me so much now. What if you looked at Charlene and saw your other half? What if you tried to deny it because of your loyalty to me and, one day, gave in to it and it felt right? Then you're torn between duty and honor and true-blue love.
Hell's bells, what a choice.
I sat in judgment of you for so long. The betrayed wife. The stoic widow. The loyal survivor. And feeling the way I do about Patrick… oh God, Rich. I can't say what I would've done faced with how I feel about him versus the way I felt about you.
That's a terrible thing to say, especially to the dead. But I gotta be honest. What's the point of trying to get some closure if I'm lying through my teeth?
Rich, what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that the last words you heard from me were angry and hurtful. And I'm sorry that I couldn't come to terms with what happened to us. I held on way too long to my self-righteousness and my anger and my pain. And if Charlene's telling the truth then I'm sorry you were so unhappy. If you felt trapped, and miserable, and unsure… I'm sorry, honey. God in heaven, I'm sorry.
If you need my forgiveness, you have it. And I'll just have to live the rest of my days not knowing if you could forgive my hatefulness.
If Mama was right about living the lives we're meant to, then you and I were gonna unravel anyway. You see, even though I can't truly have Patrick… I was meant for him. I know it, Rich. Feel it right down to my very soul. And you know, maybe you were meant for someone else, even if it wasn't Charlene.
Then again… what the hell does Mama know? You never did like her much anyway. (That's a joke, hon.)
Rich, please know wherever you are, and I hope that you are somewhere, that the love we created with Bryan and Jenny exists. It's there, always and forever, for you. From us.
So, I guess that's what I have to say. Take care, Rich. Take care.
Chapter 22
So it's not a great leap to think that I would cry, all right? I dry-blubbered as I tore up the letter and let the light breeze carry away the tatters.
After a while, I climbed to my feet and brushed off the dirt that clung to my legs and shorts. I felt better. I really did. And I was surprised that saying to Rich's grave what I never got to say to him unfettered my guilt.
I heard scuffling behind me. "Patrick?"
No answer, but definitely another person moving across the grounds. As I turned to see who was doing a bad job of creeping up on me, a great hairy arm thwapped me. I flew backward and landed ass-first in the line of well-trimmed bushes that ringed this part of the cemetery. I heard a big, loud roar that scared the shit out of me. I untangled myself from the scratchy leaves and flew up into the air, hovering.
The bellowing beast growled and slashed its paws at me, obviously pissed off that I hadn't stayed long enough for him to rip me open again.
Even in the dark I noted those mad, hateful blue eyes.
A screeching noise pierced my head. The whistle-wail nearly cracked my skull. Stop! I covered my ears, but the unrelenting squeal increased in volume. Stop it! I knew, somehow, the creature was causing the horrible noise inside my mind.
I dropped like a stone; pain ricocheted up my side as I smacked the ground. I curled into the fetal position with eyes squeezed tight, teeth gritted. The earth shook as footsteps of Mad-Bad-Ugly pounded toward me. Even through the howling, I heard the air vibrate with its roar of triumph.
Staggering to my feet, I unsheathed the swords. As promised, I had been practicing the moves that Patrick had "downloaded" into my brain. But I wasn't exactly on the top of my game. The first two slashes met only air. He danced just out of my reach, swinging his big arms at me playfully.
Then he lunged for me and I struck; the blade sliced across his abdomen. Roaring, he reared back. And the shrieking ceased.
"Hold!" shouted a man's voice. I didn't recognize it. To my shock, a vampire appeared next to the crazed lycan and placed his big, pale hand on the beast's shoulder. The thing dropped to its knees and bowed its head.
I looked from the lycan to the very tall, very blond, very scarred man. He was dressed in black dress pants, a vibrant red shirt, and black loafers. He also wore a black coat that reminded me of Neo's garb in The Matrix. His face might've been handsome once, but it looked as if someone had thrown acid on him. His eyes glowed black.
Let me tell you, he was fucking scary.
"Who the hell are you?" I asked, keeping my swords at the ready.
"My name's Ron," he said. "This is my pet." His brows rose in consternation. "Tsk. Tsk. You've injured him."
"He was trying to kill me. For the second time, I might add."
"He was a tad too enthusiastic the first time I asked him to fetch you," admitted the mysterious Ron. "So we had a little discussion. He was only supposed to rough you up a little and bring you to me."
"What do you want?"
"I want you. Duh." Ron rolled his eyes. "You'll make a good bargaining chip. I believe Patrick O'Halloran will trade anything to get you back. And I want the cure for the Taint."
"There is no cure." I looked at the beast. It was bleeding, its chest heaving, and he was just… as docile as a lamb. "What is that thing?"
"We know that lycan blood cures the Taint," said Ron. "So ol' Georgie here agreed to a transfusion. Only it didn't quite work as planned." He looked at me and bared his fangs at me. "I know Lorćan O'Halloran is cured. And I want to know how."
"You've confused me with someone who gives a shit."
Ron's eyes flashed. One instant, he was by the beast and the next, he was two inches from my face. "You're not smart enough to bring your guardians with you to a fucking cemetery. So, I don't expect you're smart enough to know the secret to getting rid of the Taint."
"Well, fuck you, too." I leapt into the air, but Ron merely looked at me with one raised brow. I slammed right back down and my feet seemed to meld with the grass. I couldn't lift my legs at all. Shit.
Panic warbled through me. Then, I felt the familiar heaviness that warned me of the sunrise and the sudden fall into unconsciousness. Oh, great. Patrick? Are you there? I really need you!
"Now, now… don't bother contacting your other half. He's a little busy protecting those brats of yours."
"Don't you dare hurt my kids!" I felt weak and unsteady, but I still held my swords. Unfortunately, I couldn't raise my arms to slice Ron's head right the hell off.
"Oh relax! They're safe. You don't think Patrick would let anything happen to his clann, do you? He'd sooner put a stake into his own heart."
Ron might be an asshole, but he was an insightful asshole. Patrick wouldn't let anything happen to my kids. I had to believe that they were safe. I tried to reach out to them, to make sure, but whatever power was blocking my mental communication with Patrick worked the same awful mojo for my kids.
"Tired, aren't you?" Ron's eyes glittered like black pearls as he stared at me, watching me the way a zoo patron might gaze upon the caged lion. "Go on, dearest. Go to sleep. The Wraiths will take good care of you."
Exhaustion slammed me. My eyes fluttered closed
and my body went limp. Ron's arms wrapped around me, my feet unstuck from the ground, and we whipped forward. We crashed through brush, limbs tearing at us, and I realized we'd entered the forest that edged the cemetery. Broken Heart was pocketed by tree-filled areas. So, the Wraiths had settled here, in this forest, just waiting to strike.
As my consciousness grayed, we entered a place that smelled like an old basement. I heard dripping water, the suck of feet in mud.
Then I was lost to the silence. And to the dark.
When I awoke, I found myself sprawled on a thin blanket. I sat up and looked around. The cave was dark as, forgive me, a tomb, but I could see just fine. I smoothed back my hair and found it full of leaves, dirt, and twigs. I could only imagine what my face looked like.
I rubbed my arms, mostly to get off clinging soil. The interior felt cool, which was a nice change from the humid heat outside. Other than the occasional drip of water, there were no other sounds. It was like being wrapped in cotton.
Patrick?
No response.
Patrick? Are you okay? Are the kids okay? Hello!
Damnation. I was starved. My fangs were already out, my stomach growling.
"Jessica?"
My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. Patrick's voice came from the right so I staggered to my feet.
"Down here."
About five feet away, I saw a man chained to the rocky wall. He wore a T-shirt, jeans, and scuffed high-tops. He looked like Patrick, but he wasn't. "Lor?"
"Yeah."
"What the hell happened to you?"
"I've been cured from the Taint."
I gaped at him. "What? How? Who?"
"Be careful, Jessica. The Wraiths are watching… and listening."
My hands went to my hips. "They took my swords! Those rat bastards!"
He chuckled. "You are left only with your rapier wit to slice at them."
"Oh, ha-ha." I looked at him. "So, you're not dead. They captured you at Putt 'Er There, didn't they?"
I'm the Vampire, That's Why Page 18