Marya was afraid that the next three days would pass with agonizing slowness, but in fact they fairly flew by with both plans and action. She went shopping, cleaned the house, painted, and, most of all, thought about Jaime. With every day that passed memories of the vampire and his visit intruded less and less into her daydreams. It was over with. He was a part of her dark past she was glad to put behind her once and for all.
Her nighttime dreams, however, were a different matter. Late at night, when her mind was drained and her will weakened, visions of the creature invaded. For the first two nights following l’ enforcier’s visit, she woke in the middle of the night in a sweat, her mind filled with strange phantasms dressed in long robes and warrior garb. The costumes changed each night, but all had black hair and blue eyes.
Thursday night, however, she slept peacefully, her dreams undisturbed by blue eyes filled with death. She took it as a good sign.
She woke filled with energy. She straightened up her studio, anxious to show Jaime her latest works of finished art as well as her sketches and thumbnails for new ideas she had. But it was a glorious, warm spring day, far too nice to spend entirely in the house. Marya passed the early afternoon in the backyard gardening, but came back inside in plenty of time to shower and change. She took her time dressing for Jaime, donning a silk wrap skirt with a floral design of tropical red flowers against a black background and a matching red silk blouse.
She just finished dressing when the doorbell rang. In a brief panic, Marya wondered how she could lose track of time so badly on such an important occasion. Perhaps her watch had just stopped. She checked the time on her watch with her bedroom clock, but the time was right. Jaime was an hour early. It wasn’t like him to be so untimely, but she was pleased nonetheless. Spontaneity could be exciting. Maybe he was just eager to see her and couldn’t wait. She would scold him for catching her without her hair done up and her makeup on, but she would let him know later how glad she really was.
She opened the front door wide without checking the peephole first. A handsome young man stood on Marya’s veranda, but it wasn’t Jaime. Light blue eyes squinted at her from beneath heavy brows drawn together in a sedate frown. The solemn expression contrasted with shaggy brown hair and a dimpled chin that bespoke carefree youth, but this was no youth before her.
If his inorganic eyes hadn’t been a dead giveaway, the nasty scent was.
He was a vampire.
Three
“MISS JAKS?”
She glared at him, shock parting her lips but slowing her response.
“My name is Revelin Scott,” he said in a strange accent.
Marya found her voice with the anger that supplanted shock. “I don’t care who you are. I know what you are, and that’s enough. What are you doing here?”
A smile that had no doubt been charming when this beast was alive curved his mouth. “Perhaps an invitation inside would make this easier.”
An invitation? Was he kidding? “And why should I want to make anything easy for the Undead? I’m surprised you didn’t just break into the house like your partner did.”
His smile took on a twist of disdain, seeming to indicate that she was the one confused, not him. “Partner?”
“Alek Dragovich.”
The creature laughed. “Drago’s nobody’s ‘partner.’ He’s from the Directorate. I’m from the Brotherhood, Southeast Region.”
“I don’t care where you’re from. Drago promised me no more visits from any of you.”
The smile faded. “Invite me in, Miss Jaks.”
She doubted he was strong enough to compel her. From the strength of his scent, he was nowhere near as old as Drago, but then again, few vampires were. Still, she relented and held the front door open wide. There was no point in arguing on the veranda. It was clear he wasn’t going to go away.
He stepped into her living room, and she took her first good look at him. He was the complete opposite of Drago in appearance. L’enforcier had a kind of updated eighteenth century elegance to him, and could pull off ‘menacing’ as easily as he could ‘sensual,’ but Marya didn’t think the creature before her now could look menacing if he tried. He wasn’t very tall, topping her height by an inch at best, and his build was hardly imposing, but it was his features and dress that would have made her laugh had the situation not been so serious. His shag haircut, long bangs, and sideburns embraced his face with errant locks, and the tunic-style shirt in a gold, green, and brown paisley design and flared brown pants were straight out of the sixties. Were all vampires caught in one time warp or another?
He turned to her. “Actually, I’m here on Drago’s behalf.”
She tried to place his accent. Somewhere in the British Isles. British, Irish, or Scottish, she wasn’t sure which. “Then why isn’t he here?”
“I’m sure l’enforcier has more important matters to attend to. But I am here on his orders. It’s regarding your status.”
Marya’s heart started to pound harder. This had not been right from the moment she had opened the door, and it was getting no better. “My status has been determined. Drago gave me life.”
“Well, apparently he thought better of his decision. He’s reversed it. I’m here to inform you that you’ve been flagged for termination as a danger to the community of the Undead. Per standard procedure you’ll be allowed two weeks to put your affairs in order.”
“No! Drago himself gave me life!” What had been Drago’s exact words? Frantic now, she tried to recall precisely what he had said to her. She forced herself to calm down, and as she did so, his words flowed into her mind, replete with the imperturbable French accent. “He said his decision was final. He said that no one in the Brotherhood had any right to change it!”
The creature smiled in triumph. “Exactly right! No one in the Brotherhood can overrule a decision made by the Directorate. And no one has. Drago himself reversed his own finding. I am merely here as the messenger.”
This can’t be happening. It was the nightmare all over again, but worse this time because she had dared to hope. “Wait here just a minute.” She ran into her bedroom and grabbed the card she had stared at over and over the past four days.
Marya held the card out to the vampire. “See? It’s Drago’s card. It says ‘Life.’”
He took the card and looked at it, flipping it over to see both sides. “It does indeed. Well, no one ever said Drago wasn’t ruthless. Or eccentric. Typical of him, if you ask me. He isn’t called the Black Death for nothing.” He handed the card back to her.
“No! He can come back here and tell me himself why he lied to me!”
The creature laughed again. “That’s bloody good. An aberration ordering l’ enforcier around. Only one lady does that, Miss.” He headed for the door. “I’ll be back in two weeks. And don’t think about running. You’ll be watched the whole time.” He turned the knob.
“Wait! There must be an appeal process.”
“This isn’t a court, Miss.”
“There must be someone I can talk to. Who’s your boss?”
“It wouldn’t do any good even if you could talk to him. As you yourself said, no one in the Brotherhood can overturn Drago’s decision. Good Day, Miss.”
Before she could stop him, he was gone, and she was standing alone, Drago’s card in her hand. She stared at it, and the single word, once so sweet, mocked her. Life.
She threw it to the floor just as the clock struck the half-hour, reminding her of the time. Jaime would be here soon. How could she go out with him now, knowing they had no future? Besides, she’d be miserable company, to say the least. If she canceled the date, though, Jaime would be furious. She wouldn’t blame him. How many times would he forgive her contrary behavior and mixed signals, even with the excuse of returning illness? Fool! What does it matter if he’s angry or not?
She looked at the clock. It was too late to call him and cancel the date. She’d have to muddle through the evening the best she could and plead for an early night. She retreated to the bathroom to scrub away the quick tears of anger and frustration.
By the time the doorbell rang again, she didn’t quite look her normal self, but she looked better. Normal. Now that was a strange word. There was no such thing as ‘normal’ in her life. She crossed the living room on the way to get the door, and her gaze fell on the rectangle of white nestled into the thick pile of her carpeting. She snatched the card from the floor and threw it into the fireplace, pausing to take a deep, calming breath. The bell chimed again.
This time she checked the peephole. It was Jaime. She pasted a smile on her face and opened the door.
“Hi, lady.” His dark eyes flickered over her in appreciation. “You look very nice.”
He didn’t seem to notice the smile that felt so forced. “Hi. You look pretty good yourself.” That much was easy enough to say. Jaime’s hair had been combed back from his face, but the wind had tugged the short hair on the crown of his head into spikes that refused to lay flat. Dressed in black jeans, a black leather vest, and an ivory shirt, he looked good enough to eat. His trademark silver was evident in abundance. He wore a silver neck chain, earring, and rings on every finger. “Come on in.”
She held the door wide and stepped aside, breathing in the mixture of scents that clove to him like an additional garment—leather, tobacco, and just a hint of cologne. It was a much more appealing fragrance than the musty odor of decay that had clung to her previous uninvited guest. The thought brought with it a renewed feeling of despair. As much as she wanted this man, she wouldn’t be able to have him. All the desire, all the planning in the world wouldn’t change that. She took a deep breath to try to keep the despair from building into rage.
Watching Jaime didn’t help. She saw him glance at “The Eternal Wait,” and the unwelcome memory of the last man to behold her work flooded her mind—Drago, fingering the frame and studying every inch of the canvas. She shuddered as she remembered the attention he had focused on her artwork. It had seemed far too personal, as if he had touched her instead of the painting.
Marya looked at the wall now and took quick refuge in her art. “Umm . . . you haven’t been here in a while. I wanted to show you my work. I have lots of new pieces.”
Jaime nodded absently, as if to himself. “It’s very good,” was his only comment.
In spite of the compliment, Marya was vaguely disappointed. She put so much of herself into her painting. If he didn’t understand her artwork, would he ever understand her? What did it matter?
She swallowed hard. It mattered. It had to, or she’d never get through this evening. “Come and see my studio. Most of the rest are in there.”
She led him to the east side of the house, where she had converted a spare room into her art studio, and flipped on the lights. A large, slanted worktable in a corner was flanked on one side by a taboret and the other side by a long table upon which brushes, palettes and miscellaneous supplies crowded. The paintings on the wall, however, dominated the room. She glanced from one to the next. The subject of each was a girl or young woman, usually alone—sometimes indoors, sometimes outdoors—but always with a sense of movement juxtaposed against the stillness of the scene. Expectation. Hope. Strength. Would Jaime see any of it?
She turned to watch him. His gaze flicked from one painting to another, spending little time on any one particular work until his eyes finally rested on the depiction of a young girl standing at a country crossroads, the surrounding landscape overflowing with cross vines and wildflowers. “Pretty somber stuff for a Romani artist, isn’t it?”
Had he expected scenes full of dancing and celebration? She had thought that Jaime, who was as unconventional as any Rom she knew, would understand. “Crossroads” was one of her favorites. She took another deep breath. “I didn’t exactly have a traditional upbringing. But it’s not just sadness I try to portray, or even beauty, but the contrasts in life, you know? Vulnerability and strength, tranquility and expectation, present and future.” Life and death.
Jaime raised his eyebrows.
Did he just not see it, or didn’t he care?
“The feminine mystique is something I don’t profess to understand. But you’re very talented. I can tell that much.”
She forced a smile. “Thanks. Most of my customers, I’ll admit, are women.”
“Well, the subject matter is a little delicate for men.”
She sighed quietly. “I suppose.” Were her world and Jaime’s really so far apart? A voice in the back of her mind answered that her world was apart from everyone’s, but she didn’t want to hear it. “Come on,” she said, more brightly. “I’m hungry. Let’s head into town and eat.”
He smiled. “Whatever your pleasure, lady.”
Marya returned his smile, and this one came a little easier. She turned off the track lights illuminating her art, led him back into the living room, and grabbed her shoulder bag from a chair. “Ready.”
He took her arm and guided her out the front door and down the drive to where his truck was parked. The blue F250 was sporty with a push bar and grill lights, but looked to have done its share of work on the farm. The bed was from far from spotless, and a large hitch protruded from the rear bumper. The interior was clean, though, and Marya smiled anew as Jaime backed the truck down the long drive to the road. There were no memories of Drago or Revelin Scott outside her house. If this was to be her one and only evening with Jaime, she wanted to at least enjoy it.
The ride into town was brief, and their conversation alternated between the respective challenges of raising fine horses and selling artwork in New Orleans. Fifteen minutes later they were in Vicksburg’s Garden District. Jaime parked the truck, lit a cigarette, and took her arm as they began their stroll down Washington Street. They passed the Biedenharn Museum, the Antique Doll and Toy Museum, and the Gray and Blue Naval Museum. The attractions were all closed for the day, but they walked slowly, peering in the windows and pointing out eye-catching memorabilia to each other as if they were tourists viewing them for the first time. When Marya was with Jaime, everything did have a way of seeming fresh and new.
It was Spring Pilgrimage in Vicksburg, when many of the antebellum mansions were open for tours. The sunny, balmy evening was tailor-made, and many couples and families alike were out and about, enjoying the weather, the historic landmarks, and nature’s own beauty. Sunsets over the Mississippi and Yazoo Rivers were always spectacular.
Marya’s gaze couldn’t help falling on a couple several yards ahead of them who apparently cared little for the charm of the Garden District. Their attention was all on each other, and they halted midway through shared laughter to embrace and kiss. Marya tried to smile in response, but this time she couldn’t, looking away instead. It was a too-cruel reminder of what could never be hers. Damn all the Undead! Who were they to take her life away from her? Her anger rose again, and the tightness in her throat made swallowing difficult. Why? Why her? She had done nothing, had committed no wrongs. Why was her punishment, for nothing more than being born the daughter of a dhampir, harsher than that of many violent criminals?
Jaime’s voice intruded on her thoughts. “Marya, did you hear me?”
She gave her head a shake and faced him. “I’m sorry. What?”
A slight frown creased his face. He took a final drag on his cigarette and tossed it away. “I asked if you’re feeling better now.”
“Oh, much.” She tried to instill a measure of enthusiasm into her voice she didn’t feel.
“I’m glad. Well, do you want to eat here or walk down to the pub?” He cocked his head toward the café behind them. “I think they have a blues band here tonight, if you’re interested.”
It didn’t matter. She was no longer hungr
y. She suddenly didn’t relish walking another two blocks, but blues music definitely would do nothing to improve her mood. “The pub, I think. It’ll be easier to talk.”
They ambled back down Washington Street, but Marya found it hard to switch gears from brooding over her fate to making small talk with Jaime. They walked in silence. Five minutes brought them to the quaint English-style pub. A hostess showed them to a corner table, and when a waitress arrived a moment later, Jaime ordered wine for both of them and a grilled steak for himself. He raised a brow when Marya told the girl that all she wanted was one of the tavern’s renowned gourmet salads.
“I thought you were hungry,” he commented after the waitress left.
Marya stared at her water glass. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I’d be.”
Jaime leaned back in his chair, and when the wooden legs creaked, Marya looked up. He was studying her. His sharp eyes made her feel almost naked, a feeling she might have enjoyed three days ago. “Marya, what’s wrong?”
She pressed her lips into the shape of a smile. “Nothing. I don’t usually eat a big supper.”
He frowned. “The day you called me you lit up the phone line with your smiles and laughter. I thought . . .” He paused and glanced around the room, as if searching for something elusive. His gaze settled back on her. “But tonight you don’t even seem glad to see me. No more lies, Marya. Tell me what’s going on.”
She closed her eyes. She hadn’t anticipated this. She had thought she could pull off this evening without betraying her feelings. What could she say? She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry you, and I didn’t want to break our date. I really did want to see you, but I woke up this morning not feeling well. I was hoping as the day went on I’d feel better.”
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