by Trisha Baker
Most of all, she cried for Jack O'Neill. Daddy, I'm almost glad you're dead. What would you think of me? I'm a monster, an evil freak. Why did this happen? Why? Why? Suddenly she couldn't stand it anymore. She put her sharp nails on her face, intending to tear her face and body to ribbons, to pay for what she'd done.
"No!" Strong hands grabbed hers before she could maul her face.
She looked up, still weeping wildly. She saw two black eyes regarding her with concern.
"I know you," she sobbed, "you're that vampire who left Simon's party."
"I'm the other vampire who left Simon's party," he corrected gently. "You didn't stay either."
"Of course I didn't!" she yelled, beyond caring who he was or why he was there. "I can't stand it anymore. I won't kill, I won't!"
"You don't have to." He dropped her hands and put his hands on Meghann's victim. To her complete shock, the man got up and walked away.
"He's not dead," she whispered. She could not have been more stunned if she'd been at Lazarus's grave when Christ resurrected him.
The young man smiled. "Of course he's not. We don't kill to feed."
"Who's we?" she asked, starting to recover her wits. "And who are you? Why are you here?"
The young man studied her with grave concern. "I am Charles Tarleton; please don't be frightened. You couldn't sense my presence because your pain blocked out everything else. Please, I don't mean to pry, but I know part of the reason you're upset. You can't stand killing… or life with Lord Baldevar. Am I correct?"
She nodded. She didn't know why, but she trusted Charles implicitly. She felt like she'd always known him.
"But," he said quietly, "I don't feel that's all that made you cry. If you want, you can tell me what's wrong. I'd like to help—if I can."
"My father died," she told him, and started crying again.
Charles watched helplessly while she wept.
"He died calling for me," she said, more to herself than Charles. "Oh, God, when I think of it… my daddy lying in some hospital, with pain, wanting me. Me! And I wasn't there. What did he think?" She cried harder, making it difficult for Charles to understand her. "He was alone and hurting, don't you see? Even a bum doesn't deserve that, and my father was a great man! I loved him so much, and he didn't know! I never got the chance to tell him. He died all by himself. He must have been so hurt. Damn Simon to hell!" she howled. She looked at Charles beseechingly. "I would have gone to my father the minute I knew he was sick. I would have! I wouldn't have let him die alone." She was crying too hard to continue.
Charles had the same feeling she had—that they'd known each other for a long time. So he wrapped his arms around her. "I'm so sorry, Meghann." He had an idea. "Would you like to go to church and pray for your father? My master believes the dead can hear us—you can tell your father that you're sorry."
The thought of church was like a balm to Meghann. She hadn't been in a church to pray since Simon, but that was exactly what she wanted. She felt the smallest spark of hope within her. Had God sent Charles to help her? She liked him already—liked the arm around her that offered friendship and respect. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat and said, "I'd love to go to church."
She and Charles walked out of the alley. "Why are you being nice to me?" she asked with her old bluntness.
"Because I suspect no one has been very nice to you in the last thirteen years."
"How do you know so much about me?" she asked suspiciously.
"A new vampire always sparks curiosity… Simon Baldevar's consort, now that is front page news in our small world."
"I'm not his consort," she snapped. "Not anymore."
Charles studied her nervously. "Meghann, I won't tell you what to do, but please exercise caution with Lord Baldevar. I'd hate to lose a new friend." They stopped in front of a small church that was still open.
Inside, Meghann saw many winos and bums—the nuns were handing out blankets and fresh clothing.
"On cold nights like this," Charles told her, "they take them in so they won't freeze."
Meghann was touched—the way she would have been when she was mortal. She walked over to a statue of the Virgin—where she had always prayed when she was a child.
She knelt before Mary, made a small donation, and lit a candle. Just the ritual made her feel a little better. She wasn't really praying—she was letting all the good memories of her father come back to her. She saw him taking her to see Santa Claus at Macy's, sternly interrogating her dates, teaching her how to throw a knuckleball, making her take off a dress he thought was cut too low. Daddy, she prayed. I would have come to see you if I'd known. I'm so sorry, but you have to believe I laved you so much…
Meghann felt someone pinch her cheek—the way her father used to. And she smelled his cigar smoke and the Lifebuoy soap he liked to use.
"Daddy?" she asked wonderingly, but the feeling was gone. Then she started crying again, but this time it was from joy. "You felt it too?" she questioned. "Charles, my father was here and he forgave me… I know he did!" She was crying because she was so relieved. She felt like a huge weight had been lifted. For the first time in months, she didn't feel that gray cloud choking her. Everything looked fresh and new.
"You have great summoning power," Charles told her with some astonishment.
"What?"
"Has Simon taught you anything?" he asked with exasperation.
"I guess not." She looked at him intently. "Is it possible to drink blood without killing people?"
"Yes."
Meghann digested that information. All these years, all those deaths didn't have to happen. She didn't feel depressed anymore. If there was a way to be a vampire without murder, she wanted to learn it. And she wanted to try to atone for the things she had done.
"Can you wait here for a few minutes? I'll be right back." She was out the church door before Charles could object.
Bemused, Charles sat in a pew to wait for her. He had no doubt she was coming back. He felt vindicated. When he'd gotten back from Cuba, all the others had tried to convince Alcuin that he was wrong—that Simon's paramour had to be evil. Well, he could hardly wait to bring her to his master—they would see that he had judged her character well. At least, he hoped Alcuin got a chance to meet Meghann. How was she going to get away from Simon Baldevar?
Meghann came whirling back into the church. He could not believe the change in her. What had Simon done to her? At the party, he had seen a pretty but pallid young woman. Now he saw that when her spirit wasn't being crushed she had a dynamic presence. He watched her go up to the elderly priest and hand him something. The priest's eyes bulged. He tried to give it back to Meghann, but she was adamant. After a minute, the priest shook her hand and disappeared.
"What's going on?" Charles asked her.
"I wanted to buy a mass card for my father, and make a charitable donation."
"What kind of donation?"
"Five thousand dollars."
Charles gasped. "Where did you get that kind of money?"
"From Simon's safe," she replied nonchalantly.
The priest returned, and gave Meghann her mass card. She thanked him, and they left the church.
"How do you feed without killing?" was the first thing out of her mouth.
"You control the blood lust," Charles told her. "You learn the moment you've had enough to drink, and you use your will to stop. It takes some time to learn—and of course, you must have a master who teaches you."
"And your master taught you?"
Charles glanced at his watch: three o'clock. "Meghann, I'd like to escort you home."
She frowned. "What does that have to do with killing?"
"I'll tell you everything you want to know, but I think you've had a very difficult night. I'd much rather discuss this when you're more relaxed. Perhaps we could meet early tomorrow night?"
Meghann considered that. If she'd waited all this time, what was one more night? And Charles had a point. Di
d she really want more revelations tonight? It would dilute that moment she'd had with her father.
On the way back to the town house, they talked of general matters. A story in the newspapers, a good movie Meghann thought Charles might enjoy, poetry they both liked.
On the steps of the town house, Charles asked, "We're on for tomorrow night?"
She smiled sunnily. "You bet. Shall we say seven?"
"That's perfect. I'll pick you up. And, Meghann, please use caution if you should speak to Simon. Don't antagonize him." Charles kissed her on the cheek, then left.
Meghann examined the living room. Trevor had cleaned up admirably. All the broken glass was gone, everything back in its place. She decided to look through the box Frankie sent.
She found one of her favorite photographs—her, Johnny Devlin, Bridie McGovern, and George Lynch, Bridie's date. It was from July, 1942—to celebrate her seventeenth birthday and one last fling before Johnny went overseas.
She smiled at her sodden, dripping clothing and Johnny's. Would some stranger looking at the picture ever guess why they were soaking wet?
"Come on, Johnny," Maggie pleaded. "Take me on the Atom Smasher!"
"Didn't I take you on Hell-n-Back? And the fun house? What do you want from me—blood? You know I hate roller coasters!"
Maggie rolled her eyes at Bridie. "Can you believe this is what they're sending to Europe? A chicken that won't even go on a little roller coaster?"
"I don't think they're gonna be asking to go on too many roller coasters over there. "Johnny tore off two Play land tickets, and handed them to Maggie. "Here, go yourself, Miss Bravery."
Maggie snatched the tickets. "Anyone else coming?"
"I will," Bridie volunteered.
George eyed the huge roller coaster with its steep inclines dubiously. "Maybe me and Johnny could get a beer while you two go on."
The girls laughed and made many clucking noises before heading over to the coaster.
"Hands off?" Bridie asked while the clown-faced cart made its slow crawl to the top of the first incline.
"No other way to do it, "Maggie replied as they sank down. They laughed and screamed as they got tossed to one side and then the other while the roller coaster sped through the inclines. They waved to some of the people watching from their rooftops.
They stepped off the ride, slightly dizzy, and headed back to their boyfriends.
"Chicken," Maggie taunted Johnny.
"Maggie, I'm warning you. Don't call me chicken again if you know what's good for you."
"Or what?"
"Or you'll find out, Raggedy Ann."
Now that he'd waved the red flag in her face, this was war. "Chicken!" she screeched.
"Last warning," he said, lunging for her.
"Chicken!" she shouted, ducking behind Bridie for protection.
"Who's chicken now?" he asked, trying to grab her while a giggling Bridie did her best to protect her friend. "Get over here and say that."
"Nope," she answered, giggling. "Come and get me, chicken."
George grabbed Bridie. "Get her, Johnny. Show her who's boss."
Johnny pounced and threw Maggie over his shoulders. He could barely hold on to her because they were both laughing too hard.
When she saw what he was carrying her toward, Maggie gasped. "Oh, no! You wouldn't. Oh, come on Johnny!"
He dragged her to the Olympic-sized swimming pool in the center of the park, and threw her in the water.
She came up, spluttering and choking. She swam over to the side where Johnny was leering down in triumph. "It's freezing," she complained. "You bastard!"
Johnny tsk-tsked in mock reproach. "You curse like a sailor, Raggedy Ann. Are you sorry for calling me a chicken?"
"Nope!" She laughed riotously and grabbed his right leg, pulling him off balance. "You're a chicken—and a heartless brute for attacking a poor, defenseless girl." She yanked him into the pool with her, to the cheers of some amused onlookers.
"You're about as defenseless as a boa constrictor, "Johnny countered, laughing and splashing water in her face. "I'd like to meet the guy who could attack you."
The water really was freezing. They both clung to each other to warm up.
"You know something, Maggie? I really love you."
"I love you too," she replied while they climbed out of the pool.
"What do you say we get hitched?"
"You mean it?"
"Why not? I have two more weeks before I have to report in. We'll do it quick and maybe have a big ceremony when I get home. "Johnny got down on one knee, a large puddle forming around him. "What do you say, Maggie. Will you marry me?"
With a whoop of glee, she threw her arms around Johnny and kissed him. Then she yelled to Bridie, who was watching from a safe, dry distance, "Hey, guess what? We're getting married!"
Meghann studied the picture, charmed by the dazzling smiles on her and Johnny's faces. They were so innocent and carefree that day. They really thought nothing could go wrong for them. Even the war had seemed more like an exciting adventure than a dangerous situation.
I should be holding this picture right now, and telling my daughter this story. It's the kind of thing people pass down from generation to generation—Grandpa threw Grandma in the water and they got engaged.
She blinked back tears at her fiancé's strong, handsome face. This story was all wrong—the hero survived the war so that the heroine could kill him when a heartless monster transformed her into a vampire. Why couldn't Johnny have still been in Europe? Still, what would have happened then? Whose blood would Simon make her drink to smash her links with her family? Bridie's? Her father's?
The phone rang, making her jump. Meghann's heart started beating rapidly. She knew who it was. Should she pick up? She decided Simon would be suspicious if she never answered the phone. "Hello."
"Where were you, little one?"
This despicable snake had kept her from seeing her father and denied her the life she should have had with Johnny Devlin. Meghann felt a little reckless. After all, what could he do from far away? "Hello to you too. Can't I go out without being interrogated?"
The silence on the other end was ominous. Meghann regretted her hasty words. She couldn't tip her hand and let Simon know what was going on in New York.
More silence. Meghann said quickly, "I'm sorry, Master."
"Meghann," he said in a voice that made her break out in a cold sweat, "I shall deal with your new insolence when I return. For the moment, let's start again. Where were you?"
"Out walking," she quavered.
"For nearly four hours?"
"You know how much I like New York."
"Did you feed?"
"Yes."
"Then," he informed her, "you'll have no need to leave the house for the rest of the time I'm away, will you?"
Meghann wanted to scream. If vampires really did live forever, was this going to be the rest of her life? Never being allowed to do a damned thing without that vicious beast by her side?
"I want an answer, Meghann."
"I'll have no need to leave the house," she replied dully.
"Then I shall expect you to pick up the phone when I call tomorrow." The flat dial tone informed her he had hung up.
Meghann flung a vase at the wall. Goddamn him! She hated being stifled like this. Was she supposed to sit in this dungeon for five nights like some prisoner? Well, why not admit it? She was Simon's prisoner—nothing more. Sure, the cell was a little more glamorous than what they had in Sing Sing, but all the same she was as captive as the victims at his blood orgy.
Then she remembered her date with Charles Tarleton. Well, to hell with Simon Baldevar, she thought while she went downstairs to sleep. She was keeping that date—maybe she'd find a way to leave Simon for good.
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHT
« ^ »
Meghann came upstairs for a drink before she started dressing for her "date" with Charles Tarleton.
&nb
sp; Trevor came hobbling over. Meghann examined his injuries. He had a bandage wrapped around his head, his ribs were bandaged, and he was walking with a limp. He deserves a hell of a lot more, she thought, for serving that prick.
Trevor shoved a large box into her hands, then limped away. She opened it, and a small card came out. The box was from Charles. The note asked her to forgive his forwardness, but would she please wear this outfit for their evening out?
Meghann pawed through the tissue covering the clothing. When she fished it out, she whooped in delight.
Charles had enclosed a black poodle skirt, along with two petticoats, one horsehair and one taffeta, to make the skirt full. There was also a green cashmere sweater, a green scarf, bobby sox, and shiny black patent leather shoes.
I'm going to look like a teenager, she thought with glee. She went upstairs and hurried into her new clothes. She had just wrapped the scarf around the ponytail she'd seen young girls wearing recently, when the doorbell rang.
Meghann hurried downstairs, shooing Trevor away from the door. Charles stood outside. He wore crisp black pants and a fraternity sweater. The outfit made her laugh.
"I only go with greasers," she informed him airily. "Would you like to come inside?"
Charles looked around uncomfortably. "Actually, I was hoping you'd be ready to leave. I can't relax in Simon's house."
Meghann could certainly understand that, so she went to the hall closet to get her warm black wool cloak. Before she left, she stuffed two thousand dollars into her purse. There would be hell to pay when Simon discovered she'd defied him and gone out—so why not disappear before he came home?
Meghann and Charles had not been gone for ten minutes before the phone rang. Trevor hobbled over eagerly. That bitch was going to pay for what she did to him. He'd tell the master everything—the way she tore the house apart, the money she took from the safe, and most important, that she'd just left the house with a young man.
The master will tear her limb from limb, Trevor thought as he picked up the phone.
"Having fun?" Charles asked.
"Wonderful," she panted, completely out of breath after three solid hours of dancing.