From the Dark

by Michele Hauf

  “Did mother finally convince you to cut your hair?”

  “She cut it,” he said with a sly smirk. Clasping Jane’s hands he held out her arms to look her over. “Ever the earth child, my Jane. When will I finally get you into diamonds and cashmere?”

  “Oh, Daddy, save your riches for mother. She adores it when you drown her in pretty things. I simply value the time I can spend with the two of you. How did you find me?”

  “I called the local hardware store,” Baptiste said as he draped an arm around Jane’s waist and hugged her. “They gave me directions.”

  “But why now? What’s up?”

  “I received a most disturbing phone call last night. From a witch.”

  “Oh no, Ravin?”

  He nodded. “She seems to think you’ve fallen for a source, darling.”

  “Oh, Daddy.” No, Jane wanted to say, but she’d never been good at lying to her father. But the pride shining in her father’s eyes made her hold her tongue. “It’s complicated.”

  “I bet.”

  Baptiste ran his palms over the stained glass sections arrayed on the plywood worktable. “This color here.”

  “Celadon. Your favorite.” Jane leaned over his shoulder as he traced the pale green curve that formed the underside of a stylized leaf. “I always include that color in my designs. Makes me feel like you and mother are here watching over me.”

  He reached back and squeezed her hand. “You are so talented, dearest daughter of mine. Mother insists we spare the windows in the upper bedroom suite for your imagination to run wild. Will you do it?”

  “You needn’t ask. I’ve another job following this one in the fall, but I’m sure I can be in Venice by spring.”

  “Jane, Jane. And you call me a type-A. You’re the one with a schedule she must check before fitting her own family into it! Will you come stay with your mother and I? Write down family on your mental calendar. Fun. Conversation. Can you do that? Simply…relax?”

  She couldn’t help but smirk. Her father was out of touch with her lifestyle. “All I do is relax, Daddy. It’s not as if my work is strenuous. If anything, I need excitement.”

  “You know your mother and I can give you that. Carnivale! Oh, yes, you must make it toVenice for carnivale. I’ll order a fabulous costume for you and have Esmeralda make the mask. It’ll sparkle with diamonds and emeralds to match your eyes. Don’t say no.”

  “Yes.”

  “So easy as that?” Baptiste kissed both her cheeks and her forehead. “Dearest Jane. I’ll have your room made up in that splendid Indian motif you adore, and beads and fringe everywhere, along with frocked paper for the walls and pillows and rich, lush fabrics.”

  “Daddy, a simple bed will do.”

  A comical cringe moved his mouth. The man had ever been a fop, and he wasn’t afraid to fully live his swishiness. An attribute that had once attracted Jane’s mother to the man, and still did.

  “Very well,” she conceded. “Some rich fabrics. And if you must know, I like my pillows squishy, not hard.”

  “I’ll order half a dozen squishy pillows for the princess’s chambers,” he drawled in that lovely French lilt he never tried to lose. “Mother will be so delighted. She’s been rather bored lately. Every day I must conjure a new experience to keep her occupied. Did I mention your mother got a tattoo?”

  “What? Daddy, she didn’t?”

  “She did. On her back, very low and just above her—”

  “Don’t even say it. My mother? It was because you asked her, I suppose.”

  “Not at all. She’s been engaged in a wicked flirtation with a local artist. Well, you know we must have our flirtations after all these years.”

  “It must be difficult at times to maintain a relationship for so long.”

  “Not at all. Flirtations, darling.”

  “Don’t tell me any more, Daddy. I want to keep you and mother’s love chaste in my heart, if you don’t mind.”

  “It is, and always will be, a monogamous relationship. Promise.”

  He’d removed his suit jacket and the celadon shirt looked a piece of the garden.

  “Now.” Baptiste tapped his bottom lip, concerned. “This source Ravin called me about. While I’m pleased you’ve made plans for the ritual, I fear they are not the kind of plans I’m expecting. Who, what, when, where and why?”

  “His name is Michael Lynsay, and he’s staying here at the house. Has been since I arrived. I invaded his privacy, actually.”

  “Oh? You stumbled upon a source? Jane, in all your years, you’ve been very careful to avoid the strange.”

  Boy, had she been careful. And she liked that she could not offend her father with her tendency to label all things supernatural strange.

  Yet, rarely did her father come out and say the word—vampire. He had the utmost respect for the term, but it was like a white man calling himself a Caucasian in casual conversation.

  “Trust me, I didn’t search this out. Michael is in the same band as the owner of this house.”

  “I see. I suppose that was a coup, you needing a source.”

  “It’s not like that. In fact, I think I…”

  “Mon Dieu, Jane, was the witch right? Are you and this singer an item?”

  An item. How her father moved so sinuously with the times and the ever-changing slang never ceased to impress her.

  “I do care about Michael.”

  Bowing his head, Baptiste studied the floor. “The century mark has arrived,” he stated. “One hundred years ago this month you performed the immortality ritual, Jane. The full moon is but two nights away.”

  Two nights. And what else had she been thinking about lately that was to arrive so quickly?

  “Need I remind you, you must perform the ritual once every century to maintain immortality?”

  No, he need not. The ritual was the most distasteful experience known to Jane, and to think about doing it again prickled up goose bumps over her arms and neck. And yet, she had no compunction toward it. Only, Michael must not be involved. No way.

  “I…” A startling chord of dread strummed in her brain, as tangible as a plucked guitar string. How to be truthful with her father? A man who had only ever wanted what was good and just for her? “I’m not sure…”

  “Jane, dearest, there’s no time for dawdling.” Baptiste crossed the floor and took her shoulders in his hands. “That vampire is your only hope for continued immortality. Why, for continued breath! You need him.”

  “But Father—”

  Baptiste sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Lowering his head, he looked up through his lashes at her. Whiskied honey, the color her mother had once used to describe her father’s eyes. Brilliant and all seeing. But they were soft now.

  “Jane, do you love this vampire?”

  She could but nod. To voice her feelings would cement the betrayal to her father’s expectations. And to even mention they’d been making love and sharing the magic?

  “I see.” He sighed heavily. “Then allow me to put this out into the air, shall I? What sort of love would it be, could it be, if, in two days—should you not complete the ritual—you died? How then will you love the vampire?”

  “Daddy, that’s hardly fair—”

  “No, but it is something you must consider. You are living on stolen time, Jane.”

  Yes, but to survive, and maintain her immortality? Had she any right to take another person’s life to prolong her own? Oh, how to argue this impossible choice? And why, suddenly, did she want to argue it?

  She knew why. Love! Look at the mess it had put her in.

  “Jane, listen to me. There’s no room for infatuation or even simple kindness. In two days you must sacrifice Michael Lynsay.”

  Chapter 18

  M ichael pulled the Mini up the gravel road. A rental car sat in the driveway. Hmm…Couldn’t be the vigilante witch; she rode that kick-ass chopper. He didn’t believe Jane had any other friends in the area, but maybe he was wrong.
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  With a shopping bag in one hand, and a bouquet of freesia in the other, Michael strode inside. He couldn’t wait to crush the ridiculously fragrant orange blooms into Jane’s hair as he lay next to her in bed. And whisper an apology for his macho posturing earlier.

  So he was strong and tough and could tell a woman what to do; didn’t mean he should treat her with disrespect.

  A leather briefcase lay on the kitchen table, a digital lock gleaming brightly above the handle. His senses cringed, and his teeth tingled.

  “Michael, we’re upstairs!”

  He made a beeline for the upper-floor workroom and couldn’t find his voice when he found a Hollywood-good-lookin’ young man in a fitted suit standing next to his Jane.

  Fangs tingling in their sockets, he lowered his hand, the flowers slipping along his fingers, but he crunched the stems tightly before they fell to the floor.

  “I see you’ve done some shopping,” Jane said as she approached him. “For me?” She lifted the flowers and waved them under her nose.

  “Who the hell is that?” Michael hissed lowly.

  “Calm the bravado,” she whispered.

  An inhale forced the downward motion of his teeth to stop.

  Jane took his hand and walked him over to the man waiting near the worktable. “Michael, this is Baptiste Rénan. My father. Daddy, Michael Lynsay.”

  Her father? Relief scurried up his neck. Michael dropped the shopping bag and slapped his hand into Baptiste’s offered hand to shake it vigorously. The shimmer snaked a vibrant shock up his arm.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rénan. Your daughter has told me a little about you. But knowing you’re one of my kind makes it all good. Did Jane know you were coming to visit?”

  Baptiste tugged his hand from Michael’s grip and inserted it in his front trouser pocket. “I tend to surprise my daughter with visits, because she makes it supremely impossible to communicate with her no-electronics nonsense. Myself, I’d go absolutely over the moon without my trusty BlackBerry.”

  “I’m suffering electronic withdrawal myself. Good thing there’s a studio here, I’d be lost without music.”

  “Yes, music.” Baptiste flicked a glance to Jane but Michael couldn’t tear his eyes from the man. Another vampire. And so normal! He wore a three-piece suit, for cripes sake. “My wife and I enjoy all styles of music, though we’ve never been successful in developing Jane’s appreciation for opera or that delicious country style.”

  “Jane tells me you live in Venice?”

  “And you in California?”

  “Wherever the road takes me. But I do have a mansion in Los Angeles.”

  “So why Minnesota right now?”

  Michael shrugged. “A little R and R. Did Jane tell you?”

  “I haven’t had much time to chat with Daddy.” Jane slipped her arm into Michael’s crooked arm. A subtle anxiety held her stiffly as she pressed her body alongside his thigh and shoulder, yet her heartbeat remained calm. “He’s not here for long. Just come to tease me.”

  “Jane.” Her father mocked a pout. “I never tease, and am always most serious about my reasons for anything I should ask of you.”

  Something tightened the tension between the two of them. Michael would have to be dead to miss that feeling. And he wasn’t undead.

  “Can you stay the night?” he wondered. “I’d love to talk with you…”

  About living with a witch. How to make that situation work? And to control the jealousy he felt at her growing power? But he wasn’t sure he should reveal yet that he’d been sleeping with the man’s daughter. And try as he might, he couldn’t get a read on Jane.

  “I have so many questions.” He spread out his arms to encompass the enormity of his need. “Please, Mr. Rénan, will you stay?”

  “I’m so sorry, Michael. Much as I’d love to chat, I must plead leave.”

  “But you just got here.” He turned to Jane, still her expression gave him nothing. “There’s plenty of room for you to stay. There’s even a coffin in the basement if you prefer—”

  Baptiste’s dark brows rose at mention of the coffin.

  “Once Daddy makes up his mind, he’s decided,” Jane said. “I suppose I should walk you out,” she said to her father. “Shall we?”

  Michael felt the tension slide from his arm as Jane left his side, and he watched her cross the floor behind her father. Everything about her had changed. Stiff, not relaxed. Blank. As if she were purposefully trying to keep something from him.

  Had he walked in on an argument? Why would the man fly all the way from Venice to see his daughter for so short a time? He couldn’t have been here any more than two hours, for Michael had only been out for three.

  He followed them, and when the twosome reached the front door, Baptiste turned to again shake Michael’s hand and wish him well. “It was good to meet you, Michael. Adieu!”

  Jane kissed Michael on the chin. “Stay here. I’m going to walk my father out.”

  Catching his fingers on the trim over the door, Michael stood there, fighting the urge to follow them outside.

  There was something secretive about the pair. They weren’t about to allow him into their world. Jane’s composure had so altered he couldn’t be sure what to think of Baptiste. Was her apparent devotion to him because it was demanded?

  She turned to Michael as they stopped beside the rental car. Don’t watch.

  So Michael closed the door and pounded his forehead against the jamb, once, twice.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  Jane looked to the ground, wistful as her father kissed her cheek and hugged her. She knew he had plans to stay in Minneapolis; nothing but a five-star hotel would satisfy him. Yet, there was no way he’d leave town until after the full moon.

  “I can’t do it,” she said. “I love him.”

  “So quickly?”

  “Yes.” Oh, yes, she had never meant the word so much. “And I won’t listen to arguments against love at first sight because I remember well you said the very same thing about mother. Can’t you see beyond the rock star facade? Michael thinks only of me, and he would never harm me.”

  “You said he hasn’t control of his blood hunger. How can you know he won’t attack you without volition? And then what? The man you love will become ash.” Baptiste snapped his fingers. “Like that. Gone. So much for your endearing love. And if not him? Well then, you’ll be the one who suffers for this dreadful fascination.”

  “Daddy, don’t do this. Please. When have you ever known me to confess love for a man?”

  “Frequently. And always at the beginning of a relationship. I do recall that one man who danced at the Moulin Rouge—what was his name?”

  “Daddy.”

  “That first night you were ready to run away with him to the exotic locale of China to raise babies and cook rice.” Baptiste mocked a horrified shiver. “Jane, you are infatuated with yet another bohemian musician who has no care, morals or goals. Admit it. Like a teenager, you’ve never grown beyond that lust-rush one gets upon discovering a new lover. You need that vampire. He is your only source! It was not meant to be.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You’ve had sex with him, haven’t you.”

  “Daddy!” This was not a conversation she was willing to have with her father.

  “You know what will happen, Jane. If he can control his hunger for the blood, and successfully make love to you, he then steals away what little magic you have within you. Don’t do it, Jane. Don’t give away your magic to that idiot.”

  “I can give my magic to whomever I please. And look at you? You must take from mother every time the two of you—” No, she couldn’t say it; she never talked about sex with her father.

  “It’s different between the two of us, Jane. We shared blood at my creation, so it’s not the same. I cannot enslave your mother through the sex magic, nor would I wish to. But that vampire.” He thrust an angry finger toward the house. “He’ll take advantage
of you.”

  “And what if he’s giving something to me?”

  “Like what?”

  Jane chewed her lower lip. The magic had grown; it was beginning to develop. No, she couldn’t tell her father, not until she was more confident and sure it would stick around. And if she did reveal it, he’d whisk her immediately to Venice to show her mother and begin her education, without concern for her completing the job, let alone leaving Michael behind.

  “He gives me love, Daddy. And I simply won’t do it. I will not sacrifice Michael to prolong my own life!”

  Baptiste stepped up to Jane and toyed with the ends of her hair, listing in the breeze. He did not smile, nor did he meet her gaze.

  “What ever happened to ‘and ye harm none’?” she asked.

  He smirked. Well, it wasn’t his saying. “It would be impossible to find another source within two days.”

  She wanted to let him know that Ravin was looking, but would the witch be successful?

  “Jane, haven’t you had your fill of artists and musicians? The man is a needy little bastard. And if you look beyond all that…he is a vampire. I’ve always thought you very much against my kind.”

  “Don’t say that. I love you, Daddy. I’ve just always strived for the normal.”

  “And Michael Lynsay is normal? Jane, the boy—and yes, he is but a boy, especially in the greater scheme of immortality and life everlasting—is a spoiled, arrogant rock star.”

  “No, he’s driven. And yes, a bit cocky, but you are exactly the same. Don’t you see? Oh!”

  “What? Jane?”

  Stunned by a sudden realization, Jane pressed a hand over her pounding heartbeats. “I’ve fallen in love with a man who is exactly like my father.”

  Baptiste puffed up his chest proudly. “He is nothing like me.”

  “Put a frock coat on him, and slip a microphone in your hand, and I wouldn’t be able to determine the two of you from one another. Oh, Daddy, just leave. I can’t do this! I won’t!”

  Her father lifted her chin. In the evening twilight, his honey brown eyes sought her so fiercely she was swept back to childhood when he’d admonish her after running the streets shoeless, and in her fine silk stockings.