I eased onto the bed, and my body curved around hers. I steeled myself for questions about Keats, but she just lay there, breathing in and out.
“Mom, tell me about the desert. When you and Dad were hiding from the bad guys.”
I pressed my cheek against the back of her head. “You know this story by heart.”
“Yeah, but tell me again.”
“Your father and I rode camels through the Wadi el-Deir,” I said. “We could only travel at night—”
“Because my dad was a brand-new vampire and the sun would fry him, right?”
“True.” I smiled. “Raphael caught up with us in the desert. He took us into a cave that had drawings on the wall.”
“Tell me about them.”
“They looked like mermaids. When your dad and I held up our lanterns, the mermaids seemed to swim across the rocks.”
Vivi knew the rest of it. The drawings in another chamber had depicted a prophecy of the immortals. The same images were repeated all over the world, in catacombs, caves, and a church on top of Mt. Sinai. The apocalyptic drawings were always the same: humans, skeletons, and a caged baby.
I waited for her to ask about the images and how they were mixed up in the so-called prophecy. Instead, she snuggled closer. “Tell me about your wedding.”
“Raphael took me and your daddy to Monaco. I bought him a wedding ring and had it engraved, To J love the Lass.”
“Why did he call you the lass?”
She knew the answer, but I pretended that she didn’t. “He grew up in Yorkshire. It’s an endearment.”
My voice sounded steady, almost serene. I never thought I could talk about Jude without choking up, but here I was, telling Vivi about my runaway veil. Her eyelids dropped lower and lower. She pushed her face into the pillow and sighed.
“Mom, what did he call me?”
“Meep.”
A smile flitted across her lips. Jude would have been so proud of Vivi. Talking about him tonight had made me feel peaceful.
After she fell asleep, I wandered down to the living room. Raphael stood next to the fireplace, staring into the glowing red coals. He’d changed into beige twill shorts, a blue oxford cloth shirt, and loafers without socks. His summer-in-the-Hamptons look, I privately called it.
He glanced up. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No.” I tried to look into his mind, but I slammed against something hard and impenetrable. What was he hiding?
“Maybe a nightcap will help.” He moved to the bar and lifted a bottle of sweet Italian liqueur he’d brought from the jet. He poured it into a tall narrow glass and added ice cubes.
Just the way you like it, mia cara.
“Raphael, if you keep slinging thoughts in my direction, I’ll get a headache.” And it was true. I could take only so much telepathy before my brain fought back. I carried my glass to an overstuffed sofa and sat down. I kicked off my flats. I took a sip, and ice clinked against the glass.
Raphael carried the bottle to the sofa and sat down beside me. “Did you check on Vivi?”
I nodded. “She’s asleep.”
“I didn’t tell Inge about Mr. Keats’s death. She’s a hybrid—and telepathic. I can only assume that she picked the information out of my head.”
“Or mine.”
Still gripping the bottle, he leaned back. “Let’s come back here in October. It’s cold and dark, but Vivi will enjoy the aurora borealis.”
I looked into my glass. In October, Longyearbyen would be dark twenty-four hours a day. The polar night brought all kinds of tourists—including vampires. “Will it be safe?”
“We shouldn’t abandon all hope, mia cara.”
“Don’t you worry.” I took a sip of liqueur. “I’m an optimist even when hope is gone. I really believed that Jude would come home.”
“I know. Me, too.”
I took another sip. “Who sent those vampires to Scotland?”
“I don’t know.”
“But I’ve got to find out. It comforts me to know the enemy. And I want to believe that Salucard is the enemy.”
“They’re an old, honorable organization.” He wedged the bottle between his thighs. “They’ve tried to supervise the cabals. When one becomes too powerful—or radical—Salucard banishes them. But the cabals do not disband. They grow.”
“Whatever happened to the Egyptian cabal that initiated Jude?”
“They still belong to Salucard. The monks protect some of the immortals’ artifacts.”
“You and I stole an important one,” I said, thinking of Historia Immortalis, an eighth-century illustrated manuscript that depicted the history of the immortal race. Years ago, Raphael and I had taken a large chunk of the book from the monks, and then he’d helped Jude and me escape from the monastery. Now, Salucard had the artifact.
“We’re definitely not the Sinai Cabal’s favorite people,” Raphael said, squeezing my hand. “But they wouldn’t send assassins to Manderford Castle. A more dangerous cabal must be responsible.”
“Do you have a list of suspects?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Until then, we’ll keep running.” I sighed. “I hope this group didn’t track our flight to Longyearbyen.”
“No vampire will come here.”
“You did.”
“An old friend works at the Svalbard Airport. He’s monitoring all flight plans to Longyearbyen. Another friend is watching the port. Inge’s sons are armed. They’re taking turns watching the house.”
“I’m still worried.”
He leaned his shoulder against mine. “Lay down your fear for one night, mia cara.”
“I can’t choose how I feel.”
“Yes, you can. You always have a choice.”
“Then I’m choosing fear. It makes me alert.”
He set the bottle on a table, then turned back to me. “You look tired. Try to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
But I wanted to stay awake. I finished my drink, put down the glass, and tucked my arm behind my head. Raphael’s eyes followed my hand. His gaze was almost palpable. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was a vampire trick, but I hoped he would keep on looking.
As his patchouli-and-pomegranate smell wafted between us, the trembly place in my chest broke open like a goose egg, and a peaceable feeling ran inside me. He began kneading my shoulders just the way I liked. I tipped back my head and smiled.
He smiled back. “What?” he asked.
I shrugged. I didn’t understand what I was feeling, but it seemed like old-fashioned lust. I hadn’t been with a man in a decade, and if I didn’t move this second, I was going to kiss him and ruin everything.
I stood, and the room began to spin. The air stirred, and Raphael was suddenly beside me, holding my elbows. My arms felt boneless and I sagged against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” Raphael said, and his hand dropped to my waist.
His voice rang through my head like music, and I felt dizzy. Maybe I was jet-lagged, because I couldn’t be drunk this fast, not after one glass.
“You’re not drunk, mia cara,” he asked. “You’re exhausted.”
“It’s not polite to read my thoughts, Raphael.”
“Mi scusi. I lose my manners when I’m around you.” He stared at me so long, I thought he might kiss me. Please God, let him do it.
“I’ll help you to your room,” he said.
“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” I said, but he was already leading me up the stairs, into my room. I pushed a thought in his direction.
I don’t want to be alone. Stay with me awhile.
He led me to the bed and pulled back the covers. I locked my arms around his neck. Deep inside me, a sane, sober voice said, This is a mistake, the kind that changes a good thing into a bad thing. What was I thinking? People were all around. My daughter. Fielding, Gillian, Inge.
But I wanted Raphael. I pulled him closer and tilted my head at an angle. He’d kissed me only once, and that had been fifteen y
ears ago. But I still remembered it. That kiss had made me climax, but now I believed that it had also planted an idea, one that had finally worked its way to the light, a trembling sprig that would fold back on itself if the wind blew too hard.
“Everything is different now, mia cara,” he said.
That was just what I was afraid of, but before I had time to think about it, his lips met mine, and his tongue moved through my teeth. It was different from that long-ago kiss, and it pulled me into a sunlit place. He tasted of vanilla and ripe cherries and something earthy that made me instantly aroused. I sensed that he was holding back, and that excited me.
Then his whole body tensed, and for a second I thought he might push me away. His arms trembled as if he were holding something inside him, something I wanted. I slipped my tongue deeper into his mouth, and he groaned. His hand cupped my breast, and I arched against him, a pulse ticking at the base of my throat and in my wrists.
Still kissing, we fell back on the bed, and the mattress creaked beneath us. I slid my foot behind his knee, urging him closer. A low sound started in his throat when I lifted my hips. I brushed against his zipper and felt a hard bulge.
Oh, my. I hadn’t expected that. I put a little more movement behind the kiss. He was breathing faster and faster. His hand dropped to my knee. I shivered when the flat of his palm slid up my thigh.
I’d never known such need. He settled his full weight on me. His thighs pushed against mine, his knees nudging my legs apart a little at a time.
“Wait, wait,” I said. If he moved one inch, if he even breathed on me, I would plunge right over the edge.
“We’ve waited too long,” he said in my ear. Then my panties were gone and he was guiding himself inside me. He was big, just as I’d expected. My breath caught. He smelled so good. Felt so good.
“Raphael,” I whispered.
“I’ve wanted you so long,” he said.
Was this true? His voice sent tingles along my spine, and I arched my back, urging him to move deeper. He still had a way to go, but I could feel my orgasm building, as if I were walking on top of a bridge, teetering back and forth, about to topple.
Just as I started to fall, a whining started up at the bedroom door, followed by furious scratching. Then Arrapato began to howl. Raphael pulled away. Before I could sit up, he was out the door and gone.
Saved by the dog, I thought.
I sat up, brushing my hair out of my eyes. Raphael and I had made love only halfway, so maybe our friendship was only half ruined. I could blame it on the liqueur, but I’d be lying. My body still wanted Raphael, but my mind said, You can’t ever do this again. Besides, some part of me still felt loyal to Jude. I’d always thought of myself as Penelope—but without suitors. Still, I’d been waiting for something.
When I finally went to sleep, I dreamed about the night my husband had left the island, when he’d been headed to the Gabon rain forest. We’d stood in the airport, holding each other. Saying good-bye was even harder than I’d imagined. My throat tightened, as if I’d swallowed a stone, and I couldn’t speak above a whisper. I said all of the right words and yet I left out the most important ones.
As he walked onto the small runway, the wind caught his shirt, and it filled with air, snapping around him. I ran to him and caught his elbow. I could barely choke out the words. “Be careful.”
“I’ll be back in a month,” he said.
He kissed me. I thought of my nightmares, the toothed fish and flying shapes, and the stone in my throat grew into an avocado pit. Some part of me must have known what would happen. Why had I let him go?
Now Jude’s face was all around me. His smile, white and radiant, slightly amused. I could see him climbing out of the old claw-foot tub, his arms loaded with books.
I awoke in the shadowy bedroom, my hair webbed across my mouth, my heart thrashing. I turned, half expecting to find Jude beside me. My hand skimmed across the sheet and kept going.
CHAPTER 15
Caro
LONGYEARBYEN, NORWAY
SVALBARD ISLANDS
Sunlight glanced off the rooftops as Vivi and I walked toward the Kaffee House, the world’s most northern coffee shop. She hadn’t mentioned Keats or Scotland—in fact, she seemed phlegmatic. Inge’s middle son, Henrik, trailed behind us, a high-powered rifle propped on his shoulder. No one in town seemed to notice, not even the chief of police, who smiled at Henrik and said, “God morgen.”
It was indeed a good morning. It was a bit chilly, thirty-four degrees, but we’d made it through the night, and nothing terrible had happened. Then I remembered what Raphael and I had almost done.
Vivi pushed ahead of me, weaving between people in fleece hats and ski jackets. It was Sunday, and the main street was jammed with locals and tourists. Here on the Arctic frontier, it was easy to spot the residents because they carried guns. The Svalbardians were so rugged, they’d numbered their streets rather than giving them cutesy names.
I walked past a store that rented guns to tourists—it was illegal to walk beyond the town’s well-marked safety zones unless you had a firearm. You never knew when you might run into a polar bear. Like I needed more fangs in my life.
Daylight gleamed on Vivi’s razor-blade earrings as she ran up the steps to the café. She stepped past a sign that read LEAVE YOUR GUN OUTSIDE. She opened the café’s door, and a bell rang above her head.
I was right behind her. The air smelled of cinnamon buns and coffee. I walked across the narrow room, toward red padded booths that ran along the windows. A counter stood on the back wall, and a family with stair-step blond boys had claimed the stools.
I sat down across from Vivi. Just outside the window, Henrik stood with his rifle, glancing down the street, his breath frosting the air. I unzipped a pale blue jacket that I’d borrowed from Inge. A waitress with a chipped tooth brought water and menus. Vivi and I ordered lattes and krumkakes. Then something crashed behind us, followed by a high-pitched cry.
The waitress hurried over to the family, and stepped over a puddle of hot chocolate and broken crockery. The mother was soothing one of the boys, wiping his hands with a napkin.
Vivi watched them a moment, and her lip jutted out so far, a crow could have used it for a perch. She turned away, earrings clicking violently.
I slid my hand across the table and touched her hand. “Talk to me, Meep.”
“About what? Fjords? Glaciers?” She pulled away. “But you know what? At least no one in this town pretends to be normal.”
The waitress returned with our lattes and pastry. After she left, Vivi glared at me. “What kind of trouble is Raphael in?”
“He isn’t.” I glanced out the window. Gillian walked down the street in a puffer jacket that was identical to mine.
“Mom, look at me. Why are you defending Raphael?”
I dragged my gaze away from Gillian. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s done everything right.”
“Oh, that’s a good answer, Mom.” She leaned across the table. “Is he mind-controlling you?”
“Don’t be silly.” I felt queasy, and I pushed my mug aside.
“Whatever.” Vivi slumped down in her seat and tugged at her pink bangs. I studied her face. It was bland as a cabbage, but what was hidden behind those layers?
“Are you still having bad dreams?” I asked.
“Nope.” She took a sip of her latte.
“Do you want to talk about anything?”
She shook her head, then pointed at my mug. “Your latte is getting cold.”
“I don’t want it. I’m feeling—” I broke off as a blinding pain gathered behind my eyes.
She held up one hand. “Mom, I know you’re trying to help. But I’m not ready to talk. Okay? So just drink your latte.”
No, I didn’t want it. I was sick to my stomach. I gave Vivi a helpless look. Her face had turned purple, as if she were holding her breath. I saw my hand lift the mug and bring it to my mouth. I drank fast, as if I were swallowing a dirt
y river, nothing but silt and sour heat rushing to my belly. Finally the mug was empty. As I lowered it, a red drop slashed across the white rim. I reached up, patted my mouth, and my fingers skidded.
“Mom? You okay?”
I held out my hand. Blood.
Vivi started to whimper. She pulled napkins from the metal dispenser, then leaned across the table and pushed the thick wad into my hand. I pressed the tissues to my nose. In seconds, the paper felt soggy, and I heard something patter against the table. I pinched my nostrils and tipped back my head.
“Get ice,” I said in a clogged voice.
The Norwegian family began to whisper, and it was the strangest thing: Until now, I’d known only a few words of this language—hallo, takk, God morgen—but I suddenly understood what the mother was saying.
Don’t stare at the lady, Gunnar, she was saying. Yes, I know she’s bleeding. Turn around and finish your chocolate.
A few seconds later, I couldn’t understand her. I felt something wet and warm hit the back of my hand and curve around my wrist. I pressed the tissue under my nostrils. The cushion in my booth hissed as Vivi squeezed in next to me. She pressed a bag of ice against the bridge of my nose.
“Here’s fresh napkins, too,” she said, her voice shaking. “Mom, I’m so sorry.”
Why was she sorry? It wasn’t her fault. I swallowed, and my ears popped. I pressed the new tissues under my nose. The waitress came back and dragged a sponge over the table, leaving a beaded crimson swirl on the Formica.
“Are you all right, miss?” she asked.
I nodded, dimly aware that Vivi kept dipping a napkin in water, scrubbing the front of my jacket. A gust of floral perfume swept over the booth, then Gillian sat down across from me, her face pinched and white. “Honey, are you okay? Should I find a doctor?”
“It’s just a nosebleed,” Vivi said.
Gillian blinked at the bloody napkins. “It looks like a slaughterhouse.”
I dabbed my nose. “It’s stopped,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
Halfway to the red house, Vivi burst into gulping sobs. Gillian draped an arm around her. “Your mama is fine.”
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