“I’ll find some later.” He made a playful lunge for my neck.
“No.” I explained about the antigens and antibodies. I even threw in a mini lecture about vampiric neurotoxins.
While I talked, he moved his hand under my dress.
“You have to take antihistamines at least fifteen minutes before you bite me,” I said.
“I’ll order some immediately.” He grinned. “But until the medicine arrives, you can bite me, right?”
Afterward, we lay on the sofa. He traced his thumb along my cheekbone. I rested my hand on his chest, feeling his heart vibrate beneath my palm.
Raphael sighed, and I glanced up. Tiny scabs were forming at the base of his throat, where I’d nipped him.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m really sorry about that photo. I only dated her a week.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“But the woman who put it there might be one,” he said. “She’ll talk. Loudly and often. The wrong people might find out I’m in Paris. Then you will be at risk.”
“Maybe we should leave,” I said. “Let’s go to New York.”
“Maybe,” he said.
Vivi and I had spent one summer at Raphael’s condo in the Chelsea Mercantile Building. We’d bought groceries at Whole Foods, and every Saturday we’d walked to Barnes and Noble, where Vivi would gather an armful of children’s books. That was the year that Raphael flew to New York and helped me celebrate her fifth birthday. We’d taken her to Alice’s Tea Cup, then we took a carriage ride in Central Park.
“Manhattan might be the last great place to get lost,” I said.
“True,” Raphael said. One side of his mouth frowned; the other quirked up.
“You’ve got that look again,” I said.
“What look?”
“The one you get when you want to tell me something, but you’re not quite ready.”
“We might be leaving Paris, after all.” Raphael squeezed my hand. “Do you remember when Walpole mentioned the other survivor? I’ve located him. Dr. Nick Parnell made it out of the rain forest. He might know something.”
My head filled with a rushing noise. “Where is he?”
“Marrakech.”
“You’re flying down there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To see how his version fits with Walpole’s account.”
“You don’t think he told us everything?”
He shrugged. “Discrepancies are just as important as consistencies.”
“Why would Walpole lie?”
“I didn’t say he lied. I think he omitted details.”
“Like what? He told us that Jude was wearing his ring.”
“There’s more.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’ve got a feeling. Not prescience, but something else. It’s like when the barometric pressure falls, and the east wind smells of ozone. You know bad weather is coming. Sometimes I feel a shift deep inside me. When it happens, I trust it.”
“When are you leaving?”
“I’m not sure. Will you come with me?” He leaned back, watching me. His eyes were as brown as brown can get. I thought of leather, shaved chocolate, roasted espresso beans, rain pattering onto grape vines. River water rushing over umber stones. The dark, burnished gravity of this man pulled me in.
I am in love. After all this empty time, I am in love. And I am coming alive.
PART FIVE
BLOODSTREAM
CHAPTER 27
Gillian
VENICE, ITALY
The train pulled into Venice at sunset. Gillian had thought the city would remind her of New Orleans in its pre-Katrina days, another flat, marshy landscape that had been gussied up with ornate buildings, but she’d been wrong.
As she walked away from the station, she decided that Venice was more than a charming city, it was the pulsing heart of beauty itself. Plum-colored clouds drifted over the Italianate palaces and arched bridge, the images quivering in the water, as if a whole other city lay at the bottom of the lagoon.
I love this place so damn much, I might move here, she thought. She had traveled from Switzerland to Italy as Caroline Barrett, and no one had questioned her. She hadn’t seen any vampires, either. And she’d been looking. Tomorrow morning, a boat would meet her at the quay and take her to Villa Primaverina.
As she walked by the Grand Canal, a vaporetto sliced through the water, leaving a foamy wake. What a lovely name for a water taxi, she thought. The sun was going down, staining the water blood red. That was pretty, too. She angled toward Piazza San Marco, and the breeze stirred her sedate beige dress. She was afraid her Caro-like wig would fly off, so she tugged at the curls. When she passed by the arcades, two young men said, “Bella, bella.”
They were cute, not vampy in the least, but she kept walking. She’d never been this happy, even though she missed Fielding. Lord almighty, he was a fine man. Not a vamp, but damn close. He’d gone back to London—just until those badass vampires were caught. Then he would fly to Italy.
I’m in love, she thought. And the guy didn’t even have fangs. She couldn’t wait to start having ginger-haired babies. She’d send Christmas cards to every bitch in Louisiana, a super nice photo-card of her, Fielding, and the kids.
A bell tinkled over her head when she stepped into a gift shop. She bought blue Murano glass earrings for Caro, a pink T-shirt for Vivi, an I HEART VENICE key chain for Fielding, a jeweled collar for Arrapato, and green marbled writing paper for Raphael.
When she came out of the store, the alley was dark. She eased around a group of tourists and moved down a fragrant, medieval street. It was narrow, lined with boutiques and cafés. She heard footsteps behind her, and for some reason they sounded menacing. She turned.
A pretty woman with short blond hair strode into a gift shop. She wore a gorgeous outfit—leather and silk.
Gillian felt something stiff and warm brush against her leg. She glanced down. It was a little old cat. Cross-eyed and scrawny. Gillian hunkered down and petted its fur.
“You look half starved,” she said, stroking the cat’s forehead. Poor thing looked like it hadn’t eaten in days. “Stay right here, and I’ll bring you some food, okay?”
She walked into a trattoria. Platters were lined up on a buffet table. She took a plate and spooned up anything that looked catworthy—sardines, anchovies, broiled crabs. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, but she couldn’t find a waiter. She sat down at a table and pulled out her Italian phrasebook. How could she say I need a doggie bag?
A shadow fell across the table. Gillian looked up. A short-haired blonde held a plate and a glass of wine. A huge shopping bag dangled from her wrist. It was the woman Gillian had seen earlier. Damn, she knew how to rock an outfit: tight leather leggings and a cute white blouse with itty black bows down the front.
“May I join you?” the blonde asked. Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, and they gazed longingly at the empty chair.
Gillian hesitated and looked past the woman. Empty tables were scattered everywhere. Well, some people didn’t like to eat alone. And this woman didn’t look like trash or anything. She was wearing close to three thousand dollars in clothing, not including tax. A few weeks ago, Gillian had tried on a pair of those exact same leather leggings at Harrods, $835 a pair. And the blouse was a Nanette Lepore. Three hundred forty-eight bucks. On the woman’s feet were black Christian Louboutin pumps, and they had black spikes jutting out everywhere like a porcupine. $1,495. Not that Gillian was counting.
“Be my guest,” Gillian said, sweeping her hand at the chair.
The blonde sat down, giving off a sweet herbal smell and something earthier, like copper and salt water. “You have a unique accent,” the woman told Gillian. “What country are you from?”
Gillian almost said Louisiana, but she caught herself. Wait, was she still posing as Caro? Or could she be herself? Better to act coy. “Can’t you guess?” sh
e asked.
“That wasn’t my question.” The blonde smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
An electrified knot tightened at the base of Gillian’s spine, a feeling she used to get when she lived in New Orleans and walked home from the law library and heard footsteps behind her. A tight coil of energy would ball up in her spine, and then she’d run. She felt like running now, but that was silly. Wasn’t it?
Gillian twisted her pinkie ring around and around on her finger, light spinning from the diamonds.
“I like your ring,” the blonde said.
“Thanks.”
The blonde was staring, as if she were waiting for Gillian to continue. A waiter passed by and Gillian waved. “Sir, I need a doggie bag.”
He nodded and veered toward the kitchen door. The blonde leaned closer. “You have a dog?”
“Lord, no. I saw a skinny cat in the alley. She looked like she could use a meal.” A bead of perspiration slid down Gillian’s back. “I saw you earlier. You went into a shop. Did you find anything pretty?”
The blonde opened a bag and pulled out a large copper pan. It had a brass handle and a thick bottom. “I paid too much. But I like it.”
“You must be a chef,” Gillian said.
The blonde’s mouth flickered at the edges, and then she slid the pan into the bag. She looked up as the waiter returned with a to-go box. “Please bring my friend a glass of wine,” she said.
“No, no.” Gillian waved her hand. “I was just leaving.”
The blonde spoke to the waiter in Italian, then turned to Gillian. “I’m Tatiana. What’s your name?”
“Oh, I answer to just about anything.” Gillian laughed. “Tall girl. Blondie.”
Tatiana lifted her glass. “Are you traveling alone?”
Gillian hesitated. “Not really.”
“Either you are or you aren’t.”
“My husband is waiting for me at the hotel,” Gillian said.
“Husband?” Tatiana looked amused.
The waiter passed by the table and set a wineglass at Gillian’s elbow. She ignored it and began scraping the anchovies and sardines into the take-out box. She didn’t know how much the food would cost, so she put a handful of euros on the table.
“Hope you enjoy Venice,” she told Tatiana.
“I will.”
Gillian left the restaurant. The alley had cleared out, and the cat sat on his haunches, licking its paw. “Kitty?” Gillian said. “Here’s your supper.”
The cat bolted down a narrow opening between two buildings. Gillian walked to the edge. It was too dark to see anything, and it smelled like garbage. A raspy meow cut through the shadows.
Gillian took a mincing step forward. “Come on, kitty.”
Behind her, a woman said, “Caro?”
Gillian turned. A copper pot slammed into her temple. The wig flew off her head, and she staggered backward. What the hell. The side of her head began to throb. Something wet ran down the side of her face.
“Hey, why did you do that?” Gillian yelled. “Who the hell are—”
The pot struck the side of her head again, and a ringing pain filled her ears. She dropped the to-go box. Another blow clipped her on the chin. She fell to her knees, and the gritty cobblestones cut into her flesh. Blood streamed out of her mouth. Her hand shook as she dragged it over her face, passing through a sticky wetness. She lowered her hand. A dark stain covered her palm.
Tatiana stood over her. “Who are you?” she said.
“Fuck you,” Gillian spat with a mouthful of blood.
Tatiana swung the pan again. Pain exploded in Gillian’s forehead, and she moaned.
“Check her purse for ID,” Tatiana told someone.
A man stepped out of the shadows. “Passport says Caroline Barrett,” he said.
Gillian felt fingernails dig through her hair, biting into her scalp. She screamed as her neck bowed.
“Shut up,” the man said, and pushed the barrel of a gun between her teeth.
She stopped yelling. Pain moved inside her skull like scalding-hot gumbo poured into a bowl, but she forced herself to be calm. If she showed fear, it would just excite them.
Think like a public defender. These reprobates wouldn’t shoot her in an alley. No way. Too many tourists. They’d take her money and go. That was all they wanted. But Lord almighty, she was hurt bad. She needed to call an ambulance.
“Where’s Vivienne Barrett?” Tatiana said.
Gillian’s teeth clicked against the metal. This wasn’t a robbery. She was going to die. Her bladder let go, and a cramp twisted in her bowels. A garbled sound came out of her throat.
“Take the gun out of her mouth,” Tatiana said.
The barrel scraped against Gillian’s teeth, and the man stepped back.
“Tell the truth, and I will not kill you,” Tatiana said.
“Caro is in Paris,” Gillian said. “She’s with a vampire. Raphael Della Rocca.”
“What about the girl?” Tatiana asked.
“She’s with them.”
“That’s all you know?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” Tatiana lifted Gillian’s hand, pulled off the diamond pinkie ring, and slid it on her own finger. She smiled as she jammed the wig onto Gillian’s head. “Take her inside,” she told the man. “Then, take your time.”
Another man stepped forward, holding a grinning Venetian mask in his hands. He put it over Gillian’s face. The men grabbed her arms and yanked her off the pavement.
“You promised you wouldn’t hurt me,” she said, her voice muffled. Her knees buckled, and the men jerked her upright. Through the holes in the mask, she saw them lead her past an open door that smelled of fish. High above her, someone played a piano.
“Where are y-you taking me?” she asked.
The man on her left brushed his mouth against her ear, his breath stinking of overripe fruit. “To hell.”
CHAPTER 28
Caro
PLACE DES VICTOIRES
PARIS, FRANCE
It was the blue hour, l’heure bleue, that brief time when the sun slips below the horizon and the air is stained with cobalt light. I put on a periwinkle cotton dress and little flat shoes and pinned my hair into a bun. Then I left a note on the desk for Raphael:
Gone swimming. Will you join me? P.S. No swimsuit, please.
XXOO
I took the elevator to the cellar, then walked to the shallow end of the pool. I kicked off my shoes and looked down at the steamy water. Life would be almost perfect if I could put every evil vampire on the space shuttle. I missed Vivi so much. But I had to trust Sabine. She would take care of my daughter.
Raphael and I were leaving for Morocco tomorrow, but I wasn’t sure what we’d find. I’d tried not to obsess about Jude’s ring. I didn’t know when it had been removed from his hand, but I felt sure it had involved torture. Whoever had placed it on Keats’s finger had meant for the pain to continue—from my end. But I wasn’t going to allow it. If you let fear enter your mind, it destroys hope and creates a third entity, a dark sludge that pushes through the bloodstream, tainting every thought until you’re afraid all the time.
I stared at the pool, trying to remember how it had looked before the renovation. In those days, it had been a swamp, and I’d been afraid to get near it. Now it was a pristine blue bowl. Clean water lapped at the tile edges. If a hellhole could be transformed into an oasis, then anything was possible. All my life I’d believed that goodness would triumph over malice. But I couldn’t change evil. I could only refuse to let it change me.
Raphael joined me a few minutes later. He walked up, his chest rising and falling under his shirt.
“You’re really going in without a swimsuit?” he asked.
“Have I ever lied to you?” I took off my dress, and it skated over the limestone floor. Next, I dropped my lace thong on the stone floor, and then I stepped down into the water and swam to the deep end. I looked back, treading the silky water,
my fingers spread slightly apart.
Raphael hadn’t moved.
“Come on in,” I said.
“You know I hate to swim.”
“You had the River Styx in your cellar, and you turned it into a spa. But you still won’t swim?”
“No.” He smiled.
“This is a pool paradox,” I called. I floated on my back, and my hair fanned out around me, tickling my shoulders. I was barely moving, but the water held me up. I felt just as weightless inside. Right now, I wasn’t worried or trying to control the future. Dangerous people were somewhere in this world, but they weren’t coming after us today.
Raphael pulled off his shoes, and they clattered onto the stones. His shirt fluttered over his head like a white bird and landed on a chaise longue. He unzipped his jeans. His boxer shorts were red, printed with Eiffel Towers. Everything dropped into a messy pile.
Behind him, light streaked across the walls. “Come to me, Raphael.”
He dove into the water and swam along the bottom, his legs white and chiseled, his arms moving in great arcs. He surfaced and slicked back his hair.
I swam closer and closer until we were almost touching. His hands caught my waist and moved lower, tracing my hips. “We’ll be in Morocco tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ve leased a riad in the medina.”
“What’s the vampire culture like in Marrakech?”
“It’s harder to recognize the immortals. Some wear djellabas. Some don’t.”
I dropped my hand through the water and found him. As he moved nearer, my hand slid all the way down his length.
His breath dented the water. “You are a temptress, mia cara.”
“I’m just a girl in a pool.”
“A girl who makes me so happy.” He reached for my hands and brought them to his lips.
“I hope I always do.”
He kissed my knuckles. “Let me turn you into a vampire.”
“My blood could hurt you. You have to build antibodies.”
“But my blood won’t hurt you. You’re immune to the neurotoxin. I can transfuse you. Very simple. No bite marks on your beautiful skin.”
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