Falling Dark

by Christine Pope

  That’s probably exactly what it sounded like, because I knew from my teenage experiences at local amusement parks that I was a damn good screamer. One of my high school boyfriends had told me that I should scream professionally, like for horror movies or whatever. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a very good talent to have when you were attempting to keep a low profile.

  “Well, I hate spiders,” I said. “I’d show you the evidence, but I hit that sucker with my shoe and then flushed him down the toilet. So really, everything is fine.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Of course I’m sure. And aren’t you glad I can handle that sort of thing on my own instead of running next door and asking you to do it?”

  Brian shuddered slightly. “Ugh. You’d have to ask Lewis, because I can’t stand bugs. So I forgive you your scream. Just maybe try to tone it down next time. Lewis was about to call 911.”

  “I will,” I said. “It’s the first time I’ve seen a spider that big around here, so hopefully it’ll be the last, too.”

  “One can only hope.” He peered past me into my condo, as if to reassure himself that no axe murderers were lurking behind the half-wall that separated the living room from the dining room. “All right, gotta get back. My manicotti is getting cold.”

  “Sorry.” And I was. Just because I’d sentenced myself to an extremely unappealing dinner didn’t mean I’d intended to deprive Brian of his vastly superior meal.

  “No problem.”

  He left after that, and I locked the door and returned to my neglected salad. Actually, I realized that I’d lost my appetite, so I took my plate to the kitchen and scraped everything into a Pyrex storage bowl with a rubber lid. Experience had taught me that salad wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that traveled very well, but it felt wasteful to just throw it out. The food needed to season in the refrigerator for a few days before I could justify getting rid of it.

  I was out of wine, too. Maybe that was all for the better, but right then I wanted to blot out the memory of that vision, and the only way I could think of to do it was to have a couple of glasses of wine, then go to bed and pray I’d be able to fall asleep.

  All right, it was barely seven-thirty. Sleep probably wasn’t an option, as much as I would have liked it to be.

  So I poured myself a glass of water and went back to the living room. Because I didn’t like to watch anything terribly meaningful while I ate, I had House Hunters on. Usually I found it soothing to watch all the made-up drama, the earnest conversations about granite versus marble or hardwood versus laminate. Right then, though, I just wanted to throw the remote at my TV.

  Something crinkled in my jeans pocket. I set down my water and reached into the pocket to locate the source of the noise. My fingers closed around Silas’ business card, and I pulled it out and stared at it for a long moment.

  213-555-5929.

  He’d said to call when I needed a ride, but surely he’d want to know about this latest vision. Had I just seen a vampire? I had no idea what a vampire was supposed to look like — resolutely, I pushed away the image of Bela Lugosi and his silky cape — but shouldn’t I let Silas know what I’d just experienced?

  All right, maybe that was only an excuse. Maybe the vision hadn’t shown me a vampire at all. However, the background noise of the television notwithstanding, I felt terribly alone right then. Just hearing the sound of his voice would help.

  Quickly, so I wouldn’t lose my nerve, I went over to the dining room table where I’d left my purse, and got out my phone. Then I returned to the sofa, sat down, and tapped out Silas’ number.

  It rang once. Twice. Three times, and I felt my heart begin to sink. One more ring, and I knew it was going to roll over into voicemail. Would I have the courage to leave a message?

  But then I heard him say, “Serena?”

  For the barest second, I wondered at this evidence of psychic powers, then realized he must have looked at the caller ID on his phone. “Yes. Um…hi, Silas. Sorry to bother you, but I’ve just had a vision.”

  I couldn’t see him, but it was almost as if I could feel the way he stiffened with shock at that revelation. “Just now?”

  “Yes. I — ”

  “Don’t say anything about it. Not over the phone.”

  A protest rose to my lips, one that died away quickly as I considered his words. I certainly wasn’t naïve enough to think that phones couldn’t be surveilled. One might have said there wasn’t much point in listening to my sparse conversations…except for that little detail about my brother possibly running for President.

  Silas spoke into the silence. “May I come over?”

  Of course he could. Until he asked the question, I hadn’t realized how much I dreaded being alone. “No — I mean, yes, it’s fine. Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet.”

  I wasn’t going to count those few mouthfuls of salad as dinner, especially not when I now had the prospect of being able to sit down to eat with him. In fact, just thinking about it was enough to bring my appetite roaring back. “I can call for some pizza,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Or there’s an Indian place that’s good.”

  “Whichever you prefer,” he replied. “I have no dietary restrictions.”

  Well, there was a relief. Crazy visions notwithstanding, before I’d basically given up on men, going on dinner dates had begun to feel like negotiating a mine field — you never knew when someone would be vegan, or vegetarian, or avoiding gluten, or lactose-intolerant. I was none of those things, thank God, but I couldn’t say the same for some of my former dates.

  “I’ll get pizza,” I said. “It’s probably easier.”

  “That sounds fine.” A pause, and then he added, “I should be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Silas.”

  “It’s why I am here.”

  He hung up then, and I speed-dialed Z Pizza and got one of their gourmet pizzas in the works — gorgonzola and prosciutto and pear. Then I rushed around like a madwoman, turning off the TV, getting some quiet background music going, setting the table. Maybe it was silly of me to go to all that effort, but some habits were too deeply ingrained. No matter how impromptu this dinner might be, I still needed to make sure the table looked right and that dead silence didn’t reign in the house when my guest came over. I’d say that my mother would be proud, but I knew better.

  As I headed back downstairs, I remembered the complete dearth of wine in the house. Quite possibly that was all right, since I had no idea whether Silas even drank…but what if it wasn’t?

  Out of desperation, I headed over to Lewis and Brian’s place, and knocked. Brian opened the door a moment later and stared down at me in some mystification. “Another spider?”

  “No,” I replied. “It’s just — Sam is coming over…kind of a last-minute thing…and you and I drank the last bit of wine in the house. Could I borrow a bottle? I’ll get you a replacement the next time I go shopping.”

  “The reporter wearing you down already?”

  “No, it’s not that…it’s….”

  Apparently taking pity on me, Brian cut in, “Sweetheart, if you’re actually having a man come over to your place for dinner, then consider the wine a gift.”

  “No, I couldn’t — ”

  Of course Brian ignored my nervous spluttering. “I insist. What are you having?”

  “The gorgonzola from Z Pizza.”

  “I’ve got a nice unoaked chardonnay that would be perfect. Hang on.”

  He disappeared into his condo. I could hear a low, murmured exchange, probably him explaining the situation to Lewis, and then a minute or two later he came back with an already chilled bottle of white wine. He handed it to me with a grin and said, “I want to hear all the gory details.”

  “I’m pretty sure there aren’t going to be any gory details,” I replied. “But if there are, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I returned his grin with one of my
own. “Thanks, Brian.”

  He waved a hand, and I went back inside my condo and put the wine in the refrigerator. Then I had just barely enough time to go to my bathroom upstairs and brush my hair and refresh my lip gloss. Yes, even as I primped, I knew I was being foolish. This wasn’t a date. This was only a meeting to exchange information. I wouldn’t lie to myself and say that I didn’t find Silas attractive. But that had nothing to do with any of this.

  No, I had a feeling that the real reason I was distracting myself with my hair and makeup was because that way I wouldn’t have to stop and think about that vision, recall how terrifying it had been.

  Unfortunately, I’d have to do that very thing just as soon as Silas got here.

  Chapter Five

  If he was surprised by the background music and the wine glasses waiting for us on the dining room table, Silas didn’t show it. I told him the pizza should be here any moment, and then I added, rather diffidently, “I didn’t know if you drank or not. That vision rattled me, and I’d like some wine, but if you have a problem with it — ”

  “No,” he said at once. “That is, I will only have one glass, since I have to drive home after this, but it’s fine.”

  Thank God, I thought, but I only offered him a smile as I went into the kitchen to fetch the chardonnay and a bottle opener. When I returned, Silas said, “I can do that for you,” and reached out for the items I held.

  Right then the doorbell rang, so I didn’t have to indulge in a battle of wills over who would open the wine. That was actually a relief, since my hands still felt a little shaky from the aftermath of my vision, and I wasn’t sure whether or not I would have botched the job.

  But dealing with the wine kept Silas distracted while I got the pizza from the delivery guy and handed over a twenty and a ten, telling him to keep the change. I had offered dinner, and so it was my responsibility to pay for it, but I wasn’t sure whether Silas would see things in the same light. He did seem a little old-fashioned in some ways.

  However, he didn’t say anything as I came back to the dining room table with the pizza and set it down. He’d filled each glass halfway, so there wasn’t really anything left for us to do except sit down and get started.

  Silas lifted a piece of pizza onto my plate, then served one to himself. His gaze flicked to his wine glass, but he didn’t touch it. Instead he asked, “This vision?”

  Well, if he wanted to get right into things, then I was going to need some fortification. I curled my fingers around the stem of my wine glass and took a large swallow of chardonnay before saying, “Mind if I eat something before we launch into that topic?”

  “Of course,” he replied immediately. “I’m sorry. It was bad?”

  “Yes,” I said, but didn’t offer anything more than that. I picked up my pizza and ate a few mouthfuls. Once again my appetite seemed to have deserted me, but I knew I needed to eat. Besides, the warmth of the food and the mellow combination of flavors did help to steady me a little, giving me the strength I’d need to relive that vision.

  Taking the cue, Silas ate as well, then allowed himself a very small sip of wine. As I watched him from beneath my lashes, I realized that he’d switched out the black T-shirt he’d worn earlier for a long-sleeved black button-up. His hair brushed against the collar, heavy and silky and dark.

  You’re staring, I scolded myself. Stop it.

  So I set down my pizza and drank some more wine, then said, “This one was different.”

  He rested his hands on the tabletop and watched me carefully. “Different in what way?”

  “Because I was in it. Usually my visions are sort of like watching a movie, although hazier, not as distinct. But still, I always have a very clear sense that I’m an observer, that I’m not involved in the action at all. This time, though….” I let the words trail off, and fought the shiver that wanted to run an icy finger down my spine.

  “You were there?”

  “Yes.” After allowing myself another fortifying swallow of wine, I did the best I could to describe the house, the malevolent presence I felt there, even though I hadn’t seen him, hadn’t seen his face. At the moment, even though I knew his appearance must be a vital piece of information, I was glad I hadn’t seen anything of that person except the dark outline of his body.

  Silas listened as I related what I had seen. His mouth tightened, and his dark brows drew together. When I was finished, he gave a grim nod, then said, “You must have seen their lair.”

  “Lair?”

  “Of the vampires.”

  “They live here?” I asked, aghast. I wasn’t even sure why Silas’ revelation should have startled me so much, except I supposed I had the dim notion that those blood-sucking ancients must be holed up in an abandoned country house or something, living someplace where they couldn’t be easily detected. That they might be right here in prosy suburban Pasadena had never occurred to me.

  “Some of them do.” He lifted his wine glass and drank — a much larger swallow this time. “Or at least, we suspected they did. We observe the comings and goings of the semivives, but we have never been able to track them to their destination when they go to give their reports to their master. His magic is very strong, and he keeps his home shrouded in darkness.” Silas stared across the table at me then, eyes narrowed. “It’s impressive that your own powers were able to pierce that darkness, to see his house…and him.”

  “I didn’t really see him,” I protested. And thank God for that…. “Just something that seemed to be a man.”

  “He is no man. Or rather, he hasn’t been one for centuries.”

  I wanted to shiver. But I also didn’t want to seem like a coward in front of Silas. Maybe one day I could be as casual as he when it came to discussing an inhuman being who’d walked this earth for many human lifetimes. Now, though…. I picked up my rapidly cooling piece of pizza and forced myself to take a bite, and another. That was a little better. Pizza was such a wonderfully prosaic thing. It was hard to imagine that vampires and pizza could exist in the same world.

  But — according to Silas, at least — they did. Which meant I’d have to find some way to come to terms with all this. “How old is he?”

  “Old enough that he saw the beginnings of this nation, and the death of many others. It is difficult to say for sure, because he has borne many names over the years. But at least three centuries, and probably more.” At last Silas picked up his own slice of pizza and took a bite, followed by another.

  Three hundred years old. And that was a minimum estimate. I tried to think of all the events this vampire must have witnessed, all the changes in the world he must have experienced, but my brain had to back off after a moment. It was all too much.

  “So what does he call himself now?”

  “Lucius Montfort.” A wry glint entered Silas’ dark eyes, and he added, “Don’t bother to Google it. You won’t find any record of him anywhere. Any property he owns would have been purchased by a trust, using layers of semivives and unknowing agents to manage the deal.”

  “If he’s so secretive, how do you know his name?”

  “Because we have been watching him for a very long time.”

  Something about that reply spurred me to ask, “And how old are you?”

  Far from appearing offended by my question, Silas only smiled. “I’m thirty-one. Does that surprise you?”

  It actually did, sort of. From the way he’d been talking, I’d begun to form the impression that he must be part of some secret order of vampire-chasers, equally old and equally powerful. Apparently, that wasn’t the case. “Sort of. So you yourself haven’t been tracking this Lucius character across the centuries?”

  “No. It was only in the last few decades that he resurfaced in Southern California. Before that, he lived in a mansion on Long Island. Before that, in London. And before that” — Silas didn’t quite shrug, but I saw his shoulders move slightly — “we really don’t know.”

  “That’s quite a change. I’m
surprised that a vampire who’d lived in London and the Northeast would end up someplace so…sunny.”

  A lift of the eyebrow, and Silas shook his head. “The intensity of the sunlight is not a factor. No vampire can tolerate any kind of daylight, whether it’s the hot sun beating down on the Mojave Desert, or a rainy afternoon in New York. He must stay hidden during the daylight hours, no matter what.”

  “But he can come out at night.” It seemed like a logical conclusion, but I had to admit that I didn’t like it very much. This vampire master didn’t seem quite as frightening if I could think of him as being confined to his lair, unable to move around in the real world.

  “Yes. And before you ask, taking up residence someplace like Alaska or Norway, where during the winter there are many hours of darkness, isn’t something that would work. For one thing, they would have to move during the summer, when it is light just as long, and vampires like to find a place of refuge and stay with it for as long as possible. Constantly disrupting their routine in such a way is not optimal. And second, they would be far more conspicuous in a place with such a low population. It is easier to hide their activities in large cities, or suburban areas with many people to choose from.”

  “To hunt, you mean.” Damn it, my voice had shaken slightly as I made the remark, despite my best efforts to steady it.

  “Sometimes. But vampires do not need living blood as often as one might think. A fresh kill — so to speak — can keep them sustained for many months. It’s a survival trait, because even in as populated a place as Southern California, too many missing persons will invite far too much scrutiny.”

  Well, that was something. I’d always wondered how vampires managed it in books and movies, killing people right and left, without every local police and sheriff’s department, and probably the FBI to boot, descending to figure out who the culprit was. But if this Lucius and any other vampires around him were able to space out their kills, then the whole thing didn’t seem quite as logistically difficult.

  “How many vampires does he have with him?”