by Opal Carew
Magena resented her transformation. Mortally wounded during the conflict between the British and Indians under Pontiac’s leadership, Antoine saved and transformed her, wanting her for a mate.
She stayed with him initially out of fear and despair, the spiritual beliefs of her people making her transformation particularly hard to accept. Later she grew to appreciate Laumet’s protectiveness toward her.
But though she held a certain respect for Laumet, she never loved him. She thought herself incapable of it—she saw herself as a monster, as evil incarnate, though in truth she was one of the most gentle of my kind I’d ever known.
Like me, Magena bore a gift she believed a curse. Her telepathy meant she could literally hear the fearful thoughts her presence caused in humans. It made her especially aware of her effect on others. The flip side of her self-hatred was an ever-present resentment of Antoine for putting her in this position in the first place.
This was something he did not know, but I could easily feel. And I had always kept her confidence.
Laumet interlaced his fingers and laid his hands in his lap. “The rest, as they say, is history.” He radiated a smug satisfaction at the recounting of his history—though parts of his story had reawakened the group’s discomfort. Jacques’s phantom pain and Magena’s turmoil settled on my shoulders like a lead weight.
With some effort, Magena lightened the mood. She recalled the city’s golden age when the auto industry brought wealth and society to Detroit. The elite found Antoine and Magena fascinatingly exotic and dangerously mysterious, and they were frequent guests at the city’s best addresses. Antoine had loved the attention.
Langston regaled us with Motown stories. He’d seen Stevie Wonder play in Detroit as a kid. And the other artists he saw or met read like a who’s who of great American musicians. Magena laughed and smiled warmly at Langston’s stories. They had been good friends since Magena and I had helped him through his transition to this life.
Jacques was reluctant to participate. Ever since Antoine told the story of their transformation, he’d stood stone still near the fireplace. When Antoine pushed him, I was not at all surprised at the kinds of stories he chose to tell.
A dark humor came over him. He went into explicit detail regarding the number of humans he’d been able to consume during the city’s two notorious race riots in 1943 and 1967. Remnants of the latter remained visible all over.
“It was bacchanalian. Blood, violence, the freedom to attack—in broad daylight. And the fires, they were everywhere, perfect for disposing of those pesky bodies.” He folded his arms over his narrow chest and fixed a do-something-about-it stare on me. “Two of the best days of my life.”
Magena glared at Jacques. But it was the barely audible growl rumbling in Antoine’s chest that forced him to end his story abruptly.
Still, Jacques was riled up enough to spit out one last taunt: “Why, Lucien, you haven’t regaled us with any stories of your own. Surely you intend to remind us what a hero you are.”
I shot up and stalked toward him.
Jacques’s reference to that story pushed me to my limit. I had saved his and his father’s lives from an assassination attempt by a power-hungry human who had allied with some of Laumet’s vampire enemies. But Jacques’s brother, François, died in the battle, and Jacques blamed me. When Antoine freed me from my obligation of service to him in recognition of my actions, Jacques had become incensed.
Magena jumped up and grabbed my arm, saving me from being stupid. I glared down at him; the angst I’d experienced in recent weeks itched to find release. I would have loved to unleash it on Jacques, who ranked only above my maker as my least favorite creature in the world.
“Enough!” Antoine commanded both of us to settle down, although his order was more aimed at his son than at me.
Jacques’s rage chilled me to the bone, and his humiliation tasted sour. My words came low and fast. “Antoine, I appreciate the pleasure of your company. But I should leave. Now.”
His eyes made a circuit from Jacques to the velvet-covered windows that hid the impending dawn and back to me. “Yes, I believe you are right. It is time for you to be going.” He looked up at me. “It was nice to see you again.”
His sincerity was disarming. I didn’t know what to make of it. Laumet had always valued me for my honesty and frankness; few others were willing to risk his wrath, but when we’d first met I hadn’t cared enough about myself to fear him.
I nodded good-byes to Magena and Langston, then crossed the ballroom. With my hand on the door knob, I hesitated. “Antoine, is there truly no other reason you wanted me here tonight?”
In an instant he was standing beside me, his right hand curled around the back of my neck and his face close to mine. “Do not be concerned. I only wished to see you. Your candor and loyalty were always a comfort to me and not at all easy to come by. I know those days are gone. You earned your independence. But allow an old man to reminisce.”
A touch of warmth revealed his affection for me and made me believe him. I nodded my head, and he squeezed my neck before dropping his hand. In the same instant, he disappeared from my side.
Without looking back, I fled out the door, through the building, and into the night.
Chapter Five
Jacques’s black feelings infected me as I returned to Edmund Place just as the sun fully broke over the city. I cursed myself for letting him get under my skin. He’d always had a knack for exploiting my vulnerabilities. My years apart from him had clearly left me out of practice for dealing with his invective, which pissed me off to no end.
I showered and regretted my earlier consumption of the remainder of the blood. A fresh infusion would have gone a long way toward easing my discomfort. Instead, I sprawled out on my bed in my darkened room, the air cool against my still-wet skin, and forced myself into another long, deep trance.
Thirty-six hours later, I awoke as the sun set on Tuesday night. I had been out a long time, but despite the attempt at rest, recent infusion of blood, and distance from him, Jacques’s twisted mind continued to taint my well-being.
There remained only one thing I hadn’t tried: Samantha. I growled at the thought. Ollie’s near fall on the stairs, Samantha’s observation of my abnormal actions, and my bloodlust were all reasons to stay away from the Suttons. I lulled myself back into a trance.
Samantha’s image moved in and out of my thoughts all night. I finally gave up on rest as a means of distracting myself from my want of her. Three movies, half a book, and a violin concerto later, she remained the center of my focus.
As I threw on clothes, my resolve crumbled. I fled out the door and headed north. The darkening sky allowed me to move swiftly through the warm summer night. Five days had lapsed since I’d last been at the Frederick Street house and, more importantly, since I had last seen—felt—the girls.
I ignored the nagging voice that told me I should be distancing myself, not seeking them out. My eagerness to be in Samantha’s presence built as I walked up Brush Street. I needed her.
I unleashed a tirade of colorful Italian expletives at Jacques. His contagious vitriol raised my bloodlust and forced me to imagine, for just one last moment, Samantha’s blood flowing into my mouth and down my throat. The most thrilling part of that vision was not the warmth, nor the quenching, nor the sweet flavor; it was the pain-relieving ecstasy her emotions would bring to my body.
I stopped in my tracks. But then she would be gone. And what would happen to Ollie?
Cazzo! I shuddered this whole train of thought away. You. Will. Not.
Faintly, I tasted the sweetness of Samantha’s happiness. I shook my head to break the daydream, but I wasn’t imagining the sensation after all.
Inhaling deeply, I caught her scent—she was in the park across the street. Now that I focused, I could hear and feel them both. While I debated, my feet made the decision, and I crossed Frederick and followed the diagonal sidewalk that led to the playground.
&nb
sp; Samantha and Ollie’s presence pushed the last of Jacques’s poison from my mind, and my shoulders relaxed. Guilt over using them attempted to worm its way into me, but the relief of their healing influence was stronger.
Maybe I’d been thinking about this all wrong…
Ollie saw me first. “Lucien!” She threw herself around my legs.
Having advance warning this time, I was prepared for her contact and could manage a more normal reaction than I had when she’d surprised me at my truck that night. “Hello, Ollie.”
She squeezed harder.
“Hey. There you are.” Samantha followed Ollie across the playground and stopped several feet in front of me. She looked so lovely with her blonde hair down over a form-fitting white V-neck T-shirt and a pair of jean shorts. Her blue-green eyes sparkled at me.
“Hello, Sam.” I nearly sighed. “How are you?”
“We’re good.”
Ollie stepped back but was holding onto my right hand. The contact was an amazingly satisfying sensation. She tugged once as Samantha and I talked. “Lucien, do you want to play?”
Play with me, Papa!
I winced. “Uh…” The memory of Isabetta’s voice caught me off guard, rattled me.
Samantha looked at me with an amused grin. Ollie tried again. “I know! You can push me on the swings!”
I tugged my hair back off my face. “Um, sure.” Ollie ran over to the swing set and pulled herself up onto the plastic seat. As I pushed her, Samantha came over and leaned against the closest metal support pole. Her obvious pleasure in watching me with her daughter helped soften my feeling of betraying my own.
Ollie laughed. Between fits of giggles, she sputtered, “Wow, Lucien! You push higher than Mommy by a lot!”
I tore my eyes away from Samantha and gaped. At the top of the high arc, the chain slackened for a few seconds before jerking Ollie back in the other direction. I let her go for a few swings without pushing and allowed her to return to a more reasonable height. “Sorry,” I said.
Samantha laughed. “Don’t worry about it. She loves it. Nothing scares her.”
I already knew that was true.
Samantha made small talk with Ollie for a few minutes before her daughter announced she was done swinging. She hopped down and ran to the sliding board. I became aware of eyes on me. Samantha was watching me watch her daughter. I looked to the ground.
“You’re her new favorite person. She talks about you nonstop.”
My eyes widened as I looked up at her. I opened my mouth to respond but nothing came out. My brain froze with unexplained emotion.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
I met her stare and laughed despite myself. To laugh, to smile—both so foreign—Jesus, being near her made me dizzy with life. I swallowed. “No, no. Don’t apologize. I, uh, I really like Ollie, too. She’s a great kid.”
Samantha smiled. “Yeah.” She held my gaze for a moment, and her heart rate jumped. A slight flush colored her face. It was stunning. “So…” She stepped away from the bar against which she had been leaning and moved toward a bench on the side of the playground.
The next thing I knew, she pitched forward. I caught her with one hand around her waist and another around her arm. I overcompensated slightly, distracted by the feel of her warm silkiness against my skin, and pulled so her back momentarily pressed against my front.
A torrent of competing emotions erupted. The taste of embarrassment. The smell of fear. The heat of lust. I couldn’t sort out which were mine and which were hers.
She chuckled nervously. “Thanks.”
“Are you okay?”
“I think so. Let’s just sit for a minute.”
I dropped my hands and motioned for her to continue over to the bench. I stepped over the small hole in the blacktop that had caught her foot and stayed next to her in case she was unsteady.
She sat on the edge of the bench and rotated her ankle. “Eh, I’ll live.”
We smiled, then sat awkwardly for a minute. Samantha’s heart rate remained elevated.
Finally, she broke the silence. “Hey, Lucien? Are you feeling all right?”
I frowned. “Me? Yes. Why?”
She reached her hand over to my face, pausing to silently ask permission before continuing.
I nodded, still not understanding. Then I registered her worry.
She pressed the palm of her hand to my forehead and then slid it down to my cheek. I wanted to lean into her touch. “Lucien, you’re burning up. I can’t believe you’re sitting here so easily with a temperature this high.”
I flinched and pulled back.
She dropped her hand. “Sorry to go into nurse mode on you, it’s
just—”
“No, don’t apologize. I’m fine, really. I…tend to run a little warm. You shouldn’t worry about me.” My inexperience around humans had finally proved a liability. I should’ve realized my recent meals would elevate my body temperature and been more careful.
“Lucien, you don’t feel just a ‘little warm.’ “
I stood up and stepped away. “Why don’t I walk you two home?”
She sighed, seeing through my effort at distraction, but agreed. She rose and tested her ankle, taking a couple of tentative steps and favoring the uninjured side.
I steeled myself. Her injury made her vulnerable. Her vulnerability made her even more appealing. I cursed my instincts for evaluating her this way.
“Ollie, it’s time to go, honey.”
“Can I have five more minutes, Mommy?” She looked up at us expectantly as she came over.
“No, honey. Let’s go. It’s late. Besides, Lucien offered to walk back with us.”
“Oh! Okay!” Ollie skipped and sang in front of us as we walked across the park to the street.
“I knew that would be the selling point,” Samantha said as she elbowed me softly and smiled.
Out of the park, we ambled along the bush-lined sidewalk. It was dark along this stretch of Frederick. The monster within me reared up again and begged to be sated by Samantha’s blood. Luckily, Samantha didn’t notice my struggle.
“Unbelievable.”
“What?” I tasted the tartness of her annoyance, but had been so caught up in my own thoughts I wasn’t sure what caused her mood shift.
“I’ve called about replacing that street light”— she pointed to a dark pole about ten yards in front of us—”four times in the last three weeks. This street seems so dark without it. I mean, this neighborhood is a lot better than some, but still…”
“I’ll call too. Maybe if more than one person complains, it’ll get fixed.” The exchange proved an effective distraction from my bloodlust. Plus I would do anything to make her happy. What a remarkable thought.
“Hey. Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” She smiled. Her heart rate picked up again.
As I met her eyes, she leaned in to me. My mouth watered. My desires warred. I looked away and took a deep breath, shoving down the urge to kiss her. What am I doing?
At my house, a piece of paper stuck out from the jamb of my front door. “Oh, that’s from us. We came by to visit you on Sunday afternoon.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have missed you.”
“Me, too,” Samantha said as she peeked up at me. Her heart rate accelerated yet again and, as if her happiness by itself wasn’t attractive enough, she began projecting the warmth of affection and the heat of desire for me. It was intoxicating.
We passed my house and crossed the grass field toward the back of Samantha’s. I asked her a few questions about her work, eager to hear her voice and heighten her feelings of happiness. My interest pleased her. She was proud of becoming a nurse.
We stepped up to the front porch of their townhouse. Ollie had exhausted much of her energy and yawned. Samantha put a hand on Ollie’s shoulders and hugged her in, then smiled at me. “Thanks for walking us home, Lucien. I’m glad we ran into you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see y
ou.”
She hesitated for a moment. “I hope so.” The blush was slow in coming, but I could feel the heat of it from where I stood.
I smiled back and nodded. “Good night, Ollie. Dream good dreams.”
The words came out of my mouth effortlessly, and I sucked in a breath in surprise. I hadn’t uttered them in well over a century. Dream good dreams—my bedtime wish for Isabetta every night of the forty-one months of her short life.
“G’night,” Ollie mumbled. Then she turned and grabbed the storm door handle, and they both walked through. Samantha waved over her shoulder before shutting the door.
I walked away smiling. As I left the radius of the porch light and stepped into the dark shadows on the side of her house, a startling thought hit me. I have feelings for her. For them.
No, not possible. Can’t be. My guilt had eaten my capacity for love a long time ago.
Disconcerted, I crossed the field to my new house and decided to stay there for a while. I often familiarized myself with my new properties by residing in them for stretches, particularly after completing a renovation. I jogged up the porch steps and fished my key out of my jeans pocket.
The papers Samantha had left were wedged into the jamb. I grasped them as I pushed through the door and flicked on the light. I walked into the living room and sank into the leather couch. My boots fell to the floor with a couple of thuds, then I propped my feet up on the coffee table.
With pleasure, I noted I’d retained some of Samantha’s happiness despite my distance from her, similar to the way I’d held on to Jacques’s darkness earlier. I shifted and my arm brushed the papers lying next to me on the couch. Samantha’s and Ollie’s scents hung on the pages as I unfolded them and found Samantha’s handwriting.
Hi, Lucien—Just stopped by to say hello. Hope you’re getting settled in. Ollie wanted to drop this off for your fridge. Let us know if you need anything.
Sam & Ollie (Sunday @3 p.m.)
I shuffled the note behind the second page, a child’s drawing of a man, sort of. From the man’s back two white triangles protruded. There was also a yellow circle over the man’s head. Ah, an angel. I smiled, then leaned forward and laid the papers on the coffee table.