* * * *
They coaxed her out of the bathtub, replaced the wet clothes with a warm, dry flannel nightgown. Kate felt them moving her arms up, sliding the soft fabric over her body. She could feel externally. Internally, she had shut down.
Vanessa and Gwen led her to a quiet little room Gwen used for contemplation, sat her down in a comfortable chair. Gwen went for tea. Vanessa, wielding a comb, set to untangling the wet mess of Kate's hair.
"Your office called. We know what happened."
Kate felt a sharp tug as the comb challenged a knot in her hair.
"We've been frantic. I called your cell phone a dozen times."
"I'm sorry.” The response was autonomic, like moving her hand from a hot stove. “I should have called."
Gwen came through the door with a steaming mug. “Hey, it speaks!” Her tone was falsely chipper. “Here, drink this. It will help."
Kate smelled the sweet chamomile, and something bitter underneath. She raised her eyes questioningly at Gwen.
"There's some valerian in there. It's good for you."
Which meant it would make her sleep. Kate did not want to sleep. She couldn't face that thing in her nightmares. She shuddered.
"Are you cold?” Gwen asked immediately. Before Kate could say no, she turned to the little hearth. “I'll start a fire. That'll be cozy."
Vanessa worked her hair into a silky mess. Gwen started a fire. Kate searched for something she could say without sounding like an escaped mental patient.
"I'm quitting my job."
"Good."
"Thank God."
Kate felt the words soften her inside just a little bit, easing the pressure of the stone her heart had become. These were her friends, two people who loved her. She wanted to have them put their arms around her while she told them everything, the truth, but she couldn't. And she didn't have time. Tomorrow night was the ritual.
The thought, the urgency behind it, surprised her. She was afraid of the demon, afraid of the magic, but she still loved Paul. She remembered Vern's warning: It's normal to feel revulsion and terror.
Gwen finished with the fire and turned back to Kate. Sitting on the floor, she rubbed Kate's feet. “Don't worry about anything, Kate. We'll be here to pull you through if things get rough for a while."
"Thank you,” Kate whispered.
"You'd do it for us,” Vanessa said, still working the comb in a soothing sweep.
The fire crackled happily, not caring that Kate's world was coming apart and re-knitting. Its cheerful indifference bolstered her. The fire would burn no matter what. The birds would sing. Babies would be born, people would fall in love. No matter what.
Strengthened by that strange understanding, warmed by the words and touches of her friends, Kate's heart began to thaw.
"I'm not sure what I want to do,” she said, unable yet to lift her voice above a raspy whisper.
She saw Gwen open her mouth to reply, but then she paused, glancing above Kate's head to exchange glances with Vanessa. Kate couldn't see Vanessa's face, but she could read the concern in Gwen's. They knew she was talking about something much bigger than her career. Gwen, being Gwen, had picked up on the subtext of Kate's question.
"What do you want?” Vanessa asked in a carefully neutral voice.
Kate rode the soothing sensations of Gwen's rubbing and Vanessa's combing, and confronted the question honestly. What do I want? The answer rose above doubt and confusion and fear, a far-off trumpet call. Love.
But love with Paul? She had love, right here. Out of love, her friends kept her head above water when without them she would drown. If she wanted love, shouldn't she knock some sense into her heart and find someone suitable? Someone not cursed by a demon? Someone she had a reasonable expectation of sharing her life with? The world was full of eligible men with good jobs, steady hearts, unchanging physical forms. Well, not full, but at least there were some. There had to be.
The reasoning did not ring true. Kate looked up at Gwen, who watched her with compassion overflowing from her eyes.
"You got married for the wrong reasons,” Kate said.
Vanessa interjected, “She got married to the wrong man."
Gwen shook her head. “No, he wasn't wrong, our reasons weren't wrong.” She paused, clearly searching for the right way to express her thought. “I didn't know myself. I was trying not to be an artist."
Vanessa snorted.
Kate silently agreed. Gwen was an artist. She breathed beauty and symmetry. She communicated in color and light.
"I can't blame him for being angry and leaving. He thought he was signing up for life with a whole different person. How can I blame him, when I was the one lying? To him and to myself."
An electric charge zipped through Kate. She felt her spine straighten. Paul had not lied to her. He had let fear get in the way of showing her who he was, but he hadn't lied to her. After tonight, who was she to blame him for letting his fear overwhelm him?
Somewhere in the house, a cell phone rang. The sound triggered a memory.
Throw the damn thing out the window. But he hadn't. I haven't kissed anyone in about a hundred years. Kate thought it had been just a romantic exaggeration. But it was the absolute truth. She had been without a lover for a year, and she'd been willing to open her heart and her body to Paul no matter what secrets he was keeping. But Paul had been alone, frighteningly, absolutely alone, for a century, and yet, when he was offered her heart and her flesh, he had thought about the consequences to her. And pulled away.
He could have been inside her, without Kate knowing the truth. But he chose not to. She could find no steadier heart in a man, not in a hundred years.
She wanted to have a favorite flavor of ice cream. She wanted to have a favorite color. Paul suffered under a curse, yet he lived more than Kate. What courage did it take, she wondered, to cling to humanity under conditions like that?
What courage did it take for him to love her?
Was she brave enough to love him back?
She was brave enough to stand up to murderers and rapists, brave enough to wade through the aftermath of violence and throw a life preserver to women about to drown.
A vision of the demon clawing its way out of Paul's rent flesh flashed in front her eyes, and involuntarily her body shuddered and her stomach clenched.
She felt Vanessa pause in her combing, Gwen pause in her foot rubbing.
Was she so much the coward, after all?
Kate tilted her head to look at Vanessa: brash, worldly, take-life-ripe-and-bite-it Vanessa. Then she looked to Gwen, with her earth mother strength and grace.
"What are you guys most afraid of?"
"Failing,” Vanessa said immediately.
"Not finding love,” Gwen said, after a moment.
Vanessa laughed. “God, you are the most honest woman on the planet."
Kate took Vanessa's arm and drew her down so that she knelt by Gwen and Kate could speak to them both, face-to-face. “If you found love..."
"I'd take it,” said Vanessa, her eyes fixed on Kate's.
Kate shook her head. “But..."
"Why are you still sitting here?” Gwen asked.
A warmth spread out from Kate's heart. She was still afraid; she was still terrified. But she was no longer unsure.
"There are some things you can help me with.” She glanced at the clock. It was already after midnight. “And we have to hurry."
* * * *
At 3:00 am, they were almost finished shopping. In the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, the demon, the curse, Sander Wald, all of it, seemed so hard to believe. Then Gwen turned the corner of the aisle, pushing a cart full of candles of all different shapes and sizes. “Romantic lighting.” She grinned. “Check."
"How did they manage in 1905,” Kate wondered allowed, “without all-night superstores?” She added a pair of black sweat pants and a gray t-shirt to the cart.
"Legions of servants,” Vanessa said, her voice wistful and
yearning. “One for your hair, two just to dress you, one to fetch your coffee in the morning...” She held up two choices of men's underwear: shimmering black silk boxers and tight red bikinis. “You pick, Kate."
Gwen giggled.
Kate reached around Vanessa to choose instead a simple bag of tightie whities. “There's romantic, and then there's cheesy."
Vanessa looked again at her options, and put down the red bikinis. “Alright, maybe those were a bit much.” She tossed the black silk boxers into the cart. “But give the man a choice."
A bag of white athletic socks followed the rest of the ensemble into the cart, and they moved on to shoes.
Kate faced the racks of cheap white tennis shoes. “I don't know his size."
Vanessa barely covered a giggle.
"You're shameless,” Gwen whispered, jostling her with an elbow.
Kate threw them both a stern look that dissolved into a grin.
"I doubt you'll know his shoe size after tomorrow, either,” Vanessa said practically, and tossed a pair of size 8's, 9's and 10's into the cart. “It's a good thing men aren't particular about their shoes."
Gwen tossed in a pair of 11's. “For good luck."
Giggling like teenagers, they left the men's wear aisles and headed for the grocery section. Kate thought about the delicious hand-made pastries Paul had bought her. She considered his demanding standards for coffee. “I don't know if we can pull off the food thing here."
"After midnight, what choice do we have?” Vanessa said. “No all-night gourmet takeout services here in Bonaventure."
Gwen patted Kate's shoulder. “You'll be fine. There are universal food choices that satisfy even the most educated palate after sex. Trust me."
Kate did, and wound up with a cart full of the crustiest bread available, olive oil, Oreo cookies, a can of mixed nuts and two frozen pizzas. Kate added a dozen quart containers of gourmet ice cream, exotic and complex in their ingredients.
"That should do it.” She glanced at her watch. “Just enough time to make me beautiful before dawn."
Gwen squeezed her hand. “You're beautiful now."
With a cart full of fix-it-yourself romance, Kate did feel beautiful. But beautiful enough to make Paul believe that their love was worth risking her life?
Chapter Sixteen
What the hell am I doing?
Kate pulled up to the curb in front of Paul's house. No lights shone in the windows or on the porch. No sign of Sander. No sign of the ... I can't even think the word, and I'm planning to take it home with me.
According to the Weather Channel, the sun would rise at 6:41 a.m. The clock on Kate's dashboard glowed 6:01. She sat there, wrangling with fear, until the clock read 6:11. Am I more afraid, or am I more in love? The digital numbers morphed from 6:11 to 6:12. She forced herself out of the car and into the chilly remains of the night.
Cold fingers of air groped under her tan trench coat, up the line of her legs. Under the trench, Kate wore one of Gwen's ethereal white cotton dresses. Inappropriate for the weather, but Vanessa had insisted, saying it was only appropriate for a declaration of love.
Yesterday's clouds had dwindled to a few gray strands wound among the last of the pulsing stars. One gray wisp floated across the face of the almost full moon as she pushed open the wrought iron gate. The world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for dawn. No birds chattered, no breeze rattled fallen leaves. The gate squeaked as she pulled it shut behind her.
"Hello?” she called softly. “Paul?” Her plan hinged on finding the demon in the garden, because she assumed that somewhere inside the house was Sander Wald. Sleeping, hopefully, and not watching from the window through a rifle scope or something.
When calling for Paul got no response, she crept down the garden path. “Demon?” No shadow lifted from the ground to greet her. She was both relieved and disappointed. When she thought the demon was just Paul in another form, it seemed less horrible. The idea that it was its own creature, with its own desires ... She tried to concentrate on how it pushed her in the closet to hide her from Sander, but it didn't help. The thing was totally alien, and it caused Paul so much pain. She feared it. But did she hate it?
Kate moved around the porch, following the garden path towards the place she'd seen the demon emerge and Paul vanish. “Hello? Paul? Black thing?"
Something tapped against the top of her head. With a little shriek, she looked up. Yellow eyes stared back at her from just above the rim of the gutters. The thing was on the roof.
Dizziness spiraled through Kate and she looked down. There at her feet she saw what had hit her: one of the little stones she had gathered to throw at Paul's window. The sight of it made her laugh. One of them had a sense of humor. Was it Paul, the demon, or both?
When she looked back up again, the demon pulled back out of sight.
"Wait,” she whispered. She didn't want it to spook it into running, and she didn't want to bring Sander Wald's attention down on them. “Wait!"
After a moment, a ridge of inky blackness stretched into view, and the yellow eyes popped up above the gutter again.
It was so hard to see it and not want to run away. Fear congealed in her throat. She forced words out around it. “Listen, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ran away.” She spoke to both of them, Paul and the demon. She hoped both heard. “I know you know where I live. I know you followed me that night. I saw the picture in the studio."
The demon's yellow eyes never blinked. She realized that it had no eyelids, and suppressed a shudder.
"Come back with me to my house. I can't do this with him here.” She felt confident both the demon and Paul would understand she meant Sander. “Will you come with me?"
For a long time, the demon didn't move. Kate stood in the garden under the fading stars, shivering as the frosty air swept up her legs. She wondered if it was Paul who was hesitating, or the demon. Or both.
Finally the black shape loomed up and poured itself to the ground. Kate couldn't help but stutter back a few steps, horrified by the sight. It moved like an internal organ lifted from a chest cavity and somehow brought to life. By the time the thing had coalesced into vaguely human form—two arms, two legs, a head with yellow eyes—Kate fought an ancient instinct that screamed for her to run Run ... RUN!
But she stood her ground. Once the demon form stabilized, she took a deep breath and felt sure she could take a step without bolting. “Thank you,” she said.
The thing pulsed in response. Kate's revulsion faded just a little. Whatever it was, it kept trying to communicate. That made it less scary. “Great. Um, come on. Let's get going before ... you know."
Streaks of light glimmered under the demon's black skin, and it followed Kate down the path.
Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as she'd feared. She would take the demon back to Gwen's house, into her room, and be there when it went away and Paul came back. And after that...
"I didn't expect to see you ever again."
Kate's muscles turned to lead and ice.
Sander Wald stood on the porch. His elegant features sneered at her. A pistol glinted in his hand.
Why hadn't she brought her own gun? Then she remembered the spell. She couldn't kill him with it. She couldn't kill him at all.
"You are a persistent little thing.” Sander looked as cool and polished and pressed as before, even minutes before dawn. He languidly raised the pistol. “Most times persistence is a virtue I admire. Most times."
Running was out. Hiding in the garden would just prolong the torture of the hunt. Besides Kate didn't want to do either. She wanted to climb the porch stairs, take the gun from his hand, take his hand from his arm, his eyes from their sockets, his tongue from his mouth.
"You can't just shoot me on a small town street and get away with it,” Kate said.
Sander smirked. “I can do anything I want."
With a sinking feeling, Kate realized he was probably right.
Something oily and black rose up to shield he
r. She stumbled, but an arm shot back, stretching and thinning, to pull her right up against its elongated body. All she could see was the depthless black stuff of the demon. All she could feel was the instinct to jump away, to run Run ... RUN! But in her mind Laurie's voice echoed: only vulnerable to each other.
It was protecting her. Again. Suddenly, the demon wasn't scary at all.
"Let's get to my car and get out of here,” she whispered. Deep inside the thing's depths, she saw a flash of light, like an electric current inside congealed blood.
She moved as quickly as she dared, half crouching behind the demon's form. It moved with her, keeping itself between Kate and Sander's line of sight. Kate pulled the keys from her pocket, opened the driver's door. The demon flowed inside, closing its fingers on Kate's hand and pulling her in with it.
Its flesh was slick and oily. Kate fell behind the wheel, jamming the key into the ignition. The demon released her, and oddly, where it had touched her, her skin was cold and dry.
The engine sputtered—oh not now, not now!—and turned over. She jerked down the gearshift, stomped on the gas, and squealed away. She risked a glance in the rear view mirror: Sander standing on the sidewalk, the gun still in his hand. Until she turned the corner, she expected the back window to explode in a shower of glass, expected a bullet to drill into her head. But she made the corner, and knew she was safe.
The demon crouched like a chimpanzee in the passenger's seat. The yellow eyes swam through the inky flesh until they stared at her.
It might have stepped between her and Sander's bullet, but it was still the weirdest thing she'd ever seen, tripping all her animal instincts to flee. She focused on the road, how very short of a drive it was, from Paul's house to hers.
"Um ... great job back there. You saved my life. Thanks."
Her only acknowledgement was another flash of internal light. Kate wondered if Paul controlled the flashes. She wondered if Paul could hear her. She wondered how angry he was that she'd put herself in danger.
When she pulled into the space behind the old Victorian, the dashboard clock glowed 6:32. The stars and the moon were fading, and her skin was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. She turned off the motor.
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