Blood Red Dawn

by Karen E. Taylor

  I shot Sam a glance; his mouth was set and rigid. Shaking my head, I turned my attention to the never-ending English landscape. No need for me to get involved in whatever was wrong between the two of them.

  And for the record, I didn’t see one single cow on the trip.

  Our hotel was right outside the airport. Vivienne had booked rooms for all of us on the same floor. “Safety in numbers,” she whispered to me as the desk clerk distributed the keys, keeping Lily and Claude’s since they hadn’t arrived yet. Then she turned her attention to the clerk. “Pardon, mon ami, can you possibly recommend a good place in London where a girl can get a good drink and some pleasurable company?”

  He mentioned a few pubs near Paddington Station. “And the Heathrow Express will get you there in no time, Miss. Or if you’d prefer, we have a fully staffed bar and restaurant here at the hotel.”

  “Ah,” she said, with a smile that showed off her dimples, “fully staffed. It sounds très charming. What do you think, Sam?”

  “I think I’m going to go up to the room and get some rest, Vivienne.” He sounded tired and harsh. With good cause, I thought, he’d driven for over five hours in a somewhat tense environment. “I’m exhausted. But you do whatever you want.”

  She sighed and gave a little pout.

  Sam smiled then and kissed her. “I can’t resist you when you do that. Really, go and have some fun. Just come back to me when you’re ready.”

  Viv tucked her hand into his arm. “Perhaps I do not wish fun after all.” She turned to me, “Mitch, do you want to ride up on the elevator with us?”

  I shook my head, “No, I think I’ll wait here for Lily and Claude, I saw them pull up just a second ago. And then maybe I’ll stop in the bar for a quick drink. Anyway, I doubt either of you need or want a chaperone.”

  They chatted quietly on the way to the elevator. I heard Sam laugh again, “Oh, I see,” he said, his voice low and tender, “you don’t have fun with me?”

  The elevator door closed then, cutting off Viv’s response. Lily and Claude walked into the lobby and came to the desk where I was waiting. Claude looked around expectantly. “Did Vivienne and Sam go out?”

  “No,” I said, “Sam was tired so they just went to their room.”

  “Oh,” Claude said, failing to hide his disappointment. “I was looking forward to seeing a little of London. Are you up for some sightseeing, Mitch?”

  “Not me,” I said, “The only sight I want to see for the rest of the night is a dark bar and a bottle of scotch.”

  He turned to Lily who’d picked up their keys at the desk. “How about you?”

  “Nope, not me either.” She handed him the little envelope that held his key card. “Aren’t we a sorry bunch of party poopers tonight?” She laughed and my heart ached, she looked so much like Deirdre it hurt. “All I want now is a nice hot bath and a soft bed.”

  Claude threw up his arms in mock dismay. “And you dare to call yourselves night people? Okay, I’ll go by myself then, if I have to.”

  “Take the express, Claude,” I said, “and have fun.” I kissed the top of Lily’s head. “Night, kiddo, have a good one.”

  Chapter 9

  The bar was dark, and the scotch came in the form of a twenty-year-old single malt. I charged it to my room, hoping Vivienne had enough credit to cover it. After that it was a simple matter, all I had to do was keep the ice from melting.

  Three glasses in, the hunger hit. Should have gone to London with Claude, I thought, eyeing the emptiness of the bar, it would have been quicker and easier. As I got up to leave, though, a woman walked in. She was about the same height as Deirdre and the same weight, but the similarity ended there. Her straight dark hair shone in the light from the doorway, giving her the appearance of purple streaks throughout the black. She walked slowly, almost a saunter, and she had a lovely smile.

  “Drinking alone,” she said, as she slid onto the barstool next to me, “is no good. Didn’t your momma teach you better than that?”

  Her drawl oozed with pure southern charm and I smiled in spite of myself, extending my hand. “The name’s Mitch,” I said. “New York.”

  Her eyes laughed at me as she returned the handshake. “Diane,” she said. “North Carolina. Leave it to me to find the only Yankee in the bar.”

  I looked around us at the empty seats. “Yankee or not, I’m practically the only other person in here.”

  “True.” She picked up the bottle and examined it. “Nice,” she said, “but a little too much for me after a flight.”

  “May I get you something?” I asked, motioning to the bartender.

  “White zinfandel, thank you.” She sipped the wine he brought. “Not bad,” she said, “better than the swill they were serving on the plane.”

  “Here on vacation?”

  “No, business. I write for travel magazines, freelance. But it gets old real fast, you know? The planes, the cabs, the empty hotel rooms. How about you? You here for business or pleasure?”

  “It’s sort of hard to say. I’m heading ultimately for New Orleans by way of New York. And from there? I have no idea.”

  “And what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a retired policeman. Most recently I was a bartender.”

  “Two very useful occupations.”

  “Damn straight they are.”

  We clinked our glasses together. Diane had a effortless laugh and her skin smelled fresh and clean. When she inched a little closer to me, I didn’t move away. Instead I motioned the bartender to bring her another glass of wine and watched her unwind before me.

  After three glasses she was telling me her life’s history, her words only slightly slurred. “You know, Mitch,” she giggled, holding her glass up to what little light gleamed in the bar, “I only drink pink drinks.”

  “Pink drinks?”

  “Yes, pink drinks. That same momma who told me it wasn’t good to drink alone taught me that a lady is always a lady provided she only drinks pink drinks.”

  I laughed. “It’s important to have a smart mother.”

  She nodded and hiccuped. “Excuse me,” she said, “she also taught me to not overstay my welcome. I’ve enjoyed your company, Mitch, but I think I need to call it a night. I’m still on eastern time.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  As Diane got up from the barstool, the straps of her purse tangled around her ankles and she pitched forward, landing practically in my lap. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy.”

  “Not at all,” I said. My hunger raged from the close contact and although I felt guilty taking from her, I knew that I would. I stood up and gently took her arm. “My momma taught me to never allow ladies who’ve been drinking pink drinks to walk home unescorted. May I walk you to your room?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she said, gripping my arm. The heat of her skin was more intoxicating than the scotch had ever been. I felt uneasy, though, unsure of how far to take this seduction. I liked her and didn’t want to frighten or hurt her.

  She solved the problem for me on the elevator by passing out, leaning up against my side. I felt the slackness of her body as all of the tension dropped out of her and I caught her before she could fall. From there, I carried her to her room and opened the door. She didn’t move as I unfastened the buckles on her shoes and she didn’t make a sound when I laid her in the bed, pulling the covers up over her.

  When my mouth came down on her neck, she reached a hand up and stroked the back of my head, making a low moaning sound. Her blood tasted as pure and clean as she smelled and I drank her in. When I felt as if I’d taken enough to sustain me, I forced myself to withdraw my fangs.

  “Don’t go,” she murmured as I pulled away.

  “I have to, Diane. You’re a lady and I’m a gentleman and what would Momma say?”

  She laughed softly. “Momma would say ‘thank you.’ ”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “Now you go to sleep and forget I was ever here.�
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  She gave a contented sigh and dropped back into sleep.

  It was good that I’d been able to feed before we hit Heathrow. Otherwise, I’d have been totally overwhelmed by the mass of humanity there. People were everywhere, pushing and jostling, different ages, different races and nationalities, single businessmen and women alongside large families with crying babies. The noise level was almost deafening, a cacophony of languages so disorienting it made my head ache.

  Vivienne clung to Sam as if he were a life raft and Lily, I noticed, did the same with Claude. The line to check luggage seemed endless but was a necessity, if only so that Sam could have his medicinal bag when we arrived in New York. With heightened airline security there was no sense in trying to take his kit as a carry-on. Even at that, his papers were scrutinized closely and as his companions, the rest of us were singled out for more thorough searching. At one point, I feared that Vivienne’s shameless flirting with the guard would create a problem, until I noticed that the man was having a hard time keeping a straight face. With all the delays, we managed to get to our gate with only a little time to spare before the flight. I held my breath when the steward at check-in had to reissue our boarding passes, complaining all the time of the inefficiency of the person who’d issued them. Viv drew herself up to her full height and leaned over the counter, looking the attendant dead in the eye and convincing her finally that all was the way it should be.

  Still, in spite of all the hassles we had boarding the plane, once we took off I relaxed and the flight started out rather enjoyably. Vivienne had booked herself, Sam, and me into first class; Lily and Claude were sitting in the first row of seats in coach. She’d thought of everything from food preferences for Sam to reserving two seats for Claude.

  “You know, Viv, you should probably think of opening a travel agency.”

  She laughed. “That would be something, wouldn’t it, Mitch? ‘Bon soir, mesdames et messieurs, I’m Vivienne, come fly with me.’ No, I think I’d rather keep going as I have been, carefree and independent. And gainfully unemployed. I’m so very good at it, don’t you think?”

  Sam didn’t join in our banter. He’d turned back into the sullen man he’d seemed on the drive to London. Something was still eating at him, that much was easy to see. I wondered why Viv hadn’t picked up on it, but she seemed oblivious, chattering excitedly to one of the flight stewards, laying a soft hand on his arm and asking to see the wine list. And when she walked down the aisle with him to inspect the bottle she’d chosen and didn’t return in a respectable amount of time, I braced myself for Sam’s anger.

  Instead, he smiled fondly in the direction she’d gone. “If I know my girl, she’ll be gone for a while. ‘Never miss an opportunity to savor the wine’ should be her motto. Although,” and he gave a hoarse chuckle, “I doubt it’s wine she’s partaking of.”

  “And this doesn’t bother you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know why it would; we both know it’s nothing more than a desire to feed. But that’s not what I want to talk about. I’m glad she’ll be gone for a while. I need to tell you something and I’m coward enough to want to do it in a semipublic place, to avoid risking your temper. I’ve not been able to tell anybody, not even Viv. But it’s tearing me up inside. I have to tell someone and that someone should be you. You, of everyone, have the right to know what I’ve done.”

  “Well then, talk away. Confession is good for the soul, or so you used to tell me when I was your patient.”

  He grimaced. “We’re more than doctor and patient now, Mitch. We share a bond. And we’re friends, or at least I hope so. Maybe you’ll feel differently after I’ve had my say, but I won’t.”

  “Yeah, we’re friends and we’ll stay friends. Come on, I know you well enough to know you’re softening me up for something. What is it, Sam?”

  “I hardly know where to start. So let’s go back a few years, after the Others started their feud. Viv and I found a nice little place in Paris and played house for a while, it was like a vacation. But as the weeks stretched into months and years, I grew bored and I missed my work. There was no way I could do psychiatric work in France without all sorts of hassles and licenses. Then one day, I received a letter, addressed to me and forwarded from the old hospital.”

  “You told someone where you were?” I’d been in charge of the Cadre at the time and the rule was that we would not contact anyone we’d known before with our current whereabouts. True, Sam wasn’t one of the Cadre, but I’d have expected him to obey the order better than that.

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know. But it was just one of the nurses. She never gave the address to a soul, I’m sure of it. No one ever came knocking on our door, at least, so I assume she was trustworthy. I couldn’t just disappear off the face of the earth. A life of nothing but drinking and dancing is fine for a while, but I’ve always needed more. Needed to feel useful.”

  I nodded. “And as you’ve said, you were relatively safe. Most of the attacks seemed to be on me and Deirdre. And now,” the bitterness dripped from my voice, “we know why she was the primary target.”

  He continued without comment on my remark. “Anyway, when I opened the letter I found that it was an offer of work from a private clinic that wished me to do some blood research for them. They were looking for the key to triggering and intensifying the body’s natural immune systems to fight fatal diseases. Cancer, AIDS, that sort of stuff. It seemed like interesting research and certainly worthwhile, to say nothing of the impeccable reputation of the clinic. So I agreed to their offer and they set me up in a little lab and provided all that I needed. Including the blood to test and experiment with.”

  “I knew all this, Sam. I certainly can’t blame you for wanting to work, there’s no need to feel guilty about it. The idle life is not for everyone; I’d not mind getting back into police work myself.” I tried to lighten the conversation to put him at ease. “But the day shifts would be murder.”

  He gave a half-smile. “I don’t feel guilty about wanting to work. But I should have been more cautious, asked more questions. I, more than any other doctor in the world, should have seen where this research was leading. Should have seen the purpose for the drug I was developing for them.”

  He looked out the window for a minute, sighed, and turned back to me, a bleak expression on his face. “I didn’t know, Mitch, but damn it, I should have. I realize that now.”

  “What didn’t you know, Sam?” I thought I could see where he was going with this, but I wanted to hear him say it. Hell, he needed to say it; this had been his problem since the beginning of our trip. Before that even. When he’d appeared at The Black Rose that night, I knew that he wasn’t telling me the whole truth.

  “I didn’t know that the drug I developed would be used against vampires. Used against Deirdre. I never meant to harm her, never meant for any of this to happen. But it has. And it’s my fault. If you want a scapegoat for the whole affair, you needn’t look any further than me.”

  “I’m not looking for a scapegoat, Sam. And if I were, I’ve got Max Hunter who’ll fit the bill perfectly. The blame belongs on his doorstep, not yours.”

  “Even so,” he said, looking near tears. “I poisoned Deirdre, just as surely as if I’d fired that crossbow.”

  Chapter 10

  Deirdre Griffin: New York City

  “Human? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Max smiled again. “It’s quite simple, Deirdre, you’re becoming human.”

  “Human?” I said again almost as if I didn’t know the meaning of the word. Then I threw my head back and laughed. “Max, that has got to be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever told me to date. It’s just not possible.”

  “As you say, Deirdre.” He dropped his head, but not before I caught the angry gleam in his eyes. “You accuse me of not telling you what you need to know, of not telling you what is happening. And when I do tell you, you won’t believe me. How am I supposed to win at this?”
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  “Tell me the truth. That’s all I ask.”

  “And I have. You are, to the best of my knowledge, becoming human. Whether you want it now or not. If you could remember the symptoms of your sickness, you’d know I was right. Tell me if any of the following seem familiar: dizziness, wounds healing more slowly than normal, instability of body temperature with chills and fevers, extreme hunger, and vomiting after the taking of blood?”

  I thought for a moment. “It’s possible, I suppose, that I have had some of those symptoms in the past. But that doesn’t prove anything except that I’ve been sick. And you admit that I was poisoned. Where’s the proof it’s more than that?”

  “You will be the proof, Deirdre. Until we know about you for sure, this is all just conjecture.”

  “And exactly how will we test this theory? Sit around and wait for my hair to go gray? Wait to see if I grow old and die?”

  “I think we’ll know sooner than that, my dear.” He refilled my glass. “A nightcap?”

  I took the glass from him without answering. He continued his explanation of the process I was supposedly going through. “Here is how the poison works, Deirdre. It gets into your blood stream and converts that which made you a vampire into something else.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not possible,” I insisted for a second time. “Vampires are immune to everything.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “I am sorry, but I don’t believe you, Max. I can’t believe you.”

  “And what do you believe?”

  Looking down at the glass I held, I noticed my hand shaking and willed it to be still. “I believe that this vile drink you’ve been pushing on me ever since I woke”—I tossed the glass across the room—“is the very thing that keeps me sick. I believe that if I hadn’t drunk it, my memories would be returning. And my body would return to normal.”

  “You may choose to believe what you believe, Deirdre. It doesn’t change a thing.”