“A set time of incarceration and starvation. But he did emphasize that it would not result in death.”
“He took it as lightly as that?” Victor looked surprised.
I thought for a moment. “Well, no, he seemed very upset at the prospect, and gave me the impression that it was a fate worse than death.”
“And so he should have.”
“But I don’t really see—”
Victor interrupted me angrily. “What he forgot to mention is that the starvation sentence for this particular crime is rarely any shorter than fifty years. Normally it is almost twice that.”
My eyes opened wide. “One hundred years?”
“Exactly so. Think it over carefully, Deirdre. Do you still wish to take your chances with The Cadre’s sentence?”
I really didn’t have to think very long. A hundred years was almost the entire duration of my life as a vampire. Even the mere contemplation of living those years without sustenance was painful, unthinkable. “No.” My voice was shaking. I understood why Ron had neglected to tell me that one crucial fact. Had I known it at the onset, I would have been long gone, the rules of The Cadre be damned. “What do I need to do?”
“Have you fed recently?”
“Three nights in a row, actually.” I gave a short, cynical laugh. “I thought I was preparing myself, you see. As if it would have done any good.”
“Well, your instincts have still served you well. That will help you. Finish that”—he gestured at my glass—“in fact, finish the whole bottle. You need to be relaxed and at ease. I will do the same.”
He went behind the bar and opened another bottle of dark red wine. But instead of bothering with the glass, he drank it straight from the bottle. I giggled nervously; the gesture seemed so incongruous, so out of character for someone as elegant and polished as Victor. He gave me a stern look; I shrugged and followed his lead draining my bottle shortly after his was emptied.
“Now,” he said, pulling his chair forward so that our knees were touching, “relax and don’t fight me. I need to enter into your mind and find Max.” He held my hands in a tight grip and looked into my eyes. At first I felt nothing except for his cold hands on mine, then delicately at first, growing stronger and more persistent, I could feel his first tentative intrusion into my mind.
A chill crawled up my spine, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. A wave of panic swelled within me, and I longed to run from this rape. But he held me, cruelly I thought at the time, with hands and eyes. And there was no escape.
“Easy.” I heard his whispered thought as if it were mine. “Easy. Don’t fight me.”
I heard him and acknowledged the wisdom of his words, but couldn’t relax, couldn’t stop my fighting. I screamed, and tried to pull away from him. His hands had become shackles on my wrists; his eyes were swords driven deep into me. “No,” I said. “I can’t.”
Then I felt a presence that was not Victor, and I struggled less, being more used to his occupation of my mind.
“Trust him,” Max’s familiar voice urged from deeper within my being, caressing me and calming my terror. “Trust him and let him in.”
I took a deep breath and suddenly Victor’s penetration became, not rape, but a warm and loving presence, like a return to a lover’s embrace. I felt his gratification in his success, and his eagerness to pursue Max was as strong as my own.
I lead Victor down the paths of my life, pausing briefly at the points at which Max and I intersected. There is the carriage and the shadowy figure that carries me from the wreckage; he hurries away and we pursue him, stopping again at a small midwestern truck stop. Here he stays longer, and we almost catch him making love in an empty field on a star-filled night. But he is farther ahead than we are. We quicken our pace to find ourselves in his office at the Ballroom of Romance. He is impaled on the door, and we watch in horror and sympathy as he bleeds out his life by my hand. Then the room blackens and we seem to be nowhere.
I call his name and suddenly we are at the same cemetery that I have walked in my dreams. But this time I do not need to search the stones for Max’s name, for his blood calls to me, his being calls to me, and when we arrive he is waiting for us, as I knew he would be, leaning against his tombstone.
“Hello, Victor,” Max says with a twisted grin. “It certainly took you long enough to find me.” He beckons to me, and as always, I go to him. He pulls me to him, holding me closely against his chest. “Although Deirdre and I have been living such exciting lives, I sometimes did not wish it to end. But now that you are here, I know it’s for the best. I’m tired.” He brushes his eyes and the soft drops of his tears on my upturned cheek burn. “God, I’m tired and I’m more than ready for my rest.”
“Max.” Victor’s voice sounds hurt; I can feel his pain. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Ah, old friend, that hurts, doesn’t it?” Max’s voice is hard and cruel. “You feel betrayed, I suppose. It could even be a betrayal of the magnitude I experienced many centuries ago when you took my humanity from me. I hope so. I would be very thankful to know that I was capable of inflicting similar pain on you.”
“But I saved your life.” Victor is crying, his voice jagged with emotion. “I gave you everything I had. You were strong, you were powerful, you were immortal. And you owed it all to me. I loved you like a son, like a brother.”
“That’s true; and I was grateful, for a time, for what you gave. But over the years I learned it could never replace what you had taken.” Max’s arm tenses around my shoulders and his anger echoes from the surrounding graves.
“I was a man of God and with the taste of your blood I lost my one chance for salvation. There were compensations, of course, many wonderful compensations: the women, the blood, the sensations of life. But as I sunk deeper into a depravity that you encouraged, I began to hate what I was. Began to hate you. And powerful as I was, I was powerless to change.
“Then”—Max’s voice becomes tender, loving—“Deirdre came to me. As trusting and as innocent as a child. She taught me to love again, not in the pure way that I loved as a priest, but as a man. How could it be a pure love? I was so depraved, so degenerate. But I did love her. And I hesitated telling her who I was; I was ashamed of my excesses, knowing that she could not forgive them, or me. I tried to guide her along the paths I had taken with you. ‘Revel in your power, revel in your life’ was the message I wanted her to accept. ‘Be as a goddess among humans.’ ” Max choked out a small, cynical laugh. “It didn’t work.”
“Max, I’m sorry.” I find that I am crying now too.
“Little one, you don’t need to be. If you had accepted that path, I think that deep down I would have been disappointed. But I had to take my chance. And when I finally came to the realization that you could never accept life on my terms, I found quite simply that I did not want to live.” Max sighed, then laughed. “I suppose it could have gone either way that night. You could have killed Greer and come with me. But that wasn’t really what I wanted.”
“Then Deirdre is innocent?” Victor stares at Max in disbelief.
“Innocent?” Max shrugs. “Oh, I don’t doubt that there was a part of her that wanted me dead. Can you blame her? But I wanted to die, Victor, and I hadn’t the courage to face the sun. So, as usual, I took the coward’s way out, the way of least resistance, and forced her to kill me. By doing that, she gave me what I most wanted, rest from my wicked life. But her grief and remorse and love held me here.” He smiles, the cynical expression that enters his eyes is so familiar, it tears at my heart. “To be honest, I really didn’t fight too much, it was an interesting two years. But that time is past, and I must go.” He reaches out and grabs Victor’s shoulders, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Good-bye, Victor. Walk softly this night.”
“And you.” Victor puts his hand to his face, then turns away, walking down the cemetery paths, leaving me alone with Max once more.
My lower lip trembles and tears stream down my f
ace. “Max,” I plead with him, “why did you never tell me?”
He holds me close to him one last time and I feel his being envelop me like black, silken wings. “And what would you have done, my little one,” he whispers into my hair, “if I had?”
“I would have loved you.”
“Ah, thank you for that, Deirdre.” I feel his body shake slightly and look up to see that he is laughing. “I almost wish it were true. But when you met Mitchell Greer, there was no longer any room for me in your life. You had grown beyond me. You would never have given him up willingly, nor I you. And so neither of us had any choice, did we?”
“No,” I say, knowing the truth of his words, “but it should have been different. You should not have died.”
“Deirdre.” He cups my face in his hands and kisses my mouth gently. “Victor gave me eternal life, and for that I will eternally curse him. You, my little one, you gave me death, and I will love you forever.” His next kiss is longer, more passionate, but I feel a pulling away, a parting of our unity. I look deep into his eyes.
“Rest easy, my love,” he says, “and sweet dreams.”
“And you, Max.”
He smiles. It is one of the truest expressions I have ever seen on his finely sculptured face, not mocking or cynical, but honest and sweet and loving. It is the smile I had seen the younger Max wear in my dreams. I feel despair, for I will never know that man. He touches my cheek softly and then he is gone. I am left alone once more, crying over his grave. But this time, I know, will be my last visit. The man that I know as Max Hunter, who is more than a father to me, and more than a lover, the man born as Maximiliano Esteban Alveros so very long ago, is finally dead. God rest his soul.
Chapter 31
“God rest his soul,” I whispered the prayer to darkness and I woke in a strange bed and a strange room, my head throbbing and my eyes hot and tired. Eventually I focused upon the shadowy figure sitting by the side of the room, his hands pressed over his face. My heart jumped slightly. “Max? I thought you had gone.”
The tortured face of Victor Lange looked up at me, sad and aged. Startled by this perception of him, I blinked my eyes. When I opened them again, I realized that his features had not changed, but his manner and stance made him appear older. The weight of his many centuries seemed to hang about his neck.
“He is gone, Deirdre.”
I could not tell whether he spoke the words aloud or if some portion of him still remained in my mind. But the result was the same; I felt his pain and his loss as keenly as if it were my own. And, although my empathy for him was enormous, I knew I could do nothing to help him.
“Victor, I am sorry,” I started to say lamely.
“No, do not be sorry.” He managed a vestige of a smile. “It was what he wanted.”
Silence wrapped us for a while in its dark softness. Then we both tried to speak at the same time.
“How long have I . . .” I began.
“You’ve been found . . .”
We both laughed nervously. “You first, Victor.”
“You’ve been here for well over a day. There’s about three hours until dawn and you’re completely free to leave whenever you want to. I sent Mitch back home when the verdict came through; he did not want to go, but I explained that you would be here for at least a day. He sat with you for a while, but when the sun rose he left.” Victor waved his hand feebly. “He said something about a celebration when you got home.”
“And the verdict was?”
“Guilty, but with just cause. No one could deny that yours was the hand that dealt his death. And yet, with what I learned, I could not see you unjustly punished. You do, however, have one small penance to perform. Mitch agreed to assist you if necessary.” Victor stopped for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “He’s a good man, Deirdre,” he said grudgingly. “Although I can’t help but wish that you had chosen Max, I suppose you just did what you thought you had to.”
“Victor,” I began, but he did not let me continue.
“It won’t help, you do understand, don’t you? Nothing you can say or do will bring him back. But”—he straightened up in his chair—“as I said before, I cannot let my personal emotions interfere with my leadership of The Cadre.” He looked at me again and his eyes seemed weak, drained of the energy they had always shown.
I did not try to offer my sympathy again. We were bonded so closely by his entrance into my mind, by the blood we both shared, I felt his overwhelming sadness as if it were my own. I also felt that there would be no cure for Victor. I got out of bed and walked over to him, taking his hand and silently touching it to the tears on my face.
He nodded, then smiled again. “So, your penance is this. You are required to perform one service, any service named, for The Cadre at any time we should choose to request it. May I have your promise?”
“Certainly, Victor. I’ll do what I can.”
“You may never be called on it, you understand. But you’ll need to keep in touch with us, let us know where you can be reached at all times.”
I nodded. “I can do that.”
“There’s one more thing.” He stood and absently brushed his suit jacket, taking the pose of his former elegance. “We’ve a vacancy on the judicial board. As the eldest unhoused member of Alveros, you could petition to occupy it. At this point, you could even petition for establishment of your own house.”
“Victor,” I said slowly and deliberately, “I do not wish to take Max’s place, nor do I wish to set up my own dynasty. Is it required?”
“No, no.” He smiled at me again as he opened the door. “But let me know if you change your mind. Go on home to Mitch now and have a nice celebration.” The final word seemed to choke him and he said no more, but walked out the door, his shoulders slumped.
I found my shoes, coat, and bag and prepared to leave. When I entered the hallway outside the room, I realized that I was still in the warren of rooms that constituted The Cadre’s quarters. I recognized many of the rooms I passed from the interviews I had undergone the previous evening. The thick gray carpeting cushioned my footsteps and I moved silently, though not silently enough for the occupants of these rooms. When I reached the door that was Vivienne’s, she stood there, waiting for me.
“Deirdre.” She smiled at me. “Congratulations on such a favorable verdict.” Her hair hung in a mass of unruly curls to her waist, and she was dressed in a filmy black negligee that left little of her lithe body to the imagination. I looked away, extremely embarrassed by her blatant exhibitionism. “I’d hoped you might join me for a drink before you leave. Who knows when we will meet again?”
I glanced back at her and the expression on her face was friendly and earnest. She seemed so young, so untouched by the life that she must have led, that it was hard to believe she was like me. But the power in her eyes, the strength and glow of her body, spoke the truth. I wanted to refuse her offer; I did not trust her, did not trust any of The Cadre, but I knew that they could not hurt me now, so I returned her smile and nodded.
“Yes, thank you, that would be nice.”
“Come in, then. I promise I will not keep you any longer than an hour or so, but we’ve so much in common that I thought we should have a nice long talk.” She moved to one side as I entered, but not so far away that I could not smell her perfume. “You see, I don’t visit here very often. I find the ways of The Cadre confining at times, and I much prefer to be on my own.”
She directed me to a room behind the one in which our interview had been held. It was expensively furnished with beautiful antique furniture and lit by many candles. One corner of it held a large ornate coffin much like Max’s. I shuddered when I saw it, then shook my head.
“Do you all sleep in one of those?”
Vivienne followed my stare and gave a small shrug. “So we’ve been taught. And you don’t.”
“I’ve never found it necessary.”
“And you don’t fear the sun’s penetration?”
&nbs
p; I laughed a little nervously. “Of course I do. But not so much that I care to be confined the entire day. I’m careful to protect myself in other ways.”
“Ah,” she said, “that is most interesting. Please make yourself comfortable and I’ll pour you a drink.” She indicated a brocade sofa and I took off my coat and sat down. “White or red?”
“Red, please.” I watched while Vivienne worked at the sideboard that apparently doubled as her bar. Her hands were small and delicate, but the nails were quite long and highly lacquered. Not wanting to appear ill at ease, I kicked off my shoes and casually curled my legs beneath me, wondering what purpose lay behind her invitation. Ron had said she didn’t like rogues, but she knew what I was and still had asked me here. Her mind was completely inaccessible to mine; I had no experience in dealing with this situation. I should just go home, I thought, and try to forget that The Cadre ever existed.
Vivienne turned around, two glasses of wine in her hands. “I will not keep you long, I promise,” she said as if she had read my mind. “I’m sure you want to be back as soon as possible with your Mitch.” I smiled to myself. His name pronounced in her French accent sounded so exotic, so different. Crossing the room with an almost sinister grace, she handed me a crystal goblet. “I think you will find this a marvelous vintage. I’ve had it set aside for many years for a special occasion.”
I took a sip; Vivienne was right, it was wonderful, rich but slightly biting. I took a long drink and sighed. “Thank you.” I smiled at her. “It is very nice.”
“I hoped you’d like it.” She settled onto a chair opposite me. “I’ve several others just like it, enough to last quite a while.” She made a move as if to pull her negligee closer to her body, but all she managed to do was cause it to drop from one shoulder.
I felt extremely uncomfortable. “So,” I said, trying to make my voice as friendly as possible, “what house are you from, initially?”
She looked at me over the rim of her glass, then took a sip but said nothing.
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