The Stage

by Catherine Russell

  I had a strange sense of impending doom. Of course I do, I slowly and cautiously answered.

  Good. Even his one-word sentence told me he was smiling.

  Oh, God! What are you going to do?

  Just keep your eyes closed.

  Oh, Lord! Are you really doing what I think you’re doing? The slight change in his stance told me yes. In a heartbeat, I felt the change; his energy flowing across the link as he bounded over the railing with me in his arms. The ice-cold air whipped around me as I buried my face into his chest, but the terrifying drop ended as quickly as it began. He touched down on the ground with a feather-light landing.

  There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? He kissed my cheek as I opened my eyes to the dark alley. I looked up, realizing that we had cleared the fire escapes and cables on our decent.

  Since my mouth was dry I spoke silently. Let’s not do that again, okay? Heights and I don’t exactly get along.

  I took a step forward, slightly swaying as he opened the car door, and I got in. He was next to me, putting the keys in the ignition, when we both felt it. We weren’t alone in the alley. I forced my eyes open as his high beams flipped on. There in the wisps of fog flowing into the alley, someone was standing. Instantly I felt on edge, so angry… but then I shook my head and knew it wasn’t me feeling that, but him. Across the link his protectiveness and anger rumbled like thunder. It was then I realized that my stomach was no longer queasy.

  What’s happening?

  If I tell you to stay in the car, will you? He evaded my question. And he knew I didn’t like to be told what to do, but since his reaction was one of caution, rather than ordering, I gave in.

  Geoffrey? I insisted he answer.

  I have a visitor and I’d rather she didn’t know about you.

  Great. Knowing my luck it was some super vamp-ex that wanted to hookup again.

  No, Serena is not my ex… she’s my Inner Circle contact. His words were short and I could tell he didn’t want me to know this, but he told me anyway, knowing that I’d keep pushing. Please stay in the car. His words were a bit softer. I reached for the window controls, but not fast enough. And no… don’t open that. Your scent is very strong to my kind and I’d rather she not become curious about you.

  Okay, that was just creepy. He strolled in front of the high beams and all I could make out was his back facing me, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He paused just on the edge of the fog, his stance relaxed, and he stepped forward, disappearing momentarily in the white haze. My head was clear, and I could sense through the link that she wasn’t a threat to him. I closed my eyes, and I could hear their voices through the link—except the words were going a million miles a second and I couldn’t understand a thing. Then it all went blank, like I’d hit a wall.

  I opened my eyes to see him getting back in the car, and he didn’t look exactly happy with me.

  “Now what am I going to do with you?” His eyes darkened for a split-second, and I knew I was in trouble.

  Chapter 16

  The drive to his place wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I had expected him to be angry at my assumptions about the mystery girl, but Serena turned out to be just that, a contact with information and nothing more. I pictured her as some hot, sexy vamp, and he laughed at me while driving the freeway to his home.

  “She’s a good friend, and that’s all. I’ve had eyes for only one person now for a while. You have nothing to worry about.” Across the link I could not only feel the truth in his statement, but also his honesty. I couldn’t explain how I felt, but the words were pure and true.

  During our lunch, Ashleigh had brought up the holidays and invited not only us, but the whole band plus all the employees of The Stage to what I’m sure was going to be an over-the-top evening of festivities, food, and God only knows what else. She was always one for big, elaborate celebrations. As we drove along, we discussed her possible choices. My mind wandered to another time, a time when my mother and I would decorate, celebrate, and relish our solitude during Thanksgiving because the step-jerk would always plan a big hunting trip over the holiday weekend. We’d bake to our hearts’ delight. Mom knew every traditional cookie and pastry recipe. We would cherish the moments that we had together, free from his tyranny.

  “That was a lovely memory just now, the two of you. You miss her this time of year, don’t you?” His words touched on a subject I wasn’t ready to share just yet, so I smiled politely and looked out into the dark woods bordering his estate, and wiped away the one tear that threatened to fall. Sharing memories wasn’t exactly what I was accustomed to, but his light touch as he took my hand in his put me at ease.

  By the time we arrived at his place, the symptoms of my mysterious stomach flu had vanished. We arrived to find the house was completely ours, which made my stomach start churning again—but it wasn’t due to some strange virus. Even he knew it, and I could see it in his expression, the slight awkwardness of his grin, the stammering as he tried to make small talk.

  “Can I get you anything? I’m sure Andrew has something in this huge refrigerator that you’d like.” He rummaged through the various shelves, looking for I don’t know what. I walked over and grabbed a Coke, knowing full well where they were stocked, having seen them on my first visit.

  “I got this, thanks.” I patted him on his back, reassuring him as I smiled, amused by his antics.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, baffled.

  “Nothing, trust me,” I giggled slightly as I took a huge swallow, trying not to laugh at his schoolboy charm. It was refreshing to see that side of him, instead of the cocky performer I was used to seeing.

  “No, what is it that makes you giggle so?” He stood in front of me, just inches away. The close proximity of his body to mine only fueled the desire that was simmering underneath my skin. Shake it off, Megan, not now, change the subject, I thought. Just to be safe, I walked away from him and took a seat in front of the roaring fire in the river rock hearth. The hearth was huge and was the main focus of the front room, now bathed in the dark night that wrapped around the wooden deck outside.

  The white bear rug was tempting and I sat on the floor, removing my socks and running my toes through the long, soft fur. He joined me with his own beverage, which once again I could smell clearly. I paid no attention to the scent and the intrigue it had on me. Could it be?

  He caught my thought. “What do you think it is?” he said, tilting his head back.

  “You know.” I looked away, feeling awkward at being caught.

  “Blood,” I whispered.

  “Yes—with a few secret ingredients.”

  “It smells… different. Not coppery, like when my hand was stitched up.”

  “But you can smell it?” Curiosity played out on his chiseled features, which were even more pronounced by the firelight.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t bother me. As long as it’s not my own, I’m good.”

  “How strange you are! I don’t recall ever meeting a human who could smell it. Or one who doesn’t run from me, for that matter—especially after knowing what I am.”

  “People are people. It doesn’t matter to me what kind of diet—liquid or otherwise—that they’re on. I can smell that, just like you can smell my blood, I’m sure.” It felt almost normal talking about such an odd topic.

  “But Megan, that’s just it. I can’t smell your blood—well, at least not that way. I’ve never been able to smell your blood. Since the day we met, the love I’ve felt for you has overshadowed it. Unlike other humans, my attraction to you is not because your blood is the element that sustains my life, but because the link binds my love to you. There isn’t another that holds my heart the way you do. Even if the link didn’t exist, my heart is only for you. It always has been—and always will be.”

  I was at a loss for words. We had started this conversation talking about
blood and food, and he had ended it by declaring his love for me. Again, I couldn’t answer. My heart wasn’t ready for that… not yet. There was a chance, and I could sense it in me, but I didn’t want to let my guard down right now. So I changed the subject. “So, where did all of this begin? For you, I mean?”

  I looked up at him as he sat there at the end of the couch, staring into the flames. He gently reached for my hand, and his story began to play out in front of my eyes. I knew that he didn’t need to touch me in order to show me his memories, but something about it—his personal thoughts—it was more like he was revealing himself to me, rather than showing me random memories, as I had shown him in the car.

  At first it was very confusing, flashes with starts and stops, like frames of film, but then it began to flow, making sense. I could not only see what he described, but I found that I could feel the world around me; the sun on my arms, the smells of his farm. I was a silent specter next to him, no matter what memory he showed me.

  “When I was growing up, my family wasn’t well-off. My father had been a

  carpenter who worked night and day for a wealthy plantation owner. I was the oldest of four children—two sisters and a younger brother. My mother died giving birth to the last one. I was only nine when she passed away. My father did the best he could after that, we had a small farm, and we all worked.” I saw his siblings, playing and darting among the rows of corn, just as he described. Their family resemblance was clear. Though I’d never seen his mother, I could see there were equal parts of both parents in the children. Even as I thought this, a brief but sad feeling accompanied this memory of his mother, and it became part of the scene.

  “I called to my sister to fetch the others playing in the fields, to bring them closer to the house. They stayed near as I spoke with father.” The musty smell was strong as he sat with his father, obviously being told that he’d be going somewhere. It was amazing that I could hear his father’s voice, so heavy with sorrow and loss.

  “Geoffrey,” his father said with a strained voice. “Mr. Marco Adams, the owner of the shipping and mercantile trade, is in need of an apprentice. He’s taken an interest in you. It’s a great honor—” his voice cracked, “to be chosen for such a position.”

  On and on he continued, and I could see the waterfront of early New Orleans with its docks, wharfs, and many other details that his memories revealed. The heavy carts full of goods being pushed through the muddy streets near the waterfront were so real I felt as though I could reach out and touch them. The story flashed to

  Marco’s home, which was a mansion straight out of Gone with the Wind.

  “I walked up the ornate steps and timidly tapped on the door, and was shown in. I’d never seen such wealth. I was led into his front parlor, where he sat behind a huge, dark oak desk piled high with parchment, scrolls, and quills. He was a big man with long, black hair that was pulled back, as was the style.”

  The richness of the details was amazing. Though I didn’t control the body I was seeing these memories through, I felt as though I’d lived it myself. Marco didn’t look any different from the others of that time except for one clue that I now knew actually revealed his true nature. His eyes were very dark, nearly black.

  I watched as Geoffrey grew not only in size but in his knowledge of the world he’d been brought into. There were extravagant parties that were attended by the highest social circles, private tutors, and trips to Europe. Business transactions and meetings were woven into the vision. The way the women of that time fawned over him was a bit much too much for me to watch, and I couldn’t keep myself from squirming uncomfortably as I watched it all unfold.

  “By the age of eighteen, I had become a respected businessman and a favorite among the ladies of the day.” He chuckled under his breath, and I felt his hand tenderly cup my cheek. “Even so, none of them caught my eye like you’ve captured my heart,” he said, and I felt quite relieved.

  Then before my eyes stood the Geoffrey I’d come to know, fully grown and very self-assured. Seeing him as a mortal was amazing, because it was then that I realized the one trait we had in common: he had dual-colored eyes, just like I did—though it was obvious that he wasn’t as self-conscious about it as I was.

  “Now, my family did believe in God, though we rarely went to services except on the most sacred holidays. But I’d learned to see good and evil in all people—some more than others. I didn’t fear this particular group of people I associated with, even though something inside was warning me that something wasn’t quite right about them. I never let on I had doubts. Marco wouldn’t have stood for such behavior. I found other ways of answering my own questions about them—they were foreigners, most likely from some small European country I hadn’t heard of.”

  Just looking at his memories, I could tell there was something seriously off about them. They just looked evil… or at least I thought so.

  “Though the times and culture was changing all around us, I began to notice things that Marco did not.” His story became a still photo of Marco, and it was unnerving the way Marco’s eyes, even in this memory, bored into my soul. It was as if he knew that I was hitchhiking down memory lane with Geoffrey. Suddenly the color was lost, running off the screen, and I was in a black and white film. I could feel him playing with my hair absentmindedly, and I felt the story was about to turn.

  “I was twenty-five when it happened.” I released his hand and looked up at him; he was staring deeply into the flames, lost somewhere in time. “I remember it like it was yesterday; it’s still so clear in my mind, even after all this time. Marco had come back after a lengthy time abroad. A huge celebration was being planned, and the was mansion alive with activity. He loved such lavish occasions, and only the very finest would do. The wealthiest and most notable people in society were on the guest list.

  “His manservant came to me with a sealed note bearing his crest.”

  I watched as he accepted the note, felt the sun streaming in through the stained- glass windows. I tried to read the note, but he had folded it closed already as he rushed to dress for the party—and I did my best not to stare at his body while he dressed. He took my hands into his lightly, tracing the veins with his cool fingers as he drifted in thought. I couldn’t hide that my heart was racing with his touch.

  “You must understand he was my world, my mentor, and my father in so many ways. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done for him.” His words rang with his respect for Marco as the vision shifted, and we were standing in a large room, an office of some kind, with wall after wall of bookshelves, all completely full. Marco stood as he spoke to Geoffrey, praising him, his voice resounding with pride.

  “Geoffrey, it is time for you to take your rightful place. You’ve proven to be a loyal and trustworthy companion—a man wise beyond your years. You’ve turned out far better than I could have hoped for.”

  From a balcony, they looked out upon the huge, sprawling city, much of which he owned. Images of what could only be rival businessmen played out. Looking at them told me Marco was ruthless in his dealings, and his associates were just like him. But Geoffrey’s reverence for Marco clouded his perception, and he overlooked Marco’s dark side by choice.

  Then we were in a huge banquet hall, with hundreds of elegantly dressed people standing in line to meet and greet the two men as the evening began. There was something odd about this image, though. I could sense it, almost smell the evil that was creeping around the edges, barely hidden.

  “My honored guests—friends and associates,” Marco began. “Welcome, welcome. Please enjoy this evening, for tonight I’m proud to introduce someone that most of you already know. However, tonight marks his next step in his journey with us.” He raised his goblet in the air, and everyone in the room followed his lead. “Let me introduce to you to my successor,” he said as he turned towards Geoffrey, who stood tall and proud for the occasion.

  Suddenl
y, all hell broke loose. I instantly ducked down below a table, forgetting that I was just a ghost trailing along for the ride. I could see a group of haggard, filthy men crashing the party, and I watched as the leader of this gang jumped off a ten-foot balcony like it was a mere step. Even to me, it was obvious that he wasn’t a normal human being. Everyone was running for cover, and I turned to see Geoffrey jump in front of Marco just as the leader of the brigands raised his pistol. The man pulled the trigger and the sound echoed off the walls; people were screaming and scrambling for the exits. I saw the flash of gunpowder and watched in horror as the bullet hit Geoffrey squarely in the chest, sending him flying backwards, landing on top of Marco.

  Geoffrey said, “The pain shattered all thought. I could feel it penetrate my ribs, the heat ripping my insides apart, the warmth of blood trickling across my skin as the shiver of death made itself known. I could hear orders being shouted, men’s voices directing. I closed my eyes, shutting out the world. Pain was all there was.”

  I could see his body lying in a pool of blood as Marco and other men quickly picked him up, removing him from the chaotic scene. I could do nothing but watch as the life trickled from his body, which was turning a ghostly white before my eyes. The image flickered, and we were in a huge room like a dungeon, with tapestries and torches in sconces on the walls. Outside I could hear what sounded like chanting and drums, and his image of the plantation’s slave quarters confirmed my thoughts. Geoffrey’s dying body lay on a large, raised pedestal draped in red velvet. An ornate dagger and a goblet were waiting. Then Marco spoke to him.

  “Geoffrey, I can help you. I can give you your life back, pluck out the pain and give you a life of endless time. But you must choose.” I knew exactly what he was offering, but how could Geoffrey have known in the condition he was in? I was no doctor, but even I could see he was dying. I blinked back the tears and he was holding me, stroking my hand, his face so gentle and soft. He was searching my eyes for something.