“Gabrielle,” Sam began.
Gabrielle cut her eyes up to Sam. Her expression reassured me she knew her place. This was Sam’s turf and she was a guest. I sensed no animosity as she awaited the pending instructions.
“I am not accustomed to having another woman living in my home, especially one as adorable as you. So I must insist you follow just a few rules.”
Gabrielle nodded, awaiting instruction.
“First, you are sitting next to my sister’s fiancé. That would make him strictly off limits. If you catch him cheating with anyone else, including yourself, that person needs to die. Secondly, the men who frequent this home are horn dogs, so two things to remember; your skirt can never be shorter than mine, and the puppies need to go back in the doghouse. Bras are not optional in my home around these boys.”
“I am sorry, but in Miami—” Gabrielle began to explain.
“Well sweetie, you are no longer in Miami, and you are not a hooker. Tomorrow you and I will do a little shopping. Come with me, I will show you your apartment.”
As Gabrielle rose, Sam inspected her once more, this time from head to high-heeled toe. In exasperation, she shook her head and muttered. “We’ll see how skinny you stay after a week or two of Junior’s cheesecakes.”
Clueless to Samantha’s reference, Gabrielle smiled cordially.
“The downstairs apartment is yours. We live up here. I don’t mind if you visit, but please be considerate of our privacy. If you would like to come up, call first.”
The girls disappeared down the stairs. Phillip looked over to me with a shit-eating grin.
“Do not even think about it!” I knew where his twisted mind was headed.
“What?” Phillip exclaimed. I was just going to comment on how well Sam was taking it. And by the way, she looks great tonight, as usual. Sorry your little coming home party had to be interrupted.”
“She does look great,” I conferred. I looked at my watch. It was nearly five.
“You had better get home. We can talk tomorrow night.”
Without further discussion, Phillip headed to the foyer. As he opened the door, he turned, smile still plastered across his face, “You know …”
“Goodnight, Phillip.” I gave him a final nudge out the door and closed it.
Though the alarms of bad judgment were sounding in my head, I allowed Sam and Gabrielle to venture out, unsupervised. I was not sure if the warning bells were fear for Sam’s safety, or her ability to purchase clothes in every store the girls frequented. As they returned home with assistance from Charles, they set a multitude of Sachs and Bergdorf bags in the foyer. My subconscious groaned and silently mused; “Bite her, once she’s dead she will not need all those clothes.”
Gabrielle hugged Sam and headed to her apartment below with only a small collection of bags. Sam took the opportunity to pour a glass of wine and snuggle up close on the couch. Sensing my dismay, Sam nibbled on my ear. “Don’t blame me. You were the one who brought home a stray, and without any clothes I might add.”
Sam silently studied the grid maps of the city on my laptop as I plotted my search for Angelique. After a silent moment she spoke softly. “You were right to spare her life,” Sam confessed with confidence. “She is a good person.”
“I know.” I folded the laptop down and smiled. Sam was ready to talk, and work would have to take the proverbial backseat for now.
“I am sorry I doubted you.”
The subsequent kiss on the cheek was enough to ensure her confidence. “I am sorry I did not call ahead to warn you. That was wrong of me. By now, you might think I would know you well enough to understand just how phenomenal you are.”
“Count Tepes, if you think for one second your flattery is somehow going to convince me to part with one shred of my clothing, or entitle you to any sexual favors, you are sadly mistaken.”
I raised my finger to my lips. “Gabrielle does not know. I am still Brian to her. I think it is best for now if I remain that way.”
Sam leaned back into the couch and crossed her arms. This posture of contemplation I had quickly, but begrudgingly become accustomed with: a thinking woman. “Last night, you told me you loved her, and I get that now. But every time you have been less than honest with me, look at the trouble it’s caused. And how can you expect her to be honest with you, if you are not honest with her? You must tell her.”
I turned to Sam and smiled that uncomfortable smile while shaking my head. “You know, before I met you, I was never wrong.”
“Need I remind you, a lot has changed since then?”
The derogatory nature of her inquisition only twisted the dagger of my flawed intentions deeper. Regardless of my power, I could count on Sam keeping me grounded with the occasional slice of humble pie.
“I’ll go get her,” Sam offered.
I held Sam’s hand, restraining her efforts. “She is on the way.” The bond created infusing our bloods had continued to strengthen. Evolving into some sort of occult ESP, I could practically dial into Gabrielle’s mind on demand.
Within seconds her footsteps on the stairs announced her approach. “Yes, Brian,” she called as she reached the top step.
“Please come join us,” I said.
“Grab a wine glass,” Sam suggested. “Even though you won’t enjoy it, I am going to need some help with this bottle. Brian is never much help when it comes to wine.”
Without concern to Gabrielle’s unnecessarily close position to me on the couch, Sam poured a second glass. Attentive and appreciative, Gabrielle digested the many jigsaw pieces I had chosen to omit over the past few days. As the hours passed, the conversation drifted from my thoughts to more of Gabrielle’s grand inquisitions. As dawn approached I walked Gabrielle to the stairs. Hugging me affectionately, her eyes met mine in an embrace of admiration. “I am honored that you have allowed me into your family. I will protect Samantha with my life.” Beaming with gratitude, Gabrielle pulled away and descended to her apartment below.
I smiled back at Sam, who sincerely returned the gesture. Although Rob had been dead just a few months, the voice of his unique wisdom echoed in my mind. Just when a woman appears completely content, you can damn sure bet it won’t last. Run away. I looked to the terrace, then back to Sam, who continued to smile. Opening the terrace door, a cool breeze rushed in. I closed it quickly. “Sorry, Rob, not this time.”
The following months folded neatly into a year. My search for Angelique and Sabine continued without reward. The few clues that lead me to Celine and Gabrielle were nonexistent. While Phillip and Dee married, Sam patiently continued to wait. Gabrielle, with Sam’s assistance, joyfully made up for the lost years, experiencing all life and knowledge the Big Apple could serve up.
I walked the streets of Manhattan almost nightly, although it was more out of habit than belief in success. My demeanor refused defeat, but reality continued to whisper. Had the time come to surrender my quest?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A BUSINESS MEETING with a couple of prospective investors on a brisk October evening brought me to the Village. Seviche and a cold brew at Panchitas was a perfect escape from a night at the opera with the girls. Although there was no nutritional value in the meal, my palate had slowly grown to enjoy the taste of food once again. With the days growing short, it was now possible for us to venture out much earlier than the long drawn out days of summer. The theatre, ballet, and all types of events, even ones as painful as opera, were now within the realm of attendance. Gabrielle was equally enthralled with football, basketball, and hockey. So occasionally, Sam would share her with me.
After a most productive dinner meeting, I chose to walk the streets of the Village. I had systematically trolled these avenues on three scripted missions, all with the same abysmal results. Originally, my plans were to head back to 82nd Street where I ended my search the previous night, and continue north, but the meeting proved just enough distraction to alter my course for the night. The Village remained one of my
favorite sections of the city to lose my cares and simply veg out.
Wandering aimlessly, I had abandoned my purpose for the evening and chose to simply admire the urban beauty of this infamous neighborhood. It was early October and leaves were rapidly loosing their silky texture, giving way to a withering crispness proclaiming autumn’s victory. As a brisk northerly wind forced its way down the narrow lane, the utterance emitted through the brilliantly colored festival whispered the call of their youth departed.
The autumn of life; for trees, it’s a bittersweet hibernation, followed by the promise of resurrection in the spring. For my human counterparts, it is what ever you believe the afterlife holds. For me, I would never suffer that fate of aging, or disease. Shipwrecked in the eternal summer, eventually I would suffer the incredulous pain of witnessing Sam wither and die. Though time marched on, my resolve had not weakened. My curse was never to be her destiny.
I turned randomly off Bleecker Street onto Thompson and headed up the deserted street. Although it was just past one, it was unusual to see a block completely deserted this early in the night. With the wind in my face, I was blinded to the scent stalking from behind, closing in with each meandering step.
“And thus the prophesy has been fulfilled,” the soft French voice announced.
“Angelique,” I replied, without turning to face her.
I felt her breath on my neck. “I know why you have come.”
A whirlwind of thoughts caravanned through my mind. How in the hell did she find me? And what was I going to do with her? Now kindred beings, I sensed her soul as never before. But was she aware of the change in me?
I turned slowly, not wanting to tip my hand and put her on the defensive. Our lips were close enough to touch, our eyes engaged in the grips of a lost passion I knew not the origins of. Her lips trembled. I reached out and gently cradled her jaw. Partially out of instinct to prevent her from sinking her teeth into me, and partially because my mind craved to feel the silkiness of her skin once more.
“Why have I come?” I whispered, as I allowed my hand to slide up her jaw, caressing the back of her neck.
“To destroy me, as you destroyed the others.”
“If you believed that, then why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” Exploring the eyes of the one who had spared my life on a multitude of occasions, I perceived an air of shame as she abruptly broke contact and turned her head away. Immediately, the notion she had killed many, or created an uncontrollable legion over the months since leaving New Orleans drew a lump to my throat.
“How many, Angelique?”
She glanced back without turning her head, apparently confused by the direction of my question.
“How many have you killed? How many have you made like you?”
In silence I studied her profile when suddenly it occurred to me, this face I held had been my father’s lover, the father I bore a striking resemblance to. Ironically then, the very first time Angelique laid eyes on me, she must have thought I was my father, or a blood relative, but she never said a word. Two hundred years of waiting, and not even a flicker of emotional response. How in the hell did she do that? Was that the reason she felt obligated to protect me?
Turning again, fully gazing into my eyes, I witnessed a passion … but it was not meant for me. It was directed to the one who had passed over two hundred years ago. My father.
“I am sorry,” she replied without provocation. “If it is your desire to end my life, I must share something with you first.” She held out her arm for me to take. “Please.”
My curiosity was sparked. If she believed I was here to destroy her, why did she not attack? I took hold of her arm and we headed back in the direction from which I had arrived. “Are we going to see Sabine?
“Sabine?” Angelique popped. “Then she is not dead?”
“If she is dead, it was not by my hand. The last I saw of her was in the Convent.”
“I have not seen her for over six months.” Angelique drew slightly closer as we meandered to the empty street.
“If you believed I was here to kill you, why did you seek me out?”
“In short time, you will see.” With the faintest hint of a smile, I sensed her calming.
Never being a fan of circuitous questions, I decided to broach the subject. “Can you take me to Sabine’s home?”
“No. I have never been there. She arrived before me, and we have crossed paths only on rare occasions. I know she blames me for her fate.” Angelique hesitated, gauging her next words. “I can only tell you she has taken a mate. Other than that, I do not know much of her life.”
Taken a mate! Three words of damnation I sure as hell hated hearing. And to ice it, she had not been seen in over six months.
“But even if I knew where to find her, why should I tell you? You bring nothing but death to our kind.”
Angered by the new revelation I snipped, “Angelique, you know of my work. If I had wanted to kill you, you would already be dead.”
“The others are dead because they were weak and foolish. I am neither. Had I not sought you out, you would still be searching.”
We turned into a moderately styled brownstone. “This is my home.”
“It may interest you to know …” I paused briefly, reflecting on the wisdom, or lack of what I was about to reveal, “You and Sabine are not the only ones left alive. There is another.”
Angelique immediately let loose of my arm and turned with a gleam in her eye. “Who has eluded Brian Denman, last of the great vampire hunters?”
The tone of her voice was hard to read; genuine joy, or mockery. “In time I might tell you, but sarcasm will not earn you the needed brownie points.”
“Brownies? They are very messy, they get stuck in your teeth.”
Befuddled by her expression, I was hoping she was inferring to the chocolate snack, and not the little girls running around the city selling cookies. “I think it is better if we leave that one alone.” Entering the lobby, it was not plush by any means, but at New York prices, it had to be at least three grand a month. Pretty steep for a two-hundred-year-old, unemployed vampire. “This is nice. Do you mind if I ask how you afford it?”
“That is quite rude, you asking.” As her tone continued, it occurred to me, she was being playful. “I would never be so presumptuous as to ask where does your money come from … for all of the nice clothes you wear.”
“You are right, but I never claimed to be a gentleman. In fact, I am quite the opposite,” I proclaimed, as the elevator doors leisurely confined us in close proximity. The car creaked and groaned as it ascended ever so slowly. A stray and uninvited memory of Sam, and the elevator at the Maison Dupuy invaded my focus.
Angelique stared intently at the buttons, as a smirk worked across her face. “You like these slow elevators. Yes?”
Shit, the one instance I dropped my guard and she was in my head like a wildfire. The door opened as slowly as it closed. “After you,” I insisted, without reply.
Angelique turned the keys to the door and lead the way in. “Please come in.” A young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, was sitting on the sofa reading a book.
“Angelique, you are back early.” The slender young woman closed her book, rose and gave me a lightning-fast inspection.
“Yes, Krista. I’m back for the night. You can go home early if you like.”
Eyeballing me a second time, Krista looked at Angelique with a restrained smile of approval.
“This is Mr. Denman.”
Krista extended her hand, “Nice to meet you.” After a quick cordial shake, from across the back of the couch, she slid her shoes on. “I will see you tomorrow night, at the usual time.” Grabbing her book, then her jacket off the arm of the sofa, Krista moved past as she cut her eyes to me once again. “I am glad you finally took my advice,” Krista whispered to Angelique as she passed out the door, closing it behind her.
Angelique smiled at me. “She is a sweet girl. Very trustworthy.”<
br />
“Considering your predicament, she would have to be,” I deadpanned. “Does she know about your affliction?”
“No,” Angelique headed to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?”
“No thank you, I am fine.”
Rattling glasses in the kitchen, Angelique reappeared momentarily with a wine glass filled with a thick crimson beverage.
“O negative?”
“A positive,” she replied. “I find it to have a much deeper, full bodied flavor.”
“Do you mind?” I asked, as I gestured to a worn armchair beside a mahogany leather couch.
“No, please do have a seat.” Angelique took a seat on the couch. “You are welcome to sit over here,” she offered as she patted the leather cushion next to her.
“This will be fine for now.” We looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, each having something to say, but neither seeming to know exactly what to say.
“Angelique,” I began, as I studied the moderate furnishings of her home.
“Yes, Brian?” The anticipation in her voice was obvious.
“Actually, my name is Nicholas.” I turned to gauge her reaction.
Her eyes popped ever so slightly at the revelation, but she withheld any comment.
“New Orleans … I was plagued with curiosity. I was killing your friends, and yet not only did you choose to let me live, you actually tried to protect me, to some degree. I asked myself why, many times over. But in returning to New York, I believe I discovered the answer.”
Angelique gazed with anticipation. “Please go on.”
“While in New Orleans, I heard references to the Count several times. I now know why he banished you, and Monique. I know at one time, the two of you were lovers, and I know he held you accountable for Monique’s failed attempt to kill his wife.”
“Bravo, Bri—Nicholas. I see you have done your research.”
“Oh, but I have not told you the best part of my theory, not yet.”
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