A Taint in the Blood

by S. M. Stirling

  I’m also less scared, she thought. For one thing, Adrienne didn’t drive like a complete maniac on the way back. And she hasn’t fed on me today.

  “You didn’t need to be terrified and I wasn’t frustrated and angry at the world,” Adrienne said. “And while your blood is unfailingly delicious, I snacked elsewhere in San Francisco. Pretty drive on the inland roads too, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and I had more time to pay attention.”

  “It comes to me that you are feeling less totally isolated and hopeless and psychologically crushed than I would have expected at this stage in our relationship,” the Shadowspawn said thoughtfully. “But I can’t quite tell why. It’s a pity. I am so looking forward to your abandoned misery and the transference and identification with the aggressor and so forth.”

  “I . . . ah, sorry . . . Look, I could try to feel more crushed . . .”

  “Oh, that’s very sweet of you, but there’s no problem. The full pleasures of your abject emotional degradation can wait. We’re not in a hurry. Anticipation has its own spice, and I’m a little busy right now anyway.”

  Eurrrrk!

  The motorcycle swerved inward in front of the police station, a blank wall of stucco with a gate of wrought iron; a round machicolated tower showed at one corner. Less than a minute after she kicked down the stand and took off her helmet to shake her hair free the police chief was standing at not-quite-attention on the sidewalk. He was a man in early middle age; Hispanic, Ellen thought, lean and grizzled. Beside him was the Englishman she had met before leading the patrol of Asian soldiers—Gurkhas, they were called. He gave her a small polite inclination of the head before standing at parade rest.

  “There’s a problem, Captain Bates?” Adrienne asked.

  “It’s Jamal, I’m afraid, ma’am,” the ex-soldier said. “Shortly after you left, he . . . went missing. He took hiking clothes and food and headed up into the high country. Southwest, I think.”

  “Tsk,” Adrienne said. “That won’t do at all.”

  Her head swiveled, the tousled black hair swirling about her shoulders; a frown of concentration grew between her brows.

  Once they have tasted of your blood you are linked, linked forever, Ellen thought to herself.

  “Yes,” Adrienne said, opening her eyes again. The gold flecks seemed to glitter. “Southwest. Not far, either. Working his way south through the hills on foot.”

  “Suicide by cop, pretty much,” Mendoza said. “I told you we didn’t have to worry, Bates. I grew up here.”

  The Englishman smiled, a thin, eager expression. “My men could use the practice tracking.”

  Adrienne chuckled. “Oh, Captain Bates, this is Rancho Sangre of twenty-first-century California, not Tara in antebellum Georgia. We don’t chase people with bloodhounds and drag them back in chains. Besides, it wouldn’t be safe. Safe for your men.”

  Looking over her shoulder, Ellen could see the corner of her grin. She turned her face, but not before she saw both men blanch a little.

  “Safe, ma’am?” Bates asked carefully.

  “There are large, predatory beasts in that area at night. Or there will be. Mankillers. Very dangerous.”

  Despite herself, Ellen shivered and laid her head between the other’s shoulders.

  Adrienne sighed and made a gesture with one hand, palm up and fingers cupping. “It’s a pity. Jamal . . . Jamal was so deliciously meaty. Like jerk pork. It was nice to have that on hand.”

  I’m more like dessert, Ellen thought. Oh, Jesus. The poor man.

  “You wouldn’t say poor man if you knew more about Jamal, chérie,” Adrienne cast over her shoulder.

  The police chief cleared his throat. “The . . . preparations for your parents’ arrival are at the casa grande, Doña. From San Simeon, this time. There will be no repercussions requiring your attention.”

  “Oh, excellent, Chief Mendoza. I can always rely on you.”

  “There was a child, I am afraid. A baby girl, perhaps four months. Jose’s mother is taking care of her.”

  Wait a minute . . . a baby?

  “Good. We wouldn’t want the poor mite to be traumatized. Speaking of which, it’s fortunate you’re both here. We’re going to be having a bit of a gathering, a do, in May. About thirty to thirty-five guests, though I won’t know for sure until they RSVP. Plus their personal renfields, lucies in some cases, and other attendants. I’ll be contacting Paco for supplies and Theresa will be managing the household side, but you’ll need to put the usual preparations in hand for storing the refreshments. Please consult and organize. I don’t want any complications.”

  Bates looked . . .

  Professionally interested, Ellen thought. Mendoza, the policeman, he’s gone a little gray. Refreshments for a Shadowspawn house party . . . storing the refreshments . . . oh, Christ!

  “Immediately, Doña,” Mendoza said.

  “Ma’am,” Bates added. “That’ll be . . . about eighty?”

  “That should do,” Adrienne said. “It’s a party, one shouldn’t stint.”

  “And the wastage we can expect?”

  “Around fifty percent, but it’s impossible to be precise; we can always use a few extra workers afterwards. I’ll try to arrange the shipments starting in mid-March. Do tell Dr. Duggan.”

  She nodded to both, put her helmet back on and peeled off into the traffic.

  I’m not going to ask. I’m not going to ask, Ellen thought, gripping her tightly. I’m not even going to think about asking.

  “You’ll be much happier that way,” Adrienne agreed.

  She pulled into Lucy Lane. “Ah, the weekly barbecue!”

  A spicy, smoky smell came from Number Three, the babble of a crowd, and the sound of a guitar.

  “Perhaps I’ll drop by for a snack myself later,” Adrienne said, reaching back and giving her a slapping pat. “Off you go, ma douce.”

  “Hi!” Ellen said, putting her head in the open door of One Lucy Lane.

  I’d like to have someone I know a little with me when I brave that crowd at Jose’s. New kid . . . new lucy . . . on the block and all that.

  “I’m here!” Monica replied. “Kitchen! Come on in!”

  Ellen followed the scents of baking and cooking to the steamy warmth. Monica was in her frilled bib-apron again, with her jacket slung on the back of a chair.

  “Good to see you again,” Ellen said to her smile.

  Which is actually true. I think she really is friendly. And she must be a basically strong person or she’d be a lot crazier than she is. Eight years with Adrienne! I’m feeling pretty crazed after that many days.

  “Sorry I couldn’t be here to help with the setup, but I’ve brought a good appetite,” she said aloud. “We only stopped for a taco at lunch.”

  “That’s what makes a barbecue a success—appetite! I’m just getting my contributions ready. The kids are already over there and things should really start in about half an hour.”

  Monica stopped her bustle for a moment to eye the nile twinset and earth-toned skirt Ellen had changed into; the FedEx parcels had been waiting for her at Number Five.

  “You had a shopping weekend,” Monica said brightly. “And a successful one.”

  Her kitchen and dining nook had a lived-in look; scrawled crayon pictures by her children tacked up to a corkboard on a cabinet, dogeared recipe books, a slightly obsolete terminal fastened to the door of the refrigerator that had a couple of spots on the touch-screen, bowls soaking in the sinks. It smelled wonderfully of fresh bread and homemade mayonnaise and pimentos, and Ellen’s stomach twisted.

  The mid-floor island had a series of dishes standing ready—green salads and potato salad in bowls covered in plastic wrap, a basket of crusty homemade baguettes with a dish towel over them, and plates of cookies glistening with half-melted chocolate chips and studded with walnuts.

  “Isn’t Jean-Charles wonderful? I go up just for him a couple times a year, and more often so I’ll have an excuse to wear some of the things
! Rancho Sangre is lovely but it’s not a real dress-up town. Peter and I go to the opera there, and sometimes Adrienne goes with us.”

  “You like opera?” Ellen said.

  Monica nodded. “I know I’m not a college graduate like you—” she began, sounding a little defensive.

  Ellen made a wave to a halt gesture. “Monica, I’m the first person—well, the first woman—in my family ever to go to university. If I hadn’t been desperate to get out of Allentown for personal reasons I probably wouldn’t have gone. I’m a small-towner and all my family were coal miners and steelworkers for a hundred years. And housewives and secretaries and the odd elementary teacher or whatnot.”

  Monica relaxed slightly. “Same here, SoCal version. I have some friends there in San Francisco, though it’s, well, difficult. But Jean-Charles makes you feel like you’re his little sister and he’s giving you advice.”

  “Yes, actually, he was very nice,” Ellen said honestly. “I really enjoyed . . . part of that. We had a dinner with one of Adrienne’s Shadowspawn friends, and a lunch with her and another one and some . . . other lucies. That wasn’t as much fun. Though the food was great and I tried to concentrate on that.”

  I’ll leave out the politics, and the threat of universal destruction, and Kai. Shit, I wish I could forget that little bitch! Not as scary as the Shadowspawn but even more revolting.

  “Oh, you poor darling!” Monica stopped to give her a brief hug. “The other Shadowspawn, they’re awful. I absolutely hate the way they look at me. It makes me feel . . . all cold and alone and shivery inside. Though the Doña would never let any of them hurt us.”

  “Uh . . . yeah,” Ellen said.

  Only she gets to hurt us. You can see how she and Adrian started in the same place. But the difference!

  She frowned for an instant. It’s odd . . . I haven’t heard a thing about Adrian in days, but I feel like I know him better than I did before we broke up . . . as if the breakup didn’t happen, somehow. Things will be different, once I’m out of this. And I can’t just wait. I’ve got to keep looking for something I can do.

  The other woman looked in the oven, shook her head, and murmured: “Not quite ready.” Then she went on:

  “So tell me all of what you did. Did you stop for a picnic on the way up?”

  “Uh . . . yeah. Thanks for the stuff you packed for us. Adrienne did this berserk driving thing, frightened the bejesus out of me, and—”

  “Fed on you while the blood was juicy and tingly,” Monica said succinctly. A reminiscent smile:

  “I think I know the spot. She’s done that to me, and before I realized that it was safe no matter how fast we were going I was terrified. Now it just scares me. Then I actually . . . well, she made me take off all my clothes and wash in the ocean before she drank the blood, and the water’s cold there. I was head-to-toe stark naked goose bumps right there on the beach while she fed. Thank God it was summer and even more that nobody came along!”

  “I was going to ask you about the feeding thing, a bit,” Ellen said. “I’ve noticed that at first it just made me want to stay still—”

  “But now you don’t feel so paralyzed, and it gets better and better?” A smile. “Starting to really like it, aren’t you?”

  “Well . . . yes. I might as well, if it’s going to happen regularly anyway. I’m still scared spitless beforehand.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t change. It’s more of a nice-scary for me now, but she still looks so . . . so predatory when she’s about to feed on you, doesn’t she?”

  Ellen nodded. Oh, yeah. Because she actually is being predatory and you know she’s actually, really no-kidding going to bite you and drink your fucking blood. Aloud:

  “But while she’s drinking and for a while afterward it’s pretty nice.”

  “That lovely drifting feeling when you feel like you love the whole world and everything’s so right? And the way the blood makes her face shine with happiness, that looks so beautiful too?”

  “Mmmm, yes. What’s it like if she doesn’t bite you for a while?”

  “Terrible,” Monica said matter-of-factly.

  She poured them each a glass of white Zinfandel and sat at the kitchen table across from her.

  “First, after four days or so, you just get . . . itchy and nervous and you can’t concentrate and it’s all you can think about. Then, after about a week, your skin feels like it’s going to crawl off of you and slither into a corner and cry. Then, after two weeks—that’s the longest it’s been for me—it still does, but you don’t care, because you feel like your best friend just died and it’s all your fault. Dr. Duggan says it gets better after that—she’s helped some lucies who got retired—but I’m not interested in finding out.”

  “Ouch,” Ellen said. Sounds like quitting smoking, only worse. “Well, I asked.”

  “That you did. I want her to go on biting me as long as possible. So what else happened?”

  “We went to the town house.”

  “God, isn’t it gorgeous? That heated infinity pool on the edge of the terrace, where it makes you think you can swim out over the city?”

  “Yeah. And, um, we made out. I mean actually made out, not the . . . painful and really absolutely frightening stuff. A little feeding with that. I didn’t know if I could relax enough to actually get going, but I did.”

  This time the smile was sly: “Like having a tiger in the sheets with you when she gets in that mood, isn’t she?”

  “Ummm, yes. That’s just exactly what I thought.”

  For good and bad. You can’t forget the claws and fangs are there, even when it’s purring.

  “And oh, don’t the little nips of feeding add to it? You just wish it could all go on forever.”

  “Except that your brain would explode and run out your ears or your heart would rip loose or something.”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” Monica said, then continued thoughtfully: “That part was hard for me at first. I was, you know, very shy and prudish and only twenty-one, and I was very religious then. For a while I thought I must be, you know, a bad person.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  A shrug. “Sometimes life is hard. We both know that. And I’m not a bad person, I think. I just . . . came to terms with things. I’d never been with anyone but my husband. And now I’ve never been with anyone but him and Adrienne.”

  Ellen hesitated. Well, let’s be helpful and honest at the same time, she thought, and went on:

  “It wasn’t my first time with a woman, more like the third, but it was the first time it was more than, ‘Oh, this is interesting but not something I’d like to make a habit of.’ So I think it’s that Shadowspawn mojo at work.”

  The more so because Adrian is also dynamite in the sack, even more so than his sister, but that would be oversharing. God, even better in bed than his sister. That’s an odd thing to be able to say. Or even think.

  Monica nodded. “Well, it was never very exciting for me with Tom. I wondered what all the fuss was about. It was always over so quickly, and I wondered if other women were having a better time.”

  A sigh. “Now that I look back on it all, I’m sort of regretful I didn’t try more to find out what I wanted. I envy you being able to go to college and have all sorts of experiences. I thought he was sort of, you know, small too . . .”

  She made gestures with her hands. Ellen looked and said clinically:

  “No, that looks about average to me. Unless he’s deformed, size doesn’t really matter. A lot of men don’t have a clue and then, yes, it’s sort of dull from our point of view.”

  “Oh, I know all about that.”

  Ellen blinked at her. Didn’t she just say she’d only—

  Monica chuckled, with the sly note back. “You know about the night-walking?”

  “About how they can get out of their bodies and turn into wolves and tigers and birds?”

  She laughed. “Silly, if they can turn into birds and things, it’s even easier for them to tur
n into other people. She likes to . . . come to us lucies . . . night-walking, sometimes. Not very often—she says she wants to enjoy her birth-body while she’s still got it—but every once in a while.”

  “Oh,” Ellen said. Then . . .

  Think of the implications, as Dr. Duggan said. Eerrrrk!

  That must have shown on her face. Monica went on gently: “She can be anyone she’s bitten. The first time she turned into me right in the middle of things I nearly jumped out of my skin, let me tell you!”

  “Ah . . . that would be extremely strange.”

  “At first. After a while, it was sort of flattering. I knew I was pretty and had a good figure even after the kids, but that convinced me I was, you know, actually really hot stuff. And I felt so naughty. You can tell it’s her—the personality’s her, no doubt about it—but it’s really you, too. Or she could be you with me, or me with you.”

  “Ah . . . yeah, I suppose it would be, umm, interesting.”

  Errrrk!

  “And, of course, she can be a guy, night-walking.”

  “She can? And—”

  “Everything works, right. Anyone she’s bitten; Jose, Jamal, Peter, lots of others.” A giggle. “Except that it’s a guy who can read your mind, and knows exactly what it feels like from the other side as well.”

  “That sounds . . .”

  Oh, Jesus, Ellen thought, as her heart skipped in alarm. Keep calm, Ellen. It’s . . . well, yes, it is weird, but weird is now your normal, and you can deal with the icky part.

  “. . . like it might be fun now and then.”

  Monica nodded. “It’s always fun when she wants it to be, whatever shape she’s in. And when she wants us scared or hurt . . . well, then we just have to go with that.”

  Yes, we do. But I got away from being hurt. And now I’m right back in it, only worse. And you’re in a position where you need to think it’s all right. I won’t think that. I just won’t.

  There was a silence for a moment, and then Monica rose, looked in the stove again, turned it off and then faced around with her hands on her hips.