by Raven Hart
He seized her shoulders and went for her throat. His fangs were less than an inch from Connie’s neck when I pulled back on his shirt with enough force to rip it from his back. At the same time an invisible force hit Connie from one side, knocking her out of his way. I made a mental note to thank Werm for taking his voodoo studies more seriously than I’d taken mine. His invisibility had payed off big-time.
My rage exploded. In that moment Will represented all that had gone wrong in my undead life—Reedrek rocking my world, my accidentally getting poor Shari and Huey killed, Hugo and Diana’s treachery, my sex problems with Connie, my shattered relationship with William when things had been finally looking up. And now the little punk threatened what I loved best. I felt my face change into what I knew was just as monstrous a mask as Will’s.
I tossed his ruined shirt aside and went for his throat. He danced out of the way and faster than a blink he was at the edge of the parking lot. He turned and shouted, “This isn’t over! Mark me well, I’ll kill you one day and have a little fun with your lady friend before I have her for afters.” Then he disappeared into the darkness.
On the one hand I was pissed that I hadn’t killed him. On the other, I felt smug about being strong enough to make him run away like a sissy. Score one for the voodoo blood.
All in all I would rather have gone another round with Will than to have to turn and face Connie. But I didn’t have a choice. She’d made it to her feet and was standing next to Sullivan’s body. A body I had to dispose of double-quick. I felt my face change back to its normal state. Watch carefully, little girl. It’s show-and-tell time. Well, showtime, anyway.
Her expression told me she was still shocked but not to the point of senselessness. She had seen. She knew. Her gun was still in her hand.
Aimed at me.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Shoot me if you want. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“It wouldn’t hurt you, though, would it? Like it didn’t hurt him. What would it take to kill you?”
I rubbed the back of my head. Many times I’d imagined what this conversation might be like. It was never like this.
“Traditionally, a wooden stake,” I said, laying my hand against my chest. “To the heart.”
“Sweet Jesus!” Connie whispered. The revolver slid out of her hand and fell onto the asphalt.
William
“How is she?” I asked Tilly.
Tilly shook her head. “Not very well,” she answered, followed by an agitated tsk in my direction. “I helped her clean up as best I could, but—”
I rested a hand on the closed door. Melaphia’s distress was palpable. She still struggled with the horror of what she’d been required to do, and she felt I’d betrayed her. But there was something else as well, an injury I needed to soothe or temper. I lowered my hand to the doorknob but Tilly stopped me with a touch on my arm.
“She wouldn’t let me see or help her when she went to him. The sight of him would be enough to drive some insane. Your friend Gerard had to hold her down.”
Guilt drummed through my ever-present anger. Not Melaphia, not my beautiful girl. “I know you did your best. I’ll see to her now,” I said, and turned the knob.
Melaphia was lying naked on the bed, her face turned to the wall. I’d never seen her so vulnerable, as though every spark of magic had deserted her. Whether she felt my presence or simply didn’t care who might see her I couldn’t tell. I pulled the door closed behind me, then sat on the bed next to her. Her eyes were open, staring. For a brief second a premonition of death rattled my composure. But I could smell the life in her and when I pressed my palm to her cheek she was warm.
“Hello, sweet,” I whispered.
Her eyes blinked but other than that she didn’t respond. I leaned down to kiss her forehead.
“I’m so sorry, love. I should’ve been here.” No answer, no absolution. “Let me take you home.”
That brought her gaze to mine. “It hurts.”
“What hurts?”
Slowly, like a woman Tilly’s age, Melaphia unfolded her arms. From wrist to elbow on both, her flesh was torn and fiery red as if she’d been ravenously gnawed by a great beast. The sight made my heart clench. Melaphia was mortal; she had no ability to heal quickly or without scars.
Suddenly I couldn’t meet her eyes. I was supposed to be her protector. “I’m so sorry—”
Just then the door swung open and Gerard paced into the room. “It worked!” he announced. “Iban is already beginning to heal!”
Melaphia didn’t react other than to carefully fold her arms in a protective manner, Gerard’s elation lost on her.
“I’ll have to do more blood tests to make sure the virus is as dead as it appears, but—”
I pulled the bedcover loose and drew it over Melaphia’s nakedness. “Do you have something for pain?” I asked.
“Well, yes, but Iban is sleeping like a babe—”
“Not for Iban.”
Gerard collected himself and glanced at Melaphia. “Yes, of course, I’ll—”
“No,” Melaphia said, her voice only marginally stronger. “I have my own healing potions.”
I leaned close to her ear again. “Let him give you something soothing.” I used my best comforting persuasion to get her to agree, mostly for her but partly for my own peace of mind. I could calm her mind but not her body, and I couldn’t stand to see her suffer any further. “Then I’ll take you home to your own bed.”
The promise of home seemed to do the trick. She nodded.
“Let’s get you dressed.”
By the time Gerard returned with a hypodermic needle, I had Melaphia in enough clothes to keep her warm on the way home. As Tilly fussed over her, adjusting the voodoo blue coat I’d placed over her shoulders, I took Gerard to the side. “She seems so weak. How do we know she won’t fall ill?”
“If her blood can kill the virus in another, then there’s no chance the virus can attack her.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry he did her such damage. He was very close to being the monster none of us want to see.”
It was nearly impossible for me to imagine Iban being cruel to anyone, but it had been terrible to watch the virus eating his flesh from the inside out. Who knew what any of us might do in such dire need?
“Thank you for all your work,” I said. “And tell Iban when he wakes that I’ll be back for him.”
“I will. And I plan on puzzling out a vaccine as soon as possible.” He looked at Melaphia again. “But we musn’t take any more blood right now. She’s too compromised.”
I wholeheartedly agreed with his assessment.
As soon as Gerard gave Melaphia the injection to ease her pain, I gathered her into my arms and carried her from the room. “Take me to your house; Renee is there with the twins,” she sighed, then slept.
Deylaud swung the door open. Home again, home again, jiggity jig. Eleanor stood across the room, but I couldn’t meet her gaze. As I carried Melaphia past her, she made an anguished sound, fear mixed with relief. But she did not follow.
She seemed to sense I had no heart left to comfort her.
Reyha pulled back the covers on the guest room bed and I placed Melaphia next to her daughter. Renee didn’t wake but some animal instinct, ever vigilant, recognized her mother. She turned and snuggled closer. I covered them both, then kissed each on the cheek. Would that I had the power to heal along with the power to kill. The best I could do was offer a lullaby. Not sung in the regular manner but mind to mind, deep inside the fear and pain.
I nodded to Reyha. “Leave us.”
Then for the next hour I sat next to the bed spinning beautiful dreams of flying free, of loving light, of the sunrises and sunsets I hadn’t seen for half a millennium. My memories would have to do. The good ones, that is. When I was sure they were both sleeping deeply and peacefully, I left them there to face my household.
Eleanor.
As I closed the bedroom door behind me, she launched herself into my arms.
I set her back far enough to see her eyes. Her pain almost managed to penetrate my hardened heart. Almost. Enough to add another log of guilt to the already roaring fire of my anger. But not at her. None of this had to do with her—only in the fact that I would be forced to calm her or ultimately kill her. She’d given herself to me, body and future. Her soul had gone ahead into the darkness to keep company with mine. And now I felt nothing.
“What’s happened? Where have you been?”
“I’ve been busy.”
I couldn’t have surprised her more if I’d slapped her.
“Busy? You’ve been gone for two days…”
I stepped around her on the way to my office. “I’ve had business to attend to.”
“But—”
I felt her distress like a knife between my shoulder blades. But then suddenly, unaccountably, it eased. I stopped and turned. Deylaud had moved close and put a comforting arm around her shoulders, his fingers touching the bare skin of her arm. Before I could even react properly, he bared his teeth at me and gave the human version of a growl.
This broke my composure. Within seconds I had lifted him from the floor. He struggled futilely in my grip as I shook him once.
“If you ever challenge me again, I’ll gut you, balls to brains.”
“William!” I could feel Eleanor pulling at my arm. “Let him go. Please. He didn’t mean—”
“Don’t defend him. He’s mine to do with as I will.”
Reyha, crouched in a corner of the kitchen, set up a howl of fear.
“He—we’re all so upset and afraid—” Eleanor’s words were like the buzzing of a fly in the room. Distant, but vexing. It was the tears in Deylaud’s eyes that stopped me. If I were a betting man, I would wager I’d just broken his heart. I tossed him back against the opposite wall. He went limp and slid to the floor.
“Do we understand each other?” I asked.
Eleanor dropped to her knees next to him, but his attention remained on me. “Yes,” he choked out. Reyha scurried to his other side. There was no doubt how the three of them currently felt about the master of the house.
Blindly I turned and continued down the stairs. There was no time for diplomacy or consideration. After locking the door to my office, I went straight to the bone box and shells. A feeling of dread bled through me as I slipped my father’s gold ring onto my own hand. Then I tossed the shells.
In less than a heartbeat, I found myself outside the Bremer-Silk plantation. My home, bought for a pittance during the so-called Reconstruction, when I’d taken pleasure in its splendid isolation. The moss-laden trees over my head were even older than the antebellum house.
On this evening, however, I felt no satisfaction or ease; instead, my dread increased. It had taken all my morbid curiosity to carry me this far. These last few steps seemed impossible. Yet I would know. I had to know.
And the shells took me to Diana.
I found her in the bath, humming with pleasure. After the close quarters of the ship she, like any other woman, would be eager for a good soak. If my knees had been more substantial and instrumental in holding me up, I might have collapsed to the floor.
So beautiful. It would take a poet to describe her.
Her skin, pale as I remembered, yet unblemished by time or care, glistened with the patina of the finest pearls. Her body, her breasts rounded, enhanced by childbirth, made me ache with longing. The years—no, centuries—that had passed since I’d touched her seemed cruel beyond measure.
Closing her eyes she reclined in the water with a sigh. Drawn by that sound of delight I found myself floating above her, my breath burning like fire in my throat. I brushed an invisible hand along her damp cheek.
She sighed again. Then her eyes fluttered open. I caught my breath. She seemed to be looking directly at me, drawing me closer. Close enough to kiss.
The door behind us opened with an impatient bang. “I may be immortal but I do not intend to wait all night.”
Hugo. He filled the space of the bath like a thundercloud come to rain on my pleasure. On Diana’s as well, it seemed. She didn’t react, more in control of herself than I could manage. I found myself balanced between the two, as though my invisible presence could keep them apart.
The sight of him gave me pause. I felt a frisson of worry for Diana’s safety. Wearing britches but no boots and bare to the waist, his broad chest crisscrossed with what appeared to be half a dozen sword or knife wounds, Hugo looked more than ever like a marauding Viking. His scowl seemed to be a permanent fixture.
I waited for Diana’s response. When it came, it was nothing I would’ve expected: Not fear. Not love. Jaw-tightening lust. The heat of it simmering between them like flames of a furnace surrounding tempered steel.
I felt myself literally pushed against the wall. Out of the way. Singed.
Diana, her Eve-like smile trained on her personal serpent, chose a bar of scented soap and lathered her hands. “You know better than to spoil my bath.” She slowly began to wash one arm. “Perhaps if you helped I would be sooner done.”
To my amazement, the hulking but obedient Hugo crossed the room and knelt next to the tub. Without comment he plunged his hands into the water, then took the soap from her. His clumsy-looking fingers grew more graceful as they lathered her arms and neck, her breasts. I had to stifle a moan as her nipples rose at the touch of the cooler air and his rough palms. But Hugo seemed more the servant than the master. Drawing her to her knees he moved behind her. With her hands braced against the marble tile Diana arched her spine as he carefully yet thoroughly washed her back.
When his hands slid lower, to her bottom and between her thighs, I had to look away. I don’t know what I had thought I would learn by spying. All I’d accomplished was the destruction of the last bit of hope I’d fostered—that Diana was unhappy with Hugo, that she would be glad to be shut of him and turn to…me.
Not in this lifetime, or in any other.
Choking on my own foolish and doomed hopes, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again I found myself outside, on what polite southerners prefer to call the veranda of the plantation house, my ears still ringing with Diana’s low laugh and Hugo’s groan of pleasure. I knew bath time was finished and things were progressing to their intimate end.
Why was I still here?
Isn’t this what you wanted to know? The voice of the shells floated on the night air.
Yes. No. I don’t know. My chest felt as if one of Hugo’s Viking swords had sliced between my ribs, tearing into my heart. But he was paying no heed to me: he was too busy pumping my wife. I looked toward the heavens. Can you not show me one thing on this side of hell that is mine to keep?
No answer.
Typical.
Then take me back—
The crunch of boots on gravel sounded in the darkness, and then Will stumbled up the steps. His clothes were bloody, and he seemed tired or injured, hurt in a way I couldn’t detect. He sank down on the floor of the veranda and wrapped an arm around the rail post.
Mother.
He’d barely rested his head against the wood when the front door swung open and Diana rushed through it. She’d thrown on a silk wrapper but her feet were bare. “Will! What’s happened?”
Hugo, still naked, had followed her, but he stood back, scanning the darkness beyond them. I might’ve been pleased that he felt danger from me, but I was too interested in hearing Will’s explanation. I’d left him in Jack’s care and now he was here, covered in blood.
Was it Jack’s blood?
“Did he do this to you?” Diana asked.
He being me, I supposed. The fact that she couldn’t even say my name wasn’t as painful as it might’ve been. Not now, since I’d witnessed her metaphorically making her bed with Hugo and happily lying down in it.
“I lost your ring…” Will said. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
Diana frowned and pulled at his bloody shirt. “Are you injured?
”
“No. Not me. I had to kill him—”
Diana’s hand tightened on the front of Will’s shirt, then she went still. “You killed William?”
I got some satisfaction hearing the edge of panic in her voice. So, she still had use for me after all.
“No—I—”
Perhaps to hide the look of relief I saw briefly, she tugged on his arm and pulled him up. Will allowed her to help him into the house, mumbling, “I don’t feel well.”
Instead of helping the two of them, Hugo blocked the door with his naked body—crossing his arms and searching the yard one last time. Satisfied by the absence of threat, he stepped back and slammed the door shut.
Thirteen
Jack
“No,” she said. “That’s not possible. There’s no such thing as a—a—”
“Vampire,” I supplied.
Werm materialized beside me. “Yeah, there is.”
“What the hell are you? A ghost?” Connie squinted as if her eyes were deceiving her. Who could blame her? I was going to have to talk to Werm about his timing.
“I’m a vampire, too. It was me who just pushed you out of the way.” Werm looked at her expectantly, like he was waiting for her to thank him. Seemed like he’d wait a long damn time. She looked at us like she wanted to arrest us but couldn’t figure out the charges. We hadn’t killed anybody. Anybody she knew of, that is.
“How many of you are there?”
Werm flinched as Connie bent to pick up the gun. “Um, well, there’s me and Jack and William, and—ow!”
I gripped Werm hard by the shoulder. “You’re not helping, slick,” I hissed into his ear.
Werm looked back and forth between me and the gun. “Huh-how can I help, Jack?”
“Take Sullivan’s body to William’s vault through the tunnels. You know where the entrance is in the oil pit. Tell Deylaud what happened, and stay off the streets for the rest of the night.”