by Holley Trent
She squinted at Pat. “However, all these years I knew there was something special about you. Every time you’ve told me something was going to happen, it did. Like the time I got the lead in Our Town, in spite of Pamela Shields trying to sabotage me. You warned me about that.”
“I didn’t know specifically what she was going to do, but I knew she was up to no good.” Pat screwed up her nose. “And that’s another thing. I hate to have to tell you, but Miss Shields is back in Gettysburg.”
Abby sat up straight as a poker stick. “Why?”
“She wants your job.”
“Super. Just what I need.” Abby rolled her eyes. “I’ll have to make sure the theater’s locked up when we’re not rehearsing. She’s been known to steal things. When my dress disappeared from wardrobe the day before the Our Town opening, I knew Pamela was the culprit.”
“She’ll be looking for ways to trip you up, so be very careful.” Pat screwed up her nose. “And that’s not all. Don’t trust Kyle. Those goons from Night Fright are vampires, and they’re after Malcolm.”
“What?” Abby threw up her hands, and then she got up from the loveseat and started pacing. “Has the whole world gone crazy?”
“No, but your little corner is hell-bent for leather. Look, I’m sorry I put you on anguish overload. Don’t worry too much about Pamela or Kyle now. I’ve got my eye on them, and you’ve got enough to digest sorting out your feelings for Malcolm.”
Abby shivered, violently. She’d maintained her cool for as long as she could, and suddenly the reality of Pat’s news came crashing down like an old theater set. Oh, God’s green earth. Her hand went to her mouth, and she raced to Pat’s bathroom, where she barely made it to the toilet. She spewed the remnants of her breakfast. When she thought the stomach upheaval was done, she splashed water on her face and stared in the mirror. Malcolm really is a vampire. Vampires really do exist. Terrified, she had to return to the bowl for another round. This time, she didn’t look at herself in the mirror after she cleaned up.
Taking baby steps, she returned to Pat, who held out a ginger ale.
“Thanks,” Abby said shakily.
Pat wrapped her arms around Abby. “Would you like a tension tamer?”
“Like Xanax?”
“No, just my homeopathic concoction.”
“I’d love one, but I’d better not. I need to get back to work.” Abby blinked hard.
“Well, try not to worry. I’m here for you whenever you need me. There’s a lot more to this world than meets the untrained eye. I’ll help you understand it.”
“Thanks, Pat.” Abby chewed on her lip.
“And while you’re getting used to the idea of the man you care about being a vampire, remember that feelings don’t lie. And don’t try to intellectualize the situation, just feel it.”
Abby headed back to the theater, her mind racing. She wouldn’t detour for a veggie burger now. Just the thought of food made her gag. So many conflicting thoughts bombarded her brain. Yes, she was attracted to Malcolm, and Pat said he was trustworthy, but in her heart of hearts, she already knew that. The fact that he was a vampire was creepy beyond belief, but that wasn’t what bothered her most. No, the main issue was this man who had kept his identity hidden for who knows how long was now on a stage acting out his base nature. What would that do to him, and would the audience pick up on his otherworldly ways? Maybe it was her protective nature, but more than any other feeling that swelled in her heart, she feared for him.
Chapter Nine
If Abby thought she’d been doing everything she could to avoid Malcolm, he seemed to be doing even more to avoid her. After a week of rehearsal, not only was he not looking at her, but he didn’t seem to hear anything she said. He was directing himself. Today after rehearsal, she’d remind him who was supposed to be directing whom.
But rehearsal didn’t go as she’d planned.
Abby heard the theater door open behind her, but she didn’t turn around to look. She figured a few students had entered the theater to watch their friends rehearse. Not until she took the stage to bring Karen her parasol did she get a view of the audience. Sitting a few rows from the front was Pamela Shields. She and Pamela had been rivals for a number of theatrical roles when they were students, and the last Abby knew, Pamela was designing sets in New York. Though Pamela was talented, her temper could flare, and when it did, anyone within shouting distance got the brunt of it. And now, Pamela had returned to Gettysburg to usurp Abby’s job. Terrific.
Having Pamela there was enough of a downer, but then Abby spied additional intruders in the last row of the theater. She couldn’t make out their faces, but three sets of eyes glowed red in the dark. Oh, shit. She looked at Malcolm, whose flared nostrils told her that he’d seen them, too.
“GO AWAY.” Malcolm’s voice bounced off the walls.
Everyone in the theater looked to the rear where the intruders rose simultaneously from their seats. They moved so fast to exit the theater, their forms left blurry streaks.
Karen and Pamela screamed. Abby froze, and then glanced around to gauge reactions. The consensus was slack jaws and a lot of blinking. Except for Kyle, who wore a Cheshire cat smile.
Abby looked quickly at Malcolm, fists clenched at his side.
“I think we’re all so exhausted from rehearsal that we’re seeing things,” she said, laughing. “I could have sworn I saw something fly across the stage a minute ago.”
All eyes jerked to the stage. All except Malcolm’s, who stared at her.
“Okay, I think that’s enough fun for today,” Abby announced.
Still smiling, Kyle said, “Fine, let’s wrap.”
Abby didn’t wait for anyone else to question what had just happened. She exited the theater as quickly as she could and picked up her pace as she reached the college green. She had to talk to Malcolm.
• • •
When Malcolm opened his front door, Abby pushed past him into the house. She’d never been more nervous in her life. She turned abruptly. “I won’t beat around the bush. I’ve had my suspicions, and Pat Wiggins confirmed them. You’re a vampire.”
“Pat’s a good … woman.” He stepped toward her — glided, actually. “Would you like to sit down?”
She zigzagged backward, and then leaned against the arm of a wing chair. “Whoa. I’ve suspected since that first night at your house.” She eased herself into the chair, crossed her legs, and jiggled her foot. Her eyes roamed the room, taking in the Victorian couch and the ornately carved buffet — furnishings that screamed time warp. She pressed a hand to her heart and said, “I’ve done quite a bit of research on vampires, and all the pieces fit, except for the one about burning in sunlight.” She rose slowly from the chair. “I don’t hear you denying it.”
He touched her cheek, leaving a frisson of electricity that made Abby jump. “I don’t want to frighten you, Abby.”
She glanced down at her trembling hands, and then up into his eyes. “Part of me wants to run.”
“There’s no need to run. I have amazing self-control, but then, you probably researched that, too.” One side of his mouth turned up.
“Oh, yeah, I’m an expert.” She rolled her eyes, and then took one step back. “Look, I need to get a few things straight.”
“By all means.”
“First, one more visit from Kyle’s friends, and I’ll have to get a whole new cast.” She rubbed her arms.
“Ah, yes, now the pieces fit. Those goons belong to a coven of young vampires, and Kyle fits the profile of a vampire wannabe.”
“Oh, God, that’s insane,” Abby said. “I’ve been working with Kyle for years. What could have possessed him?”
“I’ve seen it happen before with people who lack self-confidence and can’t distinguish themselves any other way. They are easily led. They see
vampires as all-powerful, and they’ll do anything to become one.”
Abby’s jaw dropped, and then she said, “So, what do we do? We can’t sit back and let Kyle and these vampires run rough-shod over us.”
“Without evidence, I’m afraid our hands are tied. And even with evidence, the current vampire council is corrupt. As far as I know, they could be in collusion with the Night Fright boys. I’ve suspected that coven was responsible for the coed’s death a couple of years ago. Maybe Kyle was involved.”
Abby shook her head. “Kyle? Geez, that’s crazy. He’s always seemed so meek.”
“More weak than meek. People like Kyle enjoy witnessing fear. They want to be part of manipulating chaos, of having the kind of power and attributes vampires possess.”
“Speaking of chaos, I thought the cast was going to freak out when those guys vanished.”
Malcolm smiled. “You did a lovely job of circumventing that situation, by the way.”
“I had to think fast. Once I knew for sure you were a vampire, I started to worry about you exposing yourself, and then those guys showed up with their glowing eyes, and then they practically jetted out of the room, and … ” Abby threw up her hands.
“You were worried about me?”
“Yes.” Abby let herself look into Malcolm’s eyes. “This has been your closely guarded secret. I’d be heartbroken if the play exposed you.” Then, uncomfortable with her confession, she added, “Why did they leave when you asked them to?”
“Because I am an old vampire, and they have to obey me, at least until they have enough evidence.”
“Evidence?”
“Clues that I might betray my identity. That would be cause for them to report me to the vampire council, who would inflict the true death.”
“Why would they want to kill you? And — what’s the true death?”
“Killing me wouldn’t be their main goal. What they really want is to harness my ability to function in daylight.”
“How could they do that?”
“It’s in my blood. They’d drain me.”
Abby shuddered. “And — what’s the true death?”
“I’m already dead from a human standpoint, but dying as a vampire is obliteration to dust. I wouldn’t have much choice in the matter if the council ruled against me.”
“And by going to the Goth club … and rescuing me … you put yourself in danger?” Her heart raced. “Why would you do that for me?” She braced herself. What did she want his answer to be? That he was drawn to her? That he wanted her?
Malcolm walked to his fireplace. Abby watched him scanning the photographs on the mantel. He stopped at a portrait of a woman posed on a Victorian settee. “Honestly?” he asked, turning to her.
“Please.” She longed for him to say something, anything that might indicate he cared.
“You set my heart in motion. That hasn’t happened to me since I became a vampire, and as much as I’ve tried, I can’t seem to ignore it.”
Abby’s heart pounded. “Why me?”
“You remind me of my wife. Your faces favor each other, and she had that same expression, like she was waiting for something wonderful to happen.” He paused for a deep breath. “She was also brave, and you’ve got your own brand of pluck.”
Abby laughed. “Pluck? Yeah, I’ve heard that before. You’re sure you don’t mean moxie?”
“No, I mean skill and perseverance.” He ran his hand over the top of the mantel photograph. “She died during the war.”
Abby didn’t need to ask which war. “Tell me about her.”
Still looking at the portrait of Sarah, Malcolm said, “She was extraordinarily kind. After I was called to war, she kept up the work on the farm. She labored with the farmhands, plowing the fields and tending the livestock.” Malcolm shook his head. “She worked too hard, trying to take care of everything in my absence.”
“So, when we went to Caroline Foster’s house on the ghost tour, your wife was the Sarah who died in the house? And you were the Malcolm in the letter?”
Malcolm ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Yes. Sarah went to her sister’s after the battle to help. She nursed soldiers in town. Caroline tried to contact me when Sarah took ill with typhoid fever, but I was on a mission where I couldn’t be reached. I could have saved her.”
Abby’s heart ached for him. “Oh, Malcolm, you don’t know that.”
“She was already weakened from the farm work when she went to her sister’s. Not everyone dies of typhoid. If I’d been there to take care of her … ”
“I’m so sorry.” Abby touched Malcolm’s arm. “You must have loved her very much.”
Sarah was remarkable — such courage and selflessness. How could Abby measure up? And Malcolm was human when he loved Sarah. Could a vampire feel that depth of love?
Chapter Ten
Malcolm and Sarah moved out of Caroline’s house and back to their home one week after Malcolm’s injury. During that same week, Robert E. Lee retreated to Virginia with what was left of his battered army. The Confederates had been relatively kind to their property. They’d taken all the crops and left a receipt, not that Confederate money was worth anything in Pennsylvania, but it was a nice gesture.
More important to Malcolm, they hadn’t burned or desecrated his land. And since Malcolm had ordered Sully to take the livestock to the old homestead east of town, he had his cows, pigs, and chickens back. His only problem was what to feed them.
As he and Sarah sat on their front porch after a hot summer day of plowing fields under and replanting, the dust of distant hooves clouded the horizon, and Malcolm stiffened, anticipating a harbinger. He rose from his chair and watched as Sarah gripped the arms of hers. When two blue-uniformed riders came into focus, Malcolm offered Sarah his hand and pulled her up to stand by him.
“I knew this was inevitable, but I’d hoped they’d let you spend a few more days at home,” she said, squeezing his hand.
“We were lucky to have the time we did.” He leaned over and kissed her.
The soldiers dismounted at the barn, tied up their mounts, and strode determinedly toward Malcolm. When they stopped at the steps to the porch, both soldiers saluted their superior officer, and then removed their hats. “Colonel,” the shorter of the two said, “we have your orders.” He retrieved an envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to Malcolm. The bars on their shoulders indicated their rank as lieutenant.
“Thank you, lieutenant … ?” Malcolm asked.
“I’m Jack Wright, sir,” said the shorter man, “and this is Clayton Norcross. We’re both West Point men, as I know you are, sir. We’re cavalry, too, sir.”
Malcolm smiled at them and nodded his approval. He turned the envelope in his hands, noting Sarah’s glance at the fateful missive.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “please have a seat.” She swept an open palm to the porch chairs. “May I offer you a glass of lemonade?”
“That would be nice, Mrs. McClellan.” Lieutenant Norcross, who sported a bushy mustache, ambled toward a chair. His spurs clicked on the wood planks as Sarah departed for the kitchen.
Malcolm inquired about army movements and new appointments but waited until Sarah returned before breaking the wax seal on the envelope. He flicked the page of parchment open and held it in both hands.
“Colonel McClellan,” he began, “I commend you and your Pennsylvania regiment for exceptional valor in the three days of Gettysburg, and I trust you are recovered from your wounds. Because of my special confidence in your patriotism and integrity, I hereby authorize and empower you to raise a company of picked men and proceed to Virginia to intercept the movement of Confederate troops and supplies via railway. You are requested to act with secrecy and discretion. Communication will be restricted. Sincerely, General George Gordon Meade, commander, Ar
my of the Potomac.”
Malcolm folded the letter and returned it to its envelope.
“When he asks you to handpick men, just where exactly does he suppose you’re going to find them?” Sarah crossed her arms. “Don’t you need special skills for railroad work?”
“We’re not building railroads, Sarah,” Malcolm said. “Most of our work will be in destroying railway ties.”
“And what does he mean by ‘restricted communication?’ You won’t be able to get help if you need it?”
“I’m sure we could get reinforcements if the conditions were dire, but I think it’s more a matter of being out of touch with home. Once we get moving, no one will know where we are.”
Sarah’s brow knitted and she chewed on her bottom lip. And then she slapped her skirt. “Well, gentlemen, I’m not one to sit back and let luck determine destiny. Might I suggest you join my husband on this venture?” Sarah asked the two lieutenants. “You both seem able-bodied and intelligent, and it would ease my mind some to know he’d have experienced cavalry officers at his side.”
“I believe I can speak for Lieutenant Norcross in saying that we’d both be honored, ma’am, that is, if the colonel will have us.” Lieutenant Wright nodded toward Malcolm.
“I’d be the one honored, lieutenant. Report back to me day after tomorrow. By then, I should be able to roust a few more men for the job.” Malcolm chuckled. “In fact, there are several from my regiment who would enjoy nothing more than overtaking a train by horseback.”
“I don’t know, sir, some of these new steam engines can be pretty fast,” Lieutenant Norcross said. “I’ve even heard that there’s one that’s haunted.”
“Yes, I’ve heard those rumors, too,” Malcolm said.
“A haunted train?” Sarah laughed. “That’s poppycock.”