Heather Graham's Haunted Treasures

by Heather Graham

  Now those damned marks.

  Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Surely very few Westerners had ever heard about vampires or the undead, or nosferatus, as the old family members had called them. It was all so ridiculous. But with Drago in town and all the awful things happening, maybe people would begin to believe that it could be possible. She was going to have to talk to Jem. It was all so ridiculous.

  Then again, there was Drago.

  He was an exceptionally charming man. He had the power of seduction. Unbelievably, he had even managed to draw her in with his charm. Not when she was away from him, of course. Only when she was near him.

  He was just attractive. Handsome. Confident.

  Not evil.

  Yet she shivered. He did have some... power.

  Damn those strange marks on Cissy's neck!

  Michael stared at Mort, then at Doc Phelan. Mort shrugged. "I thought maybe spiders," he said.

  "Would you care to speak with me outside, Michael?" Doc Phelan said. Michael nodded. He glanced at Anne, and she was startled by the intensity of the concern in his eyes. Then he released her hand. "Yes," he told Phelan. "Anne, I'll be right back. Don't leave here without me. Do you understand? Don't leave without me."

  She might have gotten angry at the way he was addressing her, but she held her tongue. He was simply worried. She wasn't going to say anything.

  Phelan, ancient as the hills but surprisingly spry, clapped Michael on the shoulder and the two men stepped outside. Anne stared at the marks again, then felt a shudder of sorrow sweep through her. Poor Cissy. Poor, sweet, beautiful young girl!

  She suddenly became aware of a very strange sensation. A host of tiny shivers was snaking slowly up her spine, and from them both cold and heat seemed to emanate in waves. Before she turned, she knew who she would see.

  "She looks stunning, does she not? So sweetly at peace! So very, very lovely."

  Drago stared down at Cissy with a tenderness that touched Anne's heart. He was such a strange man. So very good-looking. So very... sexy.

  She bit into her lower lip with annoyance. The way she reacted to him was absurd. She was in love with Michael. Drago had a certain attraction, but she loved Michael. No man on earth could be more sensual, tender, demanding, sexy... all those things. She knew it. And though she found Drago attractive, she didn't find him nearly as attractive as Michael.

  He couldn't be an evil spirit, a vampire. Such things did not exist. Certainly not in this world! Only in some ancient little town in eastern Europe.

  Still... there was that pull.

  "How are her parents?" he asked softly.

  "Desolate," Anne answered.

  "Ah, well, it is to be expected. I came to pay my respects, but perhaps I should not disturb them now."

  Anne didn't reply. Just as Michael had done, Drago shifted Cissy's hair. The marks were again visible. He seemed to study them with a curious pleasure. Anne backed away, discovering that she was really nervous around the man.

  He stared at her with some surprise, then smiled.

  "She is lovely, even in death. But no woman, alive or dead, is more beautiful than you, Anne."

  What a strange thing to say!

  "Cissy was a very lovely person," she said, her voice cracking.

  "You are trying to pretend that you cannot hear all that I have to say to you. You are beautiful. I confess, I am in love with you."

  "I'm in love with Michael!" she whispered fervently.

  "But you must remember..." he said very softly, his voice trailing away sensually, then gaining momentum again. "You must remember my touch. I can still feel the silk of your flesh, the tips of my fingers running along the length of that beauty."

  She was suddenly afraid. She couldn't take her eyes from his. Michael was right. She should be frightened.

  "You've never touched me!" she challenged.

  "I adore you. You will realize it. I will have you and teach you true ecstasy."

  "No!"

  "Perhaps you have been holding your death vigil too long. I think you should come for a walk with me."

  "Oh, no—" she began to murmur. Then she stopped. His eyes were on hers. There was something so alluring in them. Something that brought back very strange memories.

  As if she had known him before!

  But she hadn't, and Michael was just outside, on the back porch. Even if Drago's gaze seemed to compel her to take his hand, she would not do so.

  "Anne..."

  His voice was soft, sensual. It slipped under her skin. It made her feel as if she wanted to be touched by him, stroked by him. As if she had to go with him...

  "Drago! Get away from here! You're not welcome here!"

  Michael's voice was harsh, his eyes flashing with fury.

  Anne stepped back, confused. Suddenly Drago was just a tall, handsome foreigner. And Michael was behaving extremely rudely.

  But Drago had said things to her, hadn't he? Things that he shouldn't have said?

  She couldn't remember. No, it was Jem—Jem and Michael. They were trying to convince her, convince everyone, that Drago was evil. It was wrong. It was just because he was a foreigner. How could they be so prejudiced?

  "Michael!" she whispered furiously.

  He ignored her. His eyes flashing, his rugged face set, he brought her behind him, still facing Drago.

  And David Drago was smiling. Amused with all of it.

  "Get out!" Michael insisted.

  "Michael, you can't tell the poor man to get out!" she cried, baffled. "This isn't even your house!"

  Drago bowed deeply. "I would much rather leave than create a commotion when the McAllistairs are in such deep mourning. Dear Anne, you'll excuse me. Colonel Johnston, I will meet with you one night soon!"

  Drago tipped his hat to them and departed.

  Michael turned to face Anne. She set her hands on her hips, staring at him furiously. "That was the rudest display I've ever seen!"

  "Rude !" He drew her to him, whispering, "The man killed Cissy, and you think that I was rude!"

  "Drago killed her?" Anne exclaimed. "Oh, Michael, you are losing your mind. Cissy got sick! She rallied, but she died. How can you blame that on the man? Just because he's a foreigner. Or maybe it's worse. Maybe you discovered that the poor man has been a Yankee, or a Yank sympathizer—"

  "Anne—" he began, then broke off. Too many people in the room were beginning to stare at them. He caught her hand and looked around the room, setting his eyes on Billy. "Please tell Mr. McAllistair that we'll be back tomorrow to help with the funeral arrangements."

  He turned around, as if to leave. Then he paused. The others were talking softly amongst: themselves again. He released Anne's hand, and walked over to help Mort, who had signaled that the time had come to close the coffin for the night.

  But Michael didn't seem to be satisfied with the closed lid. He tied something around the center coffin handle to hold it shut. Anne couldn't see what it was.

  He had her out the door and on the porch before she came to a dead stop, determined to ask him. "All right, what was that all about?"

  He hesitated, staring at her. "Drago is a vampire."

  "I've had it!" Anne said, waving her hand in the air. Oh, she knew it! He'd been fighting too long. He was seeing demons in the man just because he was different.

  A vampire! Michael probably hadn't even known about vampires. Jem must have convinced him. Oh, they'd be seeing ghosts and all sorts of things soon!

  "Michael, I love you, but this is ridiculous. What—"

  "Three times, Anne," he said, swallowing quickly. "He bit her three times. That's what the marks were. Three is the number. She'll come back to join him now."

  "Where did you hear that?" she demanded.

  "From Jem. And it's your family legend—you should know, you should see the truth!" he told her.

  "You've lost your mind! Jem has heard this legend all his life, and he never believed in this ridiculousness before!"


  "Drago was never around before."

  "Oh, come on, Michael!" Anne exclaimed.

  "You come on, Anne! Look at what's happened."

  "Michael," Anne told him coldly, walking around him, "you were unbelievably rude, and now you've lost your mind." She started down the steps, and toward home.

  He followed on her footsteps. If she weren't so very worried about his mental state, it would be touching. He'd been in half the major battles of the war. He'd ridden out into Indian country for years now. It was only natural that he would crack eventually. He needed peace!

  "Anne, he wants you!"

  "Michael, I've told you, I intend to marry you. There is no need for this—"

  "Anne!" He caught hold of her, swinging her around to face him. "Anne, I'm worried sick! You must know that you look exactly like Helga—"

  "She's an ancestor! I should look like her! There's nothing so unusual there."

  "Anne, dammit, I'm worried about you—"

  "And I'm worried about you!"

  "Anne, listen to me. When I discovered the Indians' bodies, they were all but bloodless. And they were all decapitated. A vampire can't rise from the dead if it's been decapitated. Then there was Smokey. Bloodless, decapitated. And now—"

  "Cissy, whose head is in place!" Anne reminded him painfully.

  Michael let out a cry of aggravation. "Because he wants Cissy to join him!"

  "I thought he wanted me?" she reminded him.

  He threw up his arms and sighed. "Anne, he does. He thinks that you're the woman he loved centuries ago, and that you've come back to life. I can't read his mind. Maybe it was just taking him a little bit too long to get to you. Maybe he wants company in the meantime, and maybe he just really liked Cissy, too, and wanted her to have eternal life. I don't know!"

  "Oh, Michael! This is just getting better and better! My uncle has been filling you with the family tales, and you're turning a handsome foreigner into a vampire! Michael, please, get out of my way! I love you, but I want you to go home, and get some sleep! This has all been too much for you."

  "No." He shook his head stubbornly. His jaw was set.

  She gritted her teeth, feeling a little tremor of desire. She was frustrated, but she loved him like this, when he was so determined.

  "I'm going to be with you."

  "Suit yourself," she said, walking again. "But I don't want to hear any more about it!"

  She walked for a few steps and was surprised to realize that he wasn't following. She turned back. His hands on his hips, he was looking up at the sky.

  His gaze touched hers. Suddenly he ran forward, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms. And then he was running like a jaguar with her held to his chest.

  She couldn't breathe!

  "Michael!" she cried out. It didn't do a thing. He kept on running, all the way to her porch steps.

  Once again, Uncle Jem was waiting for them. Michael ran through the door. It slammed shut behind them.

  "I've had it!" Anne cried out. "I've had it! Uncle Jem, you quit with the stories. Michael—you quit behaving like a lunatic or I'll not only refuse to marry you, I'll refuse to—" She broke off, remembering Uncle Jem.

  "Watch it," Uncle Jem said dolefully to Michael. "She's threatening to not sleep with you anymore."

  "Oh!" Anne cried in total exasperation. She walked down the hall to her room and slammed the door shut behind her.

  Jem looked at Michael. "Well?"

  "There were six marks on her neck."

  "Three bite marks," Jem said.

  "Maybe," Michael murmured.

  "And I'll bet Doc Phelan told you her blood was half gone, too."

  Michael nodded.

  "Don't leave Anne in there alone," Jem warned him.

  But Anne wasn't in her room. She was bursting back into the hallway. "Uncle Jem! Why is my room decorated from floor to ceiling in garlic bulbs?" she demanded.

  He shrugged. "'Cause there's a God-darned vampire out there!"

  "I don't believe in vampires!"

  "Then humor an old man."

  She tossed a garlic bulb at him and stormed back into her room. Michael winced and followed her. She was sitting at the foot of her bed, looking morosely around her. "I do not believe this!" she exclaimed. "This behavior from two grown men."

  Michael smiled and reached into his pocket, producing a jewel case. He handed it to her.

  She looked at him suspiciously, then flicked up the lid.

  It was a delicate, beautiful gold cross. "Oh, Michael!" she moaned.

  He sat down beside her. "Humor a young man as well as an old one?" he said softly.

  She smiled, handed him the cross, and turned so that he could clip it around her neck. "It's a lovely gift," she said softly. "But Michael..."

  "Ummm?"

  "I don't think I can sleep with all this garlic."

  "How about giving me a chance to make you forget it's here?" he asked her huskily.

  She was so angry with him. He was driving her crazy. Both he and Uncle Jem were already halfway there!

  But she loved him.

  She kissed him gently, meaning it to be just a brief touch, but he pulled her into his arms. His lips molded sensually over hers. His tongue penetrated between her teeth and stroked her mouth deeply.

  She did forget the garlic.

  Later that night, she awoke. Or perhaps she didn't awake. Perhaps she dreamed.

  Drago stood outside her window. Far outside, shivering. He was telling her that it was cold, but that he couldn't come in.

  "Come to me!" he whispered to her.

  No.

  "Come to me, come to me. Please..."

  No. She was in love with Michael. But Michael had been so rude. She had to apologize. She just had to apologize.

  It was only a dream, but she was suddenly walking. Walking to the window. The garlic was pungent. She needed to crawl over it.

  "Anne!"

  She awoke with a start. To her amazement, she was standing at the window. Ready to open it and climb out.

  But Michael was there, wrapping the sheet around her, wrapping his own warmth around her. "Anne, Anne, Anne!" He cradled her, held her, swept her up and against him.

  "It's all right!" she cried. "I was just sleepwalking." She lifted his dear head, cradled his cheeks with her hands. "I was just sleepwalking. Oh, Michael! There are no such things as vampires."

  Truly, there weren't such things as vampires, she assured herself with a mental shake. Drago was powerful, handsome, sexy—and far too bold. But there were no such things as vampires!

  Michael held her, too weary to fight with her.

  He slept finally, his limbs entwined with hers, his arms locked around her, his thigh cast over her hip.

  * * *

  Jem pointed a finger at him over a cup of morning coffee. Anne was out back, feeding the chickens.

  "You've got to kill the creature!" Jem said.

  Michael slumped back, staring at Jem. "And just how do I do that? If he is a vampire, he won't die with a bullet."

  "But he will die if you decapitate him, or force him into daylight—or drive a stake through his heart. But Jesu, boy, you've got to be careful! Vampires are tremendously strong... Holy water helps," Jem reflected. "But I'm not so sure you can actually kill a vampire with it. Not unless you have a tubfull."

  "What a help you are, Jem, what a help!"

  "You can't just accost him. I mean, you can't go out and beat up a vampire!" Jem warned him.

  "I wasn't planning on trying," Michael assured him. He sighed. Maybe Anne was right. Maybe they were crazy. Nonetheless, he was growing more and more frightened. "I've got to find him by day. In his coffin, I imagine. Oh, God! What am I saying?" he demanded with disgust. Then he shrugged. "I'll speak with Father Martin after Cissy's funeral today."

  Jem nodded. "Good idea. And you'd better hush up for now. Annie's on her way back in and she doesn't seem to have a lot of patience for either of us at the moment."

/>   Anne came in. Michael went on back to his own house to change into his black suit for the funeral. He returned with his carriage for Anne and Jem, and the three of them attended the service together.

  It was the saddest service Michael had ever been to. Jeannie cried as if her heart would break.

  Then Cissy was lowered into the ground. Father Martin tried to say all the right words, but a sudden dust storm came up. It started slowly, just as Father Martin began. Then suddenly, it became ferocious. Father Martin, holding on to his hat, looked to Jeannie. "Mrs. McAllistair, we'll start all over tomorrow, don't you worry, we'll see it done right by tomorrow afternoon." By then, people were shrieking, and! heedless of the need for a decent funeral for Cissy, they were beginning to run. Father Martin got no further. They would all come back for the service tomorrow.

  Everyone there was running for his or her carriage.

  As Michael covered Anne and they headed for shelter, he couldn't help but wonder if the cross he had wedged into the coffin the night before had kept its occupant sleeping through the night.

  And he couldn't help but wonder if it was still there.

  At the McAllistair house, the women made coffee and served food that everyone pushed around on their plates.

  While Anne supervised in the McAllistair kitchen since Jeannie was still unable to, Michael took the opportunity to slip outside with Father Martin.

  The priest was a young man. For some reason Michael was glad that Green Valley's one man of God happened to be a Catholic.

  Father Martin had soft brown hair and brown eyes. He was of medium height and build, but as he crossed his arms over his chest, Michael decided that he was probably stronger than he looked.

  Michael tried to talk. He tried again. "Jesu, Father! I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but I think we have a vampire in Green Valley."

  Father Martin's brows flew up. "A vampire?"

  "I know you can't possibly believe me—"