People outside of the family pointed to her married lover as the cause of Rosalie’s suicide, saying it was out of despair that after two children with him he still would not leave his wife. Her former lover grieved her death heavily, and he maintained contact with his children, supporting them and seeing them as much as their grandmother would allow. Thankfully for Vivienne’s sake, this was not difficult. Their father grieved deeply, and he expressed repeatedly his inability to understand how the woman he loved could leave the three of them, despite her great love for them. She could have revealed her secret to him, but she chose not to, in part out of fear that her mother would somehow succeed and he would be a victim to her, too. Christophe, Vivienne and their grandmother knew the real reason. She killed herself because she refused to let her mother take over.
Christophe watched as his grandmother finished up with the client. She was eyeballing him a lot lately, asking him what he’d been doing when he didn’t come by for dinner on Sundays or why he didn’t come to visit as often. He wondered if she could tell he was different.
She climbed in the car. “Well, that’s done for the week. That woman thinks she has so many problems, but really her only problem is that her children don’t pay her enough respect.” She slid the buckle in her seat belt in place and looked at Christophe, as if she expected him to challenge her. He didn’t say anything, choosing instead to start the car and ease out into the street.
He knew she would want to have an early supper out as they always did; she chose older restaurants, sometimes in the Treme, sometimes in the Marigny, less frequently in the Quarter. This time of year she especially took enjoyment from the elaborate dinners served in the Creole tradition of Réveillon. As the season wound down, they made their way through the list of restaurants serving the long, elaborate multi-course dinners. Vivienne sometimes agreed to go, but this year she made it to very few, always saying she was too busy. Tonight, their reservation was at Muriel’s on Jackson Square. He thought it might be difficult to talk her into, as the restaurant itself was not particularly old—certainly not as old as someplace like Tujaque’s or Galatoire’s--but she agreed, asking him, “Did you know that used to be where the Poydras family lived? Then it was sold to Theodore Laveau in 1881, the same year the Widow Paris died.” He didn’t know this little tidbit, and he wasn’t sure who Theodore was, but he knew she’d certainly tell him the story of the family connection over dinner.
Chapter Eight
Olivia Holmwood strolled past the doorway of The Ruby just as the champagne cork was popped. Her companion, Christophe, dropped her hand as they stood in the doorway, looking in.
Liz stood with her back to the door, her auburn hair falling just below her shoulder blades, bright against the white silk blouse she was wearing. As they stood there, she turned to raise her glass in a toast, clinking it against the other upraised glasses around her. Her profile was clear, and for a split second she glanced over her shoulder toward the door. Olivia knew the greenness of Liz’s eyes, and even though she knew that Liz couldn’t see them in the shadows on the street, she instinctively stepped back a half step.
“Do you know which one she is?” Olivia asked, excited to see if he could feel Liz’s presence on his own.
He spotted her right away, and he was surprised. He had passed her and Kirby earlier in the evening as he and his grandmother left the restaurant. Liz and her companions had been waiting for their table at the bar, and she hadn’t noticed Christophe, but he had certainly noticed her. He had felt drawn to her and immediately felt an attraction to her that was similar to the magnetic pull he felt when he saw Olivia for the first time. Everything had slowed down as he walked past, and he saw the glint in her eye as she threw her head back, laughing at something one of her male companions said. He sensed a sadness to her, too, a heaviness. She was beautiful to him in a way he couldn’t really describe. It went beyond her physical beauty. His grandmother had been the one to snap him out of it, as she tugged on his sleeve and mumbled something about needing to get home.
Now, as he stood on the street outside of The Ruby, he understood why he’d been so drawn to her. She was kindred.
He simply nodded to Olivia and slid inside the bar as Olivia walked on, her heels ringing on the sidewalk, a slow, steady rhythm to her stride.
Olivia had felt Liz’s presence earlier in the evening, as the train neared the shore of the Pontchartrain. She had summoned Christophe. He was always willing to do what she asked. He was dining with his grandmother when she called, and he’d promised that he would meet up with her as soon as Marie finished dessert and was safe at home.
In the days leading up to Liz’s return, Olivia overheard Mike talking about Liz’s plans to return around the office at school during finals week. So, she knew Liz was returning, but not when. Now that she laid eyes on her from the street, she could relax a bit, and stop feeling quite so lost and forsaken.
In fact, for the first time in a long time, she not only felt hunger but she actually felt an appetite. She went in search of sustenance.
Since Alex’s death and Liz’s retreat, Olivia felt the world was lackluster. She fed because she knew not feeding was worse, but also because she needed to keep her energy up so that she could continue to keep Wren bound where she was. It was so crucial to Olivia that Wren stay the sole focus of the investigation. Wren was turned just enough that she was developing some abilities, but she was still subject to Olivia’s control. But keeping Wren under her thumb at a distance required that she not let her own strength—mental or physical—decline. It was also important that she not appear out of the ordinary to those around her. The deep grief she felt when Liz retreated would have been inexplicable. She did play the grief for her lost student, Alex James, to the hilt as much as she could as cover.
Her grief had surprised her in part because of her sadness over Alex; she’d liked her and she could understand why Liz cared for her so much. It wasn’t just the loss of Alex and Liz leaving, though, that haunted her. She’d grown fond of Wren Anderson in the weeks that they had been together. Wren was a natural predator; Olivia had met few who had Wren’s assertive energy. She also blamed herself for only telling Wren part of her story; had she been more forthcoming with her about everything Alex wouldn’t be dead and Liz wouldn’t have left. She missed Wren’s energy and how she tasted.
Now, she used Christophe as a cover; he made her feel pampered and it was a nice diversion from the mess with Wren and Liz. There was much for them to teach one another, and his presence when she wished to pass in the regular world was a help to her. Tonight, she would pick someone special to spend time with, but not Christophe. She wanted to feel the pulse of the living, the innocence of the unturned. Tonight was not a night for kindred.
She wanted someone with nothing real to offer her but themselves, someone she could be sweet to and savor.
Weeknights in the Quarter are slower than the weekends for certain, but the Quarter is never completely still. Tourists are easy marks, and especially good for nights when she had to be quick and stealthy, but that was not tonight. It was too late to just find someone random and determine if they were worthy of the occasion. She hailed a cab and headed toward Versailles.
Ai was a local Vietnamese graduate assistant to one of the Anthropology professors. They met when Olivia sought out her colleague’s help with finding some recent articles about vampire cemetery excavations. The colleague, an older man who already had published everything he would ever publish, was eager to be left alone, so he, of course, passed her off to Ai.
The two women got along well, but Olivia always maintained her reserved coolness around the younger woman. She was the first person Olivia thought of tonight. She was so different from Liz and Olivia knew Ai would welcome her advances. She’d been flirting with her since the moment they started working together. Ai would show up or email Olivia at every turn, and she practically shimmered from the heat she generated when they were together in a room. It was not oft
en that perfect donors appeared.
The lights were off when the cab pulled up to the rented townhouse apartment where Ai lived; the street was dark except for a few porch lights and streetlights here and there. Despite the lights being off, Olivia could see Ais face in the upstairs window as she opened the door of the cab and stepped out. Before Olivia paid the fare the door of the apartment crept open. Ai stood in the shadowed doorway, hidden from most eyes, but not Olivia’s. She was wearing a thin cotton t-shirt and a pair of boxers, her long, sleek hair framing her face, which was still pouty from sleep. Olivia didn’t say a word as she slid in the open door, pressing herself up against Ai as she did so. “Ah, my beloved,” she whispered into the space between Ais parted lips, kissing her softly.
Olivia pushed the door shut with her foot as the cab pulled away.
Ai was warm from sleep, and Olivia thrilled at the contrast between her own cold hands and the shimmering heat that came from Ai. Unlike others she fed from, donors did not need to be subdued or seduced. They instinctually knew the need she had, and they had an equal need in them to be fed upon. Olivia took her time, first pressing Ai against the wall near the door, her thigh pressing between Ais own as she kissed her on the mouth, her tongue touching Ais. The girl tasted of sleep and cloves as she responded to Olivia’s caresses and kissed her back. Her hands slid up Olivia’s back, pulling her closer. Olivia broke the embrace and grabbed Ais hand, taking her back up the stairs to her still warm bed.
Neither of them spoke; Ai worked to undress Olivia who had already removed Ais tank top and boxers with two swift movements. She pushed Ai back on the bed and finished undressing before joining her, sliding herself on top of her. Ai smiled and reached up to release the pins in Olivia’s hair, running her hands through it to shake out the braids. As the hair came free, Olivia leaned forward kissing Ai under the curtain of hair, wrapping them both in the scent of gardenias. Ai could also feel the pendant Olivia wore against her skin, and she took the tiny blade in her hands and made the cut herself, offering herself to Olivia.
When she’d fed, she talked to Ai in soft tones, letting her know what she needed from her now that Liz was back. She left an exhausted and sleeping Ai. She didn’t bother with the cover of a cab as she left. She was rejuvenated from the feeding and the sex. Confident that Ai would follow through on the requests she’d made of her, Olivia simply opened the window and vanished. From the street it looked as if someone with large lungs were expelling cigarette smoke in a long, wispy stream of smoke.
Chapter Nine
Wren was always somewhat confused when she woke. She had descended into madness after her arrest as the days passed and no one was available to feed from. The days of madness were a haze to her; she felt a vague sense of having been incoherent and of babbling.
Initially, the guards and the public defender saw a woman heavily weighed down by grief and remorse for the crimes she committed. That grief and remorse left with the madness, only to return with her sanity.
She was still on suicide watch; she remembered being brought here. The cell she was in was smooth walled with the exception of a small slot in the door where they could slide her food tray. The sound of her breakfast tray being slid through woke her, and for the first time in a long time, the smell of food was welcome to her. She could smell the coffee, as well, and she retrieved the tray, sitting on her bunk. The bunk was a mattress only, outfitted on a raised concrete ledge. Even springs and bed frames were forbidden to her.
The night before, the night of Liz’s return, Wren paced in her cell, staring at her bare feet as she moved from wall to wall. From the slight crack under the door, she saw wispy fingers of vapor collecting. Suddenly, she stopped pacing and began to act like a madwoman, lying on the floor, so the vapor could creep over her. It covered her like a shroud, and when she was completely covered, the mist gathered and suddenly there was Olivia, her mouth on Wren’s, her hands pinning Wren’s to the floor over her head.
When Olivia pulled her mouth away from Wren’s she could see tears in her eyes, and she saw the tears that had fallen already like glitter in her hair.
“You can still cry. I figured you for someone emotionally stronger once.” She pressed her lips to Wren’s temple, tasting salt. “It seems you’ve been crying a great deal. You’re salty.”
Wren said nothing. She feared she would lose her composure, and if she did that, she knew Olivia would break the contact between them. She closed her eyes, feeling the lids squeeze out a new pair of tears, and inhaled deeply.
“You need sustenance. Feed on me; I’ve drunk more than my fill tonight.” Olivia sat up, straddling Wren. Taking her pendant from the chain on her neck, she cut a razor thin line on her forearm, no more than two inches, the dark blood beading up immediately. Upon seeing the black rubies on Olivia’s pale skin, Wren was transfixed. She grabbed Olivia by wrist and elbow, drawing the cut down to her mouth and drank, pulling heavily at the cut. Olivia let her satiate her immediate hunger, giving her enough to keep her from becoming ill and then she planted her feet on the floor and pushed up into a standing position. Wren was glassy-eyed, drunk from the first decent bit of blood she’d received since being arrested.
Since Wren’s arrest, Olivia had occasionally visited, but all earlier visits she had refused to let Wren feed. Wren possessed only vague memories of those visits and only when Olivia was in the room did she remember anything; she could remember babbling incoherently at Olivia, and Olivia invading her mind. The fog that she’d been under was now lifting, though, her brain clearing with the blood she’d finally been given.
Olivia slid off her necklace, pulling it over her head and placing it on Wren. The chain was thin, almost invisible, and long enough that the pendant disappeared under her shirt. “You need to be careful, but you have to feed. I suspect that you can entice some of the staff to check in on you, and when you have them subdued, you can use this to feed so that you can hopefully control yourself. You have a nasty habit of biting, dear.”
“Why can’t you just take me home with you? Why do I have to stay here?” Wren tried to wrap her arms around Olivia’s waist, but Olivia stepped away from her.
Olivia chuckled. “You, my dear, will have no memory of my being here, or even who I am. The only times you do know me are when I’m here.” She turned back toward Wren. “I need for you, sweet Wren, to be a babbling lunatic who can only talk of her ‘Master’ and who is obviously guilty.”
“Don’t you realize you’ve been the perfect pawn for me? My plan was for you to distract Alex and to ensure she and Liz had a clean break. You weren’t supposed to kill Alex, but that I suppose that was a minor change in the plan. Now, Liz is home, and at least I don’t have to figure out what to do about Alex anymore.” Olivia cupped Wren’s chin in her hand and kissed her roughly. She could taste the three of them—her own blood mingled with Ais in Wren’s mouth.
At the mention of the murder of Alex and at hearing Liz was back, Wren relived the events that led to her fast arrest. She had loved Alex; they were a couple once, but Alex left, unable to deal with Wren’s choice for a vocation. Being the girlfriend of a bisexual stripper was too much for most people to take, though, so Wren never held a grudge against Alex for breaking it off. Wren was never one for monogamy anyway, and she valued the friendship with Alex after the breakup.
Olivia complicated things, though. Wren saw the interest the between Olivia and Alex, despite Alex’s happy relationship with Liz. And, Wren herself was so star-struck by Olivia that she tried to turn Alex as a way to make a gift to Olivia, as she misunderstood the interest Olivia showed in Alex. The murder was a gift gone awry. Had she known that Liz was Olivia’s true target things would have been much different.
Alex had fought much harder than Wren thought she would. And, untrained as she was, Wren went too far. And then, she learned that Alex wasn’t Olivia’s target anyway—Liz was the one she wanted. Sweet, innocuous Liz. And now she was back.
Olivia was clearly disappoin
ted. “My problem now is to decide what to do with you. My hope had been that I could reward you for your help, but with Alex being killed and so publicly, it is far easier to just let you take the fall. It’s a shame, really, as I enjoyed the thought of you as a colleague.”
Wren realized in that moment there was still hope; if Olivia had once thought she could train her, maybe there was a way to get back on Olivia’s good side and to gain her freedom. She realized she might never get another chance to convince Olivia if she didn’t start now and start slowly. “Can’t we work something out? I know I screwed up, but I was stupid. I don’t even fully understand things now. I just know I want to be with you, to help you. Don’t let me forget you were here tonight. The days here are so long, and I am so lonely. Please, Olivia, please let me remember the time we’ve had, as it is the one glimpse of peace and happiness I’ve had since I’ve been here.” Wren kissed the palm of Olivia’s hand, and then placed it on her cheek. Olivia felt a tear touch her fingertips.
Wren had begged before but always in a crazed, desperate way. There was something different about her tonight. Or, Olivia thought, perhaps it was that Liz was back that made her willing to listen this time. Either way, she was willing to see where this would go. She had Christophe to help her, but having Wren to help as well would be a benefit. And, she did enjoy Wren’s company. While her evening with Ai had been fun, she lacked Wren’s creativity and feistiness.
“I’m surprised you are so tender toward me; do you not blame me for what you did?”
Wren shook her head. “I did not do it because you asked me to. I did it because I couldn’t bear to be without you, and I thought if I could bring Alex, who I thought was your long-lost Daniela, to you that you would love me the way you loved Daniela. I was rash and confused, but I only did it to ensure we could be together, Olivia. I still want to be with you.”
Brigitte's Cross (The Olivia Chronicles) Page 5