Child of Twilight

by Margaret L. Carter

  Roger couldn’t suppress a flash of anger. “For a single involuntary lapse—”

  “Colleague.” Britt gave him a warning glare. “Eloise, you may not be ready to think about this, but you can always try again. I’m sure Claude would be more than eager, which would put your doubts to rest, wouldn’t it?”

  Eloise was shaking her head before Britt completed the question. “I’ve already decided not to try again. We don’t know enough about interbreeding.” She lowered her voice in response to Roger’s uneasy glance at the door. “The genetic mix may have been incompatible to start with. I won’t risk repeating the mistake.”

  “But we know it can work. Roger and Gillian—”

  Eloise said to Roger, “Your father was human, and you’re half human. Your mother—and Gillian’s—weren’t. Maybe human females can’t safely carry hybrid pregnancies to term.”

  “We have no evidence for that,” said Roger. “Too small a sample.”

  “We have no evidence against it, either. As you just said, not enough cases to judge from.” She folded her arms. “Let somebody else be the lab mouse. I won’t risk conceiving other babies just to have them die. And my age is a strike against me, too. Subject closed. What about Gillian?”

  Britt explained how she’d asked for informal help from their county police contact. “Aside from that we can only hope Greer will call Roger when Gillian turns out to be a disappointment. I’ve read a couple of the man’s articles. He doesn’t sound like a complete lunatic.”

  Eloise said with a wan smile, “What unprofessional language. From what I’ve seen of him at conventions, I’d say this is out of character, too. If you don’t hear anything by tomorrow, I have an idea. Talk about it later.” She eased lower on the pillows. “I do feel a little better now. A micron or two’s worth anyway. Think I’ll try to sleep.”

  After Britt gave her a farewell peck on the cheek, Roger stepped over to clasp her hand and gaze into her eyes, imparting a subtle suggestion of tranquility. Eloise didn’t resist. Apparently her new wariness of vampiric “manipulation” applied only to Claude.

  “Colleague, was that strictly ethical?” Britt asked, half-seriously, in the car.

  “I forced nothing on her,” Roger said. “It wasn’t like influencing an ignorant victim. She knew what I was doing and could have countered it.”

  “Still, maybe you offered a temptation she’d rather have been spared. Maybe she’d have preferred to be left alone with her feelings, even if unpleasant.”

  Since Roger had already considered that point, he didn’t enjoy having his conscience pricked by suggestions from Britt. “Then next time, I’ll ask permission,” he snapped.

  They’d crossed the Severn River and were now driving through a wooded portion of the St. Margaret’s area. “Pull over,” Britt said.

  As soon as they reached a widened section of road, designed for U-turns, Roger complied. Suspecting what Britt had in mind, he turned toward her with a wry half-smile, his right arm stretched along the back of the seat. She scooted over to lean on his shoulder. He lightly put his arm around her. “Colleague, we’re too old for amorous dalliance in a parked car.”

  “Don’t be stuffy.” She cuddled closer to rub her cheek against his. “You’re tense. You need it badly, and you wouldn’t make love to me with Claude in the house, would you?”

  “No, it would be discourteous, to say the least.” Especially with Claude in his present borderline condition.

  “Also, I’m still keyed up from this morning.” Britt nibbled at Roger’s ear. “Does that make me disgracefully amoral, getting turned on by serving your brother in desperate straits?”

  Her teasing tone defused the jealousy Roger couldn’t quite extinguish. “Trick question, colleague? You know perfectly well that it’s a normal biological aftereffect of an adrenaline high. Morally neutral.” She reached up to scratch the nape of his neck, a caress he enjoyed as much as her cat, Sigmund, did. “You have a talent for undermining my better judgment. After your donation this morning, I shouldn’t touch you for at least a week.”

  “I’ll eat an extra half-pound of liver.” She nipped the side of his neck. Her fingers skimmed with pretended casualness along his thigh to his lap. Though his arousal wasn’t centered there, he was human enough to respond to her intimate touch.

  He traced the familiar contours of her breasts. He had to contend with her winter coat, under which she wore a heavy wool sweater. “Beloved, you’ve spoiled me. I want complete skin-to-skin contact.”

  “That’s my first choice, too. But this is better than nothing, hmm?” She arched her back as his hand stroked down to the juncture of her thighs.

  “Oh, God, yes.” Already his jaws were aching, his teeth tingling along with the heat-sensitive cilia in his palms. As she often did, Britt had picked up his urgency before he’d recognized it himself.

  When she reached her peak, he held back, though trembling with eagerness. As her climax faded, he renewed his caresses and leaned over to kiss the softness of her throat. He didn’t begin to drink until she spiraled up to a second explosive release.

  Long minutes later, she lifted her head from his shoulder. “I guess we have to go home now.”

  He kissed her fingertips. “Yes, your breathing has leveled off enough that we won’t be blatantly flaunting it in front of Claude.” The car, Roger noticed, was becoming chilly. With the heat of her passion expended, Britt would be uncomfortable soon. He switched on the engine.

  “Oh, you—” She lightly punched him, but her playful mood quickly faded. “I feel sorry for those two, and exasperated on top of it. I wish we could shove them together and force them to make up.”

  Roger gave her a sidelong look. “And you criticized me for using a bit of subtle persuasion on Eloise.”

  “Oh, I know we can’t. A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still —goes double for a woman whose feelings are bruised. But you know I have this urge to fix people. That’s why I’m a psychiatrist.”

  “Yes, the temptation can be strong,” Roger agreed. “What I’m counting on is that when Eloise comes face to face with Claude, his debilitated condition will rouse her nurturing impulses and break down that barrier.”

  When they got back to the townhouse, however, Claude appeared less debilitated than he had an hour before. Even Roger was surprised at the vitality that shone in his aura. The patient sat straight up in bed, reading an Agatha Christie classic, visibly chafing at the confinement.

  “No telephone calls so far,” he said. “I’m quite sure I can walk now. How long are you going to keep me immobilized?”

  Britt checked his pulse. “Too bad you can’t really pass on this stuff with a bite. I wouldn’t want to live forever, but I’d love to have your stamina and repair speed.”

  “Let’s give it until midnight, at least,” Roger said. “I prefer to err on the side of caution.”

  Claude bared his teeth at him. “You would.”

  “Why not? Were you going somewhere?”

  “Not until tomorrow night. I telepathically overheard Eloise say she’s still planning to attend the convention. Best thing for both of us, I suppose.”

  “What about you?” said Britt. “Could you possibly be well enough?”

  “No question about it.” He shifted restlessly.

  Noting that the movement didn’t seem to cause pain, Roger said, “Much as I dislike admitting my first estimate was off, I have to agree. Another day of rest should do it.”

  “Oh, that won’t completely make up the energy deficit,” said Claude, “but I’ll be able to function all right.” He added morosely, “If I don’t expire of boredom first. Damn, I wish I could do something.”

  To distract him from his worries, Roger unearthed a deck of cards, and they played several rubbers of three-handed bridge. Well before midnight, though, Britt surrendered to a backlog of fatigue and retired to Roger’s bedroom.

  Not quite tired enough to sleep in the middle of the nig
ht, Roger caught up on professional journals while Claude returned to the mystery novel. Neither could sustain much interest in his reading matter.

  “You’re worried about Gillian,” Claude observed after a while.

  Roger switched off the reading lamp for the comfort of their nocturnal vision. “Yes. Odd, since I was hardly aware of her existence three days ago.”

  “Human trait, I suppose, to feel responsible for your offspring. I’m not sure I could have learned that.” Lying back with his hands behind his head, he stared gloomily at the ceiling. “Perhaps this development is for the best. I might have proved a totally inadequate father. Do you know, I even missed Eloise having a regular monthly cycle? How would I have dealt with the larger sacrifices I would’ve had to make?”

  Roger tried to keep his impatience out of his voice. “I assure you, there’s nothing unique about those qualms. All human fathers feel some jealousy, even resentment, of their own children. All couples with infants have to adjust to that change in patterns of intimacy. Fatherhood isn’t instinctive. It’s a culturally conditioned role.” He said with a self-conscious smile, “There, I’m lecturing, and I know how little faith you put in psychological theories.”

  “I’m willing to accept some validity in them. It’s just damned unfair to Eloise—this was the one thing she wanted that I couldn’t give her, and I thought we’d overcome that problem. Now—well, I tuned in to her conversation with you. I couldn’t help it. She’s afraid to try again.”

  “Understandable at this time,” said Roger. “She may change her mind later, when she’s recovered emotionally.”

  Claude shrugged. “Doubtful. Not so long as she doesn’t trust my affection for her. I’m beginning to feel that I’ve chained her in this relationship that can never satisfy her fundamental needs.”

  Roger stood up to pace across the room and back as he talked. “Confound it, you think I’ve never worried about being unfair to Britt? She’s brilliant, beautiful, self-assured. She could have had a complete relationship with any man she chose, a normal marriage with someone she wouldn’t have to explain away to her relatives. If she weren’t bound to me, she might even have chosen to adopt a child. I’ve cut her off from all that.” Listening to himself, he was surprised at his heated tone.

  “She’s never complained, though? Never expressed any doubts?”

  Roger acknowledged the fact with an impatient movement of his head.

  “You see, I’m not so fortunate.” Claude hoisted himself back to a sitting position and turned on the bedside radio, tuned to a classical station. “We are a pair, aren’t we, reinforcing each other’s depression! You’d better leave me alone for a while.”

  In full agreement, Roger went outside for a walk in the woods. He didn’t bother with a coat; the sting of the cold air refreshed him.

  Before eight the next morning, he received a call from Captain Hayes. The hope he felt at the sound of the police officer’s voice was quickly demolished. “I’ve got the info for you on where your friend, Greer, was staying. But he’s not there anymore.” Hayes named the hotel.

  “Was he alone?” Roger asked.

  “As far as anybody knows. He paid for a single, and he was alone in the lobby when he checked in. He left night before last. No forwarding address. You ever going to tell me what this was about?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s a confidential matter. Thank you for your help.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Hayes with a sound close to a snort. “Just keep in mind, if this guy turns out to be an ax murderer or something, I’ll be seriously pissed off.”

  Roger assured him that wasn’t the case and asked him to keep his ears open for any further news of the professor. After hanging up, he turned to Britt, who stood listening at his elbow. “Not too encouraging,” she said. “Are you going to interview the motel clerk to dig for details he might have forgotten he noticed?”

  “That would probably be futile,” said Roger. “If Greer relocated because he knew he would need a safer place to hide Gillian, he’s not likely to have talked about it.” He sat on the edge of the office desk, rubbing his forehead.

  “Go upstairs and get some sleep,” Britt said, “before I take drastic measures to make you. I can collect Eloise by myself.”

  “I dislike letting you go out alone.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” He felt her bristle at the hint of overprotectiveness. “Greer has Gillian, so how could he possibly threaten me?”

  “I’m not talking about him. Camille is out there somewhere, and it troubles me that she hasn’t shown herself. She could very well strike at me through you.”

  “If she even knows about me, which is unlikely. Stop being paranoid.” Britt reached up to put her arms around his neck. “Come on, colleague, she’s probably decided to be reasonable and run in the opposite direction. Why should she risk her freedom just to pay you back? Claude’s mentioned to me that sensible vampires don’t go in for revenge—waste of energy.”

  “What makes you think this woman will behave reasonably or sensibly?”

  “Well, don’t borrow trouble.” Britt kissed him on the cheek. “Now, good night—or good day, I guess.”

  He gratefully took her advice and went to bed, but in spite of their pleasant interlude of the night before, his sleep was ravaged by dreams.

  FROM THE CENTER of a black cloud, Britt was calling to him. He could barely see her through the thick miasma. Though her pain and fear cried to him for rescue, he couldn’t move. His heartbeat raced out of control—

  He opened his eyes to find Britt sitting on the bed, leaning over him. “Bad, colleague?” she murmured.

  He nodded, reaching out to fondle her unbound golden-red hair.

  “You shouldn’t be dreaming at all. I thought I took proper care of you last night. Must be slipping.” She laid her head on his chest, radiating a calming warmth. After several minutes, she withdrew from the embrace and said, “Claude’s been awake for half an hour. I took off the bandage, and he didn’t need another—amazing. As far as I can tell, he’s up to par. No trouble moving around.”

  “That’s to be expected, I suppose, though I haven’t gotten over being astonished myself.” Roger sat up and reached for the clothes he’d left on the nearby chair.

  “He and Eloise have a plan to deal with Greer. They want to discuss it with both of us together. So hurry up.”

  Roger didn’t bother to ask whether she’d received any significant phone messages, since she would have mentioned that right away. As soon as he’d washed and dressed, they joined Claude and Eloise in the kitchen.

  Eloise sat at the table eating a bowl of granola, while Claude drank warm milk. Britt handed Roger a mug of milk she’d preheated for him. At once Roger saw that Claude and Eloise hadn’t reconciled their estrangement. Though they behaved politely to each other, visible strain—literally visible in their off-color auras—vibrated between them in place of their usual easy companionship.

  Eloise fortified herself with a drink of orange juice and said, “Adam Greer is supposed to be at the convention starting tonight. That’s your chance to worm out of him what he’s done with Gillian.”

  “But will he attend?” said Britt, pouring herself a glass of juice. “Won’t he be pretty distracted by this new—project?”

  “I don’t think so,” Eloise said. “They’ve got him lined up for two panels, one tonight and one tomorrow. He’ll make it to those at least, if he possibly can.”

  Claude put in from across the table, “In his unaccustomed role as a kidnapper, he may believe it necessary to keep up his normal routine to forestall suspicion. The wicked flee where no man pursueth, as the proverb says.”

  “Logical,” said Roger. “Eloise, what do you have in mind?”

  “Well, you don’t want to approach him, because he knows who you are.” She thoughtfully dabbled her spoon in the cereal bowl. “I considered questioning him myself—”

  “I’d rather you wouldn’t,” Claude
interrupted.

  She gave him a cool stare before continuing. “I wouldn’t do it because I don’t have the skills. Britt, you’ve studied hypnosis, haven’t you? Any chance you could get the facts out of Greer without letting him remember much of what he’s told you?”

  “More than a chance,” said Britt. “I’ve managed to learn some of Roger’s tricks. He says I have a trace of natural psi talent in that direction, and constant association with a vampire tends to amplify it. I couldn’t pick someone’s brain as thoroughly as Roger or Claude can, but I could interrogate Greer and easily make him forget the whole thing, as long as he doesn’t have his guard up.”

  “Okay, I’ll introduce you to him. We’ve been on panels together at other cons, so he’ll remember me. You’ve read some of his stuff, haven’t you?”

  “Sure. Nothing would be easier than to get him talking about his work. Then I invite him to my room for a quiet conversation—for that we have to get a room. Would that pose a problem?”

  “No more so than getting last-minute convention memberships for you and Roger,” said Eloise. “After all, this is hardly Worldcon.”

  Now Roger was becoming apprehensive. “Colleague, I don’t like the idea of your being alone with this man.”

  “Don’t be silly, what could he do to me? We’ll be talking for a few minutes in the middle of a crowded hotel.”

  “He shot Claude,” Roger said.

  “Not relevant. That was a fluke.” Britt turned to Claude. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make light of it.”

  “Don’t apologize, you’re absolutely right.”

  Britt said, “What I’m concerned about is that he’ll recognize me as Roger’s associate. He did see me that afternoon when he came looking for Gillian.”

  “Not in any sense that matters,” Roger said. “I had his full attention from the moment we walked in. I doubt that he even noticed you.”