Child of Twilight

by Margaret L. Carter

  “You will keep us posted?” said Eloise. “I’m worried about her. I hate to think of an innocent kid in the clutches of somebody even remotely like that Neil Sandor person.”

  Interesting, Roger thought. She seems to take Gillian’s plight personally.

  “YOUR’RE RIGHT. I do feel confused about my reaction to Gillian’s disappearance,” Roger said to Britt as they turned onto St. Margaret’s Road an hour later. “She’s a responsibility I never wanted. Did I neglect some precaution that would have saved her from getting abducted in the first place? Naturally, there’s some guilt.”

  Britt, her head in his lap, rubbed drowsily against his thighs. “I feel a little of that, myself. We were all preoccupied with Eloise’s condition—rightly so—but we never stopped to think how the turmoil affected Gillian. And now that she’s with Camille, you’re ambivalent about trying to get her back, aren’t you?”

  Roger admitted to the charge. “Part of me questions why Camille should be any worse a teacher than Volnar. We don’t know that the woman shares her brother’s antisocial tendencies.”

  “Antisocial for a vampire,” said Britt. Unspoken was the axiom that by the standards of the gregarious human race, all purebred vampires were antisocial.

  “Yes. If Gillian wants to stay with Camille, and Camille does nothing to prove herself unfit—”

  “You think the child should have a choice.” Britt sat up, brushing her disheveled hair out of her eyes. “And in order to determine her choice, you have to find her. So just letting the matter drop is out of the question.”

  “Exactly,” said Roger, pulling into his reserved parking space in front of the townhouse. He appreciated Britt’s skill at articulating his problem so succinctly. “I have to confront her with the alternatives, and I have to find out—and prove to Gillian, if necessary—what kind of person Camille is.”

  Inside Britt sprawled on the couch as if she hardly had the energy to drag herself to the bedroom. “I’ve got to get a few hours of sleep. As soon as the civilized world’s day starts, I’ll call Hayes again. I can’t stay in bed much past eight a.m., anyhow.”

  Though he disliked the idea of her waking up so early after their crowded night, Roger knew she spoke the truth about her relentlessly diurnal circadian rhythm. And the prospect of a full day of rest beckoned him as an irresistible seduction. “What are you going to tell Hayes? We don’t need Greer found anymore.”

  Britt shrugged off her winter coat and the green jacket under it. “No, but it won’t hurt to ask the captain to keep an eye out in case Greer gets into some kind of trouble. I’ll say we’re worried about him, without specifying why. The condition Camille left him in, I’d guess there’s good reason to worry.” Roger nodded. “Also, what if Camille is like her brother—in her attitude toward us mere mortals, anyway? I’d like to get the word on any unexplained deaths, especially of people who wouldn’t be missed much.”

  “Good thinking,” Roger said. He took Britt’s coat and jacket to hang them up. For once she didn’t offer a teasing protest at this “sexist” gesture. “Go to bed, colleague, before you fall asleep on the spot and develop a backache.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” Britt stood up and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning on him. “Oh, Lord, that feels good. I was worried about you, going after the professor.” She chuckled softly at the silliness of the idea. “As if you and Claude couldn’t handle six or ten of him. Poor Claude and Eloise, depriving themselves of this.”

  “How is she coming along?” Roger’s arms tightened around Britt. He basked in her warmth like a plant rotating toward its own private sun.

  “After the movie she told me she’s afraid Claude is only playing a role as her lover. After all, he’s an actor. I didn’t know how to answer that. I don’t know him that intimately—maybe he is.”

  Roger thought over the question, choosing his words with care. “In a sense everything he does—any vampire does—in human society is role-playing. But don’t forget that we, more so than human beings, tend to become what we simulate. It’s a distinction without a difference.”

  Britt shook her head. “Eloise doesn’t see it that way, and in her place I’d have a little trouble with the concept myself.”

  “He cares for her as deeply as he’s capable of, and he’s doing his best.” Roger felt a twinge of impatience with Britt—she ought to understand, even if Eloise, awash in a tide of grief, couldn’t. “He has my complete sympathy. You would never shut me out that way.”

  “You never wimped out on me when I was in pain.” The edge in her voice surprised him. “If you had, I might’ve developed some doubts, too.”

  He almost returned a sharp answer. Struck by the absurdity of the conversation, he stopped himself just in time. “Colleague, are we appropriating their quarrel?”

  Britt laughed softly. “I guess so. And I’m too tired to analyze why right now.” She eased out of his embrace. “Tomorrow—or today, I guess—I’ll have to go home. My apartment is collecting dust, and Sigmund must think I’ve forgotten him.”

  “You’ll come back in the evening?”

  “Sure, after supper, about seven thirty.”

  Feeling unreasonably deprived, though they’d spent more time together than usual this week, he watched her go upstairs. Juliette, he reminded himself. He was supposed to contact Juliette to ask whether she had a current number for Volnar. Tomorrow afternoon. His only way of reaching Gillian’s mother was through her agent, who certainly wouldn’t be answering his office phone at this time of night.

  That scheduling problem left Roger to the inadequate distraction of journal articles and insurance claim forms, while he brooded over Gillian’s disappearance. Where is she now? What is Camille doing with her? And do I really want the girl back? What he wanted scarcely mattered, though; he couldn’t abandon her.

  AT FOUR IN the afternoon on Saturday, Roger made the necessary call to New York. Waking up early didn’t prove to be as much of a chore as he’d feared, since he wasn’t sleeping well anyway. No messages on the answering machine, to his regret. Phoning the literary agent’s office, he got forwarded to the man’s home. Years ago, on the remote chance that they might sometime have to consult about Gillian, Juliette had added Roger’s name to the select list of people to whom her agent had permission to divulge her current location. Roger got the number of Juliette’s Manhattan hotel from him.

  Juliette answered sleepily after five rings, but the sound of Roger’s voice brought her fully awake. “Volnar told me Gillian was with you. What’s going on?”

  Roger hadn’t spoken to Juliette since she’d brought Gillian up from Williamsburg for a brief visit when the child was three. Before that, the only contact he’d had with the woman had been the night Gillian was conceived. Unlike a human female, Juliette displayed no self-consciousness about that night thirteen years ago. To vampires, reproduction was enviably free of emotional complications. Well aware that this was no time to let awkward feelings distract him, Roger plunged directly into the current problem. “She isn’t with me now. She was abducted.” He summarized the events of the past few nights.

  After a moment of silence Juliette said, “That’s not good. I didn’t know about Camille’s punishment, either, but from what little I’ve seen of her in the past, she’s not the type to emerge from it a better person. By our standards or the conventional ones.”

  The judgment confirmed Roger’s fears. “Then I think it’s past time for Volnar to take a direct hand in the situation. Do you have a number for him in London?”

  “Oh, he isn’t there. He hasn’t been able to leave. The airport is snowed in—haven’t you read the papers lately?”

  “I’ve been otherwise occupied,” Roger said dryly.

  “No reason for you to bother calling him. I’ll pass on the message as soon as possible. I’m sure he’ll get back to you if there’s any change.”

  “You’re saying we’re on our own down here?”

  “I wish I had better news,
” said Juliette, “but contrary to Dracula, we can’t control the weather. I’d drive down myself if it would do any good. Only it wouldn’t—I’m not telepathically bonded with her, either. Mothers and infants don’t do that. Children aren’t capable of it before adolescence.” She sounded genuinely worried. So the vampire pattern of child-rearing didn’t mean mothers lost all interest in their weaned offspring. “For what it’s worth, Roger, I’ve been thinking about asking Volnar to let Gillian spend some time with you. She needs exposure to the human viewpoint. However, I’d rather have waited until after she passed this developmental crisis.”

  “Thank you for your confidence.” He meant it, though he couldn’t quite keep a sarcastic edge out of his voice.

  Shortly after he broke the connection with Juliette, the phone rang. Roger was surprised to hear Professor Greer’s voice. The man sounded hoarse as well as exhausted. “Dr. Darvell, I have to talk to you.”

  “Go ahead, then.” Roger kept his tone flat. He didn’t want to give away anything until he had some idea of what the caller intended.

  “I mean in person. I feel nervous about discussing all this on the phone.”

  “This?”

  “You know—your daughter.” He did sound nervous. “How specific do I have to get? Listen, I’m sorry I did what I did to her. It was all a mistake. I want to help you get her back.”

  “Do you know where she is?” Unless Greer had picked up some new information since Claude questioned him, the answer would be no. But Roger saw no reason to reveal the extent of his own knowledge.

  “No, but I know who—” Greer broke off, as if he expected someone to overhear him. “When can I see you?”

  “Give me a number, and I’ll call you back.” Roger wanted to think over this change of heart at leisure, and he also wanted reinforcements. Besides, it would do no harm to make the man suffer a bit.

  Under protest Greer recited a number, begging Roger to return the call as soon as possible. Guilty conscience? Or did he expect Camille to be shadowing him? Roger thought he heard fear in the man’s voice.

  After a few minutes’ consideration Roger telephoned the convention hotel and asked for Claude. Fortunately, Eloise happened to be in their room and relayed a telepathic message to him. After a brief wait Claude picked up the phone.

  When Roger had informed him of Greer’s message, Claude said, “Glad you told me. I’ll be more than pleased to help you wring him out. Just one thing—I hope Camille wasn’t listening in on the entire conversation.”

  “What? How could she—oh, damn.”

  “Exactly. Remember, she formed a bond with him. We can only hope she’s too busy to keep a constant watch on him.”

  Roger ordered himself not to succumb to discouragement. “After only one exchange, the bond couldn’t be strong enough to alert her automatically, could it?”

  “Probably not. And if she’s at all like her brother in that respect, she won’t want to touch his mind any more often than necessary. Well, this is no place to discuss such matters, and I have to be somewhere in five minutes. I should be able to get away from here by eight. Tell Greer to be at your place at nine thirty.”

  They agreed on that plan, and Roger phoned the professor to make the arrangements. Greer seemed on the verge of hysterics at the enforced delay. Intriguing response. Roger hoped the intensity of it wouldn’t draw Camille’s attention.

  CLAUDE ARRIVED A few minutes after nine, having left Eloise to cover for him at the convention. “My scheduled appearances are over for the day, so they can get along perfectly well without me. She can appease any fans that come stalking after me, and the less she’s directly involved in this mess, the better.”

  “If I were Eloise,” said Britt from her favorite seat near the fireplace, “I’d object to that.”

  “So would she, ordinarily,” Claude said. “However, our present circumstances aren’t ordinary.” He spoke with a bleak absence of expression that stirred an echo of pain in Roger.

  “While waiting for you, I thought of a problem,” Roger said. “If you help me question Greer, he’ll know what you are—exactly what you don’t want in view of your notoriety.”

  “I don’t anticipate any trouble there.” Claude, dressed tonight in blue slacks and a turtleneck sweater of a lighter blue, took possession of the love seat opposite Britt. “I look quite different from the way I do at conventions or in publicity photos. Furthermore, I’ve already established some influence over him. If both of us keep telling him he’s never seen me before, I daresay he’ll believe it.”

  Roger turned to Britt. “What about you, colleague? Perhaps you’d better stay out of sight.”

  She started shaking her head before he finished the sentence. “And miss all the fun? Forget it. This is a rare chance to see Claude in action. Since there won’t be any reason for me to work on Greer again, it doesn’t matter if he knows I’m connected with you.”

  I should have known she wouldn’t let me steer her out of harm’s way. “Very well. How do you suggest we go about this, Claude?”

  “I’ll prepare him, and you act as chief inquisitor.” Claude’s aura pulsed with anticipation. God, he must be famished, if playing with Greer’s mind for a minute or two looks good to him!

  They agreed on that procedure. Britt excused herself to start coffee. She’d just returned with the pot and four mugs on a tray when the doorbell rang.

  Greer’s hollow eyes and uncombed hair underscored the anemic hue of his aura. Shaking the visitor’s hand, Roger touched skin almost as cool as his own. When he took Greer’s overcoat to hang in the foyer closet, Roger cringed from the odor of Scotch. Though not quite drunk, the professor must have been imbibing off and on ever since waking from last night’s ordeal.

  Guiding the visitor into the living room, Roger made no introductions. The room was almost dark except for the fire’s glow and the light seeping from the entryway. Greer’s eyes locked on Britt, who poured coffee and pretended not to notice his reaction. He sank onto one of the couches. “I think I’ve been had.”

  “Don’t expect us to apologize,” Roger said. “Consider yourself fortunate I didn’t report you to the police.”

  Britt passed around the coffee, which Roger and Claude accepted for the sake of appearances. Before exerting their paranormal powers on Greer, they planned to question him conventionally. Putting him at ease with social amenities might facilitate the process. He took a generous gulp of the coffee despite its scalding heat, then bowed his head on his hands. “Okay, I deserved that. Circumstances weren’t what I thought. That woman, Camille, told me—”

  “Begin at the beginning,” Claude interrupted. “How did you meet her?”

  Greer turned a puzzled stare upon Claude, as if trying to identify his face.

  “No, you don’t know me,” said Claude with a subtle psychic nudge. “Tell me about Camille.”

  “How I met her?” Greer gazed vacantly at the fire for a moment, as if he had to fumble for the memory. “She saw me here the other day, and she followed me to the motel where I was staying. Said she knew about your daughter. Vampire. Don’t know why I believed her so quickly.”

  “But you did,” Roger said. “And she encouraged you to abduct Gillian?”

  “Encouraged, hell! She talked me into it. Told me exactly what to do, gave me a crash course in Gillian’s strengths and weaknesses.” Greer shook his head. “I can’t believe I went along with her just like that. She even told me to have my gun handy.”

  “Did she say why?” Roger struggled to keep his rising anger reined. He was becoming more and more convinced that this man wasn’t its legitimate target.

  “Dangerous monster. She said Gillian was dangerous.” Greer brushed a limp strand of hair off his forehead. “I think she was lying. The kid sure didn’t look or act like a ravening wild beast. Oh, Christ, I didn’t mean to hurt her! I never meant for all this to get so out of hand!”

  Claude gazed steadily at him until he calmed down. “Do you rem
ember what happened last night?”

  “Camille is one herself. She must be.” Behind the beard, the professor’s mouth twisted with revulsion. “I think she bit me. Why else would I feel so weak? I could hardly move when I woke up this morning. And she definitely made me taste her blood. I remember that.”

  “How did it feel?” Britt asked.

  Startled, Greer looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Interesting.” He flushed. “Quite a turn-on, to tell the truth. Then we got out of the car—this was at a cabin where I was holding the girl. Camille knocked me out. Next thing I knew, I was waking up on the couch this morning. She must have taken the kid. I don’t know why.” His voice rasped even more now. He drank the rest of his coffee and held out the cup for a refill.

  “Why did you come to me?” Roger said.

  “To make up for what I did.” The statement rang false. Greer shifted his eyes from Roger’s. “Well, not only that. I want that woman, Camille or whatever her real name is, to get what’s coming to her. And I don’t claim to deserve your gratitude or anything, but I’d still like to have that interview from you.”

  “I’ll try to forget you said that.” Roger kept his voice icy to counteract the impulse to throttle the man.

  “Oh, hell, I do feel terrible about how I treated the kid, and that’s the truth.” He added in a less defensive tone, “And to top it off, Camille must have stolen the pictures I took of Gillian.”

  “Don’t worry about them,” Roger said, reinforcing the command with a small mental shove. He’d shredded and burned the photos an hour ago after displaying them to Britt’s avid examination. “There is a possible way for you to help us find Gillian. We’re going to hypnotize you.”

  Greer turned paler than he already was.

  Britt silently remarked, [Looks like you may get some resistance.]

  [No wonder,] Roger answered, [after he’s been subjected to that from you, Camille, and Claude, all in one night. On the other hand, he should be softened up so thoroughly that he shouldn’t be hard to mesmerize.]