Child of Twilight

by Margaret L. Carter

  “Charlotte’s Web! Eloise, that’s perfect!” Britt applauded.

  Though pleased at the gift’s effect, Roger was puzzled. He knew the story only by reputation. [A fable about a pig and a spider, colleague?]

  [You haven’t read it? How culturally deprived can you get? Take my word, colleague, it’s perfect. I’ll bet Volnar never would have thought of this.]

  [I’m sure he wouldn’t.] Aloud, Roger said to Gillian, “Your mother is on her way here. If she agrees to the plan, we’ll arrange to have you stay with me as often as Volnar can spare you from your regular course of training.”

  “And I do advise you,” said Claude, “to accept the bond with him. After the past few days, do you see the advantages of it?”

  “Yes,” Gillian whispered. “The way she did it was hideous, but there were moments—Yes, I understand why I need that.” She swallowed. “When do you think I’ll be able to have a bond with a donor, like you and Eloise?” She scanned the two of them, once again nestled together on the couch.

  Claude gave her a gently mocking smile. “In a godawful hurry to race in the opposite direction, aren’t you? Before you can handle that, you have a damn sight more growing to do. It’s a serious commitment. You place your life in your partner’s hands.” The tender way he absentmindedly caressed Eloise’s hair made it clear that he considered the risk well worth it.

  “What you need to think of at the moment,” Britt said, “is your first—donation.” She glanced at Roger. [I hope you aren’t going to be difficult about this, colleague.]

  [No, I’m resigned to it.]

  Gillian made no attempt to hide her trepidation. “Do I have your permission, sir?” He nodded. “You don’t think there’s a danger I will—harm her?”

  “I’m here,” Roger said. “I won’t allow it. Dismiss the worry from your mind, and enjoy the experience.” He envied her that. How would it feel to be initiated by a willing, knowledgeable donor? Nothing like his own confusion, guilt, and fear at that stage of his life.

  Britt rolled up her left sleeve to offer Gillian the curve of her inner elbow. Gillian gazed at Britt as if she, instead of her donor, were entranced. Haloed by her disheveled auburn hair, curling with dampness, the child’s thin, sharp-chinned face looked elfin in the firelight. Her fingers wrapped around Britt’s forearm with the timidity of a wild animal creeping out of the woods to accept crumbs from a human benefactor.

  “You needn’t hypnotize her,” Roger said, “but you must take care not to cause pain.”

  “I won’t,” Gillian whispered. But she made no move to feed.

  “Would you prefer that we leave?” Claude asked.

  Gillian emphatically shook her head. “The more people are watching, the less afraid I’ll be.”

  Britt put her right arm loosely around Gillian’s shoulders. “What are you afraid of? Your own impulses?”

  “When I shared Camille’s prey through the mind-link, she killed him.”

  Roger bit back a curse. Hell of a role model! “That doesn’t mean you’ll be irresistibly compelled to reenact it. No doubt the victim was entranced. Britt is fully aware.”

  He noticed Gillian’s thumb mechanically caressing the tender spot inside Britt’s elbow. “Camille constantly spoke of how ephemerals’ lives meant nothing to her, because they are ephemeral—because they always die. But we can die, too. She died. We can be destroyed by accident at any moment, just as you can. I have no guarantee that I’ll live any longer than you.” She looked at Britt, then Eloise. “Or you.” This truism, axiomatic for the human race, apparently struck her as a revelation.

  “No, you don’t,” said Britt. “None of us has a guarantee. So don’t let it paralyze you.”

  After one more glance at Roger for reassurance Gillian bent over to fasten her mouth to Britt’s arm. Without being told, Gillian remembered to prepare the spot with gentle flicks of her tongue, anesthetizing the skin with the secretions in her saliva. Britt stroked her hair. To Roger’s eyes, a rosy mist that mingled hunger and the longing to satisfy it enveloped both of them.

  Is that how Britt and I look together? No, it couldn’t be the same, for Britt’s yearning toward Gillian held no sexual overtones. Rather, the mood she projected felt almost maternal.

  Gillian’s fear dissipated in the joy of the sharing. Her eyelids drooped like a contented cat’s as she drank. The resemblance was heightened by the croon, very like a purr, that vibrated in her throat. When Roger touched her gently on the back of the neck, careful not to shock her into a violent reaction, she willingly lifted her head. Her eyes shone.

  Instead of the restless jealousy he’d expected to feel, Roger found that he shared her contentment. It hovered in the air like the fragrance of flower petals moist with spring rain. Claude’s face, he noticed, reflected the same satisfaction.

  Eloise murmured, “If you need more—”

  “No, that’s quite enough.” Gillian looked faintly surprised. “When the donor gives willingly, one doesn’t have to drain them to be fulfilled.”

  Claude chuckled at her air of discovery. “Congratulations, you are a fast learner, little one.”

  Leaning back against the couch, Gillian closed her eyes as if she might fall asleep despite the time of night. Much as he hated to disturb her, Roger decided he had to voice a warning. “This was for the purpose of initiation. You won’t be able to enjoy it often, until you’re old enough to find your own—partner. Meanwhile, you’ll have to hunt for unwitting donors, which will be more complicated.”

  Gillian nodded without opening her eyes, clearly in no mood to listen to cautionary lectures.

  “You’d better save it, old man,” Claude chuckled. “We all need rest, even if it’s too early for some of us to sleep.” He coaxed Eloise, also on the verge of dozing off, toward the door.

  As they prepared to leave, the doorbell rang. Roger sensed a nonhuman but non-hostile presence. Not Volnar yet, so it had to be Juliette. When he let her in, an icy wind laden with sleet howled after her.

  “You probably shouldn’t have driven in this,” Roger said as he took her coat. Uneasiness over facing her at such an emotionally-charged time drove him to hide behind the conventional remarks he would make to a human acquaintance.

  “It just started a few minutes ago.” Shaking ice out of her sleek, Irish Setter red hair, Juliette gave him a sly smile in recognition of his nervousness. The smile faded as she raised her head like a fox scenting the air. “Gillian is here. What happened to Camille?”

  “Dead. I’ll tell you about it later.” Weariness descended on Roger at the thought of repeating the story over again.

  After a nod of greeting to Claude and a measuring look at Eloise, Juliette followed Roger into the living room. Britt stood up at their entry. “How do you do, it’s a pleasure to meet Gillian’s mother.” Silently she remarked to Roger, [Why am I trying to lie to a vampire? This is a little too much like meeting an ex-wife.]

  [No, never think that!] He felt Britt wince at the force of his reply. [You know there was never any personal tie between us. I was no more than a sperm donor.]

  [I know that’s how your kind view it. Being human, I have a little trouble with the concept.]

  As if guessing Britt’s qualms, Juliette said, “I’m no threat to you, and I appreciate what you’ve done for my daughter. Though I’m surprised it needed to be done.” She gazed at Gillian, who stared up at her.

  “Good evening, Mo—Juliette.”

  Reaching for Gillian’s hand, Juliette drew her to her feet. “Let me look at you. I didn’t expect to have our semiannual visit in these circumstances.” The girl swayed with the languid intoxication induced by her donor’s blood.

  Roger, watching from a few feet away, knew Juliette couldn’t help recognizing Gillian’s freshly consummated initiation. The blood scent in the air, the child’s behavior, and the hue of Britt’s aura made the situation clear. Gillian squirmed beneath her mother’s cool survey. Finally Juliette said, “You’ve grown
since I last saw you. I suppose Camille had something to do with that, but your human heritage probably had more. I wonder what other surprises you have waiting for us?”

  “I don’t know. I am—surprised—too.” At a gesture from Juliette, Gillian resumed her seat next to Britt. “You are not—disappointed?”

  “Hardly! I’m intrigued. Would you like to go with me to a hotel for the rest of the night?”

  Gillian glanced at Roger, who was fully occupied in trying to disguise his reaction to her comments. Damn it, who had made her feel so inadequate and insecure? He’d expected Volnar to do a better job of protecting her! “Lord Volnar is supposed to come here to pick me up sometime tomorrow.”

  Juliette sat next to Gillian, holding her hand. “So you’ve decided to give him another chance? Very mature decision. I have an idea, though. Why don’t we ask him to let you spend a week or two at my place in Williamsburg first?”

  Gillian let out an audible sigh, slumping into a more relaxed pose. “Thank you, I would like that. Also, Roger said—” She cast an appealing look at him.

  “I proposed to Volnar that I take part in Gillian’s upbringing. Call it joint custody, if you like. I refuse to be excluded from her life any longer. The methods used to date, so far as I can see, haven’t been outstandingly successful.”

  Juliette said with a rueful half-smile, “I concede that point. Fine, you have my support, if that’s what you’re asking for.”

  Claude, listening from the doorway, said, “It’ll be an interesting experiment—some would say risky. I’m surprised to hear you agree so readily.”

  Juliette’s eyes glittered as she looked over at him. “Why? If I believe interbreeding with ephemerals will enhance our gene pool, isn’t this a logical outgrowth of that belief? What’s the point of producing a part-human child and excluding her from that part of herself?”

  Britt mentally applauded. [I can’t exactly claim to like this lady, but I approve of the way she thinks.] Aloud, she said, “I have to give you fair warning that if Gillian spends time with Roger, I’ll have input into her education, too.”

  Eloise spoke up. “So will I. As often as we can visit Roger when she’s here. Or maybe we’ll invite her to L.A. now and then.”

  Juliette flashed her feral smile at the two women. “What is our world coming to when the day people start issuing ultimata to our faces? Yes, I’m sure Gillian will be delighted to have your input.”

  Gillian nodded agreement.

  More gently her mother said, “I’ll accept anything that may counteract what Camille did to you. Later, when you’re recovered, you can tell me about it.”

  Gillian squeezed her hand. “It was not all terrible. There were times when I—enjoyed her.” When no one lashed out at her for the confession, Gillian went on, “She helped me practice flying. And she taught me a number of songs. I now know fourteen verses of something called ‘This Land Is Your Land.’ Also ‘You’re the Top,’ by Cole Porter, ‘Mademoiselle from Armentieres,’ ‘Die Lorelei’ in the original German—”

  “Later,” Juliette said. “We shall help you sort out the useful things she gave you from the damaging effects. For the moment, try to put her out of your mind. Rest.”

  Tension visibly oozed out of the girl. She murmured a drowsy farewell to Claude and Eloise. “I look forward to visiting you in Los Angeles. I want to view your videotape collection and learn more computer games from you.”

  Eloise was laughing giddily as Roger escorted them to the door. He didn’t bother trying to talk Claude out of driving across the bridge to Britt’s; he sensed Claude wanted to have Eloise to himself.

  While heating milk for Juliette, Roger telepathically remarked to Britt, [Gillian’s life won’t be as easy as she imagines. Aside from all the other potential problems of balancing her human and vampire aspects, a child of twelve won’t be able to hunt the way Juliette or Volnar can. She may have some rough times ahead.]

  [No point in scaring her by bringing that up now. One day—or should that be night?—at a time, colleague.]

  After serving Juliette the brandy-laced hot milk, Roger retired to his office while Britt went to bed, leaving Gillian and her mother in privacy to talk. Despite his own negative comments, Roger felt an irrational optimism about his daughter’s future. She’ll be all right. Among us, we’ll make sure of it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CLINGING TO ROGER’S arm as they picked their way between patches of ice in the parking lot of St. Mary’s Church, Britt said, “Too bad Claude had to miss that. You have such a great choir.”

  Overhead, bells chimed to herald the transition between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Roger agreed with Britt’s opinion of the choir, which offset the ordeal of congregational singing. Few auditory experiences were more painful to a creature with perfect pitch than listening to amateurs groan their way through “We Three Kings” or “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.” Nevertheless, he persisted in refusing to do his part to ameliorate the situation by joining the choir. He dodged the music director whenever she approached him with pleas about how much they needed another bass. Too late to discourage her by pretending tone-deafness; she’d heard him sing in the Sunday service too often.

  Tonight, though, nothing could mar his pleasure. Eloise, latching onto his other arm, said, “But Claude did experience it all through me. He says that’s one of the best advantages of the bond.” She held out a gloved hand, palm up, to catch the first sprinkle of snowflakes. “White Christmas! That’s one thing we never get in L.A.”

  “We don’t get it here too often either,” Britt said. “It’s been an unusually snowy December for this part of the state.”

  Roger let the conversation eddy around him. He enjoyed this guilt-free chance to bask in the overlapping auras of two vibrant women at once. Like the service of Holy Communion, their warmth nourished him and whetted his appetite at the same time.

  [That verges on blasphemy,] Britt teased.

  [Nonsense. You’re the one who is always quoting that Talmudic precept that refusing a legitimate pleasure is a sin.]

  [I’m glad you’ve finally made up your mind that it’s legitimate.]

  Holding the car door for his two companions, Roger reflected on how accurate her perception was. It had taken him years to reconcile his vampiric needs with his religious background.

  [Now that the midnight mass is over,] Britt commented, [you can stop fasting. At least I hope you will.]

  Quite aside from the pre-communion abstinence, he’d resolutely kept his distance from her since Monday night to give her time to recover from Gillian. Though he drank no more than an ounce or twice each time they made love, the cumulative effect taxed Britt’s health. [Certainly, dear colleague. Christmas is a major feast day of the Church. Celebration is a religious duty.]

  Britt’s thoughts bubbled with silent laughter. His skin tingling with the sensuality she projected, Roger had to concentrate hard to keep the car on the road.

  Since the snow flurry had just begun, the streets were clear enough to make the drive home routine. Claude welcomed them at Roger’s townhouse with mugs of hot buttered rum, the ingredients for which he’d managed to ferret out on his own. “A trifle too sweet for me,” he said, “but it does fit the season.” They sat in front of the fire to drink in a soothing dimness punctuated by candles and the multicolored lights on the tree. Eloise snuggled up to Claude as if they were settling in for a long stay. Roger wished they would leave—they were still using Britt’s apartment—but couldn’t force himself to the discourtesy of saying so.

  “I’ve been wondering,” said Claude, “whether you’ve had a run-in with that county police contact of yours over Camille’s suicide.”

  “He called about it the following day,” Roger said. “Fortunately, I managed to convince him Britt and I knew nothing about her death. My car, thank God, wasn’t noticed in the area.”

  Britt set her half-finished mug on the coffee table and leaned against his shoulder. “Roger st
onewalled. He’s very good at that.”

  Roger tasted his drink. Yes, too sweet and rich, though he enjoyed it in small doses. “It helped that I went down to Captain Hayes’ office and spoke to him in person. I told him Gillian had run away from Camille and called me to pick her up. Hayes believed me.”

  Claude smiled at that. “I should hope so, little brother, or you’d be losing your touch.”

  Eloise said, “Have you heard from Gillian since she left?”

  “She phoned me from Williamsburg yesterday,” Roger said. “She has taken human prey twice under Juliette’s guidance, with no trouble. And she’s prepared to accept blood-exchange with Volnar.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Eloise.

  Claude nodded. “Fearless Leader should be able to counteract the negative effects Camille left on her.”

  “By the way,” Roger said to Eloise, “Gillian sent the message that she enjoyed Charlotte’s Web.”

  Britt said, “One thing about vampire adolescents, they don’t have preconceived prejudices about children’s literature versus adult reading material. I remember what a tough time I had getting my oldest nephew to look at A Wrinkle in Time. He thought it was for kids and beneath his dignity.”

  “Yes, our children suffer from an entirely different set of prejudices,” Claude said.

  Britt finished her drink and, at a silent suggestion from Roger, got up to switch on a Bach cassette. They basked in the music without talking for a while; over the years Britt and Eloise had adopted the vampire habit of dispensing with low-content social chatter.

  When Roger eventually disturbed the silence by getting up to add logs to the fire, Claude said, “You know, I’ve thought a great deal about what flowed between us in the last moments before Camille’s death.”