Books were scarce and she had to rely on her wits and imagination to keep her pupils interested, especially the older boys. Reading, writing, spelling, grammar, and arithmetic were expected; geography and history and geometry were a plus. The school term was erratic, as children were not expected to come to school when they were needed at home for spring and summer planting and fall harvesting.
She was expected to fill the lamps and clean the chimneys every day, to bring a bucket of water and a scuttle of coal, to provide pens and wipers for the students. She was also expected to enforce discipline but was cautioned not to go overboard.
She loved her position, though she found some of the rules she was expected to follow a trifle stifling. She was expected to be a model of deportment both in the school-house and in the community. It was taken for granted that she would attend church each week and sing in the choir. She was not to smoke or use liquor in any form.
She was not allowed to live in a house by herself but was expected to board with the families of her students. She would have preferred to live alone but that left too much room for scandal. Of course, living with her students did give her a valuable insight into their behavior. She had been informed that, should she decide to marry, her tenure would end immediately.
Still, in spite of all the restrictions, she loved teaching, and she loved the town. She was thinking about the next day's lessons as she made her way toward home that evening. Lost in thought, she didn't see the man striding toward her until it was too late. She barreled into him, would have fallen if he had not caught her shoulders to steady her.
"Oh, excuse me," she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry."
"No harm done."
His voice was deep and richly textured and it seemed to seep into the farthest reaches of her soul. She looked up quickly, her gaze meeting his. Dark gray eyes looked back at her; they, too, seemed to delve into her very soul.
His brow furrowed as he stared into her eyes. "Is it you?"
"I beg your pardon ? Have we met before?"
"Yes," he said, "though I fear you do not remember me." He swept off his hat with a flourish and bowed. "Dominic St. John, at your service."
"Annie Williams," she replied. "I'm sorry, I don't recall meeting you before, Mr. St. John. Was it here, in town?"
"No. Might I inquire as to where you were going in such a hurry, Miss Williams?"
"I was just on my way home." She smiled self-consciously. "I'm afraid my mind was not on where I was going."
He smiled, revealing remarkably white teeth. "Might I accompany you the rest of the way?"
She glanced over her shoulder. Old Man Peters was sitting in front of the barber shop, pretending he wasn't listening to every word. Mrs. Peabody was sweeping the boardwalk in front of her shop, watching avidly.
"I'm not sure that's a good, idea," she replied. "I can't afford the gossip."
Dominic followed her gaze, his eyes narrowed. Abruptly, Old Man Peters got up and hurried down the street. Mrs. Peabody shook the dirt from her broom and went into her shop.
"Change your mind, "Dominic urged softly.
She knew she should refuse, but she couldn't resist the sweet, pleading tone of his voice, or refuse the urgings of her own heart. When he offered her his arm, she took it.
"I don't remember seeing you around before, " she remarked.
"I've only just arrived."
"Will you be staying long?"
His gaze rested on her face, his dark gray eyes filled with an intensity that was both frightening and somehow tantalizing. "I will be now…"
"Dominic." She woke with his name on her lips, the memory of her dream still vivid. Was it only a dream?
Sitting up in bed, she stared out the window. Where were these dreams—she refused to call them memories—coming from? Was it just the power of suggestion? That would have been the easy answer, she thought, if she hadn't had them before she met Dominic on the beach.
With a sigh, she turned onto her stomach and closed her eyes.
She saw him every night for the next three months and each night saw her falling more deeply in love with him. He treated her with such gentleness. There was an Old World courtliness about him that was charming and utterly appealing. The only thing she found odd was that he never sought her out during the day.
On All Hallows Eve, just before midnight, he asked her to marry him and she accepted, even though it would mean losing her position with the school. She knew she would miss teaching, but looked forward to the time when she would be able to teach her own children. He wanted to wed the next evening, but she couldn't go off and leave the children with no one to teach them.
"As soon as my replacement arrives," she promised. "We'll be married that night if you wish. "
He had not been happy with her decision, but, knowing how she loved teaching and how much she loved the children, he reluctantly agreed.
It was the week before Christmas when she came down with a headache that sent her home early from school. When she woke the next morning, she was burning with fever, then shaking with chills.
Dominic came to her late that night.
"Annie?" She heard the anxiety in his voice as he smoothed her hair from her brow.
"Dominic'? Is that you?" She opened her eyes but saw only darkness.
"I'm here, sweeting," he replied softly.
She reached for his hand, clutched it to her breast. "I love you."
"And I love you, querida."
"Have you talked to the doctor?"
He nodded.
"Then you know I'm …" She couldn't say the word. How could she be dying? She had never been sick a day in her life until now.
"Annie, please do not leave me. "
"I don't want to."
"Then stay. Trust me to help you."
"What can you do that the doctor cannot?" she asked, and listened in growing horror as he told her a tale she could not believe.
"No. " She shook her head weakly. "Even if what you're saying is true, I can't live like that. "
"Annie, it is the only way!" He caught her up in his arms and buried his face in her hair. "Please, my best beloved one, please do not leave me again!"
She clutched at his shoulders as she felt the life fading from her body. "I think I shall miss you, Dominic, even in heaven."
His voice, calling her name, was the last thing she remembered…
"No!" Tracy woke abruptly, her body bathed in sweat. She glanced at the window, relieved to see that night was withdrawing her cloak from the face of the land.
On the brink of the dark sleep of his kind, he stared into the darkness, his senses filled with Tracy. The scent of her perfume lingered in his nostrils. The memory of her voice whispered in his ear. Her smile warmed his heart. He closed his eyes and images from the past flooded his mind.
He saw a scantily clad Tracy dancing in front of a tent full of men, holding them spellbound as she moved in sinuous grace, her long golden hair falling like a veil of silk past her waist. Her hips moved in slow, sensual allure, the hint of a smile promising to fulfill the fantasy of every man in the place. Only she wasn't Tracy then—she was Kiya, the enchantress.
He stood near the back of the tent, his hands fisted at his sides, his jaw clenched. The scent of unbridled lust filled the evening air.
He took a step forward, anger surging through him when one of the men tried to grab hold of her arm. With a laugh, Kiya twirled out of the man's reach, her diaphanous skirts swirling around her ankles, flying up to offer a glimpse of her long, shapely legs. The jeweled bracelets on her wrists winked in the candlelight.
Men tossed gold coins at her feet when the music ended. She quickly scooped up the money and with a last seductive smile, ran out of the tent.
Dominic followed her outside. Keeping to the shadows, he ghosted after her as she made her way toward her lodgings.
Though his feet made no sound as he moved over the sand, she paused and glanced over her shoulder.
"W
ho's there?"
"A friend," he replied.
Lifting her skirt, she drew a wicked-looking knife from a sheath strapped high on her thigh. "What kind of friend hides in the darkness?"
"One who would like to know you better. "
"Then show yourself."
He walked slowly toward her, stopping an arm's length away.
"Why are you following me?" she demanded.
"I merely wanted to make sure you arrived at your destination safely."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"I would not wish to see any harm befall one so lovely, so talented."
She studied his face as if judging his sincerity, then nodded. "You were watching me tonight. "
"I have watched you every night. "
"And followed me home!" she exclaimed.
"Yes."
She studied him a moment longer, then sheathed her weapon, uncaring that she exposed a long, slender leg to do so.
"Come, " she invited, "walk with me. "
He walked her home every night after that, often staying with her until the hour before dawn, when he left to seek his lair. She was a wild girl, filled with the fire of youth and an inexhaustible passion for living. Her laughter was like the tinkling of temple bells, her hair like fine black silk, her skin smooth and without blemish.
In time, she took him into her heart, and then into her bed. And when, at last, he told her what he was, she did not turn away in disgust or look at him with revulsion, or banish him from her presence. And for that he had vowed to love her as long as she lived, to grant her any wish that was within his power to give.
They spent three years together. She became famous throughout all the known land. She danced for kings and princes, for sultans and sheiks. And always he stood in the shadows, watching over her.
As her fame grew, he warned her to be careful of her associations, never to go anywhere alone. There were many men, both old and young, who tried to gain her favor. Some offered marriage, some offered wealth, a few offered both. And there were those who tried to take by force that which she would not willingly give. His wrath was their reward.
But he was not there the day she needed him most. Ignoring his advice, she had gone out to wander through the marketplace in the late afternoon. On her way home, she had been attacked. She had fought off her attacker but not before the man stabbed her several times. Badly wounded, she had tried to make it back to her lodgings and when she realized she wasn't going to make it, she had crawled into the underbrush alongside the road.
He had found her there shortly after sunset. Her face had been as pale as fine white linen, her garments soaked with her life's blood. For once, the sight and the scent of blood had no effect on his inhuman hunger. He had gathered her into his arms and held her close.
"Kiya." He called her name again and again, uniting her spirit to return, until, at last, her eyelids fluttered open.
"Dominic. " Her lips formed his name but no sound emerged.
"Do not leave me!" Using his teeth, he ripped open his wrist and held it to her mouth. "Drink!"
But it was too late. She was too weak to fight for her life, too weak to swallow the life-giving liquid.
Her eyelids fluttered down.
He held her in his arms, rocking her back and forth, as she breathed her last. "Kiya, my best beloved one, I will find you again, I swear it."
And he had found her, again and again and again, only to lose her when death took her beyond his reach.
But no more.
"No more." He murmured the words as the sun climbed high in the sky, dragging him down into the dreamless depths of that sleep that was like death itself.
It was late afternoon when Tracy laid her brush aside and stood to stretch her back and shoulders. She had risen with the dawn, eager to put her dreams behind her, to lose herself in her painting. Her art had always been an escape from whatever problems were worrying her. She was in control at the canvas, her whole being focused on the intimate act of creation. This morning, she had not painted from any sketches or photographs; she had simply stood in front of a blank square of canvas and let her imagination take flight.
Now, she stared at her work in wonder. A tall, dusky-skinned woman danced across the canvas, her long hair shimmering around her shoulders. Her colorful skirts swirled around her ankles, revealing shapely calves. A bracelet of rubies and emeralds reflected the light of the candles that lit the tent. Men of all ages sat in a wide circle around her, staring avidly. And in the background, blending in with the shadows, stood a tall, dark man.
A man who looked very much like Dominic St. John.
But it was the woman who held her gaze. It was the woman she had dreamed of the night before. It seemed she was no longer able to separate her troublesome thoughts from her work, after all.
Pulling off her smock, she tossed it over the back of a chair and hurried from the room, her thoughts on Dominic. For the first time in two weeks, he hadn't sent her flowers with a note telling her where to meet him. Perhaps he had been called away on business, she thought, though she couldn't believe he would have gone anywhere without telling her beforehand. They had spent every night together since he sent her flowers the first time. Occasionally, she found herself wondering what he did during the day, why he never called her on the phone, why they never went out to lunch or dinner. After all, he had told her he was retired, so it couldn't be a job that kept him occupied during the daylight hours. Next time she saw him, maybe she would ask him to come over for lunch.
Needing to feel the sunlight on her face, she left the house and went down the long, winding stairs that led to the beach. Kicking off her shoes, she walked along the shore, enjoying the sound of the waves. Seagulls flew overhead, wheeling and diving. She saw a couple of seals frolicking out past the breakers.
She stopped to watch them for a few minutes. But even the antics of the seals couldn't keep her troublesome thoughts at bay for long. Why was she having those disturbing dreams? Why had she felt compelled to paint Dominic as a vampire? Who was the dancing woman, and why did she have the feeling that she knew her? Was it just stress? That seemed like the obvious answer, but she didn't feel stressed. She loved the house. Her painting was going well. Maybe she had just been working too hard.
With a shake of her head, she started walking again. She wouldn't think of it now. The day was too beautiful, the sky too blue.
The beach was crowded today. Teenage girls in brightly-colored bikinis lounged on blankets, working on their tans, while their boyfriends showed off playing volleyball. Mothers helped their kids build castles in the sand. A father perched his young son on his shoulders and waded into the shallows. Further down the beach, an old man and woman were fishing. A lifeguard sat on tower number ten some distance away. She had waved to him from time to time when she passed by.
Finding a quiet place on a patch of sand, Tracy sat down, her arms resting on her bent knees. There was something mesmerizing about staring at the ocean, watching the endless cycle of the waves as they washed in to kiss the shore, then rolled back out to sea.
She lost track of time as she sat there, lost in the infinite rhythm of the waves, the quiet beauty of the ocean that stretched away as far as the eye could see. This was reality. Not the bizarre dreams that troubled her sleep. Not memories of past lives that she didn't believe were possible in the first place.
Certainly not vampires with glowing red eyes and fangs dripping with blood, or mysterious raven-haired dancing girls.
"Are you all right?"
"What?" She looked up to find a tall, blond man wearing a pair of red trunks staring at her through the bluest eyes she had ever seen.
"You've been sitting here for a long time. I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He looked suddenly embarrassed. "I know you're not drowning, but…"
It took Tracy a moment to realize he was the lifeguard. "I'm fine," she said, smiling. "Just lost in thought, I guess."
He nodded. "You might wa
nt to get out of the sun for a while," he said. "You're getting a heck of a sunburn."
Tracy glanced at her arms and legs, which were indeed very, very pink. "I think you're right." When she started to rise, he offered her his hand. She took it without a second thought and let him pull her to her feet. "Thank you."
"My pleasure, Miss… ?"
"Warner. Tracy."
"Bryan Longstreet."
"Nice to meet you, Bryan."
"Likewise."
She walked over to a shady place beneath a tree and sat on a rock, somewhat surprised when Bryan followed her.
"Have you lived in this area long?" he asked.
"No. Actually, I just recently bought a house here. Why?"
"I'm new here myself. Kind of a strange town, don't you think?"
"What do you mean?"
"Have you been to the village? You hardly see anybody on the streets during the day, but at night…" He shrugged. "It's like the place comes alive after dark. Seems like most of the residents are night people. Some of them seem kind of… weird."
"I hadn't noticed, but it's kind of an artsy town, isn't it? You know, lots of musicians and painters and writers, actors hiding out."
"Yeah, I guess that could be it." Bryan glanced at his tower, then back at Tracy. "I don't suppose you'd like to go over to the Driftwood for a drink later? I'll be through here in another hour or so."
Her first thought was to say no. He was younger than she was, after all. And then she thought, why not? The Driftwood was a local bar not far from the beach, and it was just for a drink, nothing more. "I'd like that."
"Great!"
She couldn't help being flattered by his exuberance. "I'll go home and change and meet you there."
"Terrific. See you then." He smiled, revealing a dimple in his left cheek, then ran down the beach toward tower number ten.
Chapter 6
Returning home, Tracy went upstairs and took a quick shower. Humming softly, she brushed out her hair and tied it back in a ponytail, then changed into a sleeveless flowered sundress, slipped on a pair of strappy gold sandals, and drove to the Driftwood. She parked in the lot in the back, grabbed her handbag, and walked around the corner to the entrance.
A Whisper of Eternity Page 5