Chapter 31
“God rest his soul,” I whispered the prayer to darkness and I woke in a strange bed and a strange room, my head throbbing and my eyes hot and tired. Eventually I focused upon the shadowy figure sitting by the side of the room, his hands pressed over his face. My heart jumped slightly. “Max? I thought you had gone.”
The tortured face of Victor Lange looked up at me, sad and aged. Startled by this perception of him, I blinked my eyes. When I opened them again, I realized that his features had not changed, but his manner and stance made him appear older. The weight of his many centuries seemed to hang about his neck.
“He is gone, Deirdre.”
I could not tell whether he spoke the words aloud or if some portion of him still remained in my mind. But the result was the same; I felt his pain and his loss as keenly as if it were my own. And, although my empathy for him was enormous, I knew I could do nothing to help him.
“Victor, I am sorry,” I started to say lamely.
“No, do not be sorry.” He managed a vestige of a smile. “It was what he wanted.”
Silence wrapped us for a while in its dark softness. Then we both tried to speak at the same time.
“How long have I . . .” I began.
“You’ve been found . . .”
We both laughed nervously. “You first, Victor.”
“You’ve been here for well over a day. There’s about three hours until dawn and you’re completely free to leave whenever you want to. I sent Mitch back home when the verdict came through; he did not want to go, but I explained that you would be here for at least a day. He sat with you for a while, but when the sun rose he left.” Victor waved his hand feebly. “He said something about a celebration when you got home.”
“And the verdict was?”
“Guilty, but with just cause. No one could deny that yours was the hand that dealt his death. And yet, with what I learned, I could not see you unjustly punished. You do, however, have one small penance to perform. Mitch agreed to assist you if necessary.” Victor stopped for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “He’s a good man, Deirdre,” he said grudgingly. “Although I can’t help but wish that you had chosen Max, I suppose you just did what you thought you had to.”
“Victor,” I began, but he did not let me continue.
“It won’t help, you do understand, don’t you? Nothing you can say or do will bring him back. But”—he straightened up in his chair—“as I said before, I cannot let my personal emotions interfere with my leadership of The Cadre.” He looked at me again and his eyes seemed weak, drained of the energy they had always shown.
I did not try to offer my sympathy again. We were bonded so closely by his entrance into my mind, by the blood we both shared, I felt his overwhelming sadness as if it were my own. I also felt that there would be no cure for Victor. I got out of bed and walked over to him, taking his hand and silently touching it to the tears on my face.
He nodded, then smiled again. “So, your penance is this. You are required to perform one service, any service named, for The Cadre at any time we should choose to request it. May I have your promise?”
“Certainly, Victor. I’ll do what I can.”
“You may never be called on it, you understand. But you’ll need to keep in touch with us, let us know where you can be reached at all times.”
I nodded. “I can do that.”
“There’s one more thing.” He stood and absently brushed his suit jacket, taking the pose of his former elegance. “We’ve a vacancy on the judicial board. As the eldest unhoused member of Alveros, you could petition to occupy it. At this point, you could even petition for establishment of your own house.”
“Victor,” I said slowly and deliberately, “I do not wish to take Max’s place, nor do I wish to set up my own dynasty. Is it required?”
“No, no.” He smiled at me again as he opened the door. “But let me know if you change your mind. Go on home to Mitch now and have a nice celebration.” The final word seemed to choke him and he said no more, but walked out the door, his shoulders slumped.
I found my shoes, coat, and bag and prepared to leave. When I entered the hallway outside the room, I realized that I was still in the warren of rooms that constituted The Cadre’s quarters. I recognized many of the rooms I passed from the interviews I had undergone the previous evening. The thick gray carpeting cushioned my footsteps and I moved silently, though not silently enough for the occupants of these rooms. When I reached the door that was Vivienne’s, she stood there, waiting for me.
“Deirdre.” She smiled at me. “Congratulations on such a favorable verdict.” Her hair hung in a mass of unruly curls to her waist, and she was dressed in a filmy black negligee that left little of her lithe body to the imagination. I looked away, extremely embarrassed by her blatant exhibitionism. “I’d hoped you might join me for a drink before you leave. Who knows when we will meet again?”
I glanced back at her and the expression on her face was friendly and earnest. She seemed so young, so untouched by the life that she must have led, that it was hard to believe she was like me. But the power in her eyes, the strength and glow of her body, spoke the truth. I wanted to refuse her offer; I did not trust her, did not trust any of The Cadre, but I knew that they could not hurt me now, so I returned her smile and nodded.
“Yes, thank you, that would be nice.”
“Come in, then. I promise I will not keep you any longer than an hour or so, but we’ve so much in common that I thought we should have a nice long talk.” She moved to one side as I entered, but not so far away that I could not smell her perfume. “You see, I don’t visit here very often. I find the ways of The Cadre confining at times, and I much prefer to be on my own.”
She directed me to a room behind the one in which our interview had been held. It was expensively furnished with beautiful antique furniture and lit by many candles. One corner of it held a large ornate coffin much like Max’s. I shuddered when I saw it, then shook my head.
“Do you all sleep in one of those?”
Vivienne followed my stare and gave a small shrug. “So we’ve been taught. And you don’t.”
“I’ve never found it necessary.”
“And you don’t fear the sun’s penetration?”
I laughed a little nervously. “Of course I do. But not so much that I care to be confined the entire day. I’m careful to protect myself in other ways.”
“Ah,” she said, “that is most interesting. Please make yourself comfortable and I’ll pour you a drink.” She indicated a brocade sofa and I took off my coat and sat down. “White or red?”
“Red, please.” I watched while Vivienne worked at the sideboard that apparently doubled as her bar. Her hands were small and delicate, but the nails were quite long and highly lacquered. Not wanting to appear ill at ease, I kicked off my shoes and casually curled my legs beneath me, wondering what purpose lay behind her invitation. Ron had said she didn’t like rogues, but she knew what I was and still had asked me here. Her mind was completely inaccessible to mine; I had no experience in dealing with this situation. I should just go home, I thought, and try to forget that The Cadre ever existed.
Vivienne turned around, two glasses of wine in her hands. “I will not keep you long, I promise,” she said as if she had read my mind. “I’m sure you want to be back as soon as possible with your Mitch.” I smiled to myself. His name pronounced in her French accent sounded so exotic, so different. Crossing the room with an almost sinister grace, she handed me a crystal goblet. “I think you will find this a marvelous vintage. I’ve had it set aside for many years for a special occasion.”
I took a sip; Vivienne was right, it was wonderful, rich but slightly biting. I took a long drink and sighed. “Thank you.” I smiled at her. “It is very nice.”
“I hoped you’d like it.” She settled onto a chair opposite me. “I’ve several others just like it, enough to last quite a while.” She made a move as if to pull her negligee closer to her body, but all she managed to do was cause it to drop from one shoulder.
I felt extremely uncomfortable. “So,” I said, trying to make my voice as friendly as possible, “what house are you from, initially?”
She looked at me over the rim of her glass, then took a sip but said nothing.
“I’m sorry, is that a forbidden topic? I’m totally unaware of Cadre etiquette.”
“No,” she laughed, but I relaxed only slightly. “I was just wondering how it could be possible you didn’t know.”
I sighed again, setting my glass down on the end table and pushed my hair back from my face. “Vivienne, quite honestly, I know nothing of any of this. And”—I slipped my shoes back on, stood up, and reached for my coat with a twisted smile—“somehow, I suspect I am much better off that way. Thank you for the drink.”
“No, Deirdre, don’t leave yet.” Vivienne jumped up from her seat to prevent my retreat; her voice was low and urgent. “I forget that all of this is new to you and that you’ve been under a terrible strain these past few weeks. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable; it’s just that there are so few of us, female vampires, I mean, and I thought we could become friends.”
I studied Vivienne as she stood in front of me; her eyes glistened in the candlelight and she seemed sincere and honest. I fully understood her feelings; I, too, missed female companionship.
Sensing my weakening, Vivienne pressed on. “As far as my lineage, I don’t mind discussing that with you. It’s not forbidden and it’s no secret.” She leaned forward and traced her nails down my cheek, not pulling her hand away when I tensed, but grasping my chin delicately yet firmly. “I’m also from the house of Alveros,” she whispered to me, an odd smile crossing her face. Her face held a strange mixture of longing and loathing, desire and hate.
I moved away from her so abruptly that she almost lost her balance. “But Deirdre,” she continued, straightening herself, touching my arm lightly, “please consider. I could do so much for you. You could have power and wealth in The Cadre. After all, you and I are sisters in blood.”
I met her eyes squarely and surely. “All the same, Vivienne,” I said, shrugging off her touch and moving to the door, “until I know what sort of game you are playing with me, I would prefer to remain an only child.”
To my surprise, Vivienne took no offense, but laughed, a light metallic laugh, so charming and inhuman, so like her. “Bravo, Deirdre,” she called after me as I left the room. “Have a nice evening.”
There was no limo waiting for me outside, so I walked to Mitch’s apartment. I dismissed the strange episode in Vivienne’s room, knowing that I didn’t need to worry about her, that she was no threat to my life. With my trial before The Cadre finally over, I felt freer than I ever had before, and hummed to myself, smiling at the few people I passed.
There was no trace of Max in my mind or on the street, and although I missed his presence, I felt relieved and at peace. I would no longer be tortured by thoughts of him, for by his own admission I was free of the guilt for his death. For the first time in over a century, I did not need to fear my dreams. The demons of my sleep had finally been exorcised and were put to rest.
When I had gotten to within three blocks of Mitch’s apartment, I felt a cold stab of fear and stopped dead on the sidewalk. The way the recent events of our lives had worked out seemed too simple. Would it really be possible for Mitch and me to enjoy our lives together, unencumbered by demands of the outside world? Well, why the hell not, I reassured myself, I deserve a happy ending the same as everyone else.
I counted our assets in my mind. I had enough money to last us several lifetimes, not even counting the fortune I had inherited from Max. We could go anywhere, live anywhere we liked. Freed from guilt, freed from the sentence of The Cadre, I was immortal and Mitch, well, Mitch was young, strong, and in good health. He could conceivably live another forty or fifty years. They would be good years, I was certain, filled with love and happiness. And when death finally came to claim him, I would follow. But finally, after over a century of running away, I would be living a normal life, the life I had been denied the first time around.
I started walking again, quickly this time, for all my rationalization could not allay the terrible feeling that something wrong had happened. No, I corrected myself, beginning to run, ignoring the sharp pain of fear entering my stomach and washing over my entire body, something wrong is happening right now. Right now.
I kicked off my shoes and ran the rest of the way, shouting his name, brushing past surprised predawn walkers and joggers, the buildings and cars that I passed blurred with speed and tears.
I was almost prepared for what I faced when I arrived home. I bounded up the steps, noticing that the main door was hanging open and askew, and that one of the hinges had been torn off. Mitch’s front door was battered and lying on the living room floor. The remains of a bottle of wine that he must have opened for our celebration lay in pieces on the floor. I walked over them, not heeding the pain from the broken shards beneath my bare feet.
I stopped and held my breath. “Mitch,” I called tentatively, my voice quavering, “are you here?”
I heard an odd laughing sound from the bedroom, then the crashing of glass. Running down the hall, I felt the icy blast of wind from the broken window, smelled the tangy, warm scent of fresh blood, and a tantalizingly familiar man’s cologne. “Larry Martin,” I whispered, and knew that I could follow him out the window and easily catch up with him. But when I arrived in the doorway, the sight of Mitch occupied my complete attention.
He was bruised and badly beaten, clutching his gun with one hand and the open wound on his neck with the other. I dropped to the floor and knelt beside him. His eyes fluttered open and focused weakly on my face. His skin had the bluish-gray color that meant he had nearly been drained of all his blood. Taking his pulse confirmed this.
“Jesus, Mitch, what the hell happened? Who did this?” My voice sounded calm but inwardly I was raving; damn The Cadre and all its members! The time I had spent in Vivienne’s room might well have caused Mitch’s death. Even the few minutes I had spent on the sidewalk planning the perfect life would have been all the time Larry needed. And if I had been here when Mitch was attacked, I could have prevented this.
Tenderly, I touched his cooling cheek. “Mitch, talk to me, please. Oh, God, you can’t die. I won’t allow it.”
He stared at me for a moment and coughed weakly.
“Deirdre.” It was the only word he could manage, and even it cost him too much strength.
I did not think of the consequences of my actions; all I could think was that he would die too soon and leave me alone. I could not bear the thought. Taking his shoulders in my hands, I shook him until his eyes opened again and focused on me. “Do you want to live?” I said to him. “Do you love me enough to live?”
He nodded weakly, a small spurt of blood came from his neck, and he managed a ghost of a smile.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Picking up one of the broken shards of glass from the window, I cut into my wrist deeply, and forced it to his mouth before the wound could heal. “Drink, Mitch drink.”
There was no pull on my blood at first. He’s dead, I thought, he’s truly dead. “Drink, Mitch!” I screamed in desperation, not knowing or caring if he could hear me. “You must drink.”
Oh, God, I raged inside, I spent so much time away from him and we had so little time together. Don’t let him die, I prayed. Don’t let him die!
Finally after an eternity of despair, I felt the delicate movement of his lips at my wrist, feeble at first and then with greater strength, as he pulled deeply on my blood. The gray color began to fade from his skin, replaced slowly by an internal glow and the appearance of health. I watched as his bruises healed before my eyes and still he drank, until I began to feel the emptiness of my own veins. Then ever so gently I pried myself away from him. He choked, spitting a small swallow of my blood back to me.
His eyes opened briefly, then closed as his body shuddered once, then again, as if adjusting to its new life. His chest moved visibly as he breathed, and I knew he would live. I got up from the floor and looked out the window. There was no one on the street below, no sign of who had broken in here. All I could see was the lightening sky. Panicked, I pulled the curtains shut, but the wind blew them back, splashing the street light on to the floor where Mitch lay.
“Damn,” I swore, wondering how I could move him, how I could keep the sun from him. Then I noticed the tall dresser in the corner of the room. It would cover the window and he would be safe. Frantically, I ran to it and pushed it across the room to block the light. The noise of this movement caused Mitch to awaken and sit up.
“Deirdre.” His voice sounded strong but confused. “What happened? I can’t seem to remember anything. And I feel so strange, light-headed.” His eyes sought me out and linked with mine. I had always thought that their strength and intensity were one of his most attractive qualities. But nothing could have prepared me for the shock of their depth—their complete and utter transformation; I knew his eyes, but never had they bored so directly into mine, never had they been so searching, so relentless. I choked back my tears and went to his side again.
“Hush, my love,” I said to him, cradling his head on my lap the way I had over two years ago, trying for his sake to hide my despair. “Everything will be fine. Sleep now.”
“But I need to remember what happened. Someone broke in while I was waiting for you. He told me not to remember and I can’t. Then you came. And now everything is different. What happened? Tell me, please.” The urgency in his voice almost broke my heart. How could I explain in the few remaining minutes until sunrise the life to which I had doomed him? That in my fear of losing him, I had done what I had resolved never to do?
“Sleep now,” I repeated. “We’ll have all the time in the world to talk later.”
We tensed at the same time, reacting to the rising of the sun.
His body writhed in agony and his eyes met mine. They were clouded now with fear and confusion, and in spite of my resolve, I began to cry.
“What’s that?” he demanded, his voice deeper and stronger than before. “What’s happening to me, Deirdre? Why are you crying? And why do I feel so different?”
“It’s only the sun, my love.” I put as much reassurance into the words as I could and my fingers stroked his grayed hair, trying to calm and comfort. “Now is the time to sleep.”
He looked up at me one more time. His eyes were undeniably the eyes of a vampire. Then they slowly closed, the lids falling as if of their own volition, and Mitch fell into the trancelike sleep I knew so well.
And I was alone again for a time, to mourn the death of the man I loved.