“My first reaction is—no, never, not a chance, absolutely not. Followed by visions of a small cell in a large prison.” Kay clasped her hands tightly on top of her desk. She drew a long deep breath. “Why do you want to break into a bank’s files?”
Trevor grinned. “You’re intrigued, aren’t you? Renfield, you’re as transparent as the wings of a fly. You get a bright look in your eyes when you spot an interesting challenge.”
Frowning, Kay put on her glasses, erecting a barrier. “There better be a damned good reason why you’re asking me to break the law.”
“There are several.” While he collected his thoughts, Trevor paced and swatted a rubber ball attached to a paddle by a long rubber band. “First, I transferred my banking interests out of Rouge Banque several years ago. So did most vampires who live outside of Europe. I’ve learned that Rouge Banque is putting some kind of pressure on the Council of Six, who in turn is pressuring the vampire community to return their funds to Rouge Banque.”
Kay poured them both a crystal snifter of brandy and sighed with pleasure over the first taste. Tilting her head, she watched Trevor pace and bat the rubber ball at the ceiling, and she tried not to think how great he looked in tight jeans and cowboy boots. “Who is the Council of Six?”
For a moment, a struggle pinched his expression as if he were unsure how much to reveal. Then he shrugged and raked a hand through the mane of dark caramel hair.
“As far as I know, the council has always existed. If one member dies or resigns, another elder is appointed to keep the number at the traditional six.” He bapped the rubber ball up and down in a blur and tossed Kay a humorless smile. “Yes, vampires die. Not often, but it can happen. Anyway, the council is composed of elder vampires who have, in the past, settled disputes, disciplined those who broke rules, decided items of concern to our kind—that sort of thing.”
“Right off the bat I can see why the council would dislike IV. Isn’t IV taking away some of their powers?”
“Good girl,” Trevor said with a nod. He watched the ball slam against the paddle. “Anyway, centuries ago the council made an arrangement with the Marchalt family who owns Rouge Banque.”
“What kind of arrangement?” Watching him, it occurred to Kay that she had never seen Trevor this serious before. The ball and paddle were props that he basically ignored. He was totally absorbed in what he was saying.
“A vampire’s banking needs are unique. In order not to attract suspicion, we occasionally must appear to die. Rouge Banque handles the paperwork that facilitates this deception. Wills, death certificates and so forth. They arrange a smooth transfer of assets to the new heir.”
“Who is, of course, the same vampire who appeared to die.”
“Correct.” Brow furrowed in thought, Trevor paused before he continued speaking. “However, in today’s world, these matters can be handled relatively easily by a skilled Renfield. I’m curious why the council is becoming increasingly hostile and insistent that all of us use Rouge Banque exclusively.”
It was a question interesting enough to divert Kay’s attention from the way his mouth moved. “What kind of pressure can the bank place on the council?”
“Renfield, I admire the way your mind works. That is exactly what I hope to find out,” Trevor said, smiling with appreciation. Gradually his expression sobered and he tossed aside the ball and paddle. “There’s a second issue. Since the council’s relationship with Rouge Banque extends back centuries, I think it’s a good guess the Crystals of Change are hidden in the bank’s vaults.”
Standing, Kay pressed her hands against the muscles on her back, then poured more brandy into her glass. She carried the brandy to the French doors and gazed outside at the moonlight glistening on the snow, thinking about the conversation so far.
“What are the Crystals of Change?” she asked cautiously. One thing about Trevor d’Laine; he didn’t have small problems. His problems were shaping up as larger than life, exactly as he was.
Little by little he was pulling her into his world and Kay felt flattered by his confidence and trust, but the reasonable part of her mind remained anxious. On a day-to-day basis, it was easy to accept the fantasy that Trevor was radio Denver’s Prince of Darkness, a pretend vampire, and Kay was his pretend Renfield.
But there was nothing pretend about what he was saying now. His expression and deep smoky voice were deadly serious.
“No one except the Council of Six knows if the crystals actually exist,” Trevor said coming up behind her. He frowned at the gray and white shadows playing across the snow. “Ophelia’s spent thirty years tracing every rumor and reference. The council blocked the most promising leads, but enough tantalizing hints remain that I’m convinced the crystals do exist.”
No heat radiated from his body, but Kay was acutely aware of his solid presence directly behind her. If she moved backward one step... Blinking, she stared out at the moonlight and took a long, swallow of brandy.
“If the crystals exist... exactly what are they?” she asked in a faint voice, inhaling the intoxicating scent of Trevor’s after-shave. It was an exotic blend that she didn’t recognize, something with a sandalwood base.
“The crystals would revolutionize vampirism. They’re rumored to restore a vampire’s mortality. You can imagine the impact it would have if this is true. Mistakes could be rectified. Binky and others like him wouldn’t have to contemplate a catastrophic death to escape an existence that has become intolerable. They could become mortal again, live out their lives and eventually die a natural death.”
Kay increased the distance between them before she turned. Tilting her head, she searched his expression, then asked quietly, “Are you searching for the crystals for yourself?”
“Me?” Surprise lifted his eyebrows; then he laughed with genuine amusement. “Renfield, how can you ask that? You should know by now that I enjoy every minute of my life. I like being what I am.”
His grin faded into a serious expression. “I’m a happy vampire. Happier than you can guess. I take immense pleasure in being able to see better than any mortal ever could. I like having time to read every book that ever interested me, time to visit every monument ever erected, time to sample every pleasure available to night people. I’m invulnerable to disease or accident. I’ll never age, never die. Why would I want to give that up?”
Kay met his eyes. “Maybe because you can never be wholly yourself without fearing discovery. Maybe because if mortals, as you call us, knew you actually existed, you’d be hunted and destroyed. Maybe because you long for sunlight. Maybe because you feel isolated and lonely. Maybe because you don’t like how you’re forced to live. Maybe because—”
“Stop!” He stared at her and his fingers tightened on the stem of his brandy glass. “For someone who’s entered the game late, you’ve come up to speed very quickly.” Abruptly he turned on his heel and glanced at the grandfather clock near the fireplace. “We need to finish this discussion before I leave for the radio station.”
“Of course,” Kay agreed softly.
Everything he’d said about enjoying his life was true. Kay had seen for herself the exuberance with which Trevor greeted each new evening. And she had never met anyone more alive, more spontaneous, more eager to explore the next moment.
But she had just glimpsed an underlayer to Trevor d’Laine, a lonely current running beneath the vivacious personality he presented to the world. The discovery didn’t surprise Kay as much as she would have thought. There had been other hints.
Speaking with one eye on the clock, Trevor wrapped up their discussion. “IV supports a philosophy of choice. If the crystals exist, IV strongly believes it is a moral imperative to make them available to vampires like Binky who, for whatever reason, wish to return to mortal status.”
“But the Council of Six disagrees?”
Trevor nodded. “They refuse to confirm the crystals are anything more than myth. Their position is, once a vampire, always a vampire. I believe confirmation of the crystals’ existence may be hidden in Rouge Banque’s files.” Standing in the doorway, Trevor met her gaze across the room. “For some, like Binky, finding the crystals is a matter of life and death.”
Kay picked up the paddle and ball, turning the apparatus between her fingers. “I see.”
“So... will you break into the bank’s computers?”
“You’re asking a lot. You’re asking me to risk serious legal repercussions based on a lot of ifs and maybes.” She bit her lip and hesitated. “I need some time to think about this, all right?”
“Time is something I have plenty of, Renfield.”
Kay didn’t hear him leave, but when she turned he was gone.
When she was sure he wouldn’t return, she tried to hit the rubber ball with the paddle. The paddle flailed at air, missing the stupid ball by a mile. Hitting the damned thing was a whole lot harder than it looked.
Releasing a sigh, she placed the paddle and ball on Trevor’s desk, then moved around the room turning off computers, switching off lights, pulling on her coat, scarf and gloves.
She didn’t mind working late; everything about this job fascinated her. But she dreaded the long icy drive back to her dark apartment.
Pausing in the foyer beside the front door, Kay tugged her thoughts away from IV, Rouge Banque, the crystals of change and Binky, the suicidal vampire, and thought about the large comfortable Renfield apartment upstairs.
If she agreed to take the Renfield apartment, she wouldn’t have to deal with the frustration of trying to start a cold car then drive across town to sleep for a few hours before she returned to work at dawn.
As she inched her Jeep out of the icy cul-de-sac, she decided Carl had been right. This was an outrageous and possibly dangerous job coupled to a slave’s hours. She was never going to have any time for a personal life, and her employer didn’t even call her by her name. Nor did his scary vampire friends. Vampires. Kay gripped the steering wheel and rolled her eyes. She had been an idiot to accept this job.
Irritated and upset, she snapped on the car radio, narrowing her eyes against the streetlights glaring on patches of ice.
Trevor’s rich seductive voice flowed from the speakers like dark honey. It was his special talent that every listener believed Trevor spoke to him personally. “The lines are open, creatures of the night. The Prince of Darkness waits to hear from you. Renfield? If you’re listening, sweet thing...” His voice dropped to a low rumble that sounded like a velvet caress. “Drive carefully. The roads are icy tonight.”
Kay’s shoulders sagged. Trevor was a tough taskmaster. He was weird and occasionally he frightened her a little. His friends were weird and a whole lot frightening. He worked her like an indentured servant, had asked her to do something illegal and dangerous. But he was wonderful and vibrant and happily nutty. He made her feel smart and capable and pretty. He’d brought excitement and a sense of adventure into her life.
Kay hated it, but she was crazy about him.
* * *
“Do you want to drive?” she asked testily, turning to glare at Trevor who fidgeted in the seat beside her, tapping his fingers impatiently on the dashboard.
“I used to drive a mean coach and four, but I never got the hang of automobiles,” he answered. “Surely you can go a little faster. Keystone closes at nine o’clock.”
“I never heard of night skiing,” Kay said, inching the speedometer up to fifty-five. “Is this something new?”
“By the time we arrive, if we ever do, it will be August and the snow will have melted.”
“Look, you can see the road is snowpacked and icy in spots. Plus I’m not used to driving in the mountains, especially at night. We’ll get there when we get there, okay?”
A long sigh expanded his ski sweater. “How could you live in Denver most of your life and not drive in the mountains?”
“Because,” Kay answered, “I’m not a skier. Believe it or not, there are many Colorado residents who don’t ski, and who drive into the mountains maybe once every five years or so. On a bright summer day, I might add.”
“Renfield, sometimes you frustrate and amaze me. You don’t ski, you don’t hike, you don’t play golf or tennis. You don’t fish, you don’t ride horses. You don’t go nightclubbing. You said the gallery opening we attended last week was the first you’d gone to. What the hell have you been doing with your life? Did you have a deprived childhood? Grow up on the equivalent of a deserted island?”
“You could say that.” Kay ground her teeth and kept her eyes firmly focused on the slushy road. “I was sickly until I was a senior in high school. While other kids were learning to do all those fun things you mentioned, I was lying in bed wishing I could be like them. They went to summer camp and girl scouts, later to proms and on dates. I lay in bed, studied with a private tutor and daydreamed about being strong and healthy.”
Shifting on the seat, Trevor turned to examine her in the dim light from the dash. “I didn’t know.” His gaze skimmed her thick sweater and jeans, seeking evidence of a disability. “What was wrong with you?”
“My mother, mostly.” Kay shrugged and frowned. The memory of those wasted years still possessed the power to make her feel helpless and depressed. “My father died when I was in grade school. After his death, my mother treated every sniffle like a major illness. She got it in her head that I was delicate and sickly, that it would be a miracle if I survived into adulthood. She was fiercely protective, kept me home and safe from all the germs at school and those floating around in the big bad world. Maybe I really was weak and sickly, I’m not sure anymore. Maybe my mother just needed to be needed. Or maybe she needed to nurse someone who wouldn’t die.”
Trevor’s expression softened. “That doesn’t sound like much of a childhood. I’m sorry, Renfield.”
“So am I,” Kay said simply. “I missed a lot.” She followed a white van into the Eisenhower Tunnel. “When I was a senior in high school, I overheard one of my doctors arguing with my mother. He insisted there was basically nothing wrong with me except boredom and too many pills that I didn’t need. My mother dropped him on the spot.” Trevor stretched an arm across the seats and squeezed her shoulder. The movement stirred the faint scent of his after-shave.
“I threw away the pills, got out of bed and started a swim class to build up my body. A few months later I left for college. After a year on my own, I felt perfectly healthy.”
“How did your mother feel about that?”
Kay was glad to drive out of the brightly lighted tunnel and plunge back into darkness. “We call each other on our birthdays,” she said finally. “And we get together for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but we don’t have much to say to each other. She’s hurt and angry because she thinks I don’t need her. I’m hurt and angry because it seems like she abandoned me once I got well. It’s like she lost interest or like she wanted to punish me. I had to work my way through college—my mother didn’t offer any financial help. She never instigates a phone call, and she doesn’t seem interested in my life unless I have the flu or a bad cold. Then she’s wonderful.”
“Look, I’m sorry about what I said.”
Kay braked for the stop sign at the bottom of the ramp off 1-70. Finally she looked at him, cringing from the pity glowing in his blue eyes. “You’re right. I don’t do much of anything. I couldn’t as a child. As an adult, I’ve been too busy trying to support myself to devote much time or money to new experiences. But usually I don’t feel deprived. I enjoy working, I love to read, I’m a great cook and an avid film buff. I like board games and any kind of cards. I still swim whenever I get a chance, and there’s nothing I like more than sitting in the sun reading a great book while I’m getting a terrific tan. That may sound dismally dull to you, but most of the time it feels fine to me.”
Kay sounded defensive and she knew it.
In a softer voice she added, “Someday I want to try all those fun things you mentioned. Just to say I’ve done them. But if it doesn’t happen, that’s okay, too. If I sound ambivalent, it’s because I am. Part of me longs for a little excitement. Another part, the sensible part, says excitement can be dangerous. Forget it.”
“No offense, Renfield,” Trevor commented, still looking at her, “but if you don’t make things happen, they don’t happen. You can’t put things off until ‘someday.’ You have to live now, this minute.” He grinned. “And a little excitement and danger adds spice to life.”
Kay laughed then turned left on Highway 9. In the distance she spotted warmly dressed skiers zipping down flood-lit slopes.
“Believe me, I’ve lived more in the month I’ve worked for you than in the previous twenty-six years. I jump on a Harley like I’ve been riding motorcycles for years. Well, almost. I’ve had dinner in Denver’s best restaurants, been to gallery openings, nightclubs, and the theater. And tonight—” she eyed the lighted slopes warily before turning into Keystone’s parking lot “—I’m going skiing. Maybe.”
But dreading it, feeling an inborn resistance. New physical activities would always affect her that way, Kay suspected.
Trevor didn’t move to open the door after she cut the ignition. “I know what it’s like to have a disease that isolates you and cuts you off from the rest of the world,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I remember how depressing and frightening it was. And lonely.”
Surprise lifted Kay’s eyebrows. It was absolutely impossible to imagine Trevor listless and ill. Curiosity flickered in her gaze. “What kind of disease did you have? Do you still have it?”
He blinked, then waved a dismissive hand. “That’s not important anymore. I just wanted you to know that I understand, and I apologize for making flip comments.”
Disappointed that he didn’t intend to reveal more, Kay reached for the door handle. “In my case, a dead person is teaching me to live. It’s ironic, isn’t it? But I’m grateful.”
“A dead person?” Trevor’s dark eyebrows shot toward his hairline. Sudden suspicion flashed in his eyes like an electric pulse. “Damn it, Renfield. Have you been reading books about vampires?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” He glared, refusing to return her smile. “Okay, I guess dead isn’t the right expression,” Kay added uncertainly. “Is undead more correct?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” An angry stare pierced the darkness. “I’m not dead. And undead is a ridiculous expression. You’re undead as far as that goes. So is everyone who is alive. I told you not to read those trashy vampire novels.”
“Well, what are you, then? Exactly what is a vampire?”
He opened the car door with a quick hard motion, bounded outside and reached for the skis strapped on the rack he had installed on the roof of Kay’s Jeep. “Get the boots and poles out of the trunk, will you?”
In silence they walked toward the ticket cage, carrying their skis on their shoulders. Before they reached the throngs of night skiers crowding the base of the slope, Kay glanced at Trevor from the side of her eyes.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in a bad mood. If I upset you, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you, Renfield. I get edgy every year when the days start getting longer. The only thing I dislike more than summer is daylight saving time. Both are almost on top of us.” He thrust his skis into a skimpy snowbank and gazed up at the skiers darting down the slope. On either side of the run, the ground was bare and turning green. Only the artificial snowmakers made it possible to keep the slope open. A week from now the snowmakers wouldn’t be able to keep pace with the daily melt and Keystone would close for skiing until winter returned.
“Plus, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re ever going to decide about Rouge Banque.”
Kay spotted Veneta Depardioux speeding gracefully down the slope, her long blond hair floating behind her. She wore designer sunglasses against the glare from the floodlights, and a silky emerald-colored ski suit that molded her lush body like a second skin. A vampire named Tyrone followed, and Marguerite and Gerard.
“I’m still thinking about the bank,” Kay murmured, noticing Binky sitting alone on the outside deck of a restaurant overlooking the ski runs. As usual, he looked like a devastatingly handsome teenager, lonely and miserable.
Veneta flew off the slope with a flourish, cutting to a halt before them with a maneuver that sprayed slushy snow over Kay’s boots. “What kept you so long? The snow’s glorious!” Leaning forward, she kissed Trevor’s lips in greeting. “What a shame you have to waste your last chance on the slopes teaching your Renfield to snowplow. What a bore. Keystone closes at the end of the week, you know.” Her cold eyes swept a critical glance over Kay’s jeans and bulky parka.
Veneta’s superiority pricked Kay’s competitiveness, but also triggered her insecurities. Veneta’s disdain made her feel about as significant as a bread box.
When Kay turned toward Trevor, who had stepped aside to watch the skiers flying down the slopes, she saw the excitement and eagerness sparkling in his thick-lashed eyes. His feet moved slightly as if he were itching to fling himself down the side of the mountain.
“Look. Veneta’s right. Go ahead without me,” Kay urged, feeling a guilty surge of relief. “It’s silly to waste your last chance on the slopes teaching me how to stand up. It will be months before another lesson, and by then I’ll have forgotten everything.” She slid a glance toward Veneta’s coldly triumphant smile, unable to resist aiming a barb of her own. “Besides, I think I’d prefer to learn during the day. I’ve always thought of sun and blue sky as an integral part of the ski scene.”
When she watched Veneta’s eyes narrow on her throat, Kay regretted the reference to sun and blue sky. Swallowing, she reminded herself that Veneta was no ordinary woman. Veneta Depardioux could be very dangerous.
“Of course, night skiing is probably nice, too,” she mumbled with a faint smile. She had a deeply uncomfortable impression that Veneta could hear the blood rushing around in her veins. When the right opportunity arose, she’d ask Trevor if that was possible.
“No chickening out,” Trevor said firmly. “You are going to learn to ski tonight.” Crouching, he flung back his arms and made a schussing sound. “This is you, Renfield. Picture it. Flying down the mountain like a bird, wind on your cheeks, the world at your feet!” He laughed out loud with the joy of anticipation.
“Wrong. I can be as stubborn as you,” Kay said, aware that Veneta continued to stare at her. “I’m tired and already cold, and I don’t feel like making a fool of myself. I’ll take a raincheck until next season. So, it’s settled. I’ll go to the restaurant and keep Binky company.”
Trevor’s hands tightened on her forearms and he studied her expression. “You were just telling me about everything you missed, and that you wanted to try new things.”
“I also told you that trying new things sounds like a good idea until it’s time to actually do it.” Kay smiled, trying to ignore that tingle that resulted from his touch. “The truth is, I’m relieved.”
“Renfield, there will always be another time for me. I don’t mind staying on the bunny slopes and teaching you a trick or two.”
“For heaven’s sake, Trevor.” Veneta’s lip curled. “Stop begging her. If she wants to waste the evening moping around with Binky, let her do it. Let’s go.”
He seemed genuinely reluctant to leave her. “It’s your decision,” he said finally. Before Veneta pulled him toward the lift, he looked back at Kay over his broad shoulder. “Ask Binky to explain what we are. He’ll answer your questions.”
Kay watched them go, thinking what a stunning couple they made. Trevor and Veneta looked like film stars, two rich and beautiful people, as comfortable with each other as lovers. As she watched, Trevor threw back his head and laughed at something Veneta said. Veneta placed a possessive hand on his arm. Suddenly in a sour mood, Kay turned and trudged toward the restaurant. She wished she was wearing a flashy formfitting ski outfit, wished she could ski better than Veneta.
“Hi, mind if I join you?” she asked, sliding into the chair across from Binky.
He raised dark miserable eyes. “I’m not very good company.”
“Neither am I. I’m almost as depressed as you are.”
“Really?” A flicker of interest stirred his gaze. “You’re trying to think of painless ways to kill yourself?”
“Well, no,” Kay admitted, frowning. She ordered a cup of hot chocolate and tried to identify Veneta and Trevor among the skiers ascending on the chair lift. “Life’s too short to end it prematurely.”
“For me, life is endless. Time doesn’t matter when you have forever. There’s no sense of urgency, not ever. You don’t have to do anything today because there’s always tomorrow. An endless, endless chain of tomorrows.”
Kay thought about Trevor’s collection of clocks and watches. Suddenly she wondered if the clocks and watches were an effort to maintain a connection with mortality.
“Trevor suggested that I ask you to explain vampirism.”
“Explain it?” A puzzled frown creased Binky’s teenaged brow.
“I’ve been reading a few vampire books,” Kay admitted, feeling an embarrassed flush heat her cheeks.
Binky was the only vampire among her growing acquaintance who didn’t glaze over when she blushed. His abrupt shift informed her that he was acutely aware of the heat pulsing in her cheeks, but be seemed repelled by anything to do with blood. She made him uncomfortable not by reminding him of the good old days when humans were fair game, but because she reminded him of a distasteful aspect of himself.
Kay rolled her eyes and sighed when she realized she was wondering if Binky’s self-loathing was so intense that he might be starving himself. She simply could not bring herself to inquire if he was, well, eating regularly.
He made a sound of disgust. “Almost nothing in those novels is correct,” he said. “Except the part about requiring human blood to exist. Unfortunately, that part is disgustingly correct.” His mouth twisted in revulsion.
Kay glanced at the surrounding tables with a worried look. “Shhh. Not so loud.”
When Binky offered one of his rare smiles, he was transformed into a gloriously handsome young man. Tonight he wore a brown parka and ski pants the same rich chocolate color as his hair. His eyes were soulful dark pools. Although Kay was shivering, the cold night wind didn’t affect him. Consequently, he appeared more confident and at ease than others who fidgeted and squirmed to keep warm. A professional photographer would have loved everything about Binky, his great looks, his inner stillness.
He shrugged, the movement unconsciously elegant. “If anyone overhears, they’ll assume we’re authors or filmmakers discussing a new project. No one really believes in vampires anymore. That’s strange, isn’t it? To be something no one believes in?”
Most likely he was correct. Still it made Kay nervous to talk about vampirism. The concept still stunned her.
“The books say vampires are, ah, dead people imbued with an evil spirit,” Kay said, leaning forward, keeping her voice low.
“Good God.” He stared at her. “I’d forgotten about that. It’s absolutely not true.”
“Well, then....” Kay prompted.
“Vampirism is a condition of the immune system. There’s nothing supernatural about it. We have a disease I guess you could say, whereby the immune system becomes hyperefficient. It’s so efficient that it heals aging, thereby allowing us to live forever. I doubt I’ve aged two days in a hundred years. And I’m never ill. Since the immune system is superenhanced, it repairs injury or disease.” Binky studied the disbelief clouding Kay’s acceptance. “Watch.”
He pulled a pocket knife from the pack near his feet. When Kay understood what he meant to do, she cried out. “No! Don’t!”
But she was too late. Looking bored, Binky drew the blade of the knife across his palm, pressing it deeply into his flesh. Horrified, but too riveted to look away, Kay froze, staring in sick fascination.
Swallowing the dark taste in her mouth, she first noticed there was amazingly little blood welling out of the terrible wound. The second, even more amazing item, was how the slash appeared to repair itself before her very eyes. One minute passed, then two.
Binky held up his palm. Kay couldn’t believe her eyes. There was not a mark on his skin, not even a faint pink line. “See? Healed.”
Dazed, she released a long pent-up breath. “I wouldn’t have believed this if I hadn’t seen it.” Her mind raced, and sudden excitement sparkled in her eyes. “Do you realize this ‘disease’ you have could cure AIDS? And the other immune-deficiency diseases, as well!”
“That’s correct. Vampirism cures or repairs all mortal diseases and infirmities.” He shook his head. “The problem is, the cure is worse. The mortal becomes a vampire. You know the side effects of vampirism. A lethal sensitivity to sunlight. A thirst for human blood. An inability to become pregnant or sire children.” Binky gazed into her eyes, his expression sad. “Can you imagine turning a million AIDS victims into vampires? Giving them eternal life and a lust for human blood? Trevor and the IV board decided the world isn’t ready for that and all of us agree. A million or so vampires, and more coming every day, would irreversibly alter every facet of life in today’s world. Politically, socially, criminally.”
After thinking about the possible implications, Kay reluctantly had to agree. “Still, I wish...”
“Renfield,” Binky said, leaning forward to cover her cold fingers with his colder hand. “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. I have outlived everyone who ever loved me. For fifty years I lived a life so criminal and degenerate that I won’t talk about it to anyone. There are no rules, no laws for people who can’t be punished or killed. I’ll never have to pay for my sins or justify my life to a higher power.”
Kay stared at him.
“There is nothing I can’t have, therefore there is nothing I want. I have no ambitions, no goals. Few new experiences to look forward to. I have no mortal friends because I can’t share a normal daytime life and I fear discovery. I have no true vampire friends because we grow bored with each other so quickly, and we don’t really trust each other. I have no reason to hurry, nothing to do, nothing to plan for or look forward to. I have no purpose. When you have eternity before you, there is no reason to do anything today.”
“I’m sorry,” Kay said finally, speaking softly. She drew a breath, then asked another question that had been bothering her. “If a vampire, ah, drinks the blood of a mortal, directly that is, like from the neck—” she tugged the collar of her sweater, embarrassed and feeling like an idiot “—does that turn the mortal into a vampire?”
“Of course not. If it did, there would be about a million vampires running around.” Binky gazed at her with an expression of distaste. “There has to be an exchange of blood to create a vampire.”
“You mean the mortal has to drink the blood of the vampire?” Kay shuddered and made a face. “Oh, yuck! That’s so gross!”
“When it’s happening it doesn’t seem... Look, never mind that. Tell me about sunshine. Describe the feel of it on your face, and how it glows on a flower petal. Remind me how the sky looks on a warm summer day, how blue it can be. And how the clouds shine with the sun behind them. Tell me how it feels to sweat and how apples taste. Is it pleasant to hear only your own thoughts in a quiet night? God, Renfield. I can’t remember any of those things.” Despair brimmed in his eyes, and he grew increasingly agitated. “I’d rather die than go on like this! I swear I’m going to do it! I’m going to walk out into the sun!”
Leaning, Kay clasped his wrist. “Binky! Listen to me. There’s hope. Just listen...”
* * *
Two hours later, Kay backed her Jeep out of the parking lot and headed down the mountain toward Denver. Beside her, Trevor filled the silence with a stream of conversation, talking about the exhilaration of flying down the slopes, the condition of the snow, the night wind rushing past his face.
“I have thirty minutes to get to the radio station,” he commented as they swept around a curve and the lights of Denver spread below them like a Christmas grid. “We’ll make it in time, won’t we? I swear, Renfield, you drive like an old lady.”
“We’ll make it,” Kay promised, her eyes on the road.
“Those are the first words you’ve spoken since we left Keystone.”
“Trevor? If the offer’s still open, I’d like to move into the Renfield apartment.”
“Excellent. I was wondering when you’d realize that keeping an apartment is a waste of money. What changed your mind?”
“If an idea comes to me in the middle of the night, I want to be able to walk down the stairs and have instant access to your computers.”
As hard as she tried, Kay couldn’t think of Binky as a hundred and ten years old. To her, he was a teenager in pain who desperately needed help.
“If the Crystals of Change exist,” she said firmly, “I’m going to find them.” She threw Trevor a challenging look, daring him to disagree. “And Binky gets to use them first!”
Smiling, he raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. “That’s what it’s all about, giving those like Binky a second chance.” He added softly, “It isn’t going to be easy.”
“If the Crystals of Change are out there, I’ll find them,” Kay repeated, gripping the steering wheel. Even if it meant breaking the law, she decided.
“I take it you’ve decided to hack into the bank files?”
Kay’s mouth set in a grim expression. “That’s right.”
She fervently hoped that she found the crystals before the FBI found her.
When Trevor squeezed her shoulder, the risk seemed worth it.