Angel at Dawn (29 page)

Read Angel at Dawn Online

Authors: Emma Holly

Tags: #Ghost stories, #Vampires, #Horror, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Motion picture producers and directors, #Occult fiction, #Ghosts, #Occult & Supernatural, #Love stories

BOOK: Angel at Dawn
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“She was there, too,” Adam said in bewilderment. “She should believe me.”
“Let’s call the police,” Grace murmured. “You don’t need to fight him. He ought to be in a hospital.”
Christian’s heart broke without warning. Maybe Adam was troubled, but he was right. Grace should have believed him. When she’d come to Christian as a spirit all those centuries ago, it had taken her a while to learn to be visible to his friends. Once she had, she and Charles had gotten along. Charles had charmed her with his wit and humor, as he had most females.
Christian didn’t think that happened so often now.
“You can help me, can’t you?” Adam/Charles asked. “Get the bitch queen to listen? She was there, too, but no one can count on her to be fair. She’s trampled so many people I don’t think she keeps track of them anymore.”
Christian startled himself by laughing. Charles’ grasp of Nim Wei’s nature was sad and funny at the same time.
“I can help,” he said quietly.
“Oh, good,” Charles responded. “I really want our friends back in the movie.”
The person Charles had become certainly was focused. He looked hopefully up at Christian as Christian took his face in his hands. Touching him was a little shock. Despite the changes in friend, his energy did feel familiar.
“Just be calm,” Christian said, “and look straight into my eyes.”
Because it was daytime, if Charles had resisted, this might have been difficult. Luckily, his old companion didn’t fight the eye lock, but stood passively under it. Christian got the impression Charles had been longing for someone to take control of him for a while.
He schooled his own mind to stillness, ignoring the emotions that wanted to boil up in him. Only if he was tranquil would his thrall have a chance to work.
“It’s time to let go,” he said. “Your memories of our old life aren’t as important as you think they are.”
“But they’re true,” Charles said unsurely.
“It’s also true that you’re a new person. You need to build a new life. Leave Grace and the movie people alone. Find peace inside yourself.”
Charles’ mouth had fallen open. “You used to be my friend.”
“Trust me, Adam, I’m being your friend now.”
Charles stared at Christian. He didn’t have the dazed look most humans got when they were caught in an
upyr
’s thrall. Of course, Charles had looked dazed before. Maybe it made sense for him to be clearer now.
“I
think
I could let go,” he said slowly. “Maybe I could write about something else. Werewolves are interesting.”
Christian smiled and slid his hands to Adam’s shoulders. He gave their bony breadth a squeeze. Even in the short time they’d been talking, Adam’s aura had strengthened. “Take care of yourself, old friend.”
“I will,” Adam said, then looked embarrassed. “Could you loan me money for a cab home?”
Christian handed him every bill in his wallet.
“I’m not broke,” Adam said, passing half of it back. He leaned a bit around Christian so he could catch Grace’s gaze. “Sorry, Grace. I won’t . . . bother you again.”
They watched Adam walk away, a slender figure in wrinkled clothes, halfway broken but dignified. He flagged down a cab and got into it, turning to look at Christian as it drove off. Christian wondered if he’d see him again. If the thrall had done its job, he might not. He pressed one fist to the hollow spot in his chest. When he turned to Grace, she was swiping a tear from her eye. She’d sensed this moment was sad even if she didn’t recall the reason. Maybe she was embarrassed to be seen crying. She dropped her gaze to the grass.
“That was nice of you to say those things to him,” she said. “But do you really think it’s enough to turn him around?”
“He wasn’t the man who shot at you.”
True to form, Grace’s brows lowered stubbornly. “We don’t know anyone shot at me, but Adam still pulled a knife. What if he does something like that again?”
“He’ll take care of himself.” Christian was positive of this much. “If that means going to a head doctor, he’ll do it.”
He did wonder at himself for not expunging Adam’s memories. Erasing them would have removed the danger once and for all. Was he too attached to the past himself? Had he wanted his old friend to continue remembering him, even if it left Adam unhappy? Christian had never asked himself these questions. Was he wrong to push Grace to reclaim her memories?
“Werewolves,” Grace broke into his thoughts with a shaky laugh. “Adam isn’t a bad writer. Maybe he’ll do better telling stories about them.”
Christian caught Grace’s arm as she began to walk toward the car. “Grace, when you first got the script from Adam, were there vampires in it?”
“There were twice as many. Why do you ask?”
He asked because Charles hadn’t lived long enough to see Christian change. That being so, why recast Christian’s life to include the fanged? It couldn’t be a coincidence. Was Adam so sensitive to what lay beyond ordinary reality that he had access to more than the facts of his former life? Maybe more to the point, if he were that sensitive, would he willingly give it up? Was Adam, in his own way, living the life he chose?
“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head. He slid his arm around Grace’s back, hugging her to him. “Let’s get those copies you dropped, and I’ll drive us back to the studio. Nim Wei must be ready to draw and quarter me by now.”
Grace handed him the keys without argument.
“Christian?” she asked once they were in motion. “How did you know I was in trouble?”
He supposed it was a sign of progress that she was curious.
“I’ll always know,” he said, laying his hand gently on her knee. “I’ll always know, and I’ll always come.”
He felt oddly better for saying it, as if—like Adam—he was releasing a burden that weighed on him. Whether Grace felt better for hearing his promise, he truly could not have said.
Fourteen
T
he first thing Christian did after driving himself and Grace to the studio was have a fight with Nim Wei. She was quite irate that he hadn’t told her Grace was in danger.
“I should have known,” she said, pacing the soundstage break room with her little hands fisted. Christian was glad he’d pulled her there. Her glamour was fraying, her true face shining out enough to risk exposure. Fairy tales were written for looks like hers: empresses of snow with dangerous ruby lips. Seeming unaware of this, she spun to confront Christian. “How is it that
you
knew she needed help?”
Christian sat back on a bright orange table that was littered with coffee mugs. In spite of the circumstances, he enjoyed watching the queen lose her cool. “Adam nicked her throat. It must have activated our blood bond.”
“I should kill that nutcase. I can’t believe you just let him go.”
“Adam felt compelled to defend the script because he remembered our former life. He wasn’t murderous; he was obsessed.”
Nim Wei pulled a dismissive face and strode angrily the other way—too angrily, he guessed. She cursed as the stiletto heel of her right shoe snapped. Judging she was off balance in more ways than one, he decided to see if she’d give him a straight answer. “What was Grace’s reaction when she read Adam’s version of the script?”
“And how is that your business?” the queen inquired frostily. “Oh,
fine
.” She kicked off her second shoe to stand barefoot. “She said his story caught her imagination. She thought if we simplified it, it would catch other people’s, too.”
“She didn’t mention it seemed familiar?”
“So, you’re claiming you knew Grace, too? You think she was your medieval laundress, or what have you? I introduced you to her, Durand. She’s
my
assistant. You should have told me
she was in trouble!
”
Nim Wei astonished him by grabbing an empty coffee carafe and flinging it at him. Christian was fortunate he ducked. When the glass hit the wall, it didn’t shatter; it vaporized.
A heartbeat later, the door opened.
“Everything okay in here?” Grace asked.
Nim Wei was so far from looking human that she had to turn away. “Everything is fine,” she said tightly.
Grace shifted her gaze to him. There was no bracing for the effect she had. The moment their eyes met, a gear fell into place inside him. The clockwork of his soul was abruptly turning the way it should: sweetly, smoothly, no more grinding over his fate. It occurred to him that he’d never had a hope of revenging himself on her. This small sign of the link between them was all it took for the half-person he’d been so long to feel whole.
“The crew is set up for the scene,” she said softly.
“We’ll be out,” Christian answered just as gently. “Give us five minutes.”
She held his look and nodded. As she shut the door, he realized he’d confirmed an important fact.
Nim Wei had no memory of Grace’s life as a ghost. She remained unaware that Grace had witnessed the role she’d played in his friends’ murders. When and if Grace retrieved those memories, he suspected they wouldn’t be as conveniently fuzzy as Nim Wei’s were.
 
 
A
s if their director’s surly mood were catching, the actors took forever to settle and hit their marks. Matthew and Philip continued to brood over the black and blue shoe issue, Charlie caught a case of the giggles, and Grace lost track of how many takes they shot for Joe and George’s first scuffle. The upside was that, with so much footage, they’d be able to cobble something together in the editing room—or so Wade reminded her when they wrapped. Even he looked weary when he said it.
“I’ll see that the boys and Naomi have rides,” he told her. “You take care of yourself tonight.”
Grace was glad for the favor. This was one of those times she wished Miss Wei would just hire a fleet of drivers. She was running on fumes by the time Christian drove them home.
It disturbed her that she was thinking of it like that—as if this cottage, which didn’t belong to her, were her and Christian’s honeymooners’ nest. She couldn’t afford to do that. She knew it didn’t pay to count on other people in the long run, no matter how reliable they seemed in the short.
“Grace?” Christian was holding her door open. This would have been more helpful if she’d had the energy to get out of the convertible.
“You know,” she said, “it’s very annoying that you get more sprightly as the night goes on.”
Christian’s mouth curved in the gentle smile she’d been seeing lately, the one that made her heart twist recklessly in her breast. With a little bow, he offered his hand. “You should see how annoying you are first thing in the morning.”
“We’re oil and water,” she informed him, to which he replied, “Opposites attract.”
He unlocked the cottage door for her, familiar with her keys by now. She knew she shouldn’t feel a blossom of warmth at that, but she did anyway. He helped her collapse into a chair at her kitchen table, then began opening cabinets. Was he planning to cook for her? She was extremely touched . . . until she recalled the unpalatable coffee he’d served her at his house. She wasn’t sure the box of dried pasta he was pulling out would be safe.
“I’m too tired to eat,” she groaned.
Christian leaned into her refrigerator. “I can boil water. You had a fright this morning and a long day. That can tire anyone. Eating will help you recuperate. Don’t you have tomato sauce in a jar?”
When he turned to her, his face was worried—boyishly so.
“What is it?” Grace asked.
He pressed his slashing lips together. “I want you,” he admitted. “This morning, I was afraid I’d lost you. I’ve been thinking about being with you all day. I don’t know if I can stop myself from seducing you.”
In any other man, the suggestion that she wouldn’t have had the strength to refuse him would have been egotistical. Coming from him, it made the flesh between her legs ache. A resigned sigh gusted out of her.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “What if I can’t control my instincts?”

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