Books by Maggie Shayne (216 page)

"I'll never hurt you
 
No one else will, either, I promise you that.
 
I'll die before I'll let anyone harm you.
 
Know that, Mary.
 
You have to know that."

She blinked slowly out of her state of bliss and careful stock.
 
She was in bed with Michael.
 
He had just confessed to being a vampire, a theory that both the investigation agency and the local cop had apparently found to be perfectly believable.
 
He could move so fast that her eyes couldn't follow the progress.
 
He could read her mind.
 
And she thought he might have bitten her neck.

Frowning, she lift a hand to touch her neck.
 
She felt two tender spots in her skin.

Was it possible, she wondered, that she had just had sex with a vampire?
 
Did she even care?
 
She loved this man.

He was still talking, rubbing her and whispering assurances of his devotion.
 
"I knew the blood, the antigen, connected us, but it's more than that.
 
I swear it's more than that.
 
I've never felt this drawn to anyone.
 
Not ever.
 
Belladonna antigen or not."

She blinked and lifted her head.
 
"Michael, explain to me how this... this antigen connects me to you."

He met her eyes, his own seeming disappointed.
 
And no wonder.
 
She hadn't exactly responded to his pillow talk in kind.
 
And he must be honoring her request that he stop reading her thoughts again, or he would have known what she was thinking.
 
It was odd, but she was getting to the point where she could sense him when he was probing around inside her mind; it was almost visceral.
 
But she didn't feel it then.

"Every vampire was once a mortal with the belladonna antigen," he told her.

She frowned.
 
"So a person without the antigen...?"

"Can never become a vampire.
 
Those with it have the choice.
 
I was given that choice as I lay dying in a hospital bed, riddled with bullets, all those years ago.
 
I chose life."

'And... how does one become a vampire?"

He stroked her hair away from her face.
 
"Another vampire has to transform you.
 
He would first drain the blood, and then—"

"Drain the blood," she repeated, going cold all over.

"It isn't as frightening as it sounds."

"Perhaps not, but it was exactly the way the other women, all of whom shared the antigen, had been killed.
 
By being drained of their blood.
 
God, she felt as if she were being torn in half.
 
How could she be so in love with him and yet so afraid of him?
 
His power made him dangerous.
 
But not to her.
 
God, he could never be a danger to her.

"You shouldn't think about that, Mary.
 
It's not something you need to even consider.
 
Not now.
 
You're strong, healthy.
 
You will be for a long time yet."

"I hope you're right about that."

"I intend to make sure of it.
 
It's the first night of the full moon," he told her.
 
"And I plan to hold you close in my arms, safe and protected, until sunrise."

There was nothing she could do—and nothing she wanted to do more than spend the night in his arms.
 
Her questions could wait.

She relaxed in his arms.
 
And it felt so good, so safe and so perfect there, that she couldn't believe there could be any wrong in it.
 
Being with Michael felt like being reunited with some part of herself that had been missing all her life.

The made love again.
 
Then she needed a food break, and he admitted that he couldn't digest solid food, and that her breakfast had made him violently ill.
 
That he'd forced himself to eat it, knowing how he would suffer, touched her deeply.
 
No matter what else he was, Mary believed that his feelings for her were very real.

Then spent the entire night talking, laughing, making love.

And then, finally, he rose and pulled on his clothes as he walked to the front door, gazed out the window.

She stood behind him her hands sliding over his shoulders.
 
Why couldn't he be an ordinary man?
 
Why/

"I have to leave you, my love.
 
It will be dawn very soon."

"Why can't you stay here?"

He lowered his eyes.
 
"I—I can't.
 
I don't want you to see me as I am when I sleep."

She decided not to argue, although she wanted to
 
'All right."

He turned wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her deeply.
 
"You don't know what it means to me, Mary, that you didn't run from me when I told you what I was.
 
You can't know.
 
Someday... someday I'll tell you.
 
For now—just know that you have restored he pieces of a heart that was shattered.
 
No one else could have done that, but you did.

Tears.
 
There were tears welling up in his eyes.
 
Swimming there, not spilling over—he had too much will to let them spill, she thought.

He stroked her hair.
 
"Will you still be here when I come back?"

She nodded, looking him straight in the eyes.
 
"I will.
 
I promise you, Michael, I will.
 
I don't understand any of this, but I want to.
 
And I'm not afraid of you.
 
No matter what you are."

He averted his eye, blinking rapidly.
 
"Lock the door behind me."
 
He glanced up at the sky.
 
It was paling already.
 
And yet he waited.

She knew he was delaying the moment when he would have to leave, to protect her right until he simply couldn't do it any longer.
 
And finally, jut as the first ways of sun lit the sky, he kissed her once more, then opened the door and left at a brisk jog.

Mary watched as he crossed the road and vanished into the copse of woods just beyond.
 
She tried to bank her curiosity, but she couldn't.
 
She didn't fear him, didn't want to run from him.
 
But she had to know.
 
She had to know all of it.

He was long gone, of course, by the time she entered the woods.
 
She already knew how fast he could move.
 
It was no surprise.
 
The woods were till dark; the early shafts of dawn didn't penetrate them.
 
The warmth did, and as the dew-damp ground warmed, it released its moisture in the form of mists that rose from the ground, and swirled around her feet and ankles.
 
There was a path.
 
Difficult to see beyond the writhing silver mists, but there nonetheless.

Mary followed it.
 
It meandered through the woodlot, then ended abruptly at a wide-open field that as dotted with shapes hiding in the food.
 
Too short to be trees.
 
Perhaps shrubs of some kind.
 
A sound drew her attention, like a door closing, and she whirled toward it but saw only the shape of what appeared to be a miniature house among the shadowy shapes.

Then she squinted as one shape seemed to come clearer.
 
It had wings.
 
Angel's wings.
 
She moved closer, then went stock-still as the rays of the sun burned through the mist and it thinned, and she saw the stones all around her.
 
Tombstones.
 
Monuments.
 
A stone angel.
 
And the little house?
 
The little house was a crypt.

She was standing in the middle of a cemetery.
 
And unless she was very mistaken, her loved had just entered one of the crypts and closed the door behind him.
 
Swallowing the urge to turn and run, she reminded herself that this was Michael, her Michael.
 
She had to know where he spent his days.

She forced her feet to carry her closer... closer... to the crypt from whence the noise had come.

And then she stood right before it, staring up at the name engraved at the top.
 
M I C H A E L
 
G R A Y.

Mary called ahead, then drove two hours to get to S.I.S., the investigations agency.
 
She had expected an office I a building in a town.
 
The place at which she arrived was none of those things.
 
It was a huge Victorian manor, recently renovated and stunning.

The supernatural investigations racket must be a lucrative one, Mary thought, as she drove Michael's Jag into the driveway and brought it to a stop.

And then she sat there for a couple of minutes, doing what she'd been doing during the entire drive.
 
Wondering if she had lost her mind.

When a person tells you he is a vampire, you should run away.
 
Any sane person would have spent the day putting as many miles between herself and Michael Gray as humanly possible.
 
But no.
 
She must not be sane, because she was up here on a fact-finding mission instead.
 
And she knew exactly what kinds of facts she was hoping to find:
 
facts that would tell her that it was going to be okay.
 
That there could be some kind of future with Michael.
 
That he'd told her everything now; there were no more secrets he was keeping for her.
 
She wanted validation.
 
She wanted to know everything about him.

Yes, she'd been thrown for a loop by what he claimed to be, and by seeing him a crypt with his name on it.
 
And yes, she was scared to death by everything that had happened over the past few days.
 
Not of Michael.
 
Never of Michael.
 
Nothing else that had happened was powerful enough to override the feelings that had been steadily growing inside her from the first time he'd walked into The Crypt.

Last night those feelings had filled her to overflowing.
 
They made her fears and her rational mind tiny by comparison.
 
She didn't
want
to run away from him.
 
She wanted to stay.
 
Maybe forever.

As she sat there, mulling all that over, the front door opened and a woman with short blond hair and a diamond stud in her nose stepped out onto the front porch, crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to one side.

Mary shut the car off and got out.

"Nice wheels," the woman said.
 
"I'm Stormy.
 
You must be Mary."

Mary nodded and walked up the steps to shake her hand.
 
"Good to finally meet you."

"You look like hell.
 
You okay?"

She ran her handover her neck, where Michael's teeth had pierce her skin.
 
It still tingled there.
 
"I'm not sure.
 
I think I was bitten by a vampire lat night, but I have no idea what that means."

Stormy held her gaze.
 
"Well, you're still alive, so I'm guessing it means you had a damn good night.
 
Lemme see."
 
She pushed Mary's hand aside and peered at her neck.
 
"Hell, I can't be sure.
 
The punctures heal the minute the sunlight hits them, but sometimes there's a tiny pink spot that gives it away."
 
She squinted and leaned closer.
 
"Yeah, there's still a trace."

Mary closed her eyes.
 
The woman was as matter-of-fact as if she were talking about the weather.
 
"Then...?"

Story smiled at her.
 
"You really don't know anything about any of this, do you?"

Mary shook her head.

"Come on
 
come inside and sit down.
 
I'll fix you some tea.
 
Max and Lou will be here any minute."
 
She took Mary's arm and led her inside.

The foyer was spectacular.
 
It took Mary's breath away, with the crystal chandelier, the antique furniture and the stunning staircase leading up to the second floor.

"We live in the main part of the house.
 
The library serves as our office.
 
Come on, it's right through here.."

She led Mary through a set of double doors and into a library.
 
The room contained two desks.
 
One was neat shiny, nothing but a computer on top.
 
The other held a computer but strewn with file folders and papers and coffee rings, and had a miniature of the
Conspiracy Theory
movie poster taped to one side.
 
There was a gas fireplace along one wall and comfy-looking leather chairs, a settee and rows and rows and more rows of books lining the walls.

"Have a seat.
 
I'll get the tea.
 
And relax.
 
You're not going to grow fangs or anything fro one vamp bite.
 
All right?"

She couldn't believe the amount of relief that rushed through her at those words the reassurance.
 
God, to think she had actually been worried about something as far-fetched as—hell, everything she'd ever believed to be real and normal and ordinary had been turned inside out in the past few days.
 
She didn't suppose anything was ridiculous at this point.

Story left her in the library, closing the doors behind her.
 
Mary started toward a chair, as instructed, but paused, drawn to the bookshelves as she noticed the titles on some of the spines.
 
The Kybalion, The Tibetan Book of the Dead, The Key of Solomon the King...

Every book on the shelf had some mystical title, and many appeared to be extremely old.
 
There were illuminated manuscripts from medieval times, for heaven's sakes.

"I see you appreciate our collection," a woman's voice said.

Mary turned to see her standing in the open doorway.
 
She was petite, with short copper hair and huge green eyes.
 
She reminded Mary of an imp or a wood sprite.
 
She was standing beside a man who wore dress pants and a white shirt that seemed baggy on him.
 
He was older than she was and had a tried look about him.
 
Stormy walked in behind them and closed the doors.

"Mary McLean, meet Maxine Stuart and Lou Malone.
 
The three of use are Supernatural Investigation Services.
 
Officially, at least."

"Officially?"

"Maxine smiled, coming forward, extending a hand.
 
"Yeah.
 
Unofficially we have a couple of silent but extremely helpful partners.
 
Call me Max."

Mary shook her hand.
 
"These books are incredible," she said.

"Thanks.
 
There's a lot of incredible and accurate information in those books, stuff we need in this business.
 
But you have to wade through a lot of superstitious bull and religious dogma to find it."

Mary didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Have a seat," Lou said, "and let's hear what's been going on."
 
He nodded her toward one of the leather chairs, so she took it.
 
Story handed her a cup of steaming tea and sat down on the settee, while Maxine went behind the messy desk with the movie poster on it and sat there, booting up her computer.
 
Lou took the remaining leather chair.

"I hardly know where to begin," Mary said.

"Start at the beginning," the man said.
 
He had a gentle, easy way about him that made her feel both comfortable and safe.

"All right."

So Mary sipped her tea and told them everything from the very beginning.
 
She told them abut the phone calls an the break-in, about reporting both to the police.
 
She told them about Michael, how he'd just started showing up at The Crypt, watching her, until he'd finally asked for a ride home so he could warn her that her stalker was a serial killer an that she was next on his hit list.
 
And then she told them about Tommy's murder, the police suspecting her, and her going to Michael's place.
 
And that was where she stopped.

Maxine, who'd been clicking computer keys intermittently throughout the tale, and Lou, who had been patient and silent, both looked at her waiting.
 
She didn't say anything until Stormy prompted her.

"What happened last night, Mary?
 
After I e-mailed you the photo of the cop named Michael Gray who was killed in Chicago seventy-some years ago?"

Mary sighed, licked her lips.
 
She drank the last swallow of tea from the cup.
 
'He walked in while I was looking at the photo.
 
So I showed him, and I asked him to explain."

"And?"

She lowered her head, shaking it slowly.
 
"He told me he was... a vampire."
 
Unable to remain sitting, she got to her feet, paced a few steps, turned and paced back.
 
"I don't know what the hell happened after that.
 
My logical mind told me I should run, and yet I didn't.
 
I didn't want to
 
I'm not afraid of him.
 
I've got all these feelings for this guy that don't make any sense at all.
 
He says it's partly because of my blood... something about the antigen, but it sounds like science fiction to me.
 
But he says there's more.
 
And, I don't know...
 
He kissed me, and the next thing I knew, we were—I just..."
 
She stopped pacing, pushed a hand through her hair.
 
"We spent the night in bed together.
 
And he..."

"He drank from her," Stormy filled in.
 
"Not much, obviously.
 
She's not even pale.
 
Probably just got a little carried away in the height of... well, you know how it is with vamps."

"Hot-blooded little suckers, every last one of them," Maxine said with a wink and a grin at her own bad pun.
 
"So what happened this morning?
 
You guys resolve anything?"

She shook her head.
 
"He reminded me tonight's the full moon.
 
That's when this killer usually hits, and even though Tommy's dead and al evidence points to him, Michael says he can still sense danger around me.
 
He made me promise to be there when he returned.
 
And I did.
 
And then he left."
 
She looked at her feet.
 
"I followed him.
 
He went to a cemetery, into a crypt, I think.
 
It has his name across the top."
 
She hugged herself and shivered.

"It's not as creepy as it sounds, Mary," Maxine said.
 
"I mean, some of them have the insides of those things fixed up nicer than a deluxe suite at the Ritz."

She looked up slowly.

Lou said, "You have to understand, they need to be careful.
 
There are people who hunt them like animals.
 
And God knows, if there existence ever became common knowledge, there would be no peace for them."

"All they want," Stormy said, "Is to live their lives in peace.
 
They aren't murderous maniacs, the way pop culture depicts them.
 
They're just people.
 
Just like us, with a few notable differences."

She had gazed at each of them in turn.
 
They were speaking so casually about something that, until very recently she hadn't even believed in.
 
Her knees went weak, and she bent them, landing in the chair behind her.
 
"You're telling me this isn't a unique situation here?
 
Vampires are so common that you people know all about them?"

They nodded, all three of them.
 
Maxine turned her computer monitor toward Mary.
 
"And so is the string of murders Michael's been telling you about.
 
We've been following them ourselves.
 
All the victims had the belladonna antigen.
 
You have it, too so his concern for your safety is valid."

Mary nodded, letting all her breath escape her at once.
 
"I was so hoping you'd tell me just the opposite.
 
I mean, I believe Michael.
 
I've believed him all along.
 
But it would be nice if someone could tell me he was overreacting—that I was never really in danger."

"Sorry about that."

Drawing a breath, Mary squared her shoulders.
 
"Can you explain to me a little more about this... antigen in my blood?
 
And the bond Michael says it creates between us?"

Nodding, Max glanced at Lou.
 
He cleared his throat.
 
"First, hon, let me just tell you that in all honesty, five years ago, I thought this was the most far-fetched pile of horse manure anyone had ever tried to dump on me.
 
But I've seen the proof.
 
I know it's true.
 
It's a lot to digest all at once, but it's for real.
 
It's important you not get hung up too that part of it, because you need to get by it in order to make much sense of the rest."

"I'm trying, believe me."

He smiled at her, reached across the space between them and patted her hand where it rested on the arm of her chair.
 
"Some people have the belladonna antigen.
 
It's a rare one.
 
And those who have it have a few things in common.
 
For one thing, they tend to bleed a lot when cut.
 
Some to the point of hemophilia, but others not quite so bad as that.
 
It's tough to find blood donors when they do, because so few people have the antigen."