Secrets of the Night Special Edition (100 page)

"Yes, I did know.”

Turning onto her side, Stevie mumbled in her sleep. Galan laid a gentle hand on her forehead, returning her to slumberous oblivion. With the greatest effort, he drew his hand away, wanting to touch her hair, caress the silky locks, run his fingers down her cheeks. And remain with her for eternity.

He nodded toward Stevie.” I want you to leave her alone.” 

Hands on her hips, Rosalinda glared at him, her eyes flashing.” Who the hell do you think you are, to tell me what to do! I go when and where I please. The world is my playground, the mortals my playthings, to tease and dispose of as I want.”

"Then I'm begging you. Stay away from her.”

She laughed, a brittle, mocking sound.” She really means that much to you? How can you possibly care for this mortal who lacks my charm, my powers? She is bound by the laws of nature, of physics, if you will. But I . . . and you, can do anything

we want.” She made a wide gesture.” Nothing is impossible. Why, only think how we can travel through time. And look how we can visit any place we desire without benefit of transportation, like the mortals need. You would forsake all that to stay with this . . . this miserable excuse of womanhood?” 

A murderous fury erupted in him, but she was one of Moloch's favorites, and he didn't dare antagonize the master fiend. Damn them both to hell!

He reached for Rosalinda's hand, struggling to suppress his fury.” Leave her alone. Come away with me instead. The world is our playground, our powers without limit.” God, how he hated this deceit, but he had no choice.” Let's go away together. Where would you like to go?” 

She smiled with triumph.”
Brussels
!”

"
Brussels
, then. One of my favorite cities. Why, only think of all our friends we'll meet in the Grote Markt.”

When would he see Stevie again? His stomach twisted in knots. Would he ever see her again?

"You must promise me something,” she said with a sly look.

"What's that?” 

She flicked a disdainful glance at Stevie.” That you'll never go near her after this night. Otherwise, I'll kill her.”

* * *

Heavy rain and falling temperatures told Stevie a strong cold front was moving down the peninsula into south
Florida
. Oh, boy, just what she needed. Cold weather. Rain drummed on the roof and gushed onto the ground below, forming a puddle outside her bedroom window, and trees thrashed in the wind, their branches swaying.

More fatigued than ever, Stevie trudged to her bedroom closet to get a thick cotton blanket from the top shelf. Can't believe I once liked cold weather, she mused as she raised up on her tiptoes to reach the blanket, wincing with the pain. Now winter weather made her joints so much worse, stiffened her knees and swelled her hands and fingers. She'd taken a week of sick leave from the bookstore, hoping against hope she'd feel better by Monday.

And if she was still in pain? She'd go back to work, no matter what.

Blanket clutched to her chest, she plodded to the living room to watch TV, anything to get her mind off her worries, help her forget the pain. Anyway, it was still too early to go to bed, and the last thing in the world she needed was to lie in bed, tossing and turning for hours.

Getting settled with her blanket tucked around her chin, she flipped the remote control from one channel to another, finally stopping at the educational channel to watch a special program on vampires. . . .

VAMPIRE MURDERS. The Herald headline ricocheted in her brain. Silly, how could anyone believe in such creatures?

Despite her doubt, she watched the first half of the program in fascination, while the narrator related tales of vampires throughout the centuries. The undead, he called them, with a brief history of Count Dracula. So there really was a Count Dracula? He wasn't just a figment of Bram Stoker's imagination? Well, what do you know.

"And here's a vampire for you,” the narrator said after a public service announcement, “an actual woman who lived in the sixteenth century. She tortured and murdered hundreds of young women.” The TV screen showed an actress who'd played the part in an old movie.” Does she look like a vampire to you?” he asked.” Just goes to show you never can tell what one of the undead looks like.” He laughed, an eerie, mocking laugh.” Beware of strangers when you're out walking after dark.”

So what's a vampire supposed to look like?  Stevie wondered as she bent to scratch her foot. She sat back up and straightened the blanket around her shoulders.

"Here's something most people don't know,” the narrator continued.” Not until the nineteenth century were vampires shown with fangs.” First I ever heard that, Stevie mused. An old movie actor from Nosferatu appeared on the screen, fangs as prominent as the devil's horns.

"Now listen to this,” he said.” According to vampire lore, they have no reflections and so avoid mirrors or any glassy surfaces.”

Stevie pressed her hand to her head, thinking hard. Something about a glass cabinet. . . The thought remained out of reach, as elusive as a winning lottery ticket. All those aspirin she'd taken a while ago had dulled her brain, but she'd think of it if she just gave it time.

"Some people still believe in vampires, and many claim to number among the undead. Why, they even form vampire societies.” So what do they do at their meetings?  Stevie wondered.

Drink each other's blood?

The program ended with a long, ghostly laugh.” Better watch out, all you mortals out there.”

Not so stiff now--maybe those aspirins had helped--she wrapped the blanket around her and plodded back to her bedroom, thinking about Galan every step--his dark eyes, his smile, everything about him. He called her every evening and left a message on her answering machine, but she didn't want him to see her now, not like this. Strange, he hadn't called tonight. She swallowed a lump in her throat, trying not to think of him, wanting to drive him from her mind.

What would he think if he saw her now, when she could walk only in shuffling steps? Uh, uh, she'd wait until she got better. If she ever did.

* * *

One evening the following week, a dense fog--unusual for
Miami
--veiled the city, blurring houses and trees. Concealed behind the jacaranda tree, Galan waited to see Stevie as she arrived home from work. Water from last night's rain dripped from the trees and glistened on the pavement. Cars driving by made a whooshing sound on the rain-slick streets, their dim headlights cutting a pale swath of light through the mist.

Moisture from the branches dripped onto his head and down his face, but he ignored it. Dead leaves littered the lawn and driveway, like an assembly of lost souls. A squirrel across the street climbed up an oak tree, the scratching of its claws multiplied a hundred-fold in Galan's ears.

Rosalinda, the slut! had remained in
Brussels
with Morcar and Octavius, the latter two having resolved their differences. When he'd left them, all three were indulging in an enthusiastic, vigorous sex romp at a deserted apartment on the outskirts of the city.

"Galan,” Rosalinda had implored, “don’t you want to join us?”  She'd laughed, a low, throaty laugh.” The more the merrier.”

He made a mocking bow.” Forgive me, dearest, but I must plead hunger,” he said, hoping he was giving a credible performance.” I bid you farewell, but please, I beg of you, don't let my absence spoil your fun. . . .”

With another impatient glance down the street, he tapped his fingers against his side. Fearful of arousing Rosalinda's suspicions, he knew he must return to
Brussels
soon.

How much longer must he live this life--this death! Would he ever discover the secret of the elixir? Fast losing hope, he searched his mind for a means of learning more, for Octavius remained ignorant of its source.

Minutes slid past as he stood under the tree, and--there she was, a spectral figure in the haze. But this wasn't the Stevie he knew, not the woman who'd told him she ran five miles every night without tiring, not his dear one with the warm smile and the easy laugh. As still as a frozen corpse, he watched as she approached the apartment, her steps slow and halting, a troubled expression on her face.

In God's name, what ailment afflicted her? Go to her, his heart urged. Take her in your arms and comfort her. And stay with her, for all time.

Agony sliced through him, as painful as the Norman arrow at
Hastings
. He clenched his hands, his mouth working. If only he could remain here with Stevie, discover what caused her suffering. But no, he had to part from her, never to see her again.

Never see Stevie again.

Chapter Ten

"Where the hell were you?”  In a wrinkled cotton chemise, her matted hair hanging to her waist, Rosalinda looked and sounded like a shrewish fishwife from Billingsgate. Careful to mask his feelings, Galan viewed her with revulsion. Leaning against a mahogany tallboy, he observed her in the bedroom of their spacious
Brussels
apartment as night lingered over the city, and streetlights cast a dull glow through the crimson velvet draperies at the wide front window. The huge rumpled bed gave evidence of Rosalinda's frolic with Morcar and Octavius, but where those two were, Galan didn't know and cared less.

"I waited and waited for you,” she said.

"I told you,” Galan answered patiently, “I had to feed.”

She shoved her forefinger at his chest.” Liar! You went to her, didn't you? --to the mortal woman.”

"Madam, please do not call me a liar. I haven't touched her for a long time.” Galan went on the offensive.” And if anyone has a right to ask questions, it is I. If I remember correctly--and believe me, I do--when I left here you were taking turns with Octavius and Morcar.”

She lifted her chin.” What I do with my body is my own business.” 

"Then what do you want me for?”  He held up a hand.” No, don't tell me. It's only for spite, to make sure I'll stay away from the mortal woman.” Immediately regretting his words, he affected an anguished look and placed his hands on either side of her waist.” Dear Rosalinda, surely you know I'd rather be with you than anyone. How could one of our kind prefer a human woman to you?” 

A tear trickled down her cheek.” You really mean it? That you'd rather spend your time with me? Remember, I asked you to join us.”

"Three men and one woman?” 

"Why not?”  Rosalinda slid closer and wrapped her arms around his waist.” I'm always ready for something new. Make love to me,” she whispered.” It's you I want, no one else.”

Weary of pretense, he eased out of her embrace.” I can't make love. I fear I've lost my powers.”

"Another lie! It's because of that ugly mortal. No matter what you say, you want only her.” She brushed her hand across her eyes and sniffed.” You have no use for me anymore.” 

"Not true,” he protested, proud of his acting ability, almost as good as Rosalinda's.” I simply haven't fed as I used to. Many things have kept me far too busy. Not everyone gorges on mortals as you do,” he said, no longer able to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

"It's the only way to keep your powers. Do you want to be weak like a mortal? Wouldn't you rather have the strength of twenty men?” 

"If it's strong men you want, you should have stayed with Octavius,” he replied, well aware that he, Galan, could best any vampire in physical prowess.

"But Octavius isn't nearly as exciting as you.” Her blood red lips twisted into a pout.” I'm getting so tired of this century, and I can't stand it when you go near another woman.” She cradled his face in her hands.” Darling, let's go back to the eighteenth century. Remember how much fun we had then? And oh! do you remember that French chateau where Morcar killed all the mortals?”  She giggled.” Then none of their stupid kind would live there because they thought the place was haunted. Let's go back there,” she said with a coaxing smile.” Morcar's been eluding Moloch, in case you haven't heard and--"

"Of course I've heard. Rosalinda, I do manage to keep abreast of the news.”

"Well, maybe we can persuade Morcar to give a ball and invite all our nightstalker friends.” Her face darkened.” Not only friends, but enemies, too. I didn't see Lilith when I accompanied Octavius to that party in
Paris
. I've got a few matters to settle with her.” 

Galan knew he must handle Rosalinda with care. But when would he see Stevie again? When, when?”  Sounds like a fascinating idea . . .
France
, I mean.” He thought for a moment.” Clothes,” he mused aloud.” We must dress appropriately.”

She clapped her hands.” Oh, there are scads of armoires in the chateau, full of gowns, coats, and breeches. Shoes, too. Plenty of clothes for both of us.”

* * *

Rambouillet
,
France
1777

A vampire string quartet occupied the dais of the magnificent salle de bal at the chateau, where glittering crystal chandeliers glowing with spermaceti candles illuminated the rose marble floor and pale green damask draperies. The strains of the stately minuet competed with voices and raucous laughter. Must be at least two-hundred party-goers here, Galan estimated with a glance around the room. Everyone was dressed in splendid colorful silks, satins, and laces. Scents of musk and patchouli hung over the room like a fog over
London
.