Secrets of the Night Special Edition (97 page)

"Lawyers help people every day, Stephanie. I wouldn't mind if you studied one of the other professions, like medicine or accounting. But social work . . . !”

"I'm not going to change my mind, and please don't try to change it for me. This is what I want to do.”

"Where are you going to obtain funds for tuition? From what you make at the bookstore?” 

"I've applied for a student loan, but I haven't heard back yet.”

"If you studied law or any of the other professions, you know I'd gladly pay your tuition, no strings attached. Don't forget I already paid for two years at
Columbia--
"

"I haven't forgotten.”

"--and then you quit because you couldn't decide what you wanted to do with your life. I don't see any point in advancing more money--"

"I'm not asking you to.”

"--when you intend to go into some useless line of work.”

"It's not useless!” She gripped the receiver, her heart pounding.” Dad, I'm a different girl now than I was a few years ago. I intend to get a degree in social work.”

"Then don't ask me for money, no matter why you need it.” 

"Don't worry, I won't. I'm paying all my living expenses, as you know, and the student loan should pay for my education. I can get by on my own, and there's really no more to say.” Stevie hung up.

She flexed her tense fingers, wishing they could have finished their conversation on a more agreeable note. No matter what her dad said, she knew she could do anything she set her mind to. Only a matter of determination.

Within seconds, the phone rang again. Was her father calling back to apologize or to argue further? After three rings, she picked up the receiver.” Hello.”

"Don't think you can escape,” a raspy voice said.” I'll get you sooner or later.”

"Who is this?”

Silence.

"What a jerk!” She slammed down the phone and headed for the kitchen. Halfway there, a crazy idea halted her steps. Was he the same man she'd seen a couple of times in the neighborhood, the last time right outside her apartment? Shivers raced over her body. Who was he? And what did he have against her?

* * *

Returned from feeding downtown, Galan flung his front door open and slammed it behind him. No sign of Rosalinda, and he'd checked all her usual haunts from
Sao Paulo
to Frankfurt to
Tokyo
. He thought of all the nights he'd kept guard by Stevie's bed, but what about the times hunger had driven him away?

What if the vampiress had taken advantage of his absence to feed on Stevie? That would explain Stevie's fatigue. God, no! Simple enough for Rosalinda to discover Stevie's address, because she had only to follow him to her apartment, clandestinely, of course. Nothing was impossible for the undead.

And what about Octavius and his promise to entice Rosalinda away from him? Where in Hades was he?

More than anything else, he wondered about the elixir, a possibility that drove every other thought from his mind . . . except Stevie . . . and keeping her from danger.

Which brought him back to Rosalinda. If the vampiress reappeared in his life, he'd stifle his resentment and greet her like the lover she'd been, so long ago. He'd make any sacrifice to keep her away from Stevie. Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned. He should know that by now, as surely as he knew Rosalinda's every mood, damn the bitch!

Drowsiness dragged him down as the early morning darkness lifted, and the rising sun sent bright shafts of light through the closed window blinds. With no time to lose, he raced upstairs, heading for his wide closet. Inside his coffin, he shut the lid and closed his eyes, soon falling into a deep sleep. Hours later, as the sun sank below the horizon and semi-darkness shadowed the room, Galan roused from his slumber. Slowly, he raised the coffin lid and sniffed. Was that musk he smelled? Aha! Rosalinda! After all his searching, she'd come to him.

But where was Octavius? Despite his affection for the nightstalker, Galan knew it would be just like that knave to forget his promise and leave him to deal with the vampiress.

Pasting a smile on his face, he tucked his shirt in his trousers and opened the closet door.

"Galan!” Attired in a deep green satin gown, her long black hair rippling down her back, Rosalinda rose from the bed with one easy, fluid movement, like a snake. Blood red lipstick presented a vivid contrast to her pale skin. Lavender eye shadow and ebony mascara embellished her eyes. Diamonds glittered on her neck and wrist, a ten carat diamond flashing on her right ring finger. She was a walking advertisement for a jewelry store.

She threw her arms around him.” My Galan, as handsome as ever.”

"Rosalinda! How nice to see you again!” Like hell.

She smiled coquettishly.” Well, this is a pleasant surprise. When last I visited you, you weren't very happy to see me,” she said with a questioning look.

He drew her down onto the bed next to him.” My mistake. I've been thinking about you--and missing you so--it occurred to me, why don't we take up where we left off two-hundred years ago?”  He slipped his arm around her waist.” We had splendid times together, didn't we?” 

"The best I've ever known.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, the musk aroma making his eyes water.” Let us resume our relationship, darling. We can go anywhere we want. The world is ours!"

Galan hugged her waist, hating himself for this pretense while he wondered how long he must continue.” Where shall we go?
Paris
?
Rome
?” 

"
London
!”

He nodded.”
London
it is.”

"We'd better leave now,” Rosalinda said as she smoothed the folds of her gown, “if we want to take in everything there is to see and do. Don't forget about the time difference.”

"I haven't forgotten.” He stood up to take her hand.” Shall we leave, then?” 

She slipped her arm through his, an eager smile on her face.” There's so much I want to fetch from Harrod's.”

"Anything you want.” His gaze locked with hers, he held her lightly by the shoulders.” Before we leave, there's something I must know, and I demand an honest answer.”

"Of course, Galan.” She stared up at him, green eyes wide with innocence.” When have I ever lied to you?” 

More times than I can count.” I have a mortal friend, a woman . . .”

"Another woman!” Jealousy burned in her eyes, her lips curling with contempt.

"Only a casual friend,” he said, as always determined to protect Stevie. And surely Rosalinda knew about her, since Octavius had related the meeting at Moloch's castle.” She's spoken of fatigue lately, an alarming malady in such a young lady. Have you--?” 

She threw him a look of hurt indignation.” I swear by all that is evil, I've not gone near her.”

Peering into her eyes, he searched for any sign of falsity . . . and found none. For now, he'd take her word. But if she dared touch a hair on Stevie's head, he'd drive a stake through her wicked heart and burn her, so she'd never threaten anyone again.

"Forget this silly mortal,” Rosalinda said with a coaxing smile.” She could never make you happy as I have. Kiss me, Galan,” she whispered, leaning closer, eyes shut.

Galan touched his lips to hers, a light brushing of mouth to mouth. He recalled the passion they once shared, temptation beckoning him. But no one could take Stevie's place, especially not Rosalinda, the witch.

She pulled him ever closer, kissing him fiercely, running her fingers through his hair. An exultant smile on her alabaster face, she drew back with a slow sigh. She ran her hand past her hips and thrust out her breasts.” You're mine, aren't you, darling?” 

"For always.” Stevie, Stevie, his heart cried. If only she were you.

The vampiress reached for a large alligator tote bag on the bed, her long hair falling forward, concealing her face.” Let us go, then.” Clutching the bag, she straightened and brushed the long flow of hair over her shoulders.

They closed their eyes in fierce concentration, a rush of air tugging at them. Images swept past, the
Atlantic Ocean
glittering in the moonlight below. Within a minute, they arrived in
London
at the spot Rosalinda desired, in Knightsbridge, near
Brompton Road
. Mostly rowdies and hooligans roamed the streets of the city at this early hour of the morning, but Galan didn't spare a worry about them, well aware they posed no threat to him or his companion.

Tiny, dry snowflakes spiraled down from a coal black sky, caught in the dull glow of streetlights. A strong wind blasted through the avenues, whipping Rosalinda's hair across her face and molding her dress to her body. Under the streetlight, her skin shone as white as the snow that dusted the sidewalks, her thin lips a slash of scarlet across her face.

Lit up like a centenarian's birthday cake, Harrod's dominated the block, with its many elegant windows showing all manner of goods, from costume jewelry to evening gowns. And I suppose Rosalinda will want to visit every counter, Galan fretted, resolved to contain his irritation.

Face pressed against a window, she studied a shoe display.” Oh! Look at those shoes. I can take my pick of them before we leave,” she called to Galan, who'd strolled past her, glancing at the other department store windows.” So--"

A punk with spiked green hair and gold pierced earrings zipped around the corner and grabbed for her purse.” Give me yer--"

Galan rushed to her rescue but found, as always, Rosalinda could take care of herself. She hissed and spat at the bloke, a steady stream of thick, deep red blood spurting from her mouth.

The would-be thief jerked back, frantically brushing his hand across his face.” Blimey!” He turned and raced down the street, nearly slipping on the ice, as if the entire
London
police force were after him.

Rosalinda smiled sweetly.” Shall we go in now, darling?” 

Impervious to security devices, they entered the magnificent emporium, a store so huge you couldn't see from one end to the opposite. As if she were a new heiress with an embarrassment of riches, Rosalinda flitted from counter to counter, Galan in tow. Both of them easily eluded security guards inside the store, their vanishing ability working overtime.

They stopped at a perfume display, where a variety of elegant bottles graced the counter, like debutantes at a cotillion. Rosalinda tried every scent that caught her fancy while Galan leaned against the glass, a study in nonchalance, hating himself for this charade. The vampiress sprayed a heavy mist on her neck and wrists, a mixture of musk, patchouli, and myrrh.

A cloud of perfume surrounded her face.” How do you like this scent?” 

Like it? The stench overpowered him, like a whiff of poison gas.” It's lovely. Your type of perfume.”

"Very well, I'll take it.” She dropped the bottle into her bag as her gaze covered nearby aisles.” Now let's see about the jewelry, then I'll get a few pairs of shoes from the display window before we leave.”

Passing the men's jewelry display, Galan spied a pair of eighteen carat gold cufflinks, an adornment he'd always wanted. He grabbed the pair and pocketed it, leaving fifty pound notes on the counter to cover the cost. He followed Rosalinda to the fine jewelry department, where locked glass cabinets posed no impediment.

By the time they left Harrod's, Rosalinda had snitched a ruby pendant, a sapphire bracelet, and the creme de la creme, the most exquisite emerald and diamond necklace, priced at maybe half a million in American dollars. Not to mention the perfume and three pairs of shoes.

"A most profitable visit,” she declared as they drifted through the heavy doors, once more eluding security guards.” Now on to
Sloane Street
.”

Galan's nostrils flared, his hands itching to shake her senseless. Would he ever get rid of the bitch?

Stevie, what are you doing now? He missed her more than he'd ever thought possible, imagining what she must be doing at this time--probably coming home from work.

And where in Hades was Octavius? Had he changed his mind? With centuries to fine tune their skills, ancient nightstalkers could easily home in on another's location. He done it many times himself. Continually glancing in all directions, he had only a faint hope the renegade bloodsucker would arrive soon . . . if he ever did.

No doubt Rosalinda would latch onto Octavius without thinking twice, and then he'd be rid of her. He hoped.

"Why are you always looking over your shoulder?” Rosalinda asked as they passed Chez Enfant. She snorted.” Don't tell me you're worried someone will attack you.” 

"Not likely. But perhaps I'll see an acquaintance,” he blandly replied, vowing to be more circumspect.” Think of all the nightstalkers here in
London
.”

"Wait 'til later.” She stopped to admire a variety of hats in a shop window.” I'll wager we'll see more nightstalkers than we can count in
Piccadilly Circus
. We can feed then, too," she said with a sly smile, “together. Remember what fun that was?”