Rachel Caine & Kristin Cast & Claudia Gray & Nancy Holder & Tanith Lee & Richelle Mead & Cynthia Leitich Smith & P. C. Cast (15 page)

Because vampires
do
reflect in mirrors, in all reflective surfaces. They cast shadows too. They can even go out all day long in the blazing summer sun. No tan, sure. But the sun won't fry you. Unless, of course, brainwashed by hundreds of years of legendary propaganda, you
believe it will
.

You see, all that stuff is a psychosomatic illness. It
seems
real, so real you'll have the symptoms, as can happen with any major psychosomatic sickness. And in fact a vampire's own abilities can turn against him to reinforce the myth. A vampire
can
seem invisible—so in that looking glass, he
is
. So you come up in blisters too, and seek a big box to sleep in, and hunt down innocent people and mug them for blood. You can even throw up at the smell of garlic, or pass out at a powerful religious symbol. But it isn't for real. It is a kind of
guilt trip
. The vampire knows he is superior. That frightens him. So, unconsciously, he tries to keep himself chained up. No one can be harder on us than we are ourselves, once we've gotten started.

Otherwise, a vampire can live forever, maybe. But you don't need a stake or fire to kill him. You can just shoot a vampire dead, and you won't need a special bullet. Vampires are long-lived, not invulnerable. What they can also do are things like seem to be other creatures, vanish, sometimes fly, and, obviously, call animals to them and ask
them
to do things—like a stag, for example. We don't abuse these gifts. Not when we grasp what we are and why. But then, some of us are lucky. I grew up in a partly vampiric family. I knew by age three what I was, and when I found on my tenth birthday I could turn into a fox, my Dad took a photo of me like that. I still have that picture. Yes, cameras can catch us too.

My father does look remarkably young. He puts it down, to his patients, as the vitamins he takes. And his name—our family name? Draculian. Anthony Draculian. Lelystra Draculian. But no, we're not from that famous branch of our kind (the Romanian one, brought to public attention in the 1800s by clever Mr. Stoker). Though, if you trace bloodlines back far enough, we are related.

And there, you see, these were all the things I should have said to poor handsome unhappy Anghel. And instead I'd been flustered and messed up.

I had to stay another two days with the Kokersons. I did it and it was hell. But then, there wasn't much point in running back to Dad two days early, howling about my dismal
failure. Anghel was gone. I knew I'd never see him again, I knew I could have helped and instead I only helped make his life worse.

I did put one call through to Dad. But he was with a patient. Oh, let it wait then till I was home. I'd have all the rest of my days after all, to blame myself, and to regret.

Anthony has his office way across town. We live in a big russet brownstone on the corner of Dale and Landry. It's a nice area.

I'd tried to call him again from the cell phone booth on the train, but he was back in another eternal meeting. No one was home.

I dumped my bags and then took the little elevator up to our roof garden. It's only a little garden, a kind of outdoor living room. The last roses were dying on the walls, but the grapevine had big purple grapes. I took some off and ate them, gazing down over the parapet at the sun deciding to sink, as it always does, west of the city.

I had never felt I had to go rob someone of their blood. Lucky in that, I said. Lucky me. I'd had it all very easy. Only when Mom died—I was fifteen then. That had been hard. She wasn't like us, Dad and me, or my uncle. She didn't have the gene. I knew they'd talked about—when she was older, how they would handle that. . . . But it never happened, a truck in town saw to that. It killed her. And we, Dad and me, we wouldn't be immune to that either.

The sky was rose-gold. Birds were flying like scribbles over it. The city made its noises of trains and cabs and people, but I knew the moment my father came back in the house I would sense it, I always did. And then the oddest idea went through my mind. It made me straighten up and hold my breath a moment. This strange thought was—had my father, my clever amazing father who seemed always to know everything—had he known too Anghel was due to be at the Kokerson's weird ball. Had he known I would see what Anghel was—might try to alter things—even think I'd be the one to save Anghel from the dark he'd stumbled into? If that was it, how much more awful it was going to be, telling Anthony that I
hadn't
—

And this was when I picked up what must
be
Dad, that silent step of his I can always hear, just inside the door below. And next the elevator rising.

I was horrified. Not of Dad—of the thing I'd have to say. I braced myself, with the taste of the grapes in my mouth. And out onto the roof he walked. But it wasn't Anthony. It was Anghel.

I froze. Like the biggest fool (the one who wins the Oscar for idiocy), I said, “Whuh?”

And he grinned.

His hair was tied back, a long, long black tail falling down his back. He wore jeans, a shirt, a light leather jacket. Even this way, as I had predicted, you couldn't miss he was something else. Different, astonishing.

He said, “It's okay, Lel. I have a pass for the door. Your father gave it to me. He trusts me. Can you?”

Anthony only ever trusts those who really can be trusted.

But I'd been kidding myself, hadn't I? It wasn't just I felt I'd messed up, let Anghel, a
patient
, down. It was me I was unhappy for. I hadn't been able to stop thinking of him. I thought I had lost him for good. But here he was.

Very coolly I said, “It's early for you to be out, isn't it? I mean, the sun's not down yet, is it.”

“He said—Anthony said—take it slow, but try a few new things. So, I do. Just an hour after sunrise, an hour before sunset. And look—” he was close now, holding out his strong, elegant hands. “Not a single burn.”

I swallowed. “So you
are
my father's patient.”

“Since yesterday. I've made great strides, yes?”

“Yes. Good.” Lamely I studied the buttons on his shirt. They were fine, for buttons. It was better than looking up into his eyes.

“Lel,” he said quietly, “thank you.”

So then I had to look. When I did, those hands reached out and gently took mine. His touch was fiery, but what else? Something in his eyes had altered too. They weren't less overpowering exactly, but—there was something else in them now. I could see—
Anghel
. That is, I think I mean I could see who he truly was. A man not cruel or mean or a robber, never stupid, rich in possibility, brave, yes,
gallant
—only wanting to find his way.

“I apologize for the wolf stuff—the shape-shift,” he said to me. “I was—confused. Had to sort it out. As you see, though, I didn't lose the card. And I called Anthony, and I saw him yesterday. He's okay, your father.”

“Yes, he is.”

He still held my hands. “Lel,” he said, and then, very softly, “Lelystra—” And for the first time in my entire life my name sounded wonderful to me, as if I'd never
heard
it before—“Lelystra, you saved my skin. You saved my sanity. You stopped me becoming something I'd never want. And I don't want—I can't make you any promises, or ask for any. Not yet. Not until I
know
I'm really
there
, where I have to be. Where
you
are. But if I make it, then—”

The whole roof was glowing now, the walls, the vines, the grapes, blood-red from the sunfall. And in the blood-red light Anghel leaned forward and kissed my mouth. It was a marvelous kiss, weightless yet profound. As gently as he, I gave it back to him. There in the sunset light as red as blood.

 

 

 

 

I
was trapped.

I'd thought this back door led to freedom. Instead, I found myself in a narrow alley, the only other exit leading back to the main road where cops and others were looking for me. What was I going to do? I hesitated, wondering if the street was safer than going back through the club. Before I could decide, though, I heard a a door close behind me. I spun around.

There was a human standing there. A guy. He looked like he was about my age, maybe a little older. His brown hair was a bit shaggy for my tastes, but his eyes were beautiful. They were a deep, deep green. Like the color emeralds are supposed to be but never are. When I looked at him, the weirdest jolt went through me. He was cute, but it wasn't physical attraction that suddenly gave me pause. It was more like a sense of recognition, as though I'd known him for years. That
made no sense; I'd never seen him before. I shook off the feeling, and, as my eyes swept his body, I saw something else even more beautiful: a purple badge clipped to his belt.

“Get me out of here,” I said, mustering as much harshness as I could, given the circumstances. If he worked at this club—and his clothing suggested he did—then he was used to taking orders from vampires. “Take me to your car.”

I waited for him to cower, for his eyes to go wide. Maybe he'd gulp or give me a shaky nod. Instead, he frowned and asked, “Why?”

I stared, momentarily at a loss for words. “Because I told you to!”

Those beautiful eyes assessed me the way mine had just done him. “You're afraid,” he said, more puzzled than anything else. “Why? Vampires are never afraid.”

“I'm
not
afraid—but I'm going to get mad if you don't do what I tell you to do.” Desperate, I reached into my purse and pulled out a wad of cash. I didn't bother to count it, but there were some hundreds on top. “Will you stop asking questions if I give you this?”

This time, his eyes did go wide. He hesitated only a moment and then snatched the money from my hand. “Come on.”

I followed him back inside the club. I'd entered earlier through its main door, cutting through mobs of people writhing to heavy techno beats. This guy took me down another hall, one that led past a kitchen and some storage rooms. At the hallway's end was another outside door. He
pushed it open, revealing a darkened parking lot surrounded by a wire fence.

He unlocked a rusty Honda Civic, and I scurried in, nervously glancing around me. Aside from the silent cars, the parking lot was empty. For the first time tonight, I allowed myself the brief hope that I might actually get out of this alive.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Nathan,” he said, glancing behind him as he backed out of the parking spot. “You?”

“Lucy.” A moment later, I silently cursed myself for giving my real name. What was I thinking? I gave him a sidelong glance, wondering if the name meant anything to him—it had been all over the news, after all—but he appeared to be too preoccupied with driving.

We pulled out onto the main road, and I slouched in my seat. This was a party district. Groups of people were everywhere. Some walked along the street, going from club to club. Some were already in line at the clubs—humans, of course. Vampires rarely had to wait to get in.

I scanned the crowds, looking for any sign of my pursuers and finding none. Not that that meant anything. Bryan had a vast network of agents working for him, men and women who moved with stealth and speed unusual even among vampires.

“Okay, Lucy,” said Nathan, still not sounding very respectful. “Where do you want me to drop you off at?”

“Lakemont.”

“Lake—what? That's almost two hours away!”

“For the amount of money I gave you, you should drive me somewhere twelve hours away.”

“I have to get back to work! I'm on break. I thought I was just dropping you off somewhere.”