Blood Rites (5 page)

On sunny days, she stayed indoors, unwilling to face rays that had, since her changing, become painful to her skin and eyes and seemed to pull the strength from her body. And there was always food in the kitchen. She never saw the delivery person though sometimes she would sense a presence in early morning while she slept. Later, she would discover fresh rolls or bread on the table, washed laundry neatly folded ready to be put away.

Curiosity finally got the better of her, and Helen pulled herself awake and surprised a girl sweeping the kitchen.

“Oh!” the girl exclaimed when she heard Helen speak. She whirled, fright fading to embarrassment as she saw who stood behind her.

The girl was about thirteen, a little older than Helen’s cousin in Ohio. Her curly auburn hair was tied at the nape of her neck. Her complexion was olive, her eyes hazel with green flecks. Already beautiful, someday she’d be striking. “Are you the one who keeps everything so neat?” Helen asked slowly, not certain the girl understood English.

“Yes. I am Hillary Dutiel.”

“French and English?” Helen asked, trying to place her accent.

Hillary shrugged, a gesture carrying sophistication beyond her years. “My mother was Portuguese. But she liked the English.”

“Well, Hillary, it’s early but I think I want some breakfast. Will you have something?” When the girl looked uncertain, Helen added, “I like to know who’s taking care of me.”

“I must be at school at nine,” the girl replied uneasily.

“Well, you have almost an hour. You can finish tomorrow.”

“I am sorry. I shouldn’t.”

She looked so anxious, Helen decided not to push her. “Well then, go. But come back when you have some time and talk to me. Do you promise?”

Hillary nodded and put away the broom and the smock she had used to cover her shapeless brown dress. As she walked past Helen leaning against the table, she brushed Helen’s arm, pulled quickly back, and flushed. Her embarrassment had deepened to something not easily ignored. “Good-bye,” Hillary mumbled and left without looking back.

After the girl had gone, Helen sat with one stolen vision in her mind—herself naked on her bed, her body bathed in the rainbows of morning drifting through the room.

She watches me when I sleep
, Helen thought.
Am I so attractive even to a child
?

That evening Stephen came home to find her sitting on the sofa, her feet curled under her. One of the firm’s old ledgers lay facedown on her lap and she held a pencil and a small notepad. “I can glance at a page and remember every number,” she said triumphantly. She had mastered one more Austra power.

He sat on the other end of the sofa, his legs crossed facing her, and motioned toward the bookshelf. “And those?”

“Words are easier. They make sense.”

“And how was the rest of the day?”

She hesitantly told Stephen about meeting Hillary and what she’d sensed at the end. He didn’t seem surprised. “I always leave before she arrives. I’ve watched you while you sleep. She won’t notice anything unusual.”

Shocked by his pragmatism, Helen retorted, “Stephen! She’s just a child. I want her hours changed. She can come in the afternoon.”

“Then she will watch you while you’re awake. Everyone watches you. Why should the girl be immune?”

She stared at him in stunned silence. She hadn’t known.

“You are a child yourself. You want everything. Everyone. How can any mortal resist you? You walk into the Austra offices and all work halts until you leave.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Sorry!” He realized he hadn’t explained himself well. He tried again. “This attraction is now a necessary part of your nature. When we are together, I control it for both of us. Your mind is strong. Control will come with time.”

“Teach me,” she demanded. She didn’t blame him or herself. She simply wanted to learn.

“Very well. The glass workers are having a dance in the Colony tonight. I think we should go. Then, if you are able, you should hunt alone.”

“Will it be crowded?” Since her changing she had avoided large groups, the commotion of so many minds.

“Before you can control human desire you must feel it clearly. AustraGlass owns the Colony. Many of the family will be there and they will help you if you call to them. I don’t believe you will need them.”

“And the hunting?” She tried to hide the fear.

He took her hands. “Understand that this is the hardest advice I will ever give you. When I am in exile as I was when I met you, I take my victims where I will and wipe their minds afterward. The danger adds a certain excitement to the act but it is better here that you find a human partner, one who knows and understands your needs. It is more satisfying and far safer than the youthful games we’ve been playing, yes?”

“You’ve been enjoying them,” Helen challenged without real malice.

“Of course. It’s been many years since I’ve felt this young, or this reckless. Now put on something beautiful while I wash the soot off my skin.”

Helen chose the red peasant skirt she’d bought in Cleveland, a loose gold cotton blouse and wide orange sash. She studied the effect in the mirror, noting how the black teardrop hung between her breasts drawing attention to them. She began to tie back her long hair and changed her mind. She looked freer with it down though its white-blond color made her face far too pale. She smoothed some rouge on her cheeks, added lipstick, and decided she looked better.

In the mirror, she saw Stephen behind her and turned to face him. He wore a red satin shirt with a deep V-neck and long loose sleeves to hide the unnatural length of his arms. Usually, his pants were as loose and as comfortable but tonight he had chosen black leather that hugged his calves and thighs, showing how muscled they were, and black boots that accented the length of his legs. Always handsome, now he looked magnificent; as attractive as he dared to be with people who did not share his secret.

“Stephen, who are your willing victims?” she asked in a honeyed tone.

“My secretary. Emma has been raised by our family, which makes her ideal. We have a friendship, nothing more. The second is our head of corporate security. His blood strengthens our mental ties, which has proven useful more than once. The third is the madame of the brothel in Chaves.“

“Do you pay her?”

“Primarily for her discretion.” He quickly added, “I haven’t seen Amalia since I brought you to Chaves.”

So recently monogamous, yet he had just suggested she take a lover! Perhaps he sensed that she would be jealous if he used another willing woman. In that he’d most likely be right. “Stephen,” she began, then halted before finding the right words to say. “I want you to know that whenever you do, I will try to judge it by what we are, not by how I’ve been raised.”

He kissed her on the forehead and said, “You knew this time would come. Most of the Colony knows nothing about us. They think you are a friend visiting from America, which makes you free to do no more or less than you wish.” Though he tried to hide his sadness, she sensed it as he added, “And whatever you do, I will understand.”

The Colony held their dance in their largest café. Even that was so crowded that the doors were left open so people could dance in the street if they wished. As they approached the café, Helen sensed the size and youth of the crowd. They wore incredible mixes of color, the women’s skirts and blouses were accented with lace, their hair tied up with ribbons. She had not been in a group this large since her changing and the laughter and thoughts mingled with the spoken words created a clamor that deafened her. She stopped on the edge of the crowd, trembling. When she called to Stephen, her words were muffled, one more part of the din. He moved closer to her, taking her hand for reassurance, leading her through the dancers and into the café. As they walked through the crowd, Helen felt the silence move out from her like waves from a stone tossed into a pool.

It wasn’t that the music had stopped or the conversation ended, but the attention of the players and audience became riveted on her and Stephen. No one else in the room mattered anymore. The strength of their combined desire made Helen giddy and she stared straight ahead because if she didn’t, her eyes would dart from one face to another. She felt naked, helpless, violated, and she saw them all, crawling over her, rippling her apart. Her mind responded with a single great -NO!-

The noise, spoken and mental, increased. People still looked at her, but the intensity of their emotion had vanished. Somehow she had made people forget their desire.

She sensed Stephen’s approval. “It is instinct. It cannot be taught. Now dance with me,” he said.

She didn’t know how she had muted her attraction nor how long she could maintain the mental command, but for the moment she felt safe. She and Stephen swayed with the dancers, hardly more noticed than any of the others. When the music stopped, Stephen’s secretary came to say hello to her. After their brief conversation, Helen discovered that Stephen had vanished. She sensed him nearby. His presence gave confidence enough.

Helen scanned the crowd and saw Hillary Dutiel on the edge of it, stretching to be taller than she was, looking more anxious than she had this morning. Helen made her way to Hillary’s side and asked, “Is anything wrong?” She stood close to Hillary as she spoke and felt as well as saw the heat of embarrassment spread across the girl’s face.

Thinking herself safe in the dim, crowded room, Hillary chose to ignore it. “I am looking for Papa,” she said. “He promised he would only come here for a little while. He shouldn’t have come at all. He’s been sick.”

“Do you see him?”

Hillary studied the dance floor and the tables, finally concentrating on one dark section. “In the back near the bar,” she whispered without pointing. “He’s there.”

“Shall I come with you?” Helen asked.

“Please. He won’t listen to me. Maybe if you talk to him.”

As Helen followed Hillary along the edge of the dance floor and through the tables, Hillary’s father noticed them coming. He was alone, sprawled at a table in the darkest corner of the room. An empty wine bottle sat in front of him along with an almost full glass.

He was attractive enough for a man twice her age and Helen sensed a certain smugness in the way he watched her. She looked directly at him and brushed his mind. Yes, he would be one of the safe choices. He knew exactly what she’d become.

She returned his inviting smile as she and Hillary took empty seats on either side of him.

“Are you prowling, Helen Wells?” he asked, his voice so soft she wouldn’t have heard his words before her changing, the tone of his voice combined with his French accent to make the question sound like a lovers’ secret. He held out his left hand, and as she took it, she noticed his right arm was missing. He’d positioned himself in the room so this would not be seen, though in a place as intimate as the AustraGlass Colony, everyone must have known about . . . about. She tried to touch his mind and failed.

“Please don’t,” he said, whispering close to her ear now so Hillary wouldn’t hear. “If we’re going to share the intimate details of my life, I prefer to edit them through speech.”

She wondered if he always talked so softly. She imagined him when he was younger, whispering to his would-be conquests so they would have to move close to him to listen, close enough to steal a kiss. “You have me at a disadvantage,” she said and asked, “You are?”

“Philippe Dutiel.” He turned to his daughter. “Hillary, go ask the bartender for another bottle and two more glasses.”

“Papa!”

“Go!” he ordered and the girl, flushed and angry, obeyed.

“She’s worried about you,” Helen said. “She said you’ve been ill.”

“She always worries. It gives her something to do.”

“Is her mother here?”

“Her mother died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No sympathy, please. I only knew the woman for one night. One night was enough.”

“Who was she?” Helen asked.

“Whores shouldn’t have names.”

Direct. So direct he almost seemed rude. Helen envied him for that. “If you never knew her, why does Hillary live with you?” she asked.

“The woman died early last year. She named me as father. Someone gave the girl some money and sent her to me on the train.”

Helen tried to picture Hillary traveling all alone with her grief to a man who, if Helen perceived correctly, didn’t care about her. “Do you think you’re her father?” Helen asked. Though she saw a family resemblance, she almost hoped he’d say no.

Philippe shrugged, a gesture much like Hillary’s. “Probably. She looks like me. Besides, the whore would have made up a better name.” Noting Helen’s shocked expression, he added, “Though I only used her once, I remember her. She was my first lay after I lost my arm. She laughed when I put on the condom. I was so clumsy. I’d never done it left-handed before. My stump was still raw. There was blood on the sheets from it when we were through . . . and semen where she wanted it least. She swore at me for both the blood and the break. I remember thinking that she deserved her uneasy nights. Thirteen years later, I discovered I had a daughter. How am I supposed to feel?”

“Perhaps thankful. Some people never have anyone to love,” she said, an automatic but sincere cliché.

“I destroyed my own family. One was enough.”

“She’s quite a worker for someone so young.” Helen meant the compliment. She tried to picture her niece Carol up at dawn to clean someone else’s house. Never!

“She’s intelligent enough to know that she ought to go to school and that I can’t give her the money.” For the first time, Helen detected some paternal pride in Philippe’s voice until he added, “I suppose she gets her ambition from her mother.‘’

“Why are you so hard on her?”

“I’ll tell you why because you’ll probably dig around until you find out anyway. If I were her age and we weren’t related, I’d be all over her. As it is, I have trouble thinking of her as a relation, let alone my daughter.“

Helen noticed Hillary returning with the wine and moved the conversation in a different direction. “Have you been that lonely?” she asked.