Blue Twilight (24 page)

He almost rolled his eyes but managed to kill the urge before he pissed Max off even more. “Do you really think a hypnotist can help, Storm?”

“It can't possibly hurt,” she said. “Besides, Max thinks it's a good idea. And I trust her.”

Lou shot a look at Max, but she was deliberately not looking at him. “I do, too. It's just—it seems like a waste of time. We could be here, canvassing more of the locals.”

“You
will
be here. Storm and I are going to Salem alone.”

Lou felt rebuffed but tried not to show it. “I think your car keys are still in my room,” he said. “Walk back with me and I'll get them for you.”

He saw the look she shot Stormy, but decided not to try to interpret it, just turned and started toward his room. She caught up with him a few steps later. He glanced sideways at her. “I'm sorry, Max.”

“For what, Lou?”

Sighing, knowing damn well he wasn't going to come up with the right answer, he decided it would be better to do this privately. He picked up the pace, not speaking again until they were back at the motel. He opened his door, then held it for her. She went in, and he followed.

“I never meant to hurt you, Max. Hell, that's the last thing in the world I would want to do. You know that, don't you?”

She turned around to face him, looked up at him. “I know. Look, this isn't your fault. You can't help how you feel. You've been telling me all along that you didn't want that kind of a relationship with me. I should have listened.”

Her words registered in his brain as the ones he'd been wanting to hear her say for a long time. And they landed like shards of razor-edged glass. They cut him. Why?

“I knew if we slept together it would change everything. And I didn't want that to happen. But, Max, it was special. It meant something to me, don't think it didn't.”

She sighed. “It isn't the sex that's changed things. It's the fact that I finally got the message. And that would have happened, sooner or later, sex or not.”

“I don't know what message it is you think I gave you, but—”

She held up a hand. “Look, just give me some time, okay? I've been living with this fantasy so long, I hardly know what to do now that it's gone.”

Her voice broke a little on the last few words. It killed him to realize just how deeply he'd hurt her. “What fantasy, Max?”

She lowered her head, shook it slowly. “You don't want to hear that. Not now.”

“I do. I really do.” He reached out for her, and when she swayed out of his reach, he felt as if he'd been kicked in the
cojones.
She had never avoided his touch before. Never. Hell, she was usually trying to instigate a touch.

She paced away slowly, oblivious to the fact that
he'd even noticed her ducking his hand. “For years I've managed to convince myself that deep down, you were in love with me. That you just hadn't realized it, but that sooner or later you would. And that when you did…” She stopped walking, lifted her head, met his eyes. “It was all so perfect in my mind. We'd be together, work together, spend every night holding each other. We'd be so damn happy….” She seemed to square her shoulders, and her eyes glittered with tears, delivering another blow, this one catching him squarely in the gut and knocking the wind out of him. “It doesn't matter. I was living in a silly bubble of wishful thinking. The bubble's been burst. My feet are firmly planted in reality now. I'll be okay. I just need a little time to adjust to it.”

He didn't know what to say. “I never said I didn't want you. In fact, I thought it was probably pretty obvious to you after last night that I did. Do.”

“You want me in spite of yourself. You can't be my casual lover, because you're too guilt-ridden, and you can't be my serious lover, either.”

“Jesus, Max, I offered to marry you. You can't get much more serious than that!”

“You don't love me. Do you think I want to spend my life with a husband who only married me because I wore him down?” She lowered her eyes, shaking her head. “You were right all along, Lou. We're gonna have to settle for just being friends.”

“How are we going to do that when you're this angry with me?” He felt close to panic, and didn't know why.

“I'm not angry with you, Lou. My pride's wounded.
I'm embarrassed and kind of sad. But I don't blame you for that, and you can't blame me, either. Hell, I'm bound to be a little sad to see my favorite dream come to an end. But I'll be okay. We'll be okay. Promise.”

He lowered his head, not feeling okay at all. About anything.

“You can go back to White Plains if you want. I won't give you any more guilt about it. Grab a bus ticket or whatever. Send me the bill.”

“You know better than that, Max.”

She held his eyes for a long moment. “Yeah. I guess I do. Well, stick around, then. We'll solve this thing, and then…and then I guess it'll be over.”

He felt like an assassin. Like the cruelest, meanest man in all creation. He felt as if he had done far worse than kick her favorite puppy.

“I'm going with Storm for the day, Lou. It'll do me good to put a little space between us. By the time I get back, I'll be over this. I promise.”

He tried to give her a warm smile, because he didn't know what the hell to say to her to make this right. She saved him trying by holding out a hand. “My keys?”

“Oh. Right.” He got the keys from the dresser, handed them to her.

“See you later this afternoon, okay?”

“Okay.”

She turned and left the room.

He watched Stormy wave goodbye to Jason and join Max as she walked toward her car, and a few seconds later, they were pulling out of the parking lot and driv
ing out of sight. There was an odd heaviness in Lou's chest. A pulling, aching sensation he'd never felt before.

He heaved a sigh that did nothing to ease it, then headed back outside to where Jason stood watching them go.

“It's the perfect opportunity,” Lou said.

Jason looked at him oddly. “Opportunity to do what?”

“You and I have a job to do, pal. One way or another, we're gonna explore that island today.”

 

All the way down to Salem, Max had been somber. Oh, she made a valiant effort at light conversation, even a few jokes. But she couldn't hide the pain in her eyes. Stormy wanted to fix things, but she knew it wasn't possible. There were only two people who could fix this mess, and she wasn't either one of them.

Max had fallen into another deep brooding silence by the time they neared the town limits, and Stormy wanted to draw her out. “You know, Morgan and Dante could easily be on their way back to the mansion by now.”

Max nodded. “I suppose they could.”

“Lydia will tell them where we are. And they'll probably call, or even show up here.”

“I hope we'll be finished with all this before they do.”

If what Max suspected were true, and Storm had picked up some kind of spiritual hitchhiker while she'd been on the other side in her coma, then maybe Morgan could help. She'd been there, too. They'd been beyond the mists together, found their way back together—even though at that point they had never even met.

But Max didn't want other vampires—her friends, much less her sister—involved in this case. Stormy reminded herself that talking to Morgan about any of this would probably result in just that. And if Morgan became involved, her life might be at risk. Okay. So she would save Morgan as a last resort. Maybe if this hypnosis thing failed…

 

Martha Knoxville lived in a house on a quiet lane in Salem, within walking distance of Salem Village, aka Tourism Central. It sat side by side with other houses like it, tall and rather slender, with a steeply pitched roof, and red shingles, shutters and front door.

To one side, the side toward the short, paved driveway, there was a second entrance, with a hanging sign that read Office.

That was the entrance Stormy and Max used. It led into what looked for all the world like an ordinary living room, rich with hardwood and done in earth tones. There was a huge aquarium along one wall, with brightly colored fish of many shapes and sizes swimming slowly back and forth. Against another wall stood a man-size fountain, with water cascading down a stone face and collecting in a basin that appeared to be carved out of rock. There were plants everywhere. Large trees in the corners, wispy, hanging baskets on the ceilings. An overstuffed brown sofa and matching chairs looked so inviting that Stormy wondered if anyone could come in here and resist just sitting down, even for a moment.

“You must be Miss Jones,” the woman said. “Or may I call you Tempest?”

Stormy looked up and saw a short, round woman in perhaps her mid-thirties, with a luxurious mass of curling brown hair that reached most of the way down her back. Her eyes were brown, too, sincere and friendly, and her smile was one of the brightest Stormy thought she had ever seen.

“You can call me Storm. Everyone does.”

“Storm,” the woman said, then she nodded. “Tempest. I get it. That's clever.” She offered a hand. “You can call me Martha.”

“Good to meet you, Martha.” Stormy took her hand. It was warm and soft. “This is my friend Max.”

Max took the woman's hand next. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Oh, it's not a problem. It's not as if I have a constant stream of clients. Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable while I get the tea.”

“Oh, please, don't go to any trouble,” Stormy began. “We're fine.”

Martha nodded. “The tea is part of the session. Chamomile and honey. Helps you relax.”

“Oh.”

Martha hurried from the room, and Stormy sat down on the overstuffed sofa with a sigh. “You really think this is going to work?” she asked.

Max sank into a spot beside her. “I could get hypnotized just watching those fish,” she said, nodding toward the aquarium. “Look at the blue one.”

Stormy nodded, falling into watching the round, fat fish move slowly through the water, first in one direction, then in another. He was a blue that Stormy would never have believed existed in nature.

Martha returned with a tray bearing three cups of steaming, aromatic tea. She set it on the small coffee table and took a cup. Stormy obediently took one, too, and sipped.

While they sipped, the woman asked, “So why don't you tell me what's been going on with you, Storm? How is it you think hypnosis can help?”

“W
hat's wrong with Max?” Jason asked.

He'd joined Lou in his motel room as the storm gathered outside. Lou would have preferred solitude, but he didn't imagine this was any time for wallowing in regrets or wondering what the hell to do next.

“What makes you think something's wrong?” he asked.

“She's acting differently this morning.” Jason studied Lou for a second, then said, “So are you, for that matter. You two have a fight?”

“No.”

“Misunderstanding, then?”

“It's between us, okay?”

“Sure, fine.”

“Actually, it's just as well they took off without us. It gives us a chance to get out to that island without Storm going all haywire.”

Jason shook his head. “Bad idea, Lou. Really bad.” He looked at the dark, roiling sky. As if on cue thunder rumbled and rolled in. “Not that we could get out there, anyway.”

“Look, sooner or later we
have
to check that place out, storm or otherwise. I don't want Max out there, and I know damn good and well she's out of patience. She'll get there come hell or high water. Unless we do it first.”

Jason frowned and looked down at his feet.

“Besides,” Lou went on, “if we take Storm out there, God only knows what would happen. And you and I both know there's no way those two would let us go without them if they knew what we were up to. So clearly we have to go when they aren't around.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “You think Max is pissed at you now, what do you think she'll be if you pull something like this?”

“I never said she was pissed at me.”

“She's pissed at someone. I know it's not me. She's spending the day with Storm, despite the fact that Storm is a threat to her in her condition, so it must not be her. That leaves you.”

Ignoring Jason's observations, Lou continued with his train of thought. “This guy's a vamp. He's not going to be any threat to us during daylight hours. So we have to go during the day.”

“Yeah, and what about this storm?”

Lou walked to the window, looked up at the sky. “We're just going to have to deal with it.”

Jason came to stand beside him, looked out at the same black sky. Even as they stood looking out, fat drops began splatting against the window. Just a few, then a few more. “Jesus, it's like he knows what we're thinking.”

“I think maybe he does.”

Jason swallowed hard. “I'll ask you once more, Lou. Don't do this. Don't go out there today.”

Lou met his eyes, tried to read what was going on behind them. “Sorry, Jason. I have to do this. And not just for your sister and her friend. I gotta do it for Max. I need this thing over with so I can…focus on other things.”

Jason nodded, his face grim. “I'll run back to my room. Grab a flashlight, jacket—cell phone, just in case they work out there.” He looked at Lou. “There were no life jackets in that boat.”

“Not a one,” Lou said. “Can you swim?”

Jason nodded, then opened the door. The storm came slashing in at him, and the look he sent back to Lou spoke volumes. No one could swim in this.

Then he left. Lou spent a moment checking his gun, making sure it was loaded and tucked under his clothes, where it would remain dry. He pulled on a coat and dropped a flashlight into the pocket. He carried his jackknife and cell phone. As a final thought, he decided to leave a note for Max.

Those four lines took longer to compose than anything he'd ever written.

Finally he nodded, set the note on the nightstand and pulled on his coat. Then he stepped outside the door and went to Jason's room. Just as he lifted his hand to knock, he swore he heard Jason's voice. As if he were talking to someone.

Frowning, Lou moved to the window beside the door
and tried to get a glimpse inside, but the curtains were drawn. A second later, he drew away as he heard Jason approaching the door. It swung open.

Lou pretended he'd been about to knock, all the while looking past Jason into the room beyond him. He didn't see any sign of anyone. The bathroom door was open, and he could see a good portion of the room beyond it. No one in sight there, either. Jason's coffee cup sat on the stand, right beside the telephone.

Had he made a call, then?

Lou swallowed hard.

“Let's go,” Jason said, stepping out and pulling the door closed behind him. He hunched his shoulders against the rain, and together they hustled around behind the motel, across the open field. The wind and rain seemed to ease as they entered the woods. The trees must be breaking more of the storm than he had expected, Lou thought.

They moved fast, all the way through the woods, finally emerging at the top of a steep path on the far side.

As soon as they stepped out of the trees, Lou went still, lifting his head to the sky, swiping a hand through his hair. “It's stopping.”

“What?” Jason asked.

“The rain, it's letting up.”

Jason looked around, glancing up at the sky. “I think the wind's eased a little, too,” he said. “Hell, maybe we can make it out there alive after all.”

Lou frowned, first at Jason, then at the sky. The clouds seemed thinner and in the process of breaking up. What the hell was this?

Swallowing hard, he walked down the path, all the way to the bottom, and approached the boat. No clouds appeared. No thunder rumbled. No wind blew. He glanced at Jason. “I don't like this.”

Jason swallowed. “Maybe he's not in tune to us. Maybe it's just the girls.”

“That would make sense if the storm had stopped when they left town. But it didn't. It kept getting stronger. Then it's like…it changed its mind.” He glanced at Jason. “Or
he
did.”

“Maybe we shouldn't go out there after all,” Jason said. “Lou, he's probably got henchmen lining the damned beaches.”

Lou patted his side. “I didn't plan to go in there unarmed, Jay.” But the look on Jason's face was anything but reassured. He seemed reluctant, but resolved.

Lou felt for him. Then he said, “You know, you're right. It might be risky going out there, even now that the storm has let up. And even during the day. Maybe it would be better to leave someone behind—someone who'd know where to send the cavalry if I should fail to come back.”

Jason glanced at him. “You think I'm afraid to go out there, and you're giving me an out. I'm as much a man as you are, Lou.”

Lou shrugged—frankly disagreeing, though he wasn't about to say so. “Look, it's up to you. I'm going. With you or without.”

“With,” Jason said. “You need me.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

Lou nodded, gave the kid a grudging nod. He saw the fear in Jason's eyes. Hell, it wasn't suspicious behavior. The kid
should
be afraid. He'd never dealt with anything like this before. Still, Lou couldn't shake the feeling that there was more than just fear behind Jason's eyes. There was something else, some knowledge.

Briefly, Lou glanced back at the spot where he'd found Max standing face-to-face with the most powerful vampire she'd ever encountered, defending her friend. He recalled the way she'd looked when he'd gotten her back to the room. It killed him to think of the pain she must have been in.

And he'd caused her even more.

The best thing he could do for Max right now, he thought, was find the missing girls, get them the hell out of that place and take Max back to Maine. He didn't know what the hell would happen after that, how to even begin fixing what he had so thoroughly broken. But he had to start with this.

He grabbed the back end of the boat. Jason helped. They dragged and pushed it into the water, which meant walking in almost to their knees. Then they climbed aboard, and Lou lowered the motor into the water, while Jason used an oar to push them out a little farther. Lou pulled the rip cord, once, twice—on the third try the thing sputtered to life, and then they were off. And the weather did not change. If anything, it grew clearer.

Almost as if something had decided to let them come. Hell, did it really matter? He had to do this. He owed it to Max.

 

“Now, Storm, you are deeply, deeply asleep. Relaxed and safe. Comfortable and warm and perfectly safe.”

Max thought the woman's voice was so soothing, so mesmerizing, that she might fall into a trance state herself at any moment. She tapped the woman's shoulder, tipped her head slightly.

Frowning, the woman followed her to the far side of the room. Max said, “I have to go. When she wakes, tell her—”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Max,” Martha said, keeping her voice low.

“But…she'll be all right. It's important that I—”

“She's frightened. We have no idea what the session might reveal. It could be very traumatic for her.” Max frowned, sending a look back at Stormy, who sat, relaxed, her eyes closed, on the sofa. “Your friend needs you, Maxine,” Martha went on. “Besides, this won't take long.”

As if to punctuate her words, Stormy whispered, “Max?” and lifted a hand, grasping at air.

“She needs you,” Martha repeated.

Swallowing hard, Max returned to the sofa, closed her hand around Stormy's and sat down beside her. Stormy relaxed again, a sigh escaping her lips.

“You're safe, Storm,” Martha said, returning to her former position in the chair facing Stormy. “You're safe. Max is here, and I'm here, and nothing can harm you. Understand?”

“Yes,” Stormy said. “Safe.” Her hand closed more tightly around Max's.

“I wish to speak now to the other. The being inside this body who is not Tempest Jones. Are you there?”

Nothing. Stormy sat on the sofa, head leaning against the back of it, eyes closed, her breathing deep and even.

“Please, talk to me. I wish to speak to the other.”

Stormy's head snapped up. Her eyes flashed open. Her lips parted, and she spewed forth a stream of words that might as well have been Babylonian for all Max could make of them. Romanian? Jesus.

“Lasa-ma în pace!”

Max saw Martha jump a little, saw her blink in surprise. “Look at her eyes,” Max whispered. “I told you they would change color.”

Martha nodded, patting Max's hand as if to calm her. Her voice remained placid, though she was obviously startled. “You'll have to speak in English, my friend.”

The person—it wasn't Stormy, Max couldn't think of it as Stormy—nodded slowly, seemed to think, then spoke. “Leave me alone.”

“I will. Soon. But first you need to tell me who you are.”

“I am she. She is me.”

“You are Storm?”

“I am.”

“Then who is the other woman inside you? The one with the blue eyes, the one who speaks English?”

“She is me. We are one.”

“She doesn't know you.”

“She doesn't remember. I am from before.”

“From before?”

The person nodded. Amazing how different she looked from the Stormy that she knew and loved, Max thought.

“Why do you attack Storm's friends?” Martha asked, slowly, patiently. “After all, if you are Storm, then they are your friends, too.”

“I protect my own.”

“I see.” Martha's voice remained calm, soothing. “And they are a threat to something of your own?”

The person nodded again, slowly and totally un-Storm-like.

“Can you tell me what?”

“Him.
Print meu.
” The eyes fell closed. “I'm so weak here. Take me back to the ocean.”

“First, tell me your name.”

“I'm sick.
Sunt bolnav.
”

“Please, just your name. Then you can return.”

The eyes opened slightly, the black color changing slowly, growing lighter. “Names mean nothing. I've had so many. Now, my name is Tempest. Once I was called Mina, and before that I was Elisabeta. But it doesn't matter. We are one and the same.”

Her eyes closed again, then slowly opened, and when they did, they were bright, clear sapphire-blue. “Storm,” she said in her own voice. “My name is Storm.”

Martha nodded slowly. Max couldn't take her eyes off her best friend. She was herself again, looking relaxed, normal. “Storm, tell me how you feel when you're near the ocean in Endover.”

She smiled. “It's like coming home.”

“Is that because you've lived in a place like it before? In your childhood, perhaps?”

“No. We moved to White Plains from Iowa when I was a little girl.”

“And how do you feel when you experience the…the blackouts you've been having?”

Stormy's body stiffened a little. “It's as if I've been asleep and dreamed it all. Only in the dream, it wasn't me. It was someone else, doing things I would never do. And then, when I wake, I find out it was me who did them.”

“So you can see the things you do, in these dreams?”

Her head lowered a bit as she nodded. “Sometimes. It makes me feel even more guilty.”

“It's not your fault, Storm.”

“It feels as if it is.”

“When you do see these things, in the dreams, who is doing them?”

Stormy's brows creased. “A woman.”

“And what does she look like?”

“She's beautiful. Skin like cream, wild golden hair, ebony eyes.”

“Do you know her?”

Stormy shook her head, then stopped in midmotion. “It feels as if I should. She's very familiar to me. Like when you run into someone you haven't seen in a long time and you know you know them, but you can't place them, or when you see your doctor's receptionist in the grocery store and don't recognize her out of context.”

“I see.”

“I wish I could remember her.”

“I think you will, when you're ready. Storm, I want you to relax just a bit more deeply with me now. I'm going to count you down, all right? I'm going to take you a little bit deeper.”