Immortal (23 page)

The bathroom door opened and light spilled into the room. “I’m coming. Hold your horses.”

She heard the water run in the sink, then turn off. He shuffled out of the bathroom in a pair of boxers, shutting off the light behind him. “Wouldn’t go in there just yet, if I was you.”

She chuckled and lifted the sheet for him. “I lived with a man for fifteen hundred years. I know better.”

He slid into bed beside her. “Not sure how far we’ll go tomorrow. I was thinking we might stop at one of them peach farms, get some fresh Georgia peaches.” He looked at her in the dark. “Want some peaches, Peaches?”

Her eyes glistened. “Are you sure we’re not making a mistake?”

“You think you’re makin’ a mistake, comin’ with me?” he asked stiffly. He stared up at the ceiling.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She rolled onto her side and rested her head on his shoulder.

He slid his arm around her.

“I mean, just running away from our problems like this. Like two kids. People will be worried about us.”

“People will be worried about themselves,” he grunted. “Afraid we might do something crazy and put them at risk.”

She ran her hand over his bony chest. “We did do something crazy.”

He chuckled and she knew he was smiling.

“That we did,” he agreed. “I still can’t believe you came with me. Can’t believe my luck.”

She kissed his cheek. “You’re my luck.”

He squeezed her in a hug. “Don’t worry your pretty head. We get settled, we’ll go to one of those fancy Internet cafés and you can e-mail Regan about the arcade. E-mail that bunch of biddies in your book club and tell them yer pickin’ the next book. Hell, if fishin’ is good, I might buy you a laptop for Christmas and you can e-mail right from the boat.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm with a mixture of embarrassment and pride. “I’m too old for a laptop, Victor.”

“Never too old for nothin’.” He kissed her temple. “Now shut your trap, woman. Can’t you see I’m trying to get some sleep?”

“I love you, Victor Simpson, you cantankerous old fart.”

“I love you,” he whispered softly.

E
lena sat up and pushed her dress down over her thighs. She had no idea where her panties were; she didn’t care. She was barely listening to what Fin said as his first words sank in.

The detail that has not been published in the papers or been on the TV news is that the killer is a vampire.

The moment he said it, she knew who it was and she was overcome with a horrible sense of guilt. How could she have been so stupid, so naïve?

“So I guess what I’m saying,” Fin went on, “is that you need to be prepared for questions. Just tell them the truth, if anyone asks. You and your family are not suspects. You don’t have the powers we do. It would have taken phenomenal strength to carry the bodies of those men into the arcade and the alley.”

“I have to go,” she said, getting out of bed.

“Elena, please, I don’t think you had anything to do with this.” He put his hand out to her and when she stepped out of his reach, he slid across the bed and sat up.

Elena found one sandal and, standing on one foot, she slid it on the other foot. She searched through his clothes on the floor, looking for the second sandal. Her hair kept falling in her eyes, but she didn’t pull it out of the way. She didn’t want him to see her face.

“Please don’t be upset with me,” he said. “I’m in a bad place, here.”

“I’m not upset with you. Of course I understand.” She found the silver sandal, at last, and stood on one foot to put it on. “This is a terrible responsibility placed on your shoulders.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go.” He grabbed her wrist.

She stepped in front of him and he stood up. With him barefoot and her in heels, they were exactly the same height. She gazed into his eyes, thinking this might be the last time she ever saw him. “I told you I could only come for a short time,” she said evenly.

“You’re sure you’re not angry with me?”

“I am not angry with you.” She pressed her lips to his, closing her eyes, savoring the feel of his lips. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I could love you, Fin Kahill.”

She walked out of his bedroom, down the hall, and out the front door. He did not follow, for which she was thankful.

Hurrying back to the cottage in the dark, Elena wished she had some of the psychic powers the Kahills were blessed with. She wished she could teleport her body to Rose Cottage this instant. She wished she could communicate with her sister and warn her to prepare herself. She wished she had powers that did not exist except in God. She wished she had the power to change what she knew would take place next.

The moment Elena walked into the bright, airy living room, her sister knew something was wrong. Celeste, curled up in a chair reading a book, glanced up. Beppe and Lia were playing a video game on the large flat-screen TV.

“Where is Vittore?” Elena asked.

“Taking a shower.” Celeste set down her book, her brow creasing with concern. “Elena, what’s wrong?”

“Get Vittore. Now.” She walked to the front windows of the living room that looked out on the beach and began to close the blinds. “Shut that off, Lia. Shut it off, now.”

Celeste hurried into the back. “Vittore!” she cried, her voice high pitched.

“What’s wrong,
Zia?
” Lia turned the TV off.

“Wait for your parents.” Elena continued to close the blinds. She sounded calm, but inside, she was shaking.

Celeste returned, leading Vittore. His hair was still dripping wet and he wore a terry bathrobe. Alessa hurried behind them.

“We’re all here, now tell us what’s wrong,” Celeste said.

Elena closed the last blind. She was probably being paranoid; surely they had time. But her fear lessened her reason. “Sit down. All of you.”

They stared at her, but did as she said. Celeste, Vittore, and Alessa sat on one of the leather couches, Lia and Beppe on the other, across from them.

“I have just come from Fin’s,” she said. There was no way to ease into a conversation like this. There was no time. Decisions had to be made at once.

Celeste took Vittore’s hand. She knew it was bad.

“What we have read in the newspapers, what the locals are saying about the murders here in Clare Point,” Elena said, looking from one family member to the next, “is not the entire story. What the general public does not know, what we did not know”—she met Celeste’s gaze—“is that the killings that began the week we arrived were committed by a vampire.” She shifted her gaze, looking directly at Beppe.

Everyone else turned to look at him.

Elena held her breath.

“What?” Beppe demanded, coming to his feet. He was wearing black jeans, a tight black T-shirt. His damp hair was slicked back. He looked young, handsome, and innocent.

Elena knew for a fact that he was not.

“You’re accusing me?” Beppe shouted, thumping his chest with his fingertips. “You bitch.”

Vittore flew off the couch. He was a small man, but he was quick. In an instant, he stood in front of his son. He raised his hand and slapped him across the face. “How dare you speak to your aunt that way.”

Tears filled Beppe’s eyes; his father had hit him hard. “How dare she accuse me of killing those insignificant humans.”

“
She
does not have to accuse you.
I
accuse you,” Vittore spat, furiously. “You swore to me, you swore, Beppe, after Rome, that it was an accident. That this would never happen again.”

Celeste cried softly into her hands. Alessa slid over next to her mother, trying to comfort her.

Lia sat perfectly still on the couch, knees pressed together, watching the family drama unfold.

“You think I did it?” Beppe said through clenched teeth.

“I gave you a chance,” Elena reminded him. “How could you be so stupid? How could you think you would get away with it? I knew you were sneaking out at night.”

“You knew and you didn’t stop him?” Celeste cried.

Beppe looked back at his father, who still stood directly in front of him. “I didn’t do it,” he said quietly.

“What?” Vittore boomed, reaching out to grab a handful of his son’s T-shirt.

“Vittore, no!” Celeste rose off the couch. “Don’t!”

Beppe looked into his father’s eyes with a fury that matched the elder man’s. “Are you sure I did it? Absolutely sure? Because what her lover left out, apparently, is that the killer usually has sex with the victim first. The killer is female.” He turned slowly until his gaze was fixed on Lia.

Elena stared at her nephew. “You’re lying.”

“Call him and ask him,” Beppe challenged.

The look on Beppe’s face told Elena her nephew was not lying.

“Why don’t you ask my dear little sister about the dead humans?” Beppe taunted. “The dead male humans who were first seduced and then sucked dry.”

It had never occurred to Elena until that instant that the killer could possibly be anyone but Beppe, and now she felt guilty for having not gotten all the facts. Her attachment to Lia had clouded her reason. Stunned, Elena sank onto the couch beside her sister, still staring at her niece. What Beppe said was true; she could see the guilt on Lia’s face.

Vittore stared at his eldest daughter. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Tell me it is not true. Tell me you did not kill those men.”

Lia’s face was impassive. She bit down on her lower lip. “Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t me?” Her tone was shocking. It was not filled with fear or regret. It was angry. Resentful, and full of sarcasm. It was the voice of a woman guilty of murder.

For a moment, no one said anything. Vittore stood frozen in front of his son. As awful as it was, he could believe Beppe could have killed innocent humans. But Lia, his sweet daughter Lia…

“Is it true?” Vittore asked weakly.

“It’s true, all right,” Beppe sneered.

“You knew?” Celeste shouted at her son, tears streaming down her face. “And you didn’t stop her?”

He slid his hands into his pockets, slouching. “She never admitted it to me, but I suspected. And I warned her. Do the deed. Pay the price, if you get caught. Right?” He shot a glare in Lia’s direction.

“Why, Lia? Why?” Celeste sobbed, her hands together as if she were in prayer.

The pretty girl stared at her mother for a moment, then smiled sweetly. “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to do it the first time, but when I found out I could”—she shrugged—“I did it again. And I liked it. So I did it again. They made it so easy. I liked being in charge. I’ve never been in charge of anything before.”

Vittore sat down on the far end of the couch where Lia sat and looked down at the floor. Only Beppe stood, smirking, as if he took some delight in the family tragedy.

“What are we going to do?” Vittore murmured, still in shock. He stared straight ahead, but his gaze was unfocused. “She has broken the rules. After the incident in Rome, after we were all nearly caught by the vampire slayers, we agreed it would not be permitted again.”

“We can make an exception,” Celeste said quickly. She wrapped one arm around Alessa, who was crying softly in her mother’s lap. “We…we can go home tonight. The Kahills don’t know where we live. No one will ever know.”

Elena stared sadly at Lia for a moment. “No,” she said. “We cannot make an exception. Fin will figure out eventually that it was one of us. He will tell his Council.”

“But you could ask him not to.” Celeste reached for her sister’s hand. “You…you said he was fond of you. You could—”

“We cannot make enemies out of the Kahills, Celeste,” Vittore said, his voice hollow with pain. “They are too powerful a family. Too large. We have others to think of, back in Italy. Others whose lives we are responsible for.”

“What about our daughter’s life? Are we not responsible for that?” Celeste sobbed.

“We have obviously failed in our responsibility to her.” He met his wife’s gaze. “But Beppe is right. She knew the consequences.”

“Vittore,” Celeste whispered. “My daughter…”

Vittore hung his head. “I am sorry, my love.”

Elena squeezed her sister’s hand. “As I see it, we can judge her now, here…and carry out the sentence—”

For the first time, Lia looked as if she cared. “Mother! You wouldn’t let them…You wouldn’t—” She tried to get up, reaching for her mother, but her father pushed her back onto the couch with his small, broad hand.

“Silence,” he ordered his daughter. “You have broken your mother’s heart. You have put all our lives at risk.”

“What about Beppe? What about the man he killed in Rome?”

“It was an accident. It was not premeditated.” Vittore stared at his daughter. “And it was not
three
men,” he managed bitterly.

“You would kill me?” Lia screamed. She looked to Celeste, sliding to the edge of the couch. “Mother, you would let them cut off my head?”

Celeste bent over, sobbing into her hands.

With one arm around her sister, Elena looked up at Vittore through teary eyes. “The other option is to turn her over to the Kahills. They do things differently than we do. Perhaps their justice—”

Lia leaped to her feet. “No,” she screamed, tears of fury running down her face. “No, you can’t! You’re my family! You can’t—”

Suddenly, Lia bolted, headed for the door. Elena flew off the couch. Vittore sprang up. But Beppe was faster than them both. He caught his sister before she got through the door onto the porch.

Lia scratched at her brother’s face, screeching like a wild animal. She was incredibly strong; what Elena had told Fin was that they had no psychic powers. He had misunderstood, thinking their family had
no
powers.

Fortunately, as a male, Beppe was stronger than his sister and he was able to drag her back into the house. Elena slammed the door behind them as Beppe forced Lia to the floor and held her down.

“You want me to lock her up in her bedroom?” Beppe asked, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Lia had given him a bloody lip.

“Let me go,” Lia whimpered, no longer fighting her brother. “You can’t turn me over to them. They’ll kill me. You can’t do it. You’re my family.”

Elena pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Should I call Fin?” she asked Vittore.

He was standing near the couch, holding Celeste in his arms, supporting her weight.

“No,” Celeste sobbed, burying her face in his robe.

Vittore met Elena’s gaze, his eyes glistening with a profound sadness. “I cannot sentence my own daughter to death. I should be able to,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I cannot. Call Fin Kahill. He will know what to do with her.”

Kaleigh glanced at her cell phone on the nightstand and wondered who was calling her this late. It was after midnight. She’d talked to Rob an hour ago and said good night. Besides, it wasn’t his ring tone, the theme song from Spiderman. And Katy was here with her. Kaleigh had tried to talk to her a little, tried to poke around in her head, but she hadn’t gotten anything about the murders out of her. If Katy knew anything about them, she was doing a good job of keeping it hidden.