Sanctifying Grace (Resurrection) (10 page)

After hours of virtual hunting, I knew a great deal of what the company did in general terms, but no details. I had even tried linking ‘vampire’ and ‘Gaia,’ to no effect, which was probably a good thing: at least no one appeared to have any inkling what the real purpose behind the research was…

I wondered how far Roman had gone in his quest for the connection between vampire dependence on human blood, and that led me to thinking about whether he had discovered why some humans can be enthralled and others cannot. I guessed some of his investigation was in order to see if I could be resurrected, even though I was a prime candidate for enthralling.  If he had made a discovery of any significance
, he was going to have to let me know soon.

The following Sunday found me all dressed up in a pair of skinnies and a chiffon blouse, rather than my usual leggings and baggy t-shirt. I’d even put on a little make-up for the occasion. Actually, my mother had put it on for me and I’d lost count of the number of times she’d poked me in the eye with the tip of the mascara wand. I had tried to do it left-handed
, but my lack of co-ordination and the fact that I was naturally right-handed resulted in a disturbing clown face, like that of a little girl experimenting with her mother’s make-up bag. I called for my mother, dragging her away from her supervision of a joint of beef with only the tiniest show of irritation. Good – today was not a day for pity and it was refreshing to see she was treating me normally.

I waited in the conservatory because it was the only room where the windows were low enough for me to see the drive. Of course
, I was in the detested wheelchair.

It was
a typical Welsh day; a bleak and sodden, late March Sunday evening. Everything was in tones of grey: grey-green grass on the far mountains, grey-white rain-laden clouds, grey slate roofs and grey-brown stone. Grey-trunked trees waited patiently for their leaves to unfurl and grubby grey sheep grazed the pasture. The Land Rover, as it bumped up the pot-holed lane, was a smudge of dark navy, but I caught a glimpse of bright auburn hair from the passenger seat before Ianto’s girlfriend pulled up her hood, shielding her head from the dismal drizzle as she ran from the car to the house.

I waited impatiently, hearing voices and laughter in the hall, and the stamp of boots as rain was shaken from wet feet.

‘I’m in here,’ I called, trying to wheel the chair into the living room and taking yet another bite out of the paint on the doorframe. I hadn’t learnt how to drive this thing yet.

I stared expectantly out into the hall, a smile of welcome on my lips, and only kept it plastered there by sheer force of will as Tisha was ushered into the room. Thank God Ianto had eyes only for her and my mother was busy hanging coats in the hall, because my face must have betrayed my thoughts, and none of them were good.

Tisha stared at me out of brilliant emerald eyes. She hadn’t changed one little bit. Well, she wouldn’t would she?

‘Lettuce,’ I said, my lips stiffer and more reluctant than usual.

‘Leticia,’ Ianto corrected gently. He probably thought I was having trouble with my words.

‘Hi, I’m Leticia,’ the vampire said. ‘Most people call me Tisha.’

Better than Lettuce, I thought, hysterically, my mind whirling. Ianto obviously had no idea who or what she was. What on earth was she playing at? And why was she out in daylight, albeit early evening and heavily overcast?

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I forced out. ‘Ianto has been keeping you a bit of a secret.’ Not half as much as the secret you’ve been hiding, I added silently.

‘Can I get you a drink? Gin and tonic?’ My mother loved playing hostess and I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out in fear. A hostile vampire was here in my house, with my family, and my mother was offered her a G & T? Oh God!

‘Yes, thank you, that would be lovely,’ Lettuce,
Tisha
, purred, still looking at me – a critical, dispassionate examination.

‘I’ll have a beer,’ Ianto said, slipping his arm around Lettuce’s tiny waist.

‘No, you won’t,’ my mother objected. ‘You’re driving.’

‘One isn’t going to hurt,’ Ianto argued, making faces at our mother’s retreating back. He turned to Lettuce. ‘Still treating me like a child,’ he moaned, ushering her towards a chair where she sat obediently, on her best behaviour. I watched her; she was still beautiful, still very alluring. I could so clearly tell what Ianto saw in her: few men could be immune to her and few women, either. With the vampire-heightened attraction
, most humans couldn’t resist, even the ones who couldn’t be enthralled would be hard pressed not to respond to her.

But I still didn’t like her. Not one little bit. She was too perfect, with her almond-shaped green eyes, her waist-length, thick, bright hair, white skin
, and full pouty lips. What did she remind me of last time we met? Ah yes, Auburn Barbie.

She was dressed simply in jeans,
a t-shirt, and zipped hoodie, and looked no more than the eighteen she probably was when she had been resurrected.

I was frantic with worry and trying not to show it, futile as far as she was concerned, but my family need not suspect anything: it would be fatal for them if they did. I had to discover why she was here and what she intended. Not that I could do anything to stop her… Four humans against one of her kind and not a sharpened stake in sight. Ha!

‘Ianto tells me you’re a doctor?’ My voice was pitched too high.

My brother glanced sharply at me
, but his smile was meant to be reassuring.

‘That’s right. I’m a haematologist. I specialise in disorders of the blood.’

I barked out a short laugh – of course she did!

‘I know what a haematologist is.’ I was abrupt with her and I couldn’t help it. Ianto frowned. Male though he was, even he could sense the undercurrent in the conversation. I would have to try harder to keep my emotions in check and go along with this travesty of a dinner, else my mother would sniff out the slightest hint of discord in a split-second.

Lettuce smiled brilliantly. ‘I’m so used to having to explain,’ she said. ‘When I first met your brother, Ianto had no idea what I do for a living.’

‘I bet he still doesn’t,’ I countered through gritted teeth, my resolution to be pleasant going straight out of the window.

‘You do, though, don’t you?’ she asked sweetly. ‘Because of your treatment.’

Ianto was looking uncomfortable. ‘Tish, please don’t talk shop,’ he begged, and I knew he was concerned about upsetting me. ‘It’s like me discussing flybot and tractors,’ he joked.

‘Sorry.’ Lettuce turned the full beam of her smile on him and I watched him wilt with the force of it.

‘Here we go.’ Mum bustled in, handing out drinks from a wooden tray: gin and tonic for Lettuce, cola for Ianto and me. ‘I’ll take mine back into the kitchen,’ she said, sipping at her glass. ‘I’ve got a side of beef to see to.’

I gave Lettuce a knowing glance: I was looking forward to seeing how she would deal with a full plate. She could hardly stuff it in her pocket right under everyone’s noses.

‘It smells wonderful, Mrs
. Llewellyn,’ she enthused and my mother lit up at the compliment. So my sensible, down-to-earth mother wasn’t immune to Lettuce’s charms, either. Great. Just great.

‘Call me Bethan,’ she urged, backing out of the door reluctantly, conscious of the controlled chaos in the kitchen, yet not wanting to leave. Ianto waved her away.

I had to get my brother on his own. I had to warn him, but even as those thoughts raced through my mind, I realised the futility of saying anything. I had already told him Jeremiah was a vampire, and I knew he was more than sceptical of that little announcement. I could hardly inform him that the woman of his dreams was also one of the undead: I could predict how that particular conversation would go. He would definitely think I had lost my marbles.

There was also no escaping the fact that Lettuce was behaving in a very unstereotypical way for a vampire; she walked in daylight, had been invited to dinner, and as far as I could tell, she hadn’t bitten him, although there were plenty of places other than the neck where she could have drawn blood. And she was a doctor, for goodness sake! Or so she said.

Ianto was never going to believe me and the fragile doubt that I might be telling the truth about my time travel would certainly be washed away. He knew there was something unusual about me (apart from the obvious), and for all his efforts with Google he had found nothing to explain the state I was in when he had taken me to London. The magically appearing puncture wounds on my neck, my bruised and battered body, and the smell of wood smoke in my hair had flummoxed him, so for the moment he was choosing to give me the benefit of the doubt and admit something was occurring which was to the left of normal. But all that would change in an instant the moment I told him what Lettuce really was. Besides, he wouldn’t be any safer if he believed me, and Lettuce would be able to get to him regardless. I knew of nothing that would stop a determined vampire, nothing I could get my hands on easily: industrial-sized incinerator, nuclear missile…

Then I remembered Roman’s fascination for guns. If I could just get hold of dad’s shotgun and load it with something that would blow a hole straight through her chest –

I stopped, horrified. I had already killed one person and that knowledge would haunt me for the rest of my days, and here I was contemplating the murder of another. Besides, she was impossible to sneak up on, loaded gun or not, and she was infinitely swifter than I could ever be, even if I were in full health. She could take the weapon out of my hands and turn it on me before my brain had even begun to send the signal to my finger telling it to pull the trigger.

Then there was an additional problem: what if I was wrong? What if this wasn’t really Lettuce but some woman who just happened to look like her? What if I were hallucinating the whole thing and vampires were all in my head, and everything from the moment I first caught sight of Roman, sword in hand and blood lust in his eyes, to the bread knife slicing through Wilfred’s thigh, was all a dream, the result of a tumour-damaged brain? And here I was, seriously considering ways to take a young woman’s life.

I sagged into my wheelchair, the fight leaching out of me along with my certainty. And I acknowledged I could do nothing, should do nothing.

Lettuce read every emotion, however fleeting or well-concealed. She knew exactly what had been going through my mind, following the script of my thoughts as surely as if I had spoken the words aloud. She gave me an inscrutable
, yet knowing look, and I had no idea what she was thinking.

Ianto realised something was going on
, but not what it was. How could he? He was probably assuming the under-his-radar by-ply was a woman thing, the subtle little undercurrents which can occur when females get together, the undercurrents most men were totally oblivious to and didn’t really want to know about, even when it was pointed out to them. Joe, so much more worldly-wise than Ianto, just hadn’t seen it when his mother made a comment about my scraped back hair in its severe bun (in the days when my hair fell in a dark curtain down my back), a style easier to maintain on a long-haul flight. I distinctly remembered her offer to recommend her hair dresser to me, ‘I’m sure he could do
something
with it…’ Joe had thought she was being friendly and helpful. I knew better.

Ianto decided to ignore what he thought of as a cat-fight with words and tried to make us play nice. For his sake, and that of my parents, I had no choice but to go along with the charade. If Lettuce was what I thought she was, it would be suicide to antagonise her further, and if she wasn’t
, then I didn’t want her to have too bad an opinion of me.

She asked about my flying and I asked about her doctoring. We discussed London for a while and she easily dodged my questions about her family. Ianto sent me an I-told-you-so look, and the conversation trundled on.

‘Ianto!’ Dad’s face abruptly appeared at one of the conservatory windows. ‘Give us a hand.’

He held up some wire cutters and both Ianto and I knew exactly what they were for. My brother scowled and muttered something under his breath about barbed wire and sheep, and I guessed the young ram in the bottom field had got tangled in the wire again in his latest bid for freedom.

‘Back in ten,’ Ianto promised with a sigh, leaning over to give Lettuce a kiss on her cheek, leaving me and the vampire alone together. I wondered which of us would break first.

Of course it was me: she had far too much self-control, centuries of it, and this was a game where she held all the cards and only she knew the rules.

‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ I hissed, keeping my voice down, conscious of my mother clattering around in the kitchen.

If Lettuce was really just Leticia, then I would apologise profusely and blame my appalling behaviour on my deteriorating health.

Lettuce smiled, showing off perfectly white and even teeth, except for the exaggerated pointiness of her canines. Then she uttered the one word that convinced me I was not mad.

‘Roman.’

No time to react and no time to prepare. One second I was facing a vampire with unknown and dubious intentions, the next I was facing a vampire with very obvious and definite intentions. Only, those intentions were not aimed at me.