The woman smiled and her eyes lit up. "Rachel White's Of Two Minds. A truly wonderful book." The woman immediately went to the shelves and pulled out a slim paperback with a plain white cover.
Jen was struck by a surge of hope, unfounded and irrational. Her spirits lifted. She told herself that the woman was a good actress, a good businesswoman, but she couldn't make herself believe it. The woman struck her as genuine, as a true diviner of the mystical.
The woman held out her hand. "I'm Tara. I own the store."
Jen shook the delicate, warm but dry hand, and introduced herself. "This is my first time doing anything like this..."
Tara smiled and looked Jen directly in the eye. Her blue eyes were strangely deep, swirling lights swimming in their brilliance. She was a little older than Jen had first thought as she noted the delicate lines fanning from her eyes and mouth, but she could be anywhere from thirty to fifty. She had that kind of timeless beauty. Her face was warm and gentle as she squeezed Jen's hand quickly. "Trust your instincts. You're on the right path. " She paused as if concentrating. Standing utterly still, she seemed to be focusing on something unseen. Her eyes narrowed, then widened. She nodded as if in agreement with some inner vision. "There is resistance. There are obstacles, but you will succeed." Surprisingly, Tara didn't sound corny or melodramatic.
Tara opened her mouth to speak again when a woman with a stack of books and cassettes at the check-out counter called out, "Can someone help me?"
Tara turned with an apologetic shrug and hurried over to the customer's side.
Momentarily nonplused, Jen stared down at the book. What would Tara have told her if they hadn't been interrupted? Was this all nonsense? And if it was, why couldn't she make herself believe that it was nonsense? She thumbed through the pages, the words a blur. But for some inexplicable reason, Jen found the bookstore owner's words reassuring, and decided to buy the book.
The store suddenly was bustling with activity. Customers streamed in. As she made her purchase, she found herself overwhelmed with the desire to confide in the store owner, the pent up emotions aching to come out.
The words that fell out of her own mouth startled her. "Do you do readings at all?"
Tara handed her a business card, her shimmering eyes holding Jen's gaze. "Call me anytime, Jen. I'll fit you in. Just let me know."
Jen studied the card once in the car. It read: Tara, Psychic Counselor and Tarot Card Reader. Crystal Healer and Clairvoyant. Embarrassment and self-disgust warmed her face. For a second, she was tempted to crumple it up and hide the book in her trunk. Away from the woman's magnetic presence and hypnotic eyes, all her doubts surged.
She stared at her reflection in the rear view mirror. Her cheeks were red and she wore a sheepish expression. Are you an absolute idiot? she asked her mirror image.
Not bothering to answer herself, she drove away as quickly as possible, eager to put distance between herself and Light Hearts. But by the time she made it home, her skepticism was already fading.
Outside, the world was lightly iced with a feathering of snow, turning it into a fairy wonderland. Jen's mood lightened as she grabbed her mail and let herself in. She paused to soak in the wintry scenery. The lake was extraordinarily silent and beautiful, gleaming like a mirror beneath the sun dazzled sky, surrounded by trees glazed in white. She should have had her camera with her.
It was eerily still outside, only a small wind stirred. None of her neighbors were around, which suited her fine. For all she knew, she was still a pariah, an object of speculation.
Optimism was beginning to rebound through her heart. She would find the right key to unlock the barriers. She wouldn't rest until she understood...
Jen bit her lip and smoothed the cover of the book as she curled up on the sofa. It was surprising that her swift mood shifts weren't exhausting her, but she couldn't help the constant evolution of her emotions. Opening the book, she had the immediate, unswerving intuition that it would help her understand her relationship with Dameon. This relationship that defied all earthly limits and exceeded all orthodox rules.
Ignoring all else, she began to read. Dreaming wasn't the only way to reach Dameon. There were better, more thorough techniques. What she was able to pick up now was only the faintest and vaguest of sensations, wispy vibrations of his feelings and emotions. A fragile ghost of his unhappiness teased the outer corners of her mind, barely brushing her awareness.
She needed more if she was to ever truly feel confident, if she was ever going to comprehend him. If she was ever to have the courage and wisdom to find him. She went deeper and deeper into the vortex, reaching out to grasp the knowledge of what waited beyond.
As she lay back on her sofa, fully dressed, she held the book to her chest. She was still swimming in total darkness, but she was closer to the light. She knew it. Images swam beneath the cloudy fog of her mind, struggling to surface so that she could see them. Frustrated, she looked at the book again. She was close, she knew. But not close enough.
* * * *
"I've overstayed my welcome, ma ami," Dameon said, watching Lauren busily enter data into her computer.
She spun around on her stool. She was wearing something flowing, bronze and cream. The silk whispered with her movements. The colors only showcased her dark beauty. The expression on her face was surprisingly upset. "Don't be silly. You're still not well. Look at you, you're sick as a cat." She pushed her hair out of her eyes and returned to her computer, as if the subject was closed.
Dameon sighed softly, staring at her narrow, resolute back. He was not well. She was accurate in this. But he was not as sick as he had been, at least, not in the same way. He had fed.
Lauren and her eager human friends. There had been a virtual parade of them, including the innocently young Cecilia and Tony. The nubile and healthy provided the best nourishment, Lauren was quick to point out. She saw nothing wrong with mentally seducing and bewitching humans into offering up their own blood as food.
He had been here for weeks now. Lauren had been efficient and thorough in caring for him, settling his hotel account and retrieving his things, arguing with him when he insisted on reimbursing her, but in the end acquiescing, watching over him but keeping a careful distance so as not to intrude upon his privacy. Her suite was large enough to house ten people comfortably. She was the perfect friend and caretaker and he was feeling deeply guilty and more than a little uncomfortable.
He would find a way to repay her. She was beautiful and kind, a special lady. He owed her an enormous debt.
"So, what are you doing now? Making another million?" he teased, watching her rapid-fire fingers fly across the keyboard.
"Hopefully, darling." She frowned. "The market is very erratic. I'm moving several of my funds overseas and into money markets."
He grinned, knowing her instincts were good. Lauren was a passionate player of the stock market, and an astute one. Her advice to him had never, thus far, been wrong.
"You could use your advantage and not worry about having to guess like other investors," he said.
"That would hardly be fair, or as fun, if I dug out information from the world's movers and shakers, or tried to influence them. You know I rarely use my powers in business. Besides, there are too many random factors for even a mind master to predict accurately all of the time."
Dameon's smile faded as she whirled back around to the computer screen, and he winced as he moved to the window. His every cell ached, and his body seemed to be shriveling. He was sick, and there was no escaping the fact. His body was going into decline, steadily and surely. He was not surviving the withdrawal from his treatments.
Lauren was at his shoulder. "Listen to me, darling, you have to eat more. You haven't been getting enough blood to keep a baby alive."
He shook his head as he studied the city below, dark and busy beneath the gray, low hung clouds. It was wet and sullen out, early March, but spring was far away.
"More blood is not the answer."
> She waited a long moment. "Why don't you go back to your treatments, then? Contact Calvin if you don't want to go back home yourself. He could have your medicine here by tomorrow, or tonight even." Her eyes were pleading as she studied face.
He, again, shook his head.
"But, why? It's not because of that foul little bit of rubbish, Tatiana, is it?" She stared at him hard. "No, of course, not. It's the girl, the human. The strawberry blonde. Isn't it?"
He turned sharply.
"Wait, before you bite my head off. I know you didn't want to talk about it, but I saw the picture." She shrugged at his expression. "So, I'm nosy. I looked in your wallet. I saw her picture, and realized...why things are the way they are." He knew that she was naturally intuitive and wouldn't probe his mind. One mind master probing another was next to impossible, if not dangerous. The resulting psychic energy would be overwhelming.
His anger melted and he felt very weary. He knew that Lauren wanted more from him, was hoping for a romantic relationship. And she deserved more. She had been good to him. It wouldn't be hard to make love to her, after all. She was very lovely and very appealing. But...It wouldn't be fair.
Examining her nails with studied nonchalance, Lauren remarked, "I know long term relationships with humans can be complicated. Perhaps you need something easier, something pleasurable to take your mind off your troubles."
"That would not work," he said after a heavy silence. Dameon limped back to the chair and changed the subject. "Chicago drew me to it, but I don't know why. We vampires live so long. Our memories are easily clouded." He tried for a light, almost jocular tone. "I'll always wonder what brought me here now.”
"Perhaps"—her eyes, suddenly liquid heat, met his. Her voice dropped low and husky—"you wanted to find me." She glided to his side, her body gracefully coiling up beside him on the couch. She smoothed the hair from his eyes, draped her arms around him and pulled him close. For a long second, her mouth pressed against his, warm, passionate and fiercely seeking.
Dameon gently pulled away. He captured her hand in his and dropped his eyes. He kissed her hand lightly and started to release it. "Please, ma ami, you deserve better than this..."
"Shhhh." She cut him off quickly, placing her fingers over his lips. Regaining her composure with amazing speed, her face immediately adjusted itself to a beautiful, but polite and friendly mask. He could see, though, the heaving of her breast, and felt a shaft of pain that he'd hurt his friend.
"Don't worry, Dameon. I don't want you to take me in your arms out of duty or guilt. Don't look so sad, darling. You'll break my heart, and we both know what messy little organs hearts are." She was still holding his hand, her fingers tightening around his.
They sat silently, fingers laced together, old friends who couldn't comfort each other. Lauren's face crumpled with sudden emotion. "You are determined to destroy yourself, aren't you?" she asked. She averted her face so that he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.
"I'm weary and tired of continuing on with this farce I call my life." He met her wet, shining eyes and forced a faint smile to his lips. "It is silly to pretend otherwise."
"It's not too late," she said, releasing his hand, and rose, blinking away the tears. "Maybe you'll change your mind." Gracefully, she slid into the chair in front of her desk. Her back was facing him when she spoke again. "I want you, darling. I'm not one to give up..."
"I know, but someone else will come along, more deserving of your time," he said softly.
She didn't answer, but began to shut down the computer with one hand, and was soon busy laughing and talking into the telephone with the other. He knew she was giving him "space" and "breathing room," but also knew she was planning another "party," hoping that the right blood from the right "donor" would be his cure, would bring him back and save him. Lauren sought his salvation, but he did not.
He didn't have the heart to argue with her now. He knew that talk was useless, and that it was time to shift himself from his lethargy. It was time to go. He thought of all of the people he'd befriended and loved, people he'd caused great pain. Starting with his mother. Dameon was glad she was dead and couldn't see him. A shaft of self-hatred cut him as he realized that he was again leaving behind a path of hurt and disappointment.
Staring out at the wet and wind swept landscape, he knew it was time to leave Chicago. But where would he go? A name rose from almost out of nowhere. Ingo, of course. He would ask no questions, and there would be no romantic complications to worry about.
Chapter Twenty-four
The proofs seemed to dance and swirl before her eyes as Jen surveyed her work laid out on her coffee table. Let's face it, I'll never make it as a photographer, Jen told herself drearily. I've haven't secured one single assignment and my money's running out. She went to the window and gazed out. Why was March in Michigan so gloomy? A dusting of snow covered the stark trees and the ground was pure mud as the temperature rose above freezing.
Her savings account was shrinking away at an alarming rate. No matter how hard she economized, the money slipped out of her fingers.
Nancy had been a good friend, inviting her over for dinner, dropping by with extra frozen casseroles that "she just happened to find in her freezer," and generally being kind and non-judgmental.
She had visited two days ago with a pan of lasagna and a magazine article full of hints on becoming an author. They chatted a while over iced tea and the brownies Jen had made from a mix, when Nancy had suddenly looked thoughtful.
"You still care for that man, don't you, Jen?"
Jen brushed the crumbs on the table into a pile and stared at it with unseeing eyes. Neither had spoken of Dameon these past months, Jen, because the subject was too painful and Nancy, probably for the same reason.
"Nothing's changed, Nance. I just needed time to pull myself together." As she said the words, they suddenly became true. "I have to feel strong and sure of myself before I go find him. Otherwise, I don't stand a chance." She met Nancy's eyes and smiled weakly. "Dameon is a very strong personality. And that's an understatement."
"Hmmm." Nancy looked pensive a moment. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. If he's as...determined as you say, maybe you should think twice before searching for him."
"Nance, this sounds crazy, even delusional, I know. But I truly believe he...cares”—she stumbled over the word, unable to utter the dangerous syllable—love—"about me. I really think we belong together."
Nancy sighed, still looking worried. "I hope you're right, Jen. I know Joe's not the one for you, but maybe there's someone else..." Her words trailed off as she looked at Jen's face. "I guess not, huh?"
Jen shook her head.
"Well, then, it sounds like it's time for action. Don't wait around too long for the inspiration." Nancy's warm brown eyes were suddenly bright and alert. She had obviously decided that, if Jen's mind couldn't be changed, then she might as well help her get the man of her dreams. "Life's too short, and you never know what's going to happen."
Jen bit her lip and picked nervously at her cuticles. The wrenching fantasy of Dameon in the arms of a beautiful woman, or even a beautiful vampire, made her blood pound. If she dawdled too long, it might be too late.
After Nancy left, she stared without seeing the crumb spattered table and the sweating glasses leaving moisture rings. She had to follow the book's directions and try again to hook into Dameon. She needed to know if her instincts were accurate, if he truly loved and needed her.
Smoothing the book's white cover, she opened it and looked at Tara Norrise's business card. She had been procrastinating about calling Tara for a reading. The urge to learn more warred with the fear of what she would actually find out. Tara might tell her that Dameon was not for the likes of her. She could not abide hearing such a revelation.
The least she could do was read through the book again, and try to understand more clearly the nature of the bond she shared with him. And then maybe she would work up the nerve to see Tara.
If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the light but firm grip of Dumas holding onto her arm, and hear his funny little squeaky voice. The picture automatically changed to one of her and Dameon. The feel of his lips against her skin, his hands stroking her hair, caressing her body...
Gasping from the sharp, almost physical pain of longing and desire that lodged beneath her breastbone, Jen opened her eyes and turned away from the window.
Once she fell asleep tonight, she would find the answers she needed. She would find Dameon. Soon, she promised herself.
Tucking the red stone ring and Dameon's handkerchief under her pillow, sleep came almost instantly. The moment her head hit the pillow, Jen was plunging into the formless darkness of unconsciousness. She surrendered to sleep's seductive pull and fell deeper into the silken heaviness.
Immediately, her dream world was drowning in red, brilliant vermilion, spreading into a fiery, all-encompassing glow. She was surrounded by red, as if she had fallen into the heart of a ruby. Her legs would not work, and she was forced to crawl through the searing brightness. Strangely, it was not warm, but cool, and getting colder. Her lungs seemed to fail her as she pushed through the red tunnel leading to...where?
A tiny, soundless voice reminded her of her quest for Dameon. As if in response to that voice, the red suddenly deepened and intensified. The world around her trembled and pulsated. Panicky, she crawled faster, hearing her lungs wheezing as the fear inside of her grew larger and larger until it threatened to swallow her whole.
She was lost, and there was no way out. At a great distance, she sensed the essence of Dameon. Felt him. But couldn't reach him. She suddenly knew that the distance would expand, and that she would never reach him in time. The fiery red world was opening its maw to swallow Dameon whole. Dameon was descending into the chasm. Jen had to grab him, but she couldn't get to him...
She forced herself awake, fighting the smothering brilliance of the dreamscape, and ended up clawing wildly at the bed covers. Shivering, she sat up and lifted her hair off her neck. It was soaking wet with sweat. The dream was over, but she was very, very afraid. She had to find Dameon, and soon.
Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 24
