Although we’d practiced this carry dozens of times, we never had in constricting clothing and spiked heels. Adrenaline provided the kick to move quickly and overcome the problem of the balancing act.
Luckily, most of the crowd had moved out that way and there were only a dozen or so people left impatiently trying to file out the exit. But they created a bottleneck as they tried to push through at the same time.
“Don’t push, people, or we’ll never get out of here,” I said.
“One at a time, quickly, let’s go,” Maya said.
Just as I made my way through the front door and out to safety, I inhaled a giant whiff of fresh air. I placed the woman safely away from the building and resisted the urge to run to Michel. I willed myself against the survival instincts to rush back into the burning building to get the last person in there.
“I’m right with you,” Maya said, catching up.
By this time the flames had spread to walls adjacent to the back wall and they were quickly blazing their presence across the night. What was once confined to one section of the back wall was now a panorama of flames. Although the smoke was thickening, the roaring sunset colors were vivid through the haze.
I fully admit I was scared. No, terrified. I wanted to go for the guy and then get the hell out. And most of all, I wanted to find Michel.
The smoke was making it difficult to see the guy, but I remembered where we’d left him. Once we found him, we quickly maneuvered him so we could hoist him out in the fireman carry.
“Got him?” I asked.
“Got him,” Maya answered. “Let’s go.”
I heard sirens come closer. “’Bout time,” I muttered.
The firefighters arrived just as we had the guy out near the two women. I was grateful my firehouse was in another town so I hopefully wouldn’t be recognized in my current outfit.
“An explosion took out most of the back wall. The flames started there, but they’re spreading toward the front. I think we have everyone off the main floor.”
“Check the bathrooms,” Maya added.
“And there might be some other rooms upstairs,” I added.
“We got it,” one said, and they ran into the club. Michel’s club. Or what was left of it.
Michel. I ran around the back to find him. If he was still there. And if he was still okay.
I ran to the back of the building where the wall had been blown out, but I didn’t see anyone. On the ground, I saw dark drops of what I presumed was blood. Swallowing the panic I felt rising in my throat, I looked around for any more blood.
I saw more drops, spread randomly, but if I looked at the whole picture I could see which way they led. Following them down the block and down a side street, I found them.
When I saw the three men locked in battle, fists pounding hard blow upon one another, I screamed, “Stop!” Michel looked up at me, his eyes red and blood dripping from fangs.
Fangs? The only thing I knew had fangs were vampires. But vampires weren’t real; they were a myth, a scary tale to explain mysterious occurrences. I didn’t believe in the supernatural; I was a rational woman. Most of the mysterious fires I’d come across in my line of work ended up being explained by a logical chain of events.
But what other explanation was there in this case? What other creature had fangs? What else could he be? I couldn’t think about it now.
“Nike, get away from here,” Michel said. “Now!”
The large man with long, dirty-blond, wavy hair let go of Michel and turned toward me.
“Nike, is it?” he said, sneering. “So you’re the one who has Michel all riled up? I wouldn’t believe he’d have feelings for a human if I couldn’t sense it myself.”
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand. The smaller, darker of the two men, or whatever they were, had turned toward me too. His red eyes glared and a hungry, beastlike presence emanated from him. This one didn’t say anything. Could he even talk?
“Let’s see what this little human has that has Michel all wound up. Let’s find out what she feels like.” He took a sniff in the air. “And find out what she tastes like.”
I turned back and ran as fast as I could in the direction I had just come from. I heard a laugh and a roar and could hear their feet pounding on the pavement behind me.
“Leave her. Your quarrel is with me,” Michel yelled, and I heard a thump.
Despite the terror I felt, I turned back to see what happened with Michel. He had jumped on the blond one and they were rolling on the ground. The dark one joined in.
I ran toward my car, parked on Spring Street. I thought about Maya back at the club. The acrid smell of smoke and fire permeated the air around me. More fire trucks had arrived. Maya would be all right, I figured, she was probably still helping out. I’d get in touch with her later.
When I reached my Mini Cooper, I turned the ignition and slammed my stiletto boot down on the accelerator as I drove back to find Michel. Only moments had passed, or was it minutes? I’d lost track of time.
There he was, still fighting them both.
“Michel,” I yelled. “Get in.”
It took Michel a moment to realize what was happening, but then he leaped so quickly from their grasps that I wasn’t sure how it happened. Within an instant, he was in the car beside me.
“Gun it,” he said.
They both realized what had happened and redirected their attention onto us.
I pressed my foot on the gas as Michel grabbed the steering wheel and drove straight toward them. I was speechless as the car approached them at fast speed. When we hit the men, the crash sounded like metal banging against concrete, not human flesh.
“Oh my God! Did we kill them?”
I looked in the rearview mirror at the men, now lumps on the ground.
“Not by a long shot. Come on, let’s get out of here before they recover.”
Sure enough, they were getting back to their feet. I resumed control of the steering wheel, pressed on the gas again and sped around the corner to the on-ramp to the highway.
“Where should we go?”
“Not your place,” he said. “It won’t take long for them to figure out who you are and where you live.”
“Oh God!”
“Get over to Route 95. We’re going up to Maine.”
“Maine? Why Maine? What’s there?”
“I have a friend who has a place up there. It’s secluded. We’ll be safe.”
As I drove, I took some more deep yoga breaths to try to refocus and calm down. How many times had I done that already tonight? First, reining in my feelings for Michel. And now—with this?
I had so many questions, I didn’t know where to start. For several minutes, we drove in silence. I focused on the best route to get over to Route 95 while I sorted out my questions.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Old friends. We had a falling out a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Very long.”
Michel may be strikingly hot and all, flaming my desires, but I didn’t have time for games. “Listen, buddy, I just saw a wall blow up, a man whom I was kissing sprouted fangs and jumped out a window, and now two men, if they even are men, are after me. So cut the crap. Who are you? No, what are you? Why are they trying to kill you? And what the hell is going on!”
Michel didn’t answer right away. I glanced in his direction and noticed him clench his jaw slightly.
“What I’m about to tell you is confidential. I don’t know you well, but I sense I can trust you. Will you swear to keep this a secret?”
I debated whether I should trust this guy and guard his secret, whatever it was.
Then I answered. “Yes.”
Without looking in his direction, I could tell he had relaxed in the passenger seat; all the tenseness he emanated moments before disappeared.
“My name is Michel Camard and I was born outside of Paris in 1763.”
“Excuse me—did you just s
ay the seventeen hundreds?”
“Yes. Please let me continue. I haven’t told a human my story and I think it will be easiest if I tell it in one go. You can ask me questions after.”
Human? Was he not human, I wondered. But I said, “Okay.”
“Your history books tell you about the French Revolution, but they don’t explain how it actually felt to live through that time. It was chaotic, thrilling, terrifying, exhilarating and hypnotic. I have not experienced an era like that since.”
Although questions swarmed my mind, I was unable to formulate any words and didn’t want to interrupt the story.
“I served in a militia back then. One day we were warned of an attack upon our village. I led my men to counter the charge before they reached our village. We fought them most of the day. We lost many men, but we managed to fend off the attack and they retreated.
“I had left a small group back at the village to protect it. Some attackers snuck in and overpowered them. They killed the men and raped and murdered some of the women. My sister was one of them. So was Ricard’s wife. He blames me for her death and vowed revenge. That’s why he wants to kill me. He wants to avenge her death.”
He didn’t continue so I asked, “Why? You were attacked. How could you have prevented it?”
“He thinks we should have left more men back to protect the village.”
“Do you think he’s right?”
“That’s a question I’ve been debating in my mind for two hundred years. I’ve been racked with guilt and devastated by our losses. My sister—she was so young, so kind.”
He spoke so softly when he spoke of his sister that I barely heard him.
“What was her name?”
“Danielle.”
He shook his head as if shaking off a memory. “Overall I think it was the right decision. The battle was so close. If we had any fewer men, we might not have held them off.”
“Did you explain that to him?”
“Yes. He disagrees. And vowed vengeance.”
My head was swimming. “Wait. So you were both human, right?”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re not?”
He answered, “No.”
I shook my head as if trying to clear the cobwebs. “Why not?” We reached the interstate and I veered onto the ramp heading north.
“After the attack, we remained positioned at our camp before the village to fend off any additional advances. Richard and I were on watch. One night a woman approached us. She had dark hair, pale skin, and wore a black flowing dress.
“‘Who are you?’ I asked. ‘What do you want?’ She didn’t reply. I could feel her captivating me, lulling me into a relaxed state. In a movement quicker than my eyes could process, she was upon me. She bit my neck and drank blood. I tried to call out to Ricard, but couldn’t, as if I was entranced.
“What happened after that, I don’t know. Later, maybe days later, I awoke in the woods near our camp. And I was different—changed. Ricard wasn’t there. I felt an instinct, almost consuming—a thirst for blood. I couldn’t understand it. I felt an urge to go back to the camp and attack the men I had been tasked to protect.
“It took all my will to overcome the urge. But I attacked any animal that passed my way, biting them and drinking their blood. Anything to get rid of the thirst. I spent weeks this way, living in the woods and drinking the blood of animals. Occasionally when a human drifted into the woods alone and I was filled with thirst, I was unable to resist the urge.”
“Did you kill them?”
“I don’t know. After I fed, I felt so ashamed I ran off.”
I shook my head to clear away the image. “And Ricard?” I asked.
“He must have been changed as well. I ran into him in the woods weeks later. He said, ‘It’s your fault they’re dead.’ I tried to explain as I told you. He attacked and we fought. No longer as two men, but two beasts. In the middle of the fight, we heard laughter. The dark-haired woman had reappeared.
“‘How ridiculous’, she said. ‘I give you both the gift of immortality and you try to destroy each other.’
“‘Who are you?” I asked. “‘What have you done to us?’
“‘My name isn’t important. I’m a nightwalker. I live off the blood of mortals. I’d seen you two in battle. The bravest of your lot. And I wanted your blood. When I drank, I could sense an infection in you’, she told me. ‘An infected wound maybe. You were dying. You just didn’t know it yet. I gave you some of my blood and saved you.’
“‘Saved? Is that what you call this?’ I replied. ‘I’ve left my people and stalk animals in the woods!’
“‘And me?’” Ricard asked. “‘Why did you change me?’
“‘I drank too much of your blood. I couldn’t help myself. I could leave you there to die or change you. I decided you were too strong to let go and would be better off as one of us.’
“‘Who’s us?’ I asked. ‘There are others?’
“‘Yes, of course. Nightwalkers are everywhere. But we usually live alone or in packs of two or three. We don’t do well in groups.’
“She waved her hand. ‘Enough talking. I’m separating the two of you, like two little children.’ She threw a ball of light at us and I felt a pull in my gut. I was thrown through the air and landed near a stream miles away.
“I spent the next twenty years learning self-control over my thirst so I could inhabit society once again. I drank from stray animals in the street. Sometimes I slipped and attacked humans.”
When I turned to look at him, he said, “It’s been at least half a century. I’ve gotten better.” He flashed a smile that sent a ripple of excitement down through my core.
“I moved into Paris and met others of my kind. They explained our nature and showed me how to live in the human world. They introduced me to an underground network where you could connect with humans who were willing to let you drink from them for the right price. With safety measures in place, so you didn’t drink too much and kill them.”
Wondering what types of safety measures could be implemented, I hadn’t paid attention to the exits. Were we in New Hampshire yet? I scanned the signs; it looked like the tolls were ahead.
“I don’t even know what to think about what you’ve just told me,” I said. “If I hadn’t seen what I saw tonight, I wouldn’t believe you. But I did.”
“It’s not something to lie about.”
“I agree,” I said, peeking over at him. Damn, he was striking. And he wasn’t human. But I had to think about driving, not admiring his brilliant features. “Can I just focus on driving for a little bit while I try to process what you just told me?”
“Of course, chérie, I understand. Take all the time you need.”
“I’m going to put some music on, okay? It will help me.”
“Want me to put something on for you?”
“Sure. Can you plug in my iPod?”
After he connected the iPod, the car was filled with Fiona Apple appealing to her lover while singing On the Bound. Oh, how I loved this song. But something about the intense feelings a woman sang to her lover made me feel uncomfortable with Michel so close.
My iPod shuffled through songs that weren’t so intense about passionate love, which removed that discomfort, leaving me to focus on recent events. We listened to music as we drove up to to the New Hampshire tolls. I veered toward the EZ Pass lane, thankful the traffic wasn’t backed up at this time of night.
Michel’s story played again in my head as I tried to make sense of it. I hadn’t noticed we had passed over the bridge into Maine until Michel interrupted. “Take the next exit.”
“Okay.” I moved into the right line to exit on the off ramp. “Where are we going?”
“Stay on this road for a while.”
I slowed down to the speed limit, which I often found difficult after driving on the highway for a while. We drove in silence for several more minutes.
“How did you end up here?” I asked.
/>
“In New England?”
“Yes.”
“I traveled around the world. The tranquility of a New England coastal town appealed to me.”
“And donors?”
“Salem is full of them.”
“Isn’t it called the Witch City?”
“All kinds of characters are attracted to Salem. Supernatural elements everywhere.”
Other parts of his story came back to me.
“What about the other uh, thing, with Ricard?” I asked, not sure what to call the freaky little beast that tried to attack us.
“I don’t know. They must have met up at some point after we parted ways. Or maybe Ricard changed him.”
After several minutes, Michel said, “Turn left at that unmarked road ahead.”
I drove down the road and noticed the farther we drove, the farther apart houses were from each other. Eventually, the street lights disappeared where it was sparsely populated and I put on my high beams.
“Is this the first time you’ve run into him since seeing the woman who changed you?”
“No.”
I waited for an explanation. When none came, I prodded. “And?”
“He’s been tracking me down for years. London, Budapest, Barcelona, Montreal.”
“What happens? Do you fight?”
“Not usually. I slip away when I see an opportunity.”
“Is he trying to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
He hesitated. “I think so.”
“Why don’t you fight him? End it for once?” I asked.
“Because.” His face contorted into a tormented look. “He was my friend. My brother. He thinks he’s avenging the death of his wife.”
How someone could feel sympathy for that monster surprised me. “Michel,” I said carefully. “It’s been over two hundred years. Enough for several human lifetimes. He needs to let go of his anger and you need to let go of the guilt.”
“Those are human emotions. We aren’t human any longer. Can I ask you something now?”
“Sure.”
“What happened at Vamps?”
The images from the fire came back to me. What a shitty night.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling, I summarized the events into an abridged version.
Smoldering Nights Page 3
