by Lori Devoti
He stood with his back to her when she entered, staring out the front window onto the street. He was wearing trousers and a white cotton shirt, as was the fashion, but he was missing his vest and frock coat. The pants and shirt, however, told her he had been out at some point. If not, he would have been wearing buckskin or something equally lowbrow.
She ran her thumb back and forth over the smooth silk of her skirt as she waited for his lecture.
She really was in no mood for this tonight.
Finally, he turned. She widened her eyes and dropped her shoulders.
“I saw Henry Bisson.”
“Oh?”
“Your perfume was all over him.”
She clasped her skirt in both hands and took one small tentative step toward him. “I am not the only female in St. Louis to wear my cologne. Surely, you don’t think—”
“No, I don’t think. I know. I am no fool, mon oiseau.” He walked to a small table where a tray with brandy sat. After downing a glass, he looked back at her. “What is your plan?”
“Plan?”
“Oui, plan. As I said, I’m no fool. I know you don’t love Henry, any more than you love me. You are using him. Tell me your plan.”
Her nails made scratching sounds as they grazed over her skirt. “Don’t love you? But I gave up everything…my life, my humanity—”
“Your hell. You gave up hell for me. Don’t try to rewrite a past I lived with you.”
She turned to the side, her skirt swishing as she moved. “You are right. It was hell, but that is why I love you so much, why I would never betray you.”
“So that is it. Betrayal.”
“What?” She turned back, her eyes widening with alarm, real this time.
“You plan to betray me. How?” He crossed the room and grabbed her by the arm. His fingers dug into muscle. If she were still human, she would have bruised.
She stared at him, cold and angry. She’d been struck before, not by Rodrigue but her husband—too many times. Physical threats had lost their power over her long ago. “Vous aussi, Rodrigue?” She never spoke French. She had left the language behind when she left her bastard of a husband. Using it now was calculated, would tell Rodrigue how far he was pushing her.
He dropped her arm but didn’t step back. “I am not your husband.”
“I didn’t say you were.” But she had; he knew that. Men were all the same; eventually, they would all use any power they had to try to dominate. Which was why Marie Jean so desperately needed power of her own.
“I’ve done as you asked. I’ve left my family alone. A decade has passed since I last visited them.” Until tonight, but Rodrigue didn’t need to know of tonight’s call. “Henry means nothing. You know that.” Her creation was a tool, nothing more. “I need you.” She placed her hand on the bare skin where his shirt had come unbuttoned.
And for a while, she still would. Henry was not doing his part, was not creating vampires of his own to join her brood. And creating them herself was both tedious and dangerous. Rodrigue obviously watched her. He would put her out before she had the numbers she needed.
Henry she had been able to explain away as an accident, but more? Rodrigue would never believe her.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist. He pulled her hand away from his chest. “For now. Why not add that bit of truth, mon oiseau?”
“For now?” She blinked, bringing tiny tears to the corners of her eyes. “For always. You know that.”
His face hardened, and fear flickered inside her. She had pushed him too far. He would throw her out. She would lose this home, her clothing, everything—be forced to start over before she had her followers and money stockpiled.
“For now.” His grip on her wrist not lessening, he closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, there was resolve in their depths. “I lied. I am a fool. Not so great of one that I don’t see that truth, don’t see all truths, but that is my cross.” A bitter laugh passed his throat, and he pulled her close. His lips next to hers, he whispered, “Be warned, I will not always be a fool. Give up your plans before I make that leap.”
With a groan, he pulled her against his chest and kissed her—angry and punishing and everything a woman looking for love would have craved.
Marie Jean was not that woman, not anymore.
o0o
Harry awoke surrounded by Lindsey’s scent. He inhaled, and a smile curved his lips.
Then reality hit.
He’d made love to Lindsey, a woman not only destined to be bait in his plan of revenge, but also the exact double of the woman who had taken his father’s humanity.
The cold, clammy hand of guilt wrapped around him. He had betrayed his father, and soon he would betray Lindsey as well.
The last couldn’t be avoided. He could no more tell Lindsey his plans than he could desert them.
He’d made love to her, and now he would betray her.
But he could keep himself from betraying his father again.
He sat up and began pulling on his pants.
“What…?” Lindsey rolled over, her arm flinging out as she did. Her fingers dangled over the edge of the bed. Her hair flowed across the white pillow and linens. Her face was smooth and innocent in sleep.
But then she was innocent and completely unaware of what her blood had done—what her blood would do to her if given the chance.
Words of condemnation rose up in Harry’s mind. He turned his back on her, and not bothering to dress further, he picked up his shirt and shoes and crept from the apartment.
o0o
When Lindsey awoke, the sun was glaring through the windows. With a groan, she pulled a pillow over her head and willed her body to return to sleep, but the sun was unrelenting. She rolled restlessly to the side, her hand flinging onto the empty mattress beside her as she did.
Empty. She stilled. Harry had been here; they’d made bold unapologetic love on her couch, then moved to the bedroom where they’d repeated the act.
It had been late when they’d finally fallen to sleep—or early, since the hour hand had moved well past midnight.
She hadn’t given any thought at the time as to whether Harry would be here when she awoke, but now, as she sat up and searched the empty room, she realized she’d taken for granted that he would be.
But he wasn’t.
As she moved to sit, something tangled in her hair. She reached down to extract the object and discovered the cross Harry had given her that first night was back around her neck. She smiled. He’d left, but first he’d replaced the necklace. It was the kind of thing a lover would do. The kind of thing a lover had done, her lover.
With her fingers wrapped around the cross, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and went to get dressed.
o0o
Harry tapped the eraser end of a pencil against his desktop. Lindsey would be awake by now.
Guilt sliced through him. He had never crept out of a woman’s bed while she lay sleeping before.
It made him feel dirty.
But things were complicated—too complicated. And getting involved with the woman he had lured here to tempt Marie Jean out of hiding was, to put it bluntly, a fuckup of epic proportion.
When things mattered most, when he was so close to fulfilling his plan…
He flipped the pencil in his fingers and tapped it, lead down, against the paper again, this time leaving tiny black dots behind. He stared at one of the marks until his eyes blurred.
What had passed between Lindsey and him could be fixed. He just had to step back and let her know that it was a simple one-night thing—not to be repeated. She was a woman of modern times. She would understand.
His stomach clenched. He picked up the lead-glass decanter of scotch and poured himself a drink. After downing the contents, he forced his mind away from Lindsey and what they had done, and onto his calendar.
May first was fast approaching, and now, with zero doubt that Rodrigue had his own plans for Lindsey, Harry had no ch
oice but to force Marie Jean to make a move.
Time to stir the hornet’s nest. Time to call Emilie.
o0o
Lindsey stayed in her apartment until three.
She hadn’t heard from Harry. She hadn’t exactly sat by the phone, but she hadn’t been more than ten feet from it either. Finally, around two, she’d broken down and called the bar. There had been no answer, but five minutes later, Brett had called her back, asking if she needed something.
She’d mumbled out some answer about hours and days off that had made no sense and then got off the phone as quickly as possible.
She’d felt like a fool, an emotional fool who’d thrown herself at a man with no real interest in her and then latched on to one innocent act—him replacing the necklace—and turned that into some grand sign of love and devotion.
Her hand had moved to the necklace. She wanted to toss it across the room, but she didn’t. It would serve as a reminder, keep her from making the same mistake twice.
Just as she thought she would lose her mind, trapped in the apartment with her own thoughts, the phone rang.
“Lindsey?”
Some people had the uncanny ability to put a smile into their voice, even through a phone line; Emilie was one of those people. Despite her dire mood, Lindsey found herself smiling in return.
“When is the last time you had a pedicure?”
Lindsey stared down at her bare unadorned toes. The answer was embarrassingly simple. Never. Luckily, Emilie didn’t wait for a reply before barreling on.
“I’m at a shop four blocks away. Meet me there in fifteen minutes—my treat.”
As Lindsey opened her mouth to say no, her hand drifted to the cross at her neck. The points of the tiny symbol cut into her fingers.
A pedicure would be good; time out of the apartment would be better. Forcing a smile onto her lips and hopefully, into her voice, she agreed, got directions, and hung up the phone.
Five minutes later, she had locked the door and was headed down the stairs.
The day was overcast and muggy, with an occasional out-of-place cool breeze that sent goose bumps popping up over Lindsey’s skin. The street was unusually empty. She glanced around, suddenly wary.
“Lindsey?”
A woman stood on the pavement that Lindsey had just left. She was wearing tight-fitting leather pants and a jacket, and on her head was a motorcycle helmet. For a moment, Lindsey thought it was Emilie in yet another of her looks but quickly realized this woman was closer to her own height than her new friend’s.
“Lindsey!” the woman called again. Then she took a step forward and flipped up the face shield.
Lindsey’s mind stuttered. The woman’s face was more than familiar. It was Lindsey’s own.
“Cousin!” the double added.
All confusion flowed from Lindsey’s brain.
“Karin?” She murmured the name, afraid if she said it too loudly, she’d wake up and realize this was all an impossible dream.
“Lindsey!” Karin rushed forward and pulled Lindsey into a huge, welcoming hug. Then, just as quickly, she turned so their backs were to the apartment building and began tugging Lindsey down the street.
Almost skipping to keep up, Lindsey could only stare at her cousin. She had hoped there would be some kind of a family resemblance, but the extent of the similarity was a shock—as was the fact that she really, truly had family, and they were right here—hugging her.
Karin, however, seemed unperturbed. A smile warmed her face as she clasped Lindsey again. “I thought you would never come out.”
“Come out?” Lindsey glanced over Karin’s shoulder, toward the apartment.
“But you did.” Karin held Lindsey’s hands in her own. Her fingers were cold, and for a moment, Lindsey wanted to pull her own back, but, realizing what she was doing and who she was talking to, she didn’t.
“Where…?” Words, questions, clogged Lindsey’s throat. She didn’t know where to start.
“Not here.” Still walking, Karin glanced around and pulled the face shield back down. She pointed down the street. “I want to take you to my house. We can talk there as long as we like. I just need…” Her hand still around Lindsey’s, she stepped toward the curb and glanced left to right, as if looking for something or someone.
“But…?” Lindsey tried to pull her fingers back, but Karin held tight. “Someone is expecting me, down the street. I need to tell her I’m not coming.”
“There’s no time. We need to go now.”
Karin’s fingers dug into Lindsey’s until Lindsey couldn’t help but grimace.
“I really…” Lindsey wanted to go with Karin, wanted to get to know her and find out why she had disappeared, but she didn’t want to leave Emilie waiting either. “Maybe I could call her. She said it was a nail place just down the street.” She opened her purse and dug inside for her phone.
“Yes, that will work. You can call her,” Karin replied, but her attention wasn’t on Lindsey. She was looking around, past Lindsey toward the apartment Lindsey had just left. After a second, she looked back at the street. Obviously agitated, her eyes darted side to side.
Two middle-aged women herded a group of preschoolers toward them and called out various orders. “Watch out for the ladies… Stay with your buddy… Say excuse me.”
Lindsey prepared to take a step back to allow them to pass, but Karin shifted her grip from Lindsey’s hand to her upper arm and pulled her into the middle of the group.
“I don’t think—” Lindsey started to object, realizing the women would not appreciate them cutting into the middle of their group.
“Just stay with me,” Karin murmured. “I see Randall now. He’s at the end of the street.” She waved a hand in the air, motioning someone forward.
Apparently in response to her cousin’s signal, a dark four-door sped down the street in their direction, the driver apparently unconcerned with niceties like speed limits and free-roaming children.
“Karin—” Lindsey stuttered, grabbing at her cousin and spinning toward the women leading the children. “I don’t think he’s going to stop,” she yelled.
The women followed her gaze, then leapt into action, grabbing their wards and jerking the little bodies almost as one unit off the sidewalk and into a nearby shop.
Completely focused on the fast-approaching car, Karin didn’t move and, with her fingers still clamped on Lindsey’s arm, didn’t allow her to move either.
“Karin, we need to…” Desperate to avoid the almost certain collision she saw coming between the car and her body, Lindsey twisted to the side. Her arm pulled free of Karin’s grasp just as the car bumped up onto the sidewalk. Without pausing to think, she threw her body to the side, onto the sidewalk but out of the path of the car.
Chest heaving, she lay there. Her brain ticked through each second as she assured herself that she was safe.
“Lindsey!”
Fingers wrapped around her arm again. She opened her eyes to see her cousin standing over her, trying to drag her to her feet.
“Randall, get her,” Karin called.
A man emerged from the car, and Lindsey’s blood ran cold. It was the man who’d been staring at her outside her balcony the night before, the one who’d scared her that first night.
He bent toward her too, and she scooted backward, using her heels to push her body away and out of his reach.
“Lindsey!” Karin called again, reaching out.
Confused, Lindsey blinked. Focusing on her cousin, she tried to stand, but a hand grabbed her from behind, pressing over her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe. She flailed back and forth, her elbows sailing backward and her eyes widening.
“Merde!” Karin’s eyes darkened. “A trap.”
Lindsey couldn’t see who was holding her; she could only see the anger blazing to life in her cousin’s eyes.
“Let her go,” Karin warned, and someone hissed.
A chill washed over Lindsey. She’d heard the so
und before—
“Randall! A trap!”
Something small but sharp pricked Lindsey in the neck. She could hear her cousin’s voice in her mind, even though her lips weren’t moving—“Harry. He’s betrayed you. Don’t believe what he says. Come to me when I call.”
Lindsey’s knees bent, and her body sagged. Then everything went black.
o0o
Harry grabbed Lindsey around the waist and swung her toward Brett. His eyes dark and disapproving, the bartender grabbed her and moved back, out of Marie Jean’s and her minion, Randall’s, reach.
Marie Jean had played it smart, mingling with the group of children. She’d known Harry wouldn’t approach her while in their midst, and because of that, she’d come close—too close—to getting Lindsey into her car.
But she hadn’t. Lindsey was safe—as long as Harry ended this now.
Marie Jean’s gaze danced from Brett, with Lindsey, back to Harry. “Dhamphir. You think to kill me here? Now?”
Harry smiled. “Why wait?”
The streets were empty and, if the ward Harry and Brett had just triggered held, would remain that way for at least the next twenty minutes. People thinking of leaving the shops or entering the neighborhood would suddenly forget and return to whatever task they had been doing prior.
He had, for now, Marie Jean and her fledgling all to himself.
Marie Jean pulled the helmet from her head and threw it on the ground. Her hair flowed down her back, longer than Lindsey’s but so like the human woman’s that Harry gritted his teeth to keep from responding.
The vampire smiled. “She’s mine. You know that. “
Not by a long shot. Harry held up his blade.
With a laugh, Marie Jean paced to the side. Her hand rose, and with no other warning, she and Randall raced forward.
Harry could feel Brett’s hesitation, knew his friend was weighing whether to join the fight or do as he and Harry had agreed earlier—get Lindsey away.
“Go,” he snarled at his friend. This was his fight, and he had no desire to share it. Not waiting to see if Brett complied, he spun, his foot reaching out toward Randall as his hand slashed the blade toward Marie Jean.
The female vampire darted to the right. Harry’s weapon sliced through her hair, severing a chunk but missing her flesh completely. His foot, however, found its target.
