“It was that antidepressant I’d given him,” Sam said, “amitriptyline. A standard drug, and widely administered when Larry was undergoing his years of treatments. One of its side effects causes a drastic change in blood pressure and blood sugar contents. Interesting. I wonder how many other drugs of its type would cause the same effects.”
Mitch looked up at him from the bed. “We’re not going to find out now.” The intensity of his voice was enough to make Sam back off.
“Well, I wasn’t suggesting that we experiment at this point in time. You two are healing miraculously, but are still in no shape to act as my guinea pigs.”
“Good. And I would appreciate it if you keep to yourself the knowledge of how this drug works on us.”
Sam laughed. “Of course, Mitch. I’m not likely to call up the pharmaceutical company and say, ‘Oh, by the way, please add stopping vampires cold to the list of possible side effects.’ ”
Mitch chuckled weakly. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”
We had few visitors. Vivienne stopped by every night, whether to see us or Sam, I wasn’t quite sure. But it didn’t matter, her lighthearted chatter was comforting, as was her obviously growing relationship with Sam. They positively glowed when they looked at each other. Mitch and I laughed about it after they left the room.
“I guess we should be upset,” I said, reaching a hand over to him from my bed, “both of our ‘friends’ deserting us and finding someone new.”
He returned the squeeze of my hand. “As if I had a need for anyone but you.”
Mitch’s ex-wife came by often, Chris’s funeral arrangements quite rightly preoccupying her thoughts and conversations. I stayed out of their discussions and their arguments, feigning sleep when necessary. Over and over she would demand an explanation. And Mitch would only sigh and shake his head.
“Later, Barbara,” he would say wearily, “let’s just get through this and we’ll talk about it later.”
Chris was eventually buried in the same cemetery in which Max lay. It was a fitting end to the cycle. His death was tragic and unnecessary, and I ached for Mitch’s grief. But it seemed to punctuate the ending of that portion of our lives; it sealed us closer, if such a thing were possible, into the existence of vampires, blocking us forever from humanity.
The night we were scheduled to leave we made the trip to the cemetery. Chris’s grave lay not too far from Max’s, so after I made my good-byes, I walked away and allowed Mitch privacy with his son, and found myself in front of the marker that read “Father.”
“It’s over, Max,” I whispered, hope replacing the grief in my voice. “It’s finally over. Now I can live unhaunted by the past.”
Mitch came to me after a while, his face streaked with blood-tinged tracks. We stood silently for a while, looking at each other.
“Let’s get out of here.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and we supported each other to the front gate where a cab waited to take us back to Cadre headquarters.
We stayed for only a while, having very few friends left to bid good-bye. Vivienne rode with us to the airport, sitting between us, holding our hands in hers.
When the cab stopped, she looked at us both. “Are you sure you can’t stay on for a while? Everything is in such a shambles. They want me to take charge of the Cadre. Mon dieu, who would have ever thought it? I knew I’d stayed here too long.”
“You’ll do fine, Viv.” Mitch reached over and ruffled the top of her hair. “I have faith in you.”
“Strangely enough,” she grew serious, “I’m looking forward to the challenge. But I have some big shoes to fill.”
“And Victor?” I asked. “How is Victor?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Who can say? Sam thinks he may be able to help him. But Victor has lived a long time and he’s tired. As we all are. This is a shock to many of us, finding out after so many centuries that we’re not totally invulnerable.”
“It takes some getting used to, I guess,” Mitch said.
She asked the cab driver to unload our luggage and stay to return her to the Imperial. We climbed out of the cab and waited awkwardly at the baggage check-in.
“So will you stayand help?” She didn’t look at either of us, but fastened her gaze on the driver moving the suitcases out of the cab trunk.
“Vivienne, we can’t.” My voice was sad.
“Ah, well, I knew that, I suppose. But keep in touch when you can. There will always be a place for my sister and her husband in my life.” She smiled and laughed, kissing us both full on the lips before getting back into the cab.
We boarded the plane, and waited for takeoff, not speaking. Once we were in the air, I sat back in my seat and gave Mitch a smile.
The lights of the city disappeared quickly underneath us and we flew into the night to a brand new life.
Epilogue
With some of the proceeds from the sale of the Ballroom, we bought a large cabin in Maine. Nestled deep in the forest there, it is a welcome haven, an oasis from the death and destruction we underwent those awful few weeks. Our meager needs are easily supplied, a fully-stocked wine cellar and fully-stocked refrigerator, the bags of blood courtesy of Sam. He has promised to come back with the spring thaw to bring another shipment.
Mitch and I are finally at peace, finally happy. We have each other and we have the vastness of the woods to run, wolf and lynx, when we so choose. The beauty of the night seen from animal eyes is beyond description.
Deer and moose live wild here, they sense our difference, and allow us to approach them, even in animal form, allow us to feed on their blood if we so wish.
Mostly we sit by the fire, staring at the dancing flames. There is no need for speech between the two of us now, so completely are we merged, as if Mitch and I were one body, one soul.
If we desire human contact there is a cabin three miles down the road. A lone woman lives there; she too seems to be around only at night. We know she is there, sitting on her porch, watching the night. We can scent her blood, her perfume, the smoke of her cigarette curling in the cold air and somehow through the darkness she can see us.
Always, when we visit, she shakes her head, amazed at the sight of two such incongruent animals running together. “There’s a story there,” she says, pitches her cigarette onto the ground, goes inside and closes the door, leaving us alone in the night once more.
BLOOD OF MY BLOOD
For my father, Willard R. Gallagher,
with all the love and thanks
a daughter could ever express
Acknowledgments
As always, thanks go out to Pete, Brian and Geoff for their support, encouragement and love and for caring more about the book process than regular dinner hours. Thanks also to Elise and Paul for answering the phone, to the folks at Aspen Systems and Shaw Contract, to Marty for his pyrotechnical expertise, to Lyn just because, to Harold for being a great first reader, to Dave for never doubting I could do it, to Cherry for holding on, to John for remembering, to my dear friends from GEnie, sff.net and dm.net, and to the many readers who asked for more. All of you have made this possible.
Part 1
Chapter 1
The bar was dark. It didn’t matter much, I could see what I needed. Even when the flare of a lighter and thick clovescented smoke caused my eyes to blink and tear, I could see my reflection in the mirror clearly over the bottles. And knew myself for what I was.
The same wasn’t true for my companions; they were too young to see anything at all. They tried and tested life, rejected and embraced ideals. I found them both amusing and tiresome at the same time. But they accepted me fully as the real thing, even when my clothes and actions didn’t always mirror theirs. My life was darkness and darkness was what they said they wanted. Fools. All of them fools.
It was Monday and their night at The Blackened Orchid; they had a different bar for every night of the week. Drink all night and sleep all day seemed to be their motto. Suited me fine, since I only ever saw
them once a week. That night they were playing a game; they always played games. I didn’t usually join in, but this one, in particular, interested me. Smiling at my reflection in the mirror, I ran my fingers through my closely cropped red hair, downed my Pernod and knew I’d win.
“Earliest childhood remembrance, right?” The boy who called himself Hyde began. “I guess I was about three and I fell down and cut my knee. I watched the blood run down my leg, and put a finger in it and tasted it and liked it.” He licked his lips and smiled what I guessed he considered a wicked grin. “I liked it a lot and went back for more. Then it started to hurt and I cried. My mother picked me up and cleaned it off; the bandage had pictures on it. But I liked the blood better.”
One after another they told their stories, childhood woes of despair and pain, disillusionment and deaths, grandmothers’ funerals and hospital bleakness. When they had all finished, Hyde turned toward me and touched me, tracing the black rose tattooed on my shoulder. “Okay, Lily, love, your turn. What’s your earliest childhood remembrance?”
A smile twisted my mouth. “Interesting that you should ask, Hyde.” My voice was quiet, pitched almost to a whisper, but they all stopped to listen. From behind the bar, Moon gave me an admonishing glance, but I winked at her and shook my head, sending her the message that it didn’t matter. They’d never believe what I had to say.
“Go on, then, Lily, tell us.”
I looked each of them in the eyes before I started, and when I was sure I held them, I spoke. “One night, my first night of awareness, I wake to darkness and death and the dirt of the grave. How long I’ve been here, inhaling the corrupted odors of the surrounding dead, I don’t know. But I know that I have to get out.”
I paused a bit for effect and Moon filled my glass. As I swallowed it all and continued, the memories took hold and my voice filled with desperation. “I have to get out.” I hissed the words. “Get out. I am suffocating. Dying again. I do not want to die. Not again. I claw through the cheap wood of my coffin, splinters piercing my tender baby hands, blood dripping onto my face and into my mouth as I struggle, blood giving me strength and feeding my desire for freedom. Finally I break out and tunnel through the compacted earth up to the surface. It’s a long way, and I feel like I’ve been digging forever. My shroud eventually falls away in tatters, scraped away by the dirt. And when I emerge into the night, my second birth, I am naked, shining lily white in the light of the moon, squalling after life and the bitch of a mother who left me for dead.”
The bar remained for at least a minute in total silence. Then Jewel began to clap her hands, the dim light catching the sparkle of her silver rings. Eventually the rest of them joined in, until Hyde cleared his throat and licked the tip of his middle finger, tracing a line in the air. It served as a salute and an insult both. “Score one for Lily. A very good story, love.”
From behind the bar Moon chuckled, checked the clock and announced last call. Answered by the standard protests and profanities, she still served them all a final drink with a smile, then verbally pushed them out of the bar when they were done. “Go on now, you’ve all got places to go. So get.”
Hyde lingered longer than the rest, nursing his last drink, casually bumping up against me as if by accident. I didn’t acknowledge him; I just kept my head down, studying the bar and my glass. Finally, when he cleared his throat, I looked up at him. He gave me a twisted smile and I smiled back. He had an interesting face, young but with promise of depth as he grew older. His skin was darker than mine, and his features were a fascinating blend of white and red, reflecting mixed blood somewhere in his not too distant ancestry. His head was shaved on the left side, exposing an ear with a row of studs and hoops, but the rest of his hair hung over his face and his neck like a thick dark veil. We’d been lovers when I first arrived in this city, and I knew he hoped for a repeat of the experience.
Encouraged by my smile, he wrapped an arm around my neck and whispered in my ear. “We’re heading out to the graveyard, love. Come with me. We’ll fuck each other’s brains out on the steps of one of the mausoleums. You won’t be sorry.”
I chuckled deep in my throat. “A charming offer, Hyde. But not tonight. Maybe you can give me a rain check, huh?”
“Aw, Lily, please.” With his pleading he lost all pretense of sophistication, and I could hear the voice of the young boy who’d drunk his own blood so many years ago. “I’ve been dying for a taste of you since that last time.”
I reached up and scratched my nails lightly over the stubble on his cheek. “Well, then you’ll have to die just a little bit more, Hyde. That’s what it’s all about anyway, isn’t it?”
He gave a drunken laugh and dropped his head to lick my tattoo. “If that’s what you want, love. But if you change your mind you know where I’ll be.”
He reached into his pocket and put some money down on the bar. “Night, Moon,” he called as he went out the door to join his friends on their weekly date with death.
I stayed with Moon, staring into the dim mirror over the bar as she completed the washing up, trying to peer into my past, trying to pull answers to my questions out of the air, out of the haunted look that always seemed so deeply set into my eyes. Somewhere, I knew or prayed, there was a woman who could answer all my questions. Not the least of which was “Why?”
My thoughts were broken by the touch of a hand on mine. I looked down. Moon’s skin is so beautiful, I thought, so brown and rich, so much more complete, more satisfying than my own pasty white color. I sighed and she laughed, her broad face shining. “Let’s go home, girl,” she said, “ain’t nothing left to do here.”
We walked the tree-lined streets silently for a while. The air had cooled from the heat of the day and a light breeze wafted the scents of magnolia and wisteria to us. “Ah,” Moon said with a pleased sigh, “a beautiful night, Lily. Almost cool enough to make my cup of tea a welcome event, ain’t it?”
I snorted. “You and your tea, Moon. It’s always a welcome event for you, no matter what the weather.”
“True, child, but on a night when there’s a chill in the air, it’s a blessing, too. And would you look up there at that sky? That sickle moon holding on for dear life? Tomorrow night at this time it’ll just be a memory. And it’ll be colder still. Almost October now.”
I nodded. Another winter on its way. More death for the city.
But she was right, the night was beautiful, and I almost wished I had taken Hyde up on his offer. Moon, as usual, seemed to read my thoughts. “You should’ve gone with your friends, honey. Ain’t nothing to do with an old lady like me.”
“They’re not really my friends, you know that. Besides, you’re not old. How can you be old when I can remember when you were born?”
She shook her head. “The world’s full of wonders, Lily girl, and you’re one of them. Look at you, young and bursting with life, and then look at me, dried up and past sixty years. And you can remember when I was born.”
“But you know how it is, Moon.”
“Lord, yes, child, I know how it is. And I know the sun sets and the moon rises, but it don’t stop me from marveling at how that all works from time to time neither.”
I hugged my bare arms to myself and shivered slightly. “Does it work?” I whispered the words and she didn’t seem to hear.
Instead, she frowned down at me and shook her head, wrapping a fleshy arm around my shoulders. “Cold, honey? I told you to take your jacket, but no, you never listen, do you?”
“Don’t mother me, Moon. I don’t really feel the cold, you know that. I feel . . .” I stopped. Damn it, I thought to myself, I shouldn’t have told that stupid story.
“What do you feel, Lily?”
I snuggled into her warm flesh and wrapped an arm around her waist. I felt lonely. I felt lost. I felt myself a complete misfit, at odds with the rest of the world. But most of all I just felt angry. No one should have to live the way I’d had to: balanced between life and death, not truly human, not truly
other. A hybrid mixture. And the worst of both.
“Lily?”
The sympathy and love in her voice brought me back to the world. But I didn’t want her sympathy and love. I didn’t know what I wanted. Didn’t know what I felt. And it didn’t make one damn bit of difference. No one had ever asked me what I wanted. You got what you got. One of the few things I had in common with my friends in this city was the firm conviction that life sucks. They would follow the statement with “then you die.” As for me, well, I wasn’t so sure.
But for them, life was short. I had no doubts about that, having seen foster mothers and friends grow old and die. Suddenly I had a longing for a pair of warm arms around me, a pair of warm lips pressed against mine.
I gave Moon a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I feel like I want to meet Hyde and the others. Don’t wait up for me, okay?”
Chapter 2
One thing I’d noticed in all my travels was that each place had its own distinctive scent. Kansas, where I’d spent most of my first hundred years, had a clean smell, wholesome and pure, with an underlying aroma of cow shit that somehow only added to the ambience for me. Places further south seemed to carry a sultry floral scent, seductive and tempting. This city, this very fine city, was no exception. But underneath the perfume of the people and the flowers and the wine, death and decay were ever present. Despite the guise of carnival, there was a dark element at work, like waking up and finding a finely dressed corpse in bed next to you instead of the lover you thought was there. But, hey, it was home. At least for a while.
When I arrived at the cemetery, I was surprised that the police hadn’t already been called to the scene. Someone had brought a boom box and the wailing of songs about angry young boys and girls echoed from the crumbling tombstones. Couples had already paired off and were in various states of making love. My eyes scanned over them all briefly, searching for Hyde. He was why I’d come, wasn’t he? I needed a panacea for my soul, for quieting my thoughts and my mind. For one night, at least, he could provide.
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