Crave

by Karen E. Taylor

  She opened the door. “Hi, honey, I’m home,” she called, and I rolled my eyes. Just like some stupid sitcom on television, I thought. Then the door shut and I was alone in the woods.

  They talked for a while; I couldn’t hear the words, but the murmur of their voices carried through the trees. I concentrated on the mind of Mitch as I’d found it that morning; he seemed apprehensive and edgy. I pushed myself into his head just a little harder, and the door opened. I could see the glow of his eyes, peering into the night, searching for me. Then he shook his head and closed the door.

  I smiled. “Yeah, you sense me. But you can’t possibly know I’m here. Besides, it’ll be dawn soon and time for all good vampires to be in bed.”

  Just like in the dream, they laughed. And they made love before they slept. I could feel the passion in his mind; I could feel the love the two of them shared. It was strong, so very strong. And quite beautiful. And, I thought with a twisted smile, so soon to be gone.

  When the sun finally rose, I relaxed slightly, since now there was no fear that either of them would spot me. Even to open the shutters slightly would mean death.

  Mitch fell asleep; I could feel his mind drifting. My mother, though, was awake. And upset. “Good,” I said to myself as I climbed out of the tree, retrieved my bags and quietly approached the front porch, “I want you upset. And you’d better get used to it, bitch, ’cause it’s only going to get worse for you.”

  I sat up against the door, leaning the side of my head up against it so that I could better hear what was happening inside. She was moving around, making coffee, it sounded like, talking to herself about being hungry. Fretting, I knew, about the man who lay asleep upstairs. The man who was about to dream what I wanted him to dream.

  Seeing them together hadn’t changed my mind; it had only emphasized to me what she had and what I lacked. So I turned the dream on full power, pouring into it all that I could remember of my escape from a premature grave, filling it with the despair of that moment, the total despair of all my subsequent years. The deaths, the tears, the wasted lives and the anger: I channeled it all into Mitch’s sleeping mind. And most of all, I sent him complete and utter hatred of the creature known as Deirdre Griffin.

  “Kill her,” I whispered. “Kill the bitch who made me what I am.” Realizing, as I said the words, that I had lied to Victor. I did want her dead.

  “Kill her.” I burrowed deeper into his mind, still hissing words of hate and anger. “Kill her. She deserves to die. Kill her!”

  When I heard my words in his voice, I knew that I’d succeeded. Now all I had to do was wait for her to leave. Victor had assured me that she’d leave. “What else would she do?” he’d said. “Not that she’d fear that he’d kill her, although that thought will occur to her. After all, she killed her creator.” He’d stopped for a while, then continued, his eyes harder. “No, what she will be most upset about will be that he doesn’t love her. That will drive her away. She will be devastated and she will run.” He’d laughed then, and I’d laughed with him. “As I’ve said before, love is an emotion a vampire can’t afford.”

  The day stretched before me, gloriously bright. Mitch’s sleeping mind was still troubled, fretting over the images and emotions I poured into it repeatedly. Most gratifying, though, was the total and utter despair that radiated from my mother. She cried and, feeling the heat of her tears on my own face, I smiled and laughed. “It worked, Victor,” I said. “We did it.” I remained curled up next to the front door of the cabin, reveling in my success, until movement within sent me back up the tree.

  The sun had barely set when the door opened and my mother came out. She was dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt and heavy hiking boots, a backpack hanging from her arm. She looked pale and thoroughly miserable, stopping only once to stare back at what used to be her happy little love nest, before disappearing off into the woods.

  I climbed down from the tree for the final time and followed in her path. When she knocked on the door of the closest cabin, the woman let her in. I gripped the beads around my neck. “Keep her there,” I ordered the woman. “Give me an extra day to get away. I don’t care if you have to break your back to do it. Just keep her there.”

  Then I headed back through the woods and walked into the front door of the cabin. “Hi, honey, I’m home.” I breathed the words, and stepped into the kitchen. Taking a mug from the cabinet, I filled it with coffee from one of the jugs, then added a dash of Angelo’s control liquid. I sniffed at it; it smelled like coffee. I dabbed a little more of the disguise ointment on my hands and my hair. Then I quietly went up the stairs.

  Mitch was still sleeping. I took a minute to look at the man that my mother loved so desperately. He was attractive, I thought, his face was rugged but handsome, and what part of his body I could see looked well-formed and firm. But his hair was totally gray. I wondered about this, since he didn’t look old enough to have gone this color. It can’t have been his age. Victor was far older than Mitch and his hair was dark.

  He moved then and opened his eyes. They were steel blue and, had I never stared into Victor’s eyes, I’d have thought them the most intense thing I’d ever seen. But these eyes smiled for my mother when they smiled at me. I held my breath. Would he recognize the difference as Victor had? I’d have to keep away from him physically and emotionally. Fortunately, I had a diversion already planned.

  “Dressed already, Deirdre?” His voice was smooth. “Going to go over and play with your toy again?”

  I smiled. “No, my love. Something even better.” I handed him the mug and he took a long sip.

  “Ugh,” he said, making a face, and I tensed, worried that he tasted the potion. “I’d forgotten that we were out of cream.” But he took another sip anyway. “Thanks. That’s exactly what I needed. But tell me, what could possibly be better than playing with your toy?”

  I smiled, reached my hand over and stroked his cheek. “I have a surprise for you. How does a second honeymoon in New Orleans sound?”

  “Sounds wonderful, actually. I’ve been getting kind of bored lately.”

  “Gee, thanks a lot.” I forced a smile. “But I know exactly what you mean, Mitch. And I can promise that this trip will be anything but boring. So drink the rest of your coffee and get ready. I’ve made all the arrangements and we don’t have much time. Our flight leaves at ten.”

  “That soon?” He tossed the blankets back. “I guess I’d better shower, then, and get moving. Care to join me?”

  I turned away and walked over to the dresser. “No, not this time, my love. I’ll get us packed and call a cab for the airport.”

  “Great.” He hesitated in the doorway for a minute, then shrugged. “This is a wonderful idea, Deirdre. And just what we needed.”

  I turned and watched him head into the bathroom, heard the water turn on. “No, Mitch,” I whispered with a smile, “it’s not at all what you needed. But it works for me.”

  Part 4

  Chapter 21

  “So,” Sam said as we sped down the main road out of town, “aren’t you going to say something about my car?”

  I looked around at the interior: leather seats, complicated dashboard with more dials than anyone could possibly want, pretty decent stereo system. “It’s nice?” I ventured. “Is it new?”

  Sam laughed. “I should’ve remembered, Deirdre, you’re totally unimpressed with cars. Yeah, it’s new. A birthday present from Vivienne.”

  “Ah.” I ran a hand over the seat. “A very expensive present, no doubt. And how is Vivienne these days?”

  “She’s fine. Or at least I guess she is; she’s been in Paris the last couple of weeks.”

  “Paris? How lovely.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Cadre business, of course. She asked me to come along, but to be honest, I didn’t relish the thought of being the only warm body there.” He gave a bitter laugh. “It’s not always comfortable being used as arm candy.”

  “Arm candy?”

&n
bsp; “Yeah, you know, sort of like a trophy wife.”

  “Ah.”

  “And the meetings? God, I thought psychiatrists were boring. You have no idea. The tracing of the various houses, who bit whom and when, catching up on hundreds of years of small talk. I just couldn’t stomach it. So I figured it would be a perfect time to visit you and Mitch.”

  I winced at the name. “Your timing was excellent, Sam.”

  He glanced over at me. “And you still don’t want to talk about it? Are you sure? It’s what I’m good at, after all. And maybe I can come up with some insights . . .”

  “No.” I interrupted him and laid a hand on his arm. “Just drive.”

  “But . . .”

  “Just drive, Sam. I want to be as far away from here as possible by dawn.”

  “Oh, yeah, dawn. I guess I’d better think about finding you a place to spend the day.”

  “Or not.” I turned away from him and looked out the window.

  “You’re not allowed to talk like that, Deirdre.”

  “Advice from the doctor?”

  “No. Words from a friend.” He reached over and gave me a small punch on the arm. “Besides, if you burst into flames in my new car, I’d never forgive you.”

  I permitted myself a small wry smile. “I will try to keep that in mind, Sam. At the very least, I promise to get out of the car before I spontaneously combust.”

  Sam kept driving for hours, humming along with the songs on the stereo. His voice had a peaceful sound, comforting somehow. I concentrated on the night’s scenery flowing past my window and felt the miles accumulate behind us. He stopped for gas once, but said nothing, sensing that I wished no conversation. He pumped his own, paid and got back behind the wheel without a word. And still we drove, his sleek car eating the miles. Every minute carried us further away from the cabin and my previous life, until there seemed to be no previous life, there was merely the car and the road and the endless night.

  At one point, I turned away from the window and glanced over at him; he was relaxed at the wheel, totally in control, and if the smug smile on his face was any indication, he felt pretty good about the situation. I thought about Bob the previous night; must be that white-knight syndrome, I thought, they all want to be rescuers. Even Mitch fell into that trap. But no, I was not going to go there. Not now. I sighed and stretched my legs out in front of me. Elly’s boots looked so large on my feet; I clacked them together and laughed.

  “What?”

  “I have clown feet.”

  “Oh. I see. You don’t exactly look like the Deirdre I’m used to. So what’s going to happen when we get to New York?”

  “First I am going to buy some new boots that fit.”

  “Yeah. And after that? Seriously, Deirdre, what will you do?”

  “Sleep. Feed. Repeat as necessary.”

  “There’s more to life than that.”

  “And what exactly would that be?”

  He shrugged. “You used to know.” Then he reached over and flipped open the console between the seats. “Cigarette?” He offered the pack to me.

  “No, thank you. Those things will kill you, haven’t you heard?”

  “I’ve heard the rumors, yes.” Sam smiled and knocked one out of the pack for himself, then pushed in the cigarette lighter on the dash. “But I don’t smoke that much. Most of the time. Only when presented with a particularly tricky problem.”

  “And what exactly is the problem this time, Sam?”

  He reached down, pulled out the lighter, lit the cigarette on the glowing coils. “You, of course.”

  I took the lighter from his hand and blew on it as it cooled, watching the glow grow dimmer, then wink out completely. I stuffed it back into its little compartment. “Why am I a problem for you, Sam? It has nothing to do with you.”

  “But I was best man at your wedding. And you two are so right for each other.”

  “Were. Were right for each other.”

  “No, you are right. There has to be some explanation. And I can’t believe you are just going to let him walk away. How can you do that?”

  “I have to, Sam.” I looked at the clock. “For now, though, we had better find a place to stay at the next exit. If only for the sake of your car upholstery.”

  “There must be some mistake,” I said to the clerk at the hotel desk. “Run it through again.”

  “Sorry, I’ve run it through twice and called. The card is declined; apparently the account has been closed.”

  “Closed? How can it be closed?” I felt the panic and anger begin to rise within me; I reached over the desk and caught hold of his shirt, pulling his face close to mine. The Cat within stirred and growled. “As if it was not enough of a blow for him to take everything, he closed my account also?”

  “Miss, I, um, don’t know what to say . . .”

  Sam came up behind me then and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Steady,” he whispered to me, and I let go. He handed the clerk a card. “Here, this one should work fine. We’ll still want the two rooms, adjoining if you have them.”

  “Closed?” I paced around my room, trying to calm myself and the Cat. “What sort of goddamned explanation can there be for that, Sam? He left me first without shelter and clothing, and now he’s left me without money. Do you have any idea how much was in that account?” I spread my fingers out wide, stretching them as if they were taloned, then relaxed them and gave a humorless laugh. “Hell, how could you? Even I do not know how much was in there.”

  “Deirdre, this isn’t good.”

  “Really, Sam? Really? Don’t you have any words of wisdom for me right now? You want to tell me again how right Mitch and I are together?”

  He shook his head. “The sun will be up soon.”

  He pulled the curtains back just a bit to peer at the sky. “Will you be okay in here during the day?”

  I walked over and felt the material at the window. “No, actually, I won’t. These are too flimsy. But I can sleep in the bathtub, I suppose. And I can put a blanket under the door to keep any stray light out.”

  “Can I get you anything beforehand?”

  “You mean like a bottle of wine? Or a good book? No, I don’t think so.”

  He walked over to his room and came back with a large cooler. “I unloaded these from the trunk while you were, ah, checking us in.” He lifted the lid, picked out a plastic bag and tossed it to me. “Will this help?”

  I turned the bag of blood over in my hand. “It certainly cannot hurt. Now, if I only had a few of Elly’s candles, I would be all set.”

  “Elly’s candles?”

  “Not important. I will be fine, Sam. Thank you.”

  I gathered the pillows and blankets from the bed, went into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. The room was totally dark except for a small sliver of light shining in around the door. I blocked the light under the door with a towel; there was not much else I could do.

  I turned the lights on long enough to heat the blood under hot water. Then I tore a corner off the bag and drank. I remembered the first time I had fed out of such a bag. Mitch had still been human then and had not known what kind of creature I was. I could clearly remember the look of disgust mingled with sympathy on his face when he caught me in the act. But I had not wanted his pity or his understanding. All I had ever wanted was his love.

  I dropped the empty bag into the toilet and flushed it away. “I should have known then,” I said to my reflection in the mirror as I stripped off my clothes. “I should have known.” I splashed some water on my face, dried off and made my bed in the tub, turning out the lights and settling in for the day.

  I lay for a long time, silent, but not sleeping, eyes wide open, staring at the darkness. Searching for an answer, any answer other than the obvious one. And found nothing but lies and deceit and a wide gaping emptiness where I had once felt love.

  “You arrogant bastard, Mitchell Greer, I growled, hearing the Cat’s approving rumble. “How dare you do this to
me? Damn you to hell.”

  I closed my eyes and took a long deep breath, forcing the anger deep inside. He was already in hell, I knew. And I knew who had put him there.

  “Let us kill him,” the Cat said. “We will find him and kill him and then we will be free.”

  I mentally smoothed the hair on its back. “Not free, pet. Just let him go.”

  “Never,” said the Cat. “We hurt and we will make him pay.”

  It was a long day. Only the thought of how much it would upset Sam kept me from opening the door and walking out into the sunlight.

  Chapter 22

  I knocked on Sam’s door at sunset.

  “Are you ready to go, Sam?”

  I heard a muffled “Come in,” and opened the connecting door. Sam was in bed, and apparently, from the vacant stare he gave me, still mostly asleep.

  He groaned. “Is it morning already?”

  “Not morning at all,” I said, “or I’m in trouble.”

  “Just an expression of speech, Deirdre. Must you be so literal in the morn—er, whatever?”

  “How’d you sleep?”

  He scrunched up his face and scratched the back of his head. “Like the dead. And you?”

  I gave a little laugh. “Like the undead.”

  “That’s better, right? The sleep of the undead is the ultimate rest?”

  “Quite the contrary, actually. Hasn’t Vivienne taught you anything at all?”

  He looked away. “Yeah, she has. I’d hoped maybe it was different for you. Do you dream?”

  “Yes. Which is why I prefer not to sleep any more than necessary. And I have been up for about five hours, waiting for the sun to set. I will go in search of coffee for us and let you get ready. How do you like yours?”

  “Cream and sugar, please.”

  I started for the door. “Deirdre, hold on a second.” He crawled out of bed, barely managing to cover himself with a sheet. The good doctor slept without the benefit of pajamas; the bed was rumpled and sweaty, the room reeked of human scent. I took in a quick breath, trying not to remember the taste of his blood.