The Vampire Jerome

by Ann B. Morris

  “I’m just a little tired, nothing to worry about.” She had slept steadily since falling asleep yesterday afternoon, following the morning of shopping and lunch with Simone. To date, this attack had lasted the longest of any. Probably, she determined, because the length of time between this attack and the last was the longest so far.

  “Dr. Stephens’s office called just a few minutes ago with instructions for your tests at the hospital tomorrow,” Ella said. “I’ve written everything down for you, including the doctor’s office number in case you have any questions.” Ella dug into the pocket of her skirt, withdrew a folded piece of paper and handed it to Dottie.

  Dottie read for a few seconds then refolded the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of her slacks. She thanked Ella and resumed eating with no more enthusiasm than before. She had come to accept that her appetite was nowhere near normal, and she didn’t fight her lack of interest in food. She ate now purely for sustenance and strength. After a few minutes, she addressed Ella who was at the kitchen counter. “You’re going with me tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  Ella took the bowl of fruit from the counter and set it on the table. “The bananas are good and ripe,” she said, taking a seat across from Dottie. “And, yes, I’ll be going with you. Dennis will take us and come back for us when we’re finished.”

  As if he’d been waiting nearby for a cue, Dennis entered the kitchen. By contrast with Jerome, Dennis was a small man, slight of build, with a full head of short-cropped, silver-threaded brown hair. Dottie had only seen him once before, but she knew immediately the scowl on his face was not his usual countenance.

  There was also no mistaking the urgency in his tone when he spoke. “Excuse me, ladies, but I need a private word with Ella.”

  Dottie pushed away from the table. “I think I’ll pass on the banana. The yogurt was all I needed.”

  Ella nodded. “I’ll check with you in a few minutes so we can make plans to go shopping for the things you didn’t get yesterday.”

  Despite a hasty departure, some of what Dennis had come to share with Ella reached Dottie before she made it to her bedroom. “. . . deep-earth vampires . . . in Berkeley last night . . .” was all she heard. But it was enough to make her blood run cold.

  Deep-earth vampires was the description she’d heard Julian use when she had come upon him and Simone engaged in conversation the day before they’d left New Orleans. When she questioned Simone about it later, her stepsister had told her that while many vampires lived below ground, the ones known as deep-earth vampires lived in areas where earthquakes were common.

  Dennis’s words replayed themselves over and over in Dottie’s head. The deep-earth vampires had evidently attacked some humans in the area, or else Dennis would not have been so obviously distraught. Her heart began to pump crazily. Had anyone been killed? she wondered. Captured? Were there any women taken, who, at this very moment were living through the horror she had known?

  Dottie sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. Would this nightmare ever end? Not just for her, but for all the others unwittingly caught in this evil that, until three months ago, she had no idea even existed?

  Feeling an anxiety attack coming on, she scooted up the bed until her back rested against the headboard. She needed to concentrate on something that would lift her spirits, something that would take her mind off her current predicament. She wedged a pillow behind her head, closed her eyes and let her mind drift to a time before she’d taken the job that had sent her to New Orleans to find her client’s missing daughter.

  It was the day before she’d accepted the assignment. She’d decided to replant her garden and had taken a very long lunch, most of it spent in one of the area’s largest nurseries. She smiled to herself, remembering how the warm, early June sun had felt on the bare skin of her arms as she poked around the dozens of potted plants, shrubs and hanging baskets. She could see them all now, as if she were back at the nursery, the whites and yellows, pinks and blues of the tiny flower petals.

  And then, like a distant, watery moon, Jerome’s face shimmered in front of her and the many colored petals in her mind coalesced into his eyes. One azure blue; the other silvery gray. A Whitcombe genetic trait Simone had told her.

  Drawing in a deep breath she tried to shift her thoughts back to the afternoon at the nursery, but she couldn’t. Jerome Whitcombe’s eyes were all she saw. She felt as though his eyes were pulling her along a path she didn’t really want to travel but was unable to change. She tried to close her own inner eye against those blue and gray ones, but once again, she failed.

  And then, Jerome’s wavering features sharpened and it was as if his face was right in front of her, so close she could feel his breath brushing against her neck.

  She shivered. An innate need for warmth sent the message to her brain to cover herself. She tried to reach for the bed cover, but her arms were leaden, and no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to lift them.

  It was the soft, insistent tapping that finally released whatever held her in its grip. Opening her eyes as slowly as though she’d just awakened from one of her deepest sleeps, Dottie realized the tapping was on her bedroom door. Slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and called out, in as steady as voice as she could manage, that she would be just another minute.

  “I’m sorry, I had water running in the bathroom,” she told Ella when she finally opened the door.

  It took only a few minutes for the two of them to plan the rest of their day. Dottie would accompany Ella to the grocery store for some of her favorite foods and then the drugstore for hand cream and body lotion which she desperately needed.

  Time permitting, they’d hit the mall and she’d buy the running shoes she’d had to forego yesterday because of the narcolepsy attack. They would leave in an hour, they decided, before Ella left.

  Dennis was nowhere in sight when Dottie walked into the kitchen an hour later, wearing one of the outfits she’d bought the day before on her shopping trip with Simone. A new black leather backpack was slung over her shoulders. It was as if the earlier conversation between Ella and her husband had never taken place and the strange dreamlike wanderings of her mind had never happened.

  She felt amazingly calm and rested, eager to get started with the day’s errands. She was even looking forward to seeing Jerome tonight, if for no other reason than to assure herself she had no reason to fear him.

  Chapter Four

  “I TRUST YOU had a good day,” Jerome said Wednesday night from the doorway of his living room.

  Startled, Dottie hastily closed the book she was reading and turned it face down on her lap.

  Vampires and Other Mythological Creatures, Do They Really Exist? Jerome had read the title in the second it took his houseguest to react to his voice. He wondered if the book talked about the vampire’s extraordinary sight and amplified hearing. About its superhuman strength, and the ability to transport oneself from one spot to another quicker than a human could take a breath. Or about the power to bend another’s mind.

  Dottie hugged the book to her midriff. “Yes, thank you. As a matter of fact, I spent a wonderful day with Ella. She’s been as generous with her time as you’ve been with your home.”

  In spite of his attempt not to do so, Jerome’s gaze settled on the two firm breasts uplifted by the pressure of the book beneath them. Forcing himself to look upward to Dottie’s face, he cursed the uneasy attraction he felt for her. “Good. I’m happy to hear that.” He started to walk into the room, but thought better of it and stopped just inside the doorway. “Do you mind if I intrude upon your peace and quiet for a few minutes?”

  Dottie’s shoulders lifted. “Of course not. As a matter of fact, I was wondering if I would see you after—”

  “After I arose from the deep, dark sleep of the undead?” Try as he might, he couldn’t ke
ep the sarcastic edge from his voice.

  Color rose to her cheeks. More than a little ashamed of himself he stepped deeper into the room. At the bar, he turned to face her.

  “You’ll have to excuse my ill manners.” He was surprised to find his hands shook slightly as he prepared to fix his first Double B of the night. “I had an unexpected phone message waiting for me when I awoke.”

  Dottie leaned forward. “Bad news?”

  He nodded and took a sip of his Double B. “Trouble with the group of vampires who live deep below the earth’s surface. A distinctly different breed than those of the Whitcombe clan or their allies.”

  He started toward the chair opposite hers, but remembered his manners and stopped. “Can I get you—” Before he could finish the sentence, he reeled backwards, as if he’d received a blow to the head.

  Dottie was instantly on her feet. “Is something wrong?”

  He gave a dismissive wave with his hand. “I’m fine. Just a temporary dizziness from moving too fast.” Cautiously, he made his way back toward the bar. “Is there something I can get you while I’m over here?”

  Dottie shook her head and sat down again, nodding to the table next to her. “I have tea, thank you. It was one of the things I picked up when I went shopping with Ella.”

  He took the chair on the other side of the table from Dottie. “I take it you’re familiar with this.” He lifted the glass of Double B. “That you know what it is and why we drink it.”

  “Yes,” she said, watching him with a concern that made him uneasy.

  He took a deep swallow of the synthetic blood. The intensity of The Need varied and his usual routine was to allow himself enough time to determine how much of the drink he needed for a particular night. One night he could get by on a single glass; another night The Need’s onslaught would be merciless and he would be forced to consume much more than usual. Even then, he sometimes couldn’t fight the urges that drove him to the edge of hell and often to the brink of madness.

  At times like those there was only one thing he could do. And that one thing was what he had to avoid at all costs with this woman who was under his roof and in his care.

  They sat in silence for a time, each savoring their particular drink of choice. Finally, Dottie set down her cup and looked at him so directly he was forced to look up and meet her gaze.

  “Were there . . . this trouble last night . . . were there any women involved?”

  The words seem to tremble off her tongue and he felt a sudden impulse to reach for her hand to soothe her. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions cause him to do something he might later regret. She was a friend of his brother’s to whom he owed a favor, nothing more. His only obligation was to see that she had adequate medical care and a safe place to stay while she healed. He also needed to keep her up-to-date about any danger that might threaten her.

  “Since you brought the subject up,” he said, not answering her question directly, “there is something I need to speak with you about.” He paused and when she didn’t question him again, he continued, “I doubt you’d even consider it, given your condition and the fact that you’re in a strange city, but nevertheless I feel I should warn you against ever going out alone. Not in daylight. And absolutely not at night.”

  She reached for her cup, holding the saucer under it with her other hand. His extraordinary hearing caught the clinking of one piece of china against the other. He had no doubt frightened her.

  “You’re right,” she said, “you needn’t worry on that score, believe me.”

  Not finished yet, he leaned forward. “And in the event you ever find yourself alone in the house at night, do not let anyone inside. Ever.” He made a point of emphasizing the last word.

  Her eyes widened. She nodded. “I understand.”

  He was trying to think of something else to say when she took him off guard by asking, “Does it always work?” She indicated the glass he’d just drained of the last of its contents.

  For a second he was speechless. Dare he tell her the truth? What the hell, she might as well know what she was up against. After all, it was possible that one day the knowledge might even save her from him. Roughly, he shook the dark, unwanted thought aside.

  “Would it frighten you if I confessed that, no, sometimes Michael’s remedy, powerful though it is, is not strong enough to ward off the demons that bargain nightly for my soul?”

  The color drained from her face as quickly as if her blood had been siphoned by the deadly fangs that had held him prisoner for more than a century. He felt a twinge of shame, a brief stab of pity for her, but he quickly smothered both emotions. He had to view the current situation pragmatically.

  She was not here by his voluntary invitation. She had been dropped into the center of his world, a world which was slowly slipping from its axis, a world where danger rose every night from deep, dark graves. A world where the unsuspecting went about their daily routines unaware of the trembling earth beneath their feet. A familiar anger rose quickly inside him.

  Damn the architects of this unholy drama that had stolen his humanity only to dangle its return in front of him like a child’s prized toy as reward for a good deed.

  Lately, the question for him had been whether or not he even wanted that toy badly enough to give up his newly found life of pleasure for it.

  Damn the Goddess Lilith who had offered the chance for redemption to the Whitcombe Legacy so many centuries ago. True, it was Julian to whom the greatest test had been given; Julian who had been tasked with the responsibility of returning to his brothers the humanity that had been taken from them at their eighteenth birthday.

  But had it been all that difficult for Julian? He had always seemed able to take on the greatest tests with little or no difficulty. And hadn’t he gotten his proper reward? His woman? His lifemate?

  Despite his long held envy and resentment of Julian because of the strength he possessed, an unexpected thought forced its way into Jerome’s consciousness. Hadn’t he faced some tests of his own? What about that clan of vampires that had roamed the outskirts of Oakland a decade ago? It had taken months to rid the area of them. He’d lost a few good men during that time and been seriously injured himself in one of the battles.

  Subconsciously Jerome passed his thumb over the jeweled ring on his finger, its magical properties the only reason he had not been plunged into eternal darkness during that confrontation.

  At his touch, the magic of the pearls and turquoise stones radiated up Jerome’s finger and through his body. The ring had been made during the 1970s at a French Quarter shop in New Orleans at the same time Julian’s ear studs were made. Jonah, the youngest of them, had requested a necklace which they created for him at the same time.

  All the brothers’ jewelry had been fashioned from the dagger forged centuries ago from the first copper ever discovered and given to the Whitcombe Clan by the Goddess Lilith. According to her promise, as long as a Whitcombe had a copper adornment on his body he would be protected from everything but the most fatal wounds.

  As his thumb continued to stroke the ring, Jerome recalled what he’d been told about the stones, first by his father and later by Michael. They’d said it had made sense to enhance the copper with stones whose properties were the copper’s match in both beauty and power. Hence, the pearl, the oldest of all the jewels, and the turquoise, known throughout history to ward off unnatural death, had been added to each piece of jewelry when it was designed.

  Jerome caressed the ring on his finger one last time, closed his eyes and turned his thoughts back to his inner turmoil. If only he did not have an ethical conscience as well as an insatiable desire for the taste of blood. More precisely for the taste of a woman’s blood.

  If only he did not have this well-deserved hatred for the vile creatures whose blood lust didn’t stop until a
ll those lovely necks were ripped to shreds. If only—

  “Jerome—”

  His head snapped up and he opened his eyes to his unwanted houseguest who sat slumped in her chair. He reached her as her chin dipped to her chest. He knew even as he gently shook her shoulder that it was a useless gesture. The steady, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest told him all he needed to know.

  Cursing every ancient god and goddess he could recall, Jerome scooped Dottie into his arms and headed to the door. Why him? Why tonight of all nights? He had more important work to do than baby-sit a woman so trapped by the jaws of sleep she wouldn’t wake if the roof fell down on her.

  Nudging the partially open door with his foot, Jerome stepped into the dark hall that led to the guest bedroom. The darkness clutched him to its breast like a jealous lover. Darkness was his friend, his lifelong companion, the table at which he dined when The Need demanded sustenance.

  The scent of the woman he cradled in his arms swirled around him like the sweet smell of roses from his mother’s garden when he was a child. His head spun with a delicious dizziness unlike the unwelcome vertigo that shook him when the ground rocked beneath his feet.

  Powerless to control the euphoria that saturated his senses, he could do nothing but accept it. This was his lot in life, his curse, his pain and his pleasure. He held himself still as The Need roared through him and claimed him for its own.

  His gums had already begun to ache as he shifted Dottie to one arm while he opened the door to her bedroom. The movement caused her to awaken. In the lamplight, she looked radiant, her eyes filled with desire. With need. He kicked the door closed behind him.

  She put her arms around his neck and slid down the length of his body, pressing him against the door. He made an attempt to unwind her arms from around his neck, but she fought him, silently demanding he allow her to continue. A roaring started in his head as The Need began to take hold of him. After another attempt to extricate the hold she had on him, he surrendered to her demands. He didn’t fight his arousal as she pressed her lips to his, her tongue sweeping his mouth, her hands roaming his body.