Immortal Prey

by Diana Ballew

  “A beast?” The tiny hairs on the back of Erin’s neck rose, and goose-bumps crawled across her flesh.

  “I know. It sounds crazy, but I tell you, these sounds were not of this world. The pounding got louder, more violent. I ran out my room and knocked on her door. There was no answer, but I knew she was in there with him. I tried to open the door, but it was locked.”

  Pearl pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. “Like always, her spare key was above the door jamb. Just as I placed it in the lock, I heard a howl —”

  “A howl — you’re sure?”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Pearl said decisively. “Then the sound of breaking glass rang out, followed by a thud. I was so scared my hands shook as I opened the door. What I saw next … ” Pearl’s shoulders rocked as she wiped her moist, painted cheeks.

  Erin pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “Here, honey.”

  Pearl sniffed and blew her nose. “When I walked in the room, blood was everywhere. On the walls, the bed, even on the ceiling. I ran to the shattered window, and there, right on the ground below the street lamps was Julie, bloody, lifeless … dead.”

  Erin fought the urge to gag. “And where was the man?”

  “I didn’t see a man. I didn’t see nothin’ except a large wolf scampering away fast as the winter wind toward the river. Turns out, Julie’d been mauled — eaten alive — and the handsome man with the dark blond hair and piercing eyes was nowhere to be seen.”

  Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

  I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath;

  — John Keats, “Ode to a Nightingale”

  Part Two

  The Guardian

  Chapter Nine

  America

  I was in my Were form, panting wildly, rushing through a city park. Angry and famished, I pounced on the first unwary human I encountered, tearing unmercifully into my victim’s slender throat. Gathering pools of dark blood surrounded me. Under the soft glow of a streetlamp, a shiny patent leather shoe dangled from my victim’s small foot.

  I dropped my prey and lunged backwards, recoiling like a snake. Shaking uncontrollably, I watched in horror as the little girl with coal-black hair stared back at me, her emerald green eyes fading with imminent death.

  “Derek, if only you had waited,” she whispered.

  I woke in the steamer bunk with a start, drenched in sweat, frightened beyond measure. Trembling and weak, I gazed out the small window and watched the foamy Atlantic waves being ripped by the heavy wind carrying her scent straight to me. I reminded myself it had only been another nightmare. But something deep within my bones told me it was more than that. The disturbing dream was a reminder.

  The animal inside me never sleeps.

  I missed Ersule, missed her more than mortal life itself. Every day as her lovely scent wafted into my nostrils, I imagined what she looked like as a little girl. Did her ebony black hair frame eyes that sparkled like emerald jewels set before a fire? Was her ivory skin feather-soft to the touch, just as I remembered? While the sensation was unbearable at times, I stayed within the city of Baltimore, resisting all temptation to see her as a child residing in nearby New York. I dared not catch even a mere glimpse of her before she reached twenty-three, or I would be risking everything I’d waited centuries for.

  Everything.

  One evening at The Horse You Came in On Saloon, I met an elderly gentleman named Jeffrey Watt. We drank whiskey, smoked cigars, and played poker late into the night. With companies in Maine and Illinois, Watt spoke of his idea to expand his business in the West.

  “The future is in the West, young man,” he told me. “And I may have the perfect opportunity for such a man as yourself.”

  My mind wandered from the conversation back to the Wild Bill Cody Show Gregore and I had seen in London years ago. I had hung on Wild Bill’s every mesmerizing word about the Great American West.

  As Ersule matured, her scent ripened, and my temptation to see her swelled exponentially. She was now a girl of eleven, and she lived a mere two hundred miles away from me. After my brandy and cigar each evening, I would sit still and quiet, feeling the soft tick of her little heart deep within my chest, the beat mirroring my own.

  So how could I move farther away from her now?

  Sensing my hesitation, Watt explained, if I were interested, I need not move west just yet. Several years of acquiring more timberlands would be required before the logging could begin and the mills completed.

  The idea appealed to me, more than I ever would have thought possible, and a delayed move out to the West certainly sweetened the offer.

  Within a month, the necessary business papers had been drawn. All I had to do was travel to Maine, inspect my northeastern investments, and upon my approval and signature on the bottom line of the documents, I would become an equal partner in Watt & Rudliff Land and Timber Company.

  Eager for excitement, Gregore insisted he travel with me, but with one special request. On the return trip, he wanted to stop at the museums in New York.

  “Gregore, you’re my dear friend, you know that, but I cannot possibly go there.”

  Pity dulled his brown eyes. “You have resisted for years, all while knowing she lived only two hundred miles away. New York is immense.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I will keep you strong.”

  I slowly shook my head. “I don’t know if I have the power to keep away. I struggle, Gregore. I fight each and every day.”

  But the more I hesitated, the more Gregore spoke excitedly of the museums and theatres, and when I saw the spark of life it brought to his eyes, I agreed with one caveat. We would stay in New York for two days and two nights only.

  Our very existence within populated areas required a level of fluency. We had grown accustomed to our comfortable hunting grounds among the homeless wretches in the dark alleys of Baltimore, the pitiful vagrants no one ever gave the courtesy of a second glance. The full moon would occur by the third night, and we dare not temp fate by hunting in the unfamiliar alleys of New York.

  In Maine we toured and inspected the mills, camps, and business ledgers. Upon the endorsement of my lawyer, I signed on the dotted line. I had officially become an American businessman and looked forward to celebrating with Gregore.

  New York was unlike anywhere we had ever been. The large city was similar to London, only more modern, more vibrant, with people out at all hours, day and night. Horse-drawn carriages filled the streets while people shopped, ate at the abundant restaurants, visited museums, or simply meandered through the large park.

  The first afternoon we enjoyed a lavish lunch. Later, while admiring the collection at the Museum of Art, we stood in front of a marble sculpture designed by the artist Thomas Crawford, titled Genius of Mirth. I heard a guttural whimper from Gregore. He sighed, and I watched as a solitary tear dripped down his cheek.

  “So beautiful. Look at the boy’s young face,” he whispered. “Not a care in the world.” He turned and gazed into my eyes. “We were like that once. Do you remember being a child?”

  I lowered my head. Lord. I hadn’t thought about my childhood in so long, I wasn’t sure it had ever truly existed.

  I could feel Ersule’s human presence nearby. The new sensation titillated me to the core. With her heavenly scent and close proximity teasing every inch of my physical being, I walked around the city feeling as though I were deliciously drunk. Following her aroma, I narrowed her residence to within a one-block radius. I knew she was close, a mere block away at most, and yet, I had a finer sense of control than I ever would have imagined.

  New York was an eclectic city in every conceivable way. Humans of every shape, size, and ethnicity, were plentiful. Daily, people streamed into New York Harbor from all over the world to begin their lives anew. In this strange new city, perhaps we could blend.

  The day we were to return on the train to Baltimore was the hap
piest day I’d had in more than three hundred years.

  After breakfast I took a morning stroll through Central Park. I sat on a bench, gazing at the people going about their normal lives. Somehow, the scene made me feel mortal. I extinguished my cigar and broke off a piece of the biscuit I had placed in my coat pocket to feed the pigeons.

  Instantly, my breath caught in my lungs, and my heart stopped dead. I raised my nose high in the air, sniffing at the familiar scent growing increasingly stronger. My heart suddenly rebounded with a massive thud against my starched shirt. I turned my head from side to side, my heightened sense of smell honing in on the delightful aroma. I narrowed my gaze.

  There.

  Oh, dear God.

  It was she. A smaller version in a pretty pink dress, but it was definitely Ersule.

  Raven ringlets of hair framed her ivory skin and sparking eyes. She appeared to be about eleven years old, fresh, innocent, on the cusp of womanhood, just as I would have expected.

  Tears stung the back of my eyes, pooling in the corners, and I stifled the gasp threatening to escape my throat. I quickly slouched and tugged my hat over my brow.

  “Mama?” Ersule called in the honeyed tone of a child’s voice.

  I peered from below the brim of my hat. Ersule stood staring at me, pointing.

  Tightness seized my chest.

  “That man is feeding the birds. Please, may I feed them, too?”

  Her mother appeared delicate, reminding me of a gentle bird. Her chignon of fair hair peeked out from below a dark bonnet, and her physique was so slender she looked as though she could snap like a twig on an icy day. There was absolutely no resemblance whatsoever between the slight woman Ersule called “Mama” and the blossoming child.

  “No, honey,” said her mother. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t bring anything to feed them today.”

  The little girl’s ebony brows knitted together in a frown. “But I want to feed them, Mama.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed heavily. I had to catch myself from chuckling aloud at her impish vitality.

  “Erin, darling —”

  Erin. Her name is Erin! I closed my eyes, and the tears I had tried to hold back dripped down my cheeks. I sniffed and swiftly brushed them away with the back of my hand.

  Her mother bent low. “I’ve already told you, darling, I don’t have anything. If you can’t behave like a proper young lady, we’ll have to leave.” She took Erin’s smaller hand, and they turned to leave.

  My stomach twisted in a tight knot. Before I had time to contemplate, I called out, “Excuse me?”

  The two spun around. The mother’s face was poised with curiosity, but Erin wore a haughty smile upon her full lips, a smile so evocative it felt as though she had been wondering what had taken me so long. Her shrewd expression took me by surprise, and I instantly diverted my gaze.

  “Yes?” The mother’s pale eyes narrowed. “Have me met, sir?”

  I stood, avoiding eye contact with the child. “No, Madame, I … ”

  “Yes?” she asked warily, clearly sensing my awkward hesitation.

  Erin pulled her hand free from her mother’s and took a step toward me. “The man is offering me some bread for the birds. Isn’t that right, sir?”

  Stunned by the child’s boldness, I took a deep breath, trying to gather my wits. What the hell was I doing? I had no plan. More importantly, I had no escape.

  I smiled and looked into her mother’s eyes. “Yes, yes, that’s exactly right. I have some extra biscuit here.” I held out the crumbled biscuit, unaware I had been crushing it within my fist.

  “That’s kind of you to share.” The mother turned to her daughter. “I think your offer would please my daughter very much, indeed.” She nudged the child’s arm. “Thank the kind gentleman, Erin.” She looked into my eyes. “Your name, sir?”

  “Oh, yes, my name. Radcliff.” I coughed nervously, and my hands trembled as I divided the flimsy pieces of the biscuit.

  “You must thank Mister Radcliff, dear.”

  Erin lifted her chin high and slowly approached me. With each step she took, I felt my chest squeeze like a tightening vise. She stopped directly in front of me and extended her small hand.

  “Thank you, Mr. Radcliff. I’m Miss Erin Richland.”

  She shook my hand with a firmness I never would have expected from someone so small. I rubbed my thumb casually over the soft bend of her finger. Something invisible penetrated my skin with the subtlety of a bolt of lightning.

  I flinched.

  Erin looked directly in my eyes with startling intensity, holding my hand firmly and longer than I wanted.

  She leaned forward and whispered, “Did you feel that, Mr. Radcliff?”

  Dark clouds loomed over my head, and my vision dimmed to shadows. I ripped my hand free from hers, trying to keep my composure. Ignoring her question, I managed to choke out, “Open your hand, little one.”

  She presented her small hand, and I placed the largest piece of the biscuit in her palm.

  Her eyes widened to dazzling emerald orbs. “Thank you!”

  I watched as Erin skipped away, heading for a flock of cooing pigeons, leaving her mother and me alone in her joyful wake.

  The sudden silence thickened the air. Dizzied, I gripped the armrest for support. “Your daughter is lovely, Mrs. Richland.”

  Her thin lips curved upward. “She’s a delightful child — willful, but delightful.”

  I cast my gaze toward Erin, who giggled as she tossed pieces of biscuit into the flock of birds fanned out around her shoes.

  Black patent leather shoes.

  Dear God.

  Beads of sweat formed across my neck and forehead.

  “I’m sorry. I haven’t introduced myself. “I’m Ella Mae Richland.”

  I wrenched my gaze from Erin and faced her mother. “Delighted to meet you, Madame Richland.”

  She gestured toward the bench. “Care to sit with me, Mr. Radcliff?”

  I ripped my hand free from the armrest supporting me and sat. I blotted my damp forehead with my handkerchief. I needed to get out of there, but my numb feet would not move.

  “And what do you do in New York, Mr. Radcliff?” Mrs. Richland asked.

  I wedged the handkerchief back into my vest pocket “I’m … I’m visiting for a few days — business matters.”

  She sighed wearily. “You men and your business matters. My husband is a terribly busy man.”

  “Not too busy, I hope. Certainly he has time for two such charming females in his life.”

  She looked at me with a puzzled glare making me wonder if, perhaps, my comment appeared too lecherous coming from a stranger.

  “He does the best he can,” she murmured.

  She suddenly coughed in a fit, and her eyes dulled to pale gray. “Oh my, I can’t seem to shake this ague.”

  “Look at me, Mama!” Erin called, swinging her hands and chasing the birds. “Look at me, Mr. Radcliff!”

  “You’re precious, darling,” her mother said.

  I rummaged in my coat pocket and extended a clean handkerchief. She covered her mouth and another deep cough seized the woman’s chest. I was about to speak up and inquire if she needed assistance, but she must have seen the question in my eyes, for she waved away my unspoken words.

  “I’m fine now,” she said.

  I looked at the crumpled handkerchief clutched between her slender fingers. The crimson bloodstain contrasted fiercely with the white linen. My heart sank. Consumption, pneumonia, cancer? Whatever ailed her, I ached for the little girl who would undoubtedly lose her mother sooner rather than later in life.

  “Ah, there you are,” said a plump brunette darting straight for Erin. “And where might your mother be?”

  “I’m right here, Maggie. It’s all right.”

  The brunette’s eyes narrowed as she approached us. “Ah, there you are, Ma’am.”

  “Maggie, this is Mr. Radcliff, a visitor to New York. He’s enjoying our beautiful par
k.”

  Maggie cocked her head. “You don’t say.”

  I felt the woman’s concentrated appraisal of me from the tip of my head to the heels of my shoes. “Ah,” I said, rising from my seat, offering it to the elder woman.

  “Thank you, no. I’ll stand,” Maggie said. “What did you say your name is?”

  Erin’s mother shot Maggie a questioning glance.

  I had no idea what irritated this woman. I clutched my lapels like a cock ruffling his feathers and said, “Rad-cliff.”

  She eyed me sharply and sighed. “Excuse me,” she said, before heading back to Erin.

  I sat back down and watched as the brunette vigorously brushed the dust from Erin’s dress and shiny shoes.

  Erin’s mother leaned in. “Maggie’s our servant. She can be abrupt at times.”

  A smile graced Madame Richland’s lips, but something akin to sorrow seemed to radiate from her dull eyes.

  I eyed the servant with the prickly disposition whispering something in Erin’s ear. The child glanced at me before returning to feeding the birds.

  A pit wedged within my belly. It was time to take my leave. Seeing as I was an unknown man among unchaperoned females in a city park, I had overstayed my welcome, anyway. “Well, I must be on my way, Madame Richland.”

  I had passed the test I had feared for centuries. I could be in the presence of reborn Ersule without compromising our future. As I turned to leave, the little girl saw me and tore away from the servant’s grasp.

  “Mr. Radcliff,” Erin called.

  She ran forward and hugged me around my waist. I froze in place, my heart racing like a wild winter wind. Could she feel it, too?

  “Child! Behave yourself!” Maggie scolded.

  I couldn’t move.

  Erin held tight and lifted her chin.

  My breath caught in my throat at the sight of the arresting green eyes framed by ebony lashes gazing up at me. A clever smile arched her pink lips into a gentle curve.

  “I’ve seen you in my dreams,” she whispered.

  And just like that, with the impetuousness of a child, she unwrapped her arms from my waist and ran back to the flock of hungry birds eagerly awaiting her return.