Now Comes the Night

by P. G. Forte

  “What about my favor?” Georgia asked. Her smile mocked him. “I assume you don’t wish to lose that either, do you?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “The reason I ask is very simple. As Marc’s friend, and mine too, I hope, I would like you to undertake a small task for me. I want you to find out exactly what he’s been getting himself into. He seems a nice young man. I hate the thought of his getting into trouble. And I’m sure you do too. But, even more, I’d hate to think that Conrad’s trust had been misplaced.”

  Drew stared at her in surprise. He could feel the blood draining from his face. Conrad’s trust in who, exactly? “Have you asked him—Marc, I mean—what he’s up to? Surely, he’d…he’d tell you if…”

  “If he were involved in something he shouldn’t be? I seriously doubt it. Why should he confide in me? After all, we’re barely acquainted.”

  “Still, I’m sure you’d have no…” Drew’s voice stuttered to a stop, plagued by doubts of his own. He seriously doubted Marc’s ability to resist, if Georgia bent her will to learning his secrets. And he seriously doubted Georgia was at all worried about “convincing” Marc to confide in her. Most of all, he seriously doubted she needed any reminding of that fact—or that he wanted to be the one to remind her.

  “As it happens, I’ve already had one rather disappointing interview with the boy. I found him less than cooperative, which is why I’ve come to you.”

  Lucky me. Drew licked his lips. His voice was dull as he asked, “What is it you wish me to do?”

  “Nothing too odious, I assure you. Just talk to him. Ask questions. Find out what his plans are.” Still smiling, Georgia got to her feet. “Now, that doesn’t sound too difficult, does it?”

  Drew rose automatically as well, prompted by the manners he’d been perfecting for over two centuries. He shook his head. “No, my lady,” he lied. “Not too difficult at all.” It might not have been an honest answer, but Drew was sure it was the correct one.

  “Excellent. I’ll take my leave of you then.”

  “Lady Lancaster?” Drew cleared his throat, stopping Georgia as she was reaching for the doorknob. “Once I’ve talked to him…what then?”

  Georgia’s eyes widened. She stared guilelessly back at him. “Well, then, you should come and see me, and tell me everything you’ve learned. I’ll be waiting most anxiously for your report.”

  Drew nodded. Of course she would. “Do not meddle in the affairs of Invitus,” he muttered after he’d watched her walk out of the room. That was very good advice as well. Perhaps he should get himself a T-shirt.

  “It’s been a long time since we threw a New Year’s Eve party.” Julie watched Damian’s face as she made the remark, curious to see what his reaction would be. He was seated at his desk, which was located in one of the small sitting rooms off the front foyer, a room Julie found oddly unsettling, despite its comfortable furnishings. She’d been trying for two days to think of a way to subtly broach the subjects of humans and addiction, but this new Damian was preoccupied and oddly uncommunicative.

  “Sí. A very long time,” Damian murmured at last in response, without looking up from the list he was making. His tone was indifferent but, for just an instant, his lips tightened and Julie was certain she saw a faraway look flash through his eyes. Or almost certain. It was gone again so quickly, she was left wondering if perhaps she’d only imagined it.

  She sat back in her chair and sighed inwardly. He had to feel something, didn’t he? She remembered the last party vividly, how different he’d seemed then. Carefree. Happy. In love. Her younger, romantic, pre-pubescent self had been envious and faintly jealous when she caught sight of the heightened color in his cheeks after his date had teasingly pointed out the mistletoe and tried to drag him to stand beneath it. Surely, after that… Or maybe she’d been imagining things all along.

  Either way, she was through beating around the bush. This subtle approach was getting her nowhere. “So, what do you think of me and Brennan?” she asked instead. “I mean—really?”

  “I think he’s a fine young man,” Damian replied, still without looking up from his task. “Obviously. I would not have hired him otherwise.”

  “That’s not what I asked. I mean what do you think of the two of us—as a couple?”

  Damian’s lips quirked. He glanced up at her finally and smiled. “What is it you’d like me to say, chica? That I’ll never think any man is good enough for my little girl? That’s true, but that doesn’t mean you’re not entitled to entertain yourself. It just means that I worry about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt, querida. Surely you realize this relationship you have with Brennan, with anyone human, can only last for so long.”

  Julie nodded. They all knew that. But had knowing it ever yet stopped any of them from falling for someone just the same? Not as far as she could see. “Armand says you don’t like Brennan because he’s human.”

  “Well, that doesn’t surprise me very much either. After all, Armand is not infrequently incorrect.”

  Julie had to stop for a moment and think that one through. “So…Armand’s wrong?”

  Damian’s eyebrows rose. “Did I not just say that?”

  But Julie wasn’t altogether certain what Damian was saying anymore. “He also said it’s likely that Brennan’s become addicted to venom, that he needs it now and wouldn’t necessarily stop seeing me, even if he wanted to. Do you think that’s possible?”

  “Oh, addicted.” Damian wrinkled his nose. “What an ugly word to use. I would prefer to say…habituated. After all, one may become used to many things without it being the end of the world if you suddenly had to do without. It’s not as though you’re causing him physical harm, is it?”

  “Aren’t I?”

  Damian’s lips quirked in a barely concealed smile. He flashed her a mischievous look. “Well, you’d know that better than I would, chica. And if that’s the kind of thing you both find pleasurable…” He broke off with a small shrug.

  Julie could feel her cheeks redden. “Stop it. You know I’m not gonna talk about stuff like that with you. Besides, that’s not what I mean. I’m serious, D.”

  “I know.” Damian sighed. He looked slightly repentant, which helped to mollify Julie’s feelings—but only a little. “And that’s exactly the problem. For someone so young, you’re entirely too serious. You should be going out more, having fun, enjoying yourself with others of your kind. I’m not saying you can’t spend time with Brennan, but must you spend all your waking hours with him? Anyway, that’s partly why I’m throwing this party, you know, to give you and your brother a chance to socialize a little with others in the nest.”

  “But I’m not that young anymore,” Julie protested, resisting the impulse to point out that she also did not spend every hour with Brennan. How could she when he had to work so much of the time? Since Damian was the one who made up the employee schedules in the first place, she figured he already knew that.

  Damian’s expression softened. He smiled fondly at her. “Oh, mi niña linda, it doesn’t matter how old you get. You’ll always be my baby girl. Nothing will ever change that. Don’t you know that by now?”

  Julie nodded. She did know that. And she still remembered so many times as a child, and even afterwards, when Conrad and Damian had left and it was just her and Marc, when knowing she was loved unconditionally by the three most important men in her life—and always would be—had been enough to lighten even the darkest of her moods. Enough to make her feel safe and secure no matter what else was going on in the world.

  Lately, things had changed. Maybe it had something to do with the fact she really wasn’t a child anymore, or maybe it was the result of the last six months, all the fear and uncertainty they’d all had to live with, all the changes. But, somehow, just knowing she was loved wasn’t enough anymore. It didn’t make her feel safe. It didn’t make her feel invulnerable. And it didn’t take away the desire to find a lasting relationship.

  “All the same,
if I were human, I’d be practically middle-aged.” She didn’t feel that old, though, did she? Especially not compared to all the other vampires. Maybe that’s why she felt so out of her depth around most of them. “Shouldn’t I be acting more like it?”

  Damian shrugged. “Should you? Why? If I were still human I’d be dead several times over and Conrad…well, he’d hardly even be recognizable as dust. Does that mean we should act like corpses? I don’t think so. Age is irrelevant. You need act only as old as you feel. Luckily, for most of us, that tends to coincide with how old we look. This is a very good thing, in my opinion. How else could we hope to fit in, or even begin to relate to creatures so much younger than ourselves if we’re always feeling apart from them?”

  “But we are apart from them. And…are you saying that we don’t just stop aging physically, but mentally and emotionally as well?” Was that true? Was she really fated to always feel this young, this unprepared for life?

  “For the most part. Or so I’ve always believed. Aren’t you glad? As humans age, they tend to become so staid, so boring and stodgy. Who would want that? Can you imagine how tedious an eternity of that would seem?”

  “So you’re saying chronic immaturity is better? You know, if we were human that kind of thing would probably be called arrested development.”

  “Ah, but we’re not human, are we? And you need to stop thinking as though you were.”

  For a second time, a wave of heat scorched Julie’s cheeks. Coming from Damian, such a sharp speech was akin to a scolding. It made her feel as though she really was still a child. “And whose fault is that?” she snapped angrily. “Why’d you raise me to think like one then?”

  Damian gasped. “Chica!” He glanced quickly at the open doorway then whispered fiercely, “Lower your voice. You know better than to speak of such things where we might be overheard.”

  Julie ducked her head in embarrassment. She did know better, although the reasons why she’d been repeatedly ordered to say nothing about her past remained a mystery. “I know,” she muttered, shamefaced. “Sorry.”

  Damian sighed. “What is the matter, niña? You haven’t been yourself these past few days. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Maybe later,” Julie said as she uncurled herself from the couch. Suddenly, being around other vampires, even one other vampire, even Damian, was too much for her. “There’s something I need to do right now. Or…you know what? I think tomorrow would be even better for me. Is it all right if I help you some more tomorrow instead?”

  Damian inclined his head. “Certainly,” he murmured, his voice gracious, kind, remote.

  Julie nodded her thanks and hurried from the room. She’d always thought Marc silly for railing against their nature. Now, she was beginning to wonder if her brother didn’t have a point. Sometimes being a vampire was not all it was cracked up to be.

  As Damian watched Julie go, he couldn’t help but wonder at her choice of words. If she was really planning to help him some more tomorrow, did that mean she imagined she’d been of any assistance so far? Much as Damian always enjoyed the time he spent with either of the twins, it would take more than sitting on the couch and brooding to get this party planned.

  He was disappointed by her lack of interest. He’d thought she’d enjoy it. She always used to. And then there was this odd conversation about being human. It was the kind of thing he was used to hearing from Marc, who had never had an easy time coming to terms with his nature. Of the two of them, Julie had always been the more content in that regard. She did not seem content now, however. In fact, she seemed more unhappy than Damian could ever recall having seen her before.

  Damian sighed. No matter what Conrad said, it had been easier when the children were youngsters, back when they would listen to what they were told, when their problems were small and—for the most part—easily resolved.

  Nowadays, nothing seemed easy and, as usual, he had no one but himself to blame. When he’d brought the twins to San Francisco, it hadn’t occurred to him they would find it so difficult to adjust to life here in the nest. Not that their comfort had been foremost in his mind. He’d needed them here so that they might help him find Conrad and save his life. Whatever risks were involved in bringing them here, he’d thought it worth the reward. Losing Conrad was unthinkable. Damian would have risked a great deal more than a little discomfort, or a little extra work, to prevent that happening!

  Still, the amount of adjustment had taken them all by surprise, and he, for one, wasn’t all that used to being surprised. Despite Conrad’s frequently voiced complaints about Damian’s so-called risky behavior, he was not in the habit of leaping blindly into anything. It wasn’t true that Damian didn’t think things through. He thought. He just did it quickly. And then he acted—just as rapidly.

  He who hesitated was lost, after all, and most of the time, the risks Damian took paid off handsomely. But no one was perfect. Even he was prone to the occasional miscalculation. He could think of at least two or three times in his life when things had not turned out as he’d planned, times when events or circumstances, or the other people involved had caught him off guard. Times when, what he’d thought of as the lesser of two evils, turned out not to be the lesser of anything at all.

  He didn’t see how that could possibly be the case this time around, but that was the problem with surprises. Whether they were good or bad, every surprise he’d ever known shared at least one trait in common. He’d never seen them coming.

  Chapter Ten

  December, 1981

  “I’ve been wondering about something,” Paul said as he lay in bed, chin propped on his crossed arms, watching as Damian dressed. The watching had become part of their nightly routine. Damian had a sneaking suspicion he would miss it if it stopped. If Paul simply rolled over one night and went to sleep without attempting to make the most of every second, without squeezing just a little bit more out of each of their encounters, another caress, a final kiss, one last, lingering look…yes, he’d miss it a lot.

  “And what is it you wish to know now?” The questions were routine too, although Damian never seemed able to predict what Paul would ask next.

  “How come we never go back to your place? Or go anywhere together in public? I never get to see you anywhere but here.”

  “Oh?” Damian turned his head. He arched one eyebrow and smiled mockingly. “Were we not just out in public together tonight?”

  Paul’s cheeks colored as he dropped his gaze. “Dancing doesn’t count.”

  Damian laughed softly. “Of course it counts.” Just thinking about how good it had felt—Paul’s arms wrapped around him as they moved together on the dance floor just a few hours earlier—had Damian shrugging out of the shirt he’d just put on and sliding back into bed. What would a few more minutes hurt? The flush on Paul’s cheeks, the faraway glazed look in his eyes told Damian that the boy was remembering it too. Music pounding in the air. The press of bodies all around. The heady scents of flesh and blood and sweat and sex. Hips grinding in unison. Hands groping, searching, claiming. Sometimes, Damian thought it even more erotic than the sex act itself. “Dancing always counts.” After living through several centuries during which engaging in such activities—in public, no less!—would have carried a death penalty, Damian refused to take this current freedom for granted. Paul had no idea how lucky he was to have been born into such a place and time.

  Damian shifted closer. Leaning in, he captured Paul’s lips in a gentle kiss. The boy shuddered in response and lifted a hand to frame Damian’s face, his thumb scraping back and forth against the bristliness there. All too soon, he was pulling away, his mouth set in far too tight a line.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Paul’s downcast eyes and the rapid pounding of his heart were all Damian needed to know that this was serious.

  “What question was that?”

  “Do you…? That is, are you…? Is there…?” Paul broke off with an angry sigh. He raised his eyes to meet Damian’s
and tried again. “Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

  Not this again? Damian frowned. “Haven’t we already talked about this?” He knew they had, and only a few months ago at that…

  It was in June that Damian first grew concerned about Paul’s feelings for him, that he first determined it was time to break things off. As much as Damian had been enjoying the boy’s company, as much as he found himself unexpectedly craving him—the taste of his mouth, the touch of his hand, the smile that illuminated his face each time they met, like the moon emerging from behind a bank of clouds—a part of him was growing worried. They’d been seeing each other for less than two months at that point, but already Paul had started dropping hints, guarded questions about feelings, subtly worded requests for a commitment Damian could never give him.

  A jealous outburst one evening, while they were at one of the clubs Paul liked to frequent, was all the excuse Damian needed to end their affair. He’d walked away without a word and spent the next three months scrupulously avoiding Paul’s company.

  Logistically, it was easy. Having learned all Paul’s favorite haunts, Damian knew just where not to go. Filling his time, finding another use for all those hours he might have otherwise spent with Paul, was also not a problem. The twins were thrilled to be once again the focus of so much of their uncle’s time and attention. But Damian had missed Paul fiercely. It wasn’t the sex, or the blood, both of which he could easily get elsewhere. What he missed was the friendship that had grown between them.

  He had always had people in his life, too many people, for the most part. He’d had parents, of course, and siblings, lovers and masters, scads of acquaintances, servants too, once upon a time. For the past ten years, he’d even known what it was like to have children, and though he would never trade that unexpected joy for anyone or anything, Paul had been the first person he’d ever thought of simply as a friend. Now he was gone, and Damian was finding it unexpectedly difficult to adjust to his absence.