Afterimage

by Jaye Roycraft

  This was what came, she had said, of not following protocol. This was what happened, she sniped, when he did things his own way. This was what he deserved, she proclaimed, for his defiance.

  And at the end of it all, she had bid him kiss her hand, as usual, and begged him to have a care.

  But by far the angriest person was himself. He was annoyed at having to be on the Concorde again so soon after his last transcontinental flight. He was wounded by Nikolena’s lack of faith in him and incensed by her pointless show of dominance over him. He was furious at the aberration Marya Jaks for her foolish message. And he was mad at himself. Nikolena was right about one thing. He had selfishly catered to his own whims instead of resolving a case the way he should have. The Vicksburg assignment had been handled badly, and nothing infuriated him more than a job not finished. In his years of being l’ enforcier he had taken many a vampire to task over doing a job poorly. He could be no less exacting with his own work.

  Well, he would rectify matters swiftly. The aberration’s threat to kill a vampire was an automatic death sentence. He had told her so. What had possessed her to call and leave such a damaging message? And what vampire was she talking about killing? Not that he would mourn the loss of any of the Southeast Region enforcers, from the lowliest novice to the head of the region, Curt Deverick. All of them were brutal and incompetent. It was the reason he spent most of his time in the states between Florida and Louisiana. He had complained numerous times in the past to Evrard Verkist, the Patriarch of the Brotherhood, but Evrard had done nothing to improve the quality of his enforcers. Evrard was as nasty a piece of work as Deverick, but Drago had sensed far more power in the Patriarch. Nowadays he tried to avoid dealing with Evrard Verkist whenever possible. Not because he was afraid of him. He feared no vampire, not even Nikolena. He simply didn’t like Evrard. Never had. The feeling, of course, was mutual.

  Drago allowed himself to doze. It was a risk, but a small one, and he had gotten little sleep last night following the aberration’s call. There were no other vampires on the flight, of that he was sure. If there had been, the disagreeable scent of decay would have been a clear giveaway. Drago had looked over the other passengers as he had boarded. None looked to be a threat. The passenger seated next to him was an elderly Frenchman. So he slept, though lightly. His finely tuned senses, even in such a state, would warn him of any danger.

  Less than four hours later, the jet landed at JFK Airport. Drago heaved a sigh of relief. Not that he had risked and survived sleeping in a cabin with a hundred other people, but that the plane had touched down safely. Drago hated flying. Any kind of flying. A plane crash would just as effectively kill a vampire as a human. The flights between New York and Paris were unavoidable, but once in the United States, he shunned airline travel whenever possible, much preferring to drive or even journey by train.

  Drago retrieved his car from the long-term parking structure at the airport. It was a long drive from New York to Vicksburg, close to twenty-four hours, but he was counting on having the time. The aberration’s message had been vague, saying that she would kill the vampire “later this week.” She hadn’t said “tomorrow,” so he took that to mean he had at least a couple days.

  He hoped he was right. He didn’t even want to think what Nikolena’s reaction would be if he ended up reporting the death of a vampire in this mess. But one dead aberration? A Gypsy with no family? Nobody, but nobody, would care about that.

  THE WAITING WAS the hardest part for Marya. She had made her plan, she had made the phone call, and she had practiced injecting water into fruits a hundred times over. There was nothing more to do but wait. Either Drago would show up, and it would end with his death or hers, or Revelin Scott would show up and it would be him or her. She had no compunction about killing Scott. He was no more blameless than Drago as far as she was concerned.

  In a way, she was glad she had left the message on Drago’s voice mail rather than speaking to him in person. She hadn’t wanted to hear his silk-lined voice, nor had she wanted to give him the opportunity to ask her questions. It had been much easier to leave the brief message and hang up. The only problem was that she had no way of knowing if he got the message, and if so, that he would even come.

  She had thought long and carefully about what she could say to Drago that would assure his appearance. She had painstakingly tried to recall everything he had said to her during his visit, and she had written everything down, word for word, the best she could remember. The one statement she kept coming back to, time and again, was his warning that should she commit any violence against his kind that he would personally come for her. He had sounded dead serious when he had spoken those words, and she had no reason to believe he wouldn’t live up to them. So, threatening to kill a vampire was the surest lure she had been able to devise to entice him back to her home.

  It was the second day following her phone call. If he was coming, it could be any time now, and she couldn’t assume he would come during the day and be polite enough to knock on her door. It was more likely he’d just break into her house again at night and sneak into her bedroom. She had to be prepared twenty-four hours a day, and that meant carrying the syringes with her at all times, even sleeping with them.

  She waited up all that evening, keeping the radio and TV off so she could hear the smallest noise. She passed the time constantly checking the windows and entrances. It was a warm evening, so she kept one set of French doors in the living room open to get some air in the house. But she kept a close eye on the doors and the lit patio beyond.

  The phone rang.

  In the dead quiet of the house, the sound was more jarring than usual. Marya glanced at her clock. Almost eleven. Who would be calling her so late in the evening? She waited until the third ring, then, her heart pounding so loud in her ears it nearly downed out the sound of the phone, she picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Is Bobby there?”

  “Wrong number.” She quickly put the phone down and drew a deep breath of relief. A wrong number. Her heartbeat quickened again. What if it wasn’t a wrong number? What if someone just wanted to make sure she was home? The voice had sounded Southern, but . . .

  She turned back to the French doors. They were still open. She had turned her back on them to answer the phone. How long had she had her back turned? Fifteen seconds? Thirty seconds? She looked around the room. Everything was as it should be. She would have heard if anyone had come in, wouldn’t she? But the stealth and swiftness of a vampire was beyond human senses to detect.

  This was ridiculous. She would go to bed. If he wanted to slink into her bedroom, she’d be ready for him. She closed and locked the French doors.

  The grandfather clock sounded the top of the hour, and Marya jumped. She faced the clock, watched the pendulum swing back and forth, and silently counted along with the bongs. One, two, three . . . After the eleventh bong, she waited for the silence to swallow the final echoes of the chimes. All was quiet again.

  She turned for the bedroom and ran smack into a figure in black.

  The vision was that of Death, but it was no apparition. Drago was flesh and blood and standing but a foot away from her. “Bonsoir, mademoiselle. How very nice of you to leave the doors open for me. Almost as if you were expecting me.”

  She had made all her plans carefully, but the one thing she hadn’t counted on was the fear that suddenly gripped her. This was one of the most deadly and powerful creatures on earth. What made her think she could defeat him? She forced herself to swallow and take a deep breath. No, I’ve come this far. She had a syringe in her pocket, ready to go, and she wore a loose duster over her shirt and drawstring pants. She figured the duster would help hide her hand movements.

  She stared at him. He was dressed in black trousers and a black T-shirt that was snug enough to outline his pectoral muscles. Good. The thin shirt would be n
o impediment to the injection. All she needed was a chance to turn her back on him so she could prepare the syringe in her hand without him seeing what she was doing. She looked at his eyes.

  A mistake. Their vivid, blue struck her anew, the only color in a sea of black, and he had one brow raised. She realized he was waiting for an answer.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the last thing on earth I have any desire to see.”

  The second brow lifted. “And yet you called me. Did you think I would not come?”

  She took one step back from him, trying to gauge the best distance to stand at. Too close and he’d see what she was doing. Too far away and she’d never be able to complete the injection. “Guessing a liar’s motives would be difficult for anyone. I just wanted you to know I wasn’t going to make it easy for you.”

  The tented brows lowered. “Liar, mademoiselle? What are you talking about? And what is this threat to kill a vampire? I could destroy you right now for that alone.”

  She had to make her move now, before he decided to do just that. “I was foolish to believe you when you were here. We humans don’t mean anything at all to you, do we? We’re just game pieces for you to amuse yourselves with.”

  She turned away from him, as if she didn’t want to meet his eyes. She reached in her pocket for the syringe and positioned it in her right hand. With her left hand, she pulled out a long folding knife. She pressed against the thumbscrew, and the blade swung open. The duster still covered her hands, and she took a deep breath and whirled around.

  She caught his gaze with hers in an attempt to keep him from looking at her hands. “I just wanted you to know that I’m not one to be trifled with.”

  She lunged at him, bringing the knife high in the air. He easily caught her wrist, but as he did, she thrust the needle of the heavy-duty syringe at his heart, pressing the plunger as hard as she could. With a cry, he ripped the syringe from her hand and threw it across the room. She hadn’t completed the shot, but she was sure some of the liquid had been injected into him. She was glad. Whatever happened now didn’t matter.

  “Damnez-vous! What have you done? Silver nitrate?” Still holding her left wrist, he grabbed her right arm and pulled her to him. She winced at the pain his grip caused, but she didn’t care. The knife fell to the carpet.

  “Was it silver nitrate? Answer me!”

  “It was, and I hope you burn in Hell!” She held her breath, waiting for him to kill her, but all he did was continue to hold her in his vice-like clutch, as his eyes closed, and his lips drew back in a grimace. Of pain, she hoped.

  Suddenly he released her and pushed her across the room. “What concentration? Get me the bottle.”

  But she just stood there, trying to catch her breath.

  “Get it!”

  She ran into the bathroom and took the nearly empty bottle of colloidal silver from the shelf. He was right behind her, and he snatched the bottle from her hand.

  “Ten parts per million,” he said, reading the label. A line of sweat ran down one side of his face, paralleling a long strand of black hair that fell across his cheek from his temple.

  She didn’t know if that was good or bad for a vampire, and he made no comment either way. She met his eyes, and the things she saw warring in their blue depths scared her more than their previous emptiness had. Rage. Disbelief. Confusion. Pain.

  “Stay here. Run, and so help me, I’ll hunt you with no mercy.”

  With that he was gone. If he had tried to compel her with that command, it hadn’t worked. Either he was weakened, or something in her dhampir blood gave her immunity. But even so, she stayed put. Marya knew she should run. She should just get into her car and drive. But where would she go? Everything she owned was here. There was no family, no close friends. She would not run and live in fear. Marya had done everything she had set out to do. She would accept the consequences. If Drago survived, he would end her life, but she would be free at last.

  She went into her studio and looked at all her paintings one last time. She was proud of what she had accomplished in her life. Next, she said a prayer to the memories of her mother and father. She truly understood now what her father had lived with. That he had survived so long had been a tribute to his strength and will.

  MARYA WAS SEATED in the living room when Drago returned. His long hair was styled by the wind, and his T-shirt was torn and covered with dark splatters. Blood? Even though he was far from his usual immaculate, elegant self, he was alive, damn him! His pitiless blue eyes stared at her with all the condemnation of judges at the resolution of a Romani council, and in spite of her resolve, the fear returned.

  He glided up to her and yanked her to her feet. “You have just signed your own ordre d’execution, mademoiselle.”

  She tried to pull back from him. “I might have signed it, but you wrote it. You wrote it, damn you!”

  His hold on her remained tight. “What are you talking about? Why did you do this? Do you hate my kind so much for what we did to your father?”

  “Yes, but not just for him. For myself, too.”

  “I gave you life.”

  “And your messenger enjoyed telling me that you changed your mind and took it away!”

  He stared at her. “My mandate stood. I told you this. Who told you otherwise?”

  She twisted her arm again in an effort to free herself, but it didn’t help. “A vampire. Who else?”

  “Who? Where was he from?”

  “Revelin Scott. He said he was from the Southeast Region.”

  “I know all the enforcers in that region, and I know of no such man. Tell me what he looked like.”

  “Let go of me, and I’ll tell you.”

  His response was to pull her closer to him.

  His aura of raw power flowed over her, carrying with it a magnetism that made her knees feel weak but also stirred her emotions into a confusing brew. The man—no, the creature—intended to kill her, but at this moment her body was feeling more than just fear and repulsion. “Let go, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  Drago let her go. She backed up until she bumped the sofa, but remained standing, rubbing her arms. She still tingled with the strength she had felt in him. “The guy was young. Not very tall. Shaggy hair and blue eyes, but not like yours.” No one had eyes like Drago.

  “What else?”

  “He had an accent. British, I think. He dressed like something out of the Avengers.”

  “The what?”

  She shook her head. “Out of the sixties. He didn’t look like a vampire at all.”

  “But you’re sure.”

  She nodded. “He stank.”

  “Tell me exactly what he said to you.”

  Marya recounted Scott’s visit as closely as she could, watching Drago’s eyes the whole time for his reaction. They glittered with a cold hardness when she told him that Scott had said Drago had changed his mind about granting her life.

  “I told you no one had authority to reverse my decision.”

  “He said he was just a messenger for you—that you had made the change.”

  “And you accepted his word. You didn’t think to check with me.”

  “Why would he lie?”

  Drago was quiet for a moment. “Why indeed?” His eyes scanned the room, as if the answer were written on the walls. He looked back at her. “I gave no order to this Scott or anyone else to reverse my decision. Do you believe that?”

  “Why should I believe anything you say?”

  “Mademoiselle, if I wanted you dead, you would be dead. That, you can believe.” He was silent for a moment more, then strode toward her. He grabbed her arm and pushed her in the direction of her bedroom.

  Fear washed over her anew, and she planted her feet. “No!”

  “I’m not goin
g to touch you, mademoiselle. Your tainted blood holds no charms for me. Pack a suitcase with clothes and whatever else you need to travel. You’re coming with me.”

  “No. Leave me here, please.”

  “I need you to help me find the truth, mademoiselle. Besides, you know too much. You’ll be safer with me than if I leave you here.”

  “‘Know too much?’ I don’t know anything!”

  “You know that a vampire lied to you about me. Believe me, that alone ensures that whoever is behind this will want you silenced. They will have no compunction against killing you.”

  “And you will? Don’t lie and tell me you wouldn’t kill me just as quickly.”

  “You want the truth, mademoiselle? Very well. Yes, I should kill you for what you did. I take it very personally when someone tries to send me to la Belle Mort. But someone else is behind this, and it’s him I want to see pay, not you. Now pack. And start doing as I say. I have the means to enforce your compliance, and they’re not pleasant. Be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  She went into the bedroom and started packing. There was no point in defying him further. She was alive, and it didn’t seem he wished to harm her. At least not right now. She wouldn’t trust him, but for now she would go along with him. She thought about Drago as she pulled clothing from her drawers and folded them neatly into her nylon travel bag. She had made so many trips to New Orleans that knowing exactly what to pack was second nature.

  Had Drago really given her life all along? Her hatred for him had been so strong that it was difficult to think it had been misplaced. She had tried to kill him, and wrongly, it would appear. An unexpected wave of guilt washed over her. She had never before done any physical harm to another being. It was appalling to think that she was unjustified in committing such a horrid deed. And to Drago, who had only wanted to give her life . . . Just as quickly, though, disgust swept the guilt away. No. She was the wronged party here, not Drago. Someone apparently wanted her dead. If not Drago, Revelin Scott was to blame. She would feel no pity for the vampires.