Afterimage

by Jaye Roycraft

  “I should say you were.” He looked back at her, his eyes narrowed. “I thought you promised me you had no more vampire-killing weapons lying about.”

  “No, I promised I wouldn’t try to kill you again. Not quite the same thing.”

  He gave her a wry smile, but it quickly faded as he thought about what would come next. “Listen to me. I have some unpleasantries to take care of, and your kitchen, I’m afraid, is something of a mess. I think it best you spend the rest of the night in the guest room.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I won’t sleep anyway.”

  He stood and offered her a hand up. “Try.”

  She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. She looked him right in the eye and whispered. “A bed might be nice. It seems you and I have been spending a lot of time on the floor lately.”

  “We could spend even more time on the floor, cherie, if you wished it.”

  She gave him a small smile. “I don’t think so.”

  Was it his imagination, or was his reserved Gypsy quickly learning the feminine art of flirtation?

  He smiled at her again. “When you walk through the dining area, stay on this side of the kitchen island. And watch your step. You don’t want to track blood onto the living room carpet.”

  She glowered at him, grabbed a few necessities from the room, and hurried out. He watched to make sure she didn’t decide to take a tour of her kitchen, then went about business. He hadn’t recognized either of the two vampires. It bothered him that he didn’t know Carlo. Perhaps he wasn’t an enforcer, simply a Master hired to do this one job. Drago took a good, long look at each vampire’s features, committing them to memory. He would find out one way or another who they were. Next he removed the bodies from the house. They would be dumped tomorrow, where sunlight would make quick work of the remains. He cleaned up the kitchen, took a shower, and walked into the guest room.

  Marya was hunched on the floor.

  “Cherie! I thought you were finished with this business of the floor.”

  She was hugging herself, just as she had when he had found her curled in the corner of her bedroom. “I’m cold.”

  “Maybe if you used the bed you would find that a blanket is a very warm thing.”

  “Your scent is all over them.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, having been surprised by her again. He thought . . . he didn’t know what to think. She had allowed him to kiss her. And seemingly enjoyed it, until she had pulled away from him. Her banter had become increasingly bold, almost teasing. And yet she would not sleep in the same bed he had slept in, even without him.

  “Am I that offensive to you, mademoiselle?”

  “It’s not that. I keep forgetting what you are. The bed reminds me. Your scent is very faint, but it’s there, and it reminds me of death. The Roma have very strong beliefs about the dead. Ever since I was a little girl I was taught to fear the dead who might return in some supernatural form to haunt the living. That fear is so ingrained that the names of the dead are never mentioned. Oh, my mother told me stories, but she never spoke my father’s name. The deceased are never touched. Fear is why my mother disposed of all my father’s belongings after he died. She was very afraid my father, with his vampire blood, would return after death. She prayed every day for protection from the evil marime spirits.”

  He was silent.

  She took a shuddering breath and drew her knees up to her chest. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard some of our legends. That of the mulo? Like yourself, the living dead, who many fear will escape his body after death, take the form of a wolf, and seek revenge on those who either harmed him in life or caused his death. Even the mere sight of a mulo is bad luck. But the mulo is nothing compared to the fear of the vampire. And you wonder why I won’t sleep in your bed?”

  “So it’s not my scent that offends you, but what I represent.”

  She nodded.

  “But the Romani superstitions have nothing to do with you or I.” He held out a hand to her. “If you’re cold, come here.”

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why?”

  “Shared body warmth. Surely you’ve heard of it? Come, I promise I’ll control my baser instincts.”

  “Somehow I don’t think curling up with a cold, dead thing will make me feel warmer.”

  “First of all, I am far from dead.” Thus far, anyway. “Secondly, my body temperature is virtually the same as yours. So come here. You don’t really want me to join you on the floor, do you?”

  She stared at him, and he waited. He would say no more. Either she would come to him, or she wouldn’t. He settled back on the bed, laced his fingers behind his head, and closed his eyes. It had been one hell of a night. He had made so many mistakes that it was a marvel both he and the girl were still alive. First of all, he should have slept closer to her, whether she liked it or not. He had been too far away to sense the vampires’ arrival until it had almost been too late, and he had allowed the intruders to get between him and Marya. If Marya hadn’t been so resourceful, she’d be dead. His confrontation with Carlo had been a disaster. Cutting the vampire’s eyes had indeed been a mistake, as had been turning his back on his opponent. He had failed to elicit any information from Carlo. But the worst failure by far was the conclusion itself. Death was never the preferred resolution. He began to wonder if what everyone was saying was true—that he was past his prime as an enforcer and too old to remain an effective Directorate member.

  In the midst of pondering death, he felt Marya slide into bed next to him. Her movements were slow and tentative, and he remained still, not wanting to frighten her. She inched closer to him, first laying her arm across his chest, then pressing herself along his side. His body’s reaction was instantaneous. None of his Paris beauty queens had ever made him feel like this. But he had promised Marya he would behave himself, and if it took all his control, he would.

  She rested her head on his shoulder, and he brought his left arm down to hold her. Her body was still tense, but he didn’t rush her. Besides, if she were truly to relax against him, it might be his undoing.

  “I don’t think I can sleep,” she whispered.

  Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind as well, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Just rest then, cherie.”

  “Talk to me.”

  Another pastime not high on his list. “About what?”

  “I don’t care. Anything. Tell me a story.”

  “You know anything I tell you is a lie.”

  “That goes without saying. I don’t care. Finish the story of what happened after your city fell.”

  “Novgorod?” He resisted the idea. It was too personal. But what did it matter? It was far in the past, and she would never know that part of the truth was woven with the tall tale. “Very well. It was 1478. I was thirty-two years old . . .”

  “The prime of life.”

  “Hardly, cherie. The French have a saying. ‘If the young only knew, if the old only could.’ I was very much lost between wisdom and the vigor of youth. No matter. My fate was decided for me. The history books call it ‘annexation’ or ‘incorporation,’ very bland, antiseptic words for what was nothing less than hell for every Novgorodian. Ivan Vasilievich confiscated the lands of every citizen—princes, boyars, even clergy. No one was spared. I had no lands to seize. I was a prince, yes, but in reality nothing more than a rather minor military leader.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “As I said, do not look to a vampire for truth. Anyway, the Muscovites had to resort to creative means to get rid of me. They chose my eyes. My eyes were my downfall.”

  He felt her body shift, as if she wanted to gaze into the subject of his story. “Your eyes?”

  Her movement pressed the warmth of her body closer to his, and his lust flared like a lit match, hot, fresh, an
d ready to consume. It was all he could do to piece coherent words together. “Blue eyes are a rarity in that part of the world, especially eyes as vivid as mine. Oh, the color you see now is enhanced by my Undead state, but even in life my eyes were extraordinary. Blue eyes were associated with vampirism and sorcery. It was said that those with eyes like mine were predestined to become vampires after death. Anyway, it was all the excuse needed for the Orthodox Church to condemn me as a heretic. My true faith mattered not the least. They had their pretext, and that was enough for them.”

  “But they were right. You did become a vampire.”

  “One of life’s supreme ironies. I don’t truly believe that my becoming a vampire had anything to do with my eyes or my having been marked a heretic.”

  “Then how did it happen?”

  “Don’t you think you’ve heard enough lies for one night?” The truth was that he couldn’t concentrate on reciting stories with her soft breast against his chest and her long legs shadowing his.

  “My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Vlach Roma in Moldavia. They were an enslaved people for five hundred years, bound to their owners’ homes and farms. Not until the 1850s were they emancipated.”

  “But that was long ago and far away. You grew up in this country, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t think there isn’t persecution here. It’s just more subtle. My mother wanted to keep me in school. She tried not to let anyone in the gajikane community know we were Roma, but people invariably found out. I remember when I was ten years old a boy sitting next to me in class was drawing pictures instead of doing an assignment. Another boy told him to stop fooling around or the teacher would sell him to my mother, the Gypsy Queen. When school was out I had a fight with that boy on the playground. After that, everybody called me ‘the dirty Gypsy,’ and no one would sit next to me.”

  She was quiet for a few moments, and he thought perhaps she had fallen asleep after all, but then her voice floated to him, almost like a dream.

  “I killed a vampire.”

  “Yes, cherie, I know.”

  She squirmed, seeming to want to put more space between her body and his. Did she find the intimacy as difficult to bear as he did, or did she truly find the notion of lying with a vampire repulsive? “You said if I committed any violence against the Undead . . .”

  “I know what I said. You have nothing to worry about. There’s nothing at all to worry about. Try to sleep, cherie.” More lies.

  Only in his mind did he tell her the truth. Sleep well, cherie, because tomorrow there will be hell to pay.

  Nine

  DRAGO COULDN’T have been more right. He heard the irritating sound of his cell phone long before the sun was even up. He was just into the time of day when he slept the most deeply, but listening for his phone’s ring was a conditioned reflex. No call at this time of the morning can be good news.

  It wasn’t. It was Nikolena.

  Marya stirred, but she didn’t wake up. He took the call in the living room, both to avoid disturbing Marya further and to give himself room to pace. After he disconnected her call, he made one of his own. When he was finished, he sat on the sofa, propped his elbows on his knees, and rested his forehead in the cradle of his hands. He sat like that, not moving. He wasn’t as successful at not feeling. After a few moments, he sensed Marya’s presence. He looked up, running his hands through his hair to sweep the long strands from his eyes. She was standing in the hallway entrance leading to her studio and the guest room. Her dark eyes swam with worry.

  “Drago? What is it?”

  “Go get dressed.”

  She ignored him, crossing the living room to sit by his side. Her gaze traveled over him. He was still wearing nothing other than silk pajama bottoms. No doubt she was still adjusting to her reality’s bump in the road of having a vampire as a bed partner.

  “What’s wrong? I have a right to know.”

  She was right. He just didn’t know how to tell her. “That was Nikolena. I have to return to Paris. Immediately. She has me booked on the afternoon Air France One flight. I won’t have time to drive to New York. I’ll have to catch an early flight from Jackson to Kennedy Airport.”

  “Take me with you.”

  “I can’t. There’s only one seat booked. Besides, you don’t have a passport, do you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t even have a birth certificate.”

  He took a deep breath. “Get dressed. There isn’t much time.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re going to leave me, just like that?”

  “I have no choice, cherie. I can’t go against Nikolena’s orders.”

  “Look. Until yesterday I didn’t really buy your story about this vampire conspiracy against you, but last night convinced me. You don’t think those two vampires will be the end of it, do you?”

  “No, cherie, they won’t be the end.”

  “So you’re just going to leave me to my fate? It’s no longer to your advantage to be here, so you’re gone? Or maybe now my death will annoy lots of people, and that’ll make your day, won’t it?”

  “Silence!” He raked his hands through his hair again, “If I could take you with me, I would, but I can’t. And for me to disobey a command from la directrice would be death, something that would effectively defeat the purpose of this whole affair. I’m taking you with me as far as Jackson. I’ll have Revelin Scott watch over you until I return.”

  “Revelin? That absurd young man?”

  “He’s a lot older than he looks. And looks and size don’t have anything to do with strength.”

  “I thought you didn’t like him any more than I did.”

  “Like or dislike has no bearing. He has three . . . no, make that four things going for him. One, Nikolena vouched for his integrity. Two, I know he’s not loyal to Deverick. Three, he just happens to be in Jackson, and four, he’s the strongest vampire I’ve encountered in a long time. There isn’t anyone else nearby I would trust with you. I’ve already called him. He’s expecting you. Now get dressed. You have half an hour.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to be a baby-sitter?”

  “Go, cherie.”

  He couldn’t blame her for her anger. He felt no better. He had promised to watch over her, and after only two days, he was leaving her. But he truly had no choice—he had been truthful with her in that. He had argued with Nikolena that he needed more time in Vicksburg, but she had been adamant in her wishes. She wanted him in Paris. Now. She wouldn’t tell him the details, but she hadn’t been happy. When Drago had told her about the two dead vampires, as he was obligated to do, the sudden dispassion in her voice was a bad sign. A very bad sign.

  The only good thing about the conversation had been Nikolena’s endorsement of Revelin Scott. In truth Drago didn’t know if he liked the man or not. Scott had displayed strength, but also a brashness bordering on disrespect. However, disrespect was not an uncommon attitude among vampires, who were by their very nature egocentric. The Undead, also by nature, were masters of deception, but Drago had detected little dishonesty in his assessment of Scott’s character. His appearance, as Marya had noted, was another matter. The last thing that anyone looking at the shaggy-haired young man would figure him for was a dominant vampire.

  He only hoped he could convince Scott of the importance of safeguarding Marya. Most vampires cared little for mortals. Drago thought briefly about Dallas Allgate. Dallas was one vampire that Drago trusted and would have no second thoughts about leaving Marya with. The last Drago had heard, though, was that Dallas had moved out of Mississippi, and he wasn’t sure where Dallas was now. Drago also trusted Ricard De Chaux, but Ricard was somewhere in the backwoods of Michigan. It seemed Drago was stuck with Scott. He wondered if there were enough compelling power or fear in the world to make Scott really heed an assignment like this.

 
Helpless. It was not often that he felt helpless. He had strength, wealth, and true power. He had an unlimited supply of some of the most beautiful women in the world at his disposal. And even within the rigidity of the Directorate, he had more independence and took more liberties than any other enforcer. Yet with everything he had, control over the present moment was not one of them. It put him in a foul mood.

  Less than two hours later they were in front of Revelin Scott’s office. Drago turned off the car’s engine.

  “Well, cherie, you have your wish. You are rid of me.”

  She sat gazing at her lap. “Yes, but you’ll be back.”

  Her words came across more as a plea than the sarcastic remark he was sure she had originally intended. He reached over and ran his fingers down her cheek with the lightest touch he could manage. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. He slid two fingers to the far side of her chin and turned her face toward his. She allowed the touch, but kept her eyes lowered.

  “Marya, look at me.”

  She raised her gaze. “Damn all of you,” she whispered.

  He dropped his hand. “I will be back, cherie. I promise you that. I can’t tell you when. It depends on what Nikolena wants with me. In the meantime, trust Scott. And I know it goes against your nature, but try to obey him more than you did me.”

  She turned her head away and sucked in her lower lip.

  He opened his car door. “Come. I have a flight to catch.”

  “Drago.”

  He paused and turned back to her.

  “Whatever happens, and whatever your motives were, thank you for last night.”

  If only she knew how badly he had blundered last night. “De rien, cherie. But thank me again when I return.”

  Scott waited for them in the front office. The blond girl was nowhere in sight. Chances were she wasn’t a day vampire. The look that Scott gave them, as well as his appearance, told Drago that he wasn’t thrilled to be up at this hour, either. Scott wore flared blue pants, a matching vest, a white turtleneck, and several heavy, gold chains, but the vest was unbuttoned and his shaggy hair was more untamed than the last time he had seen him.