by Trisha Baker
Not willing to wait on the ancient elevator, Ellie sped up the stairs to the studio, flushed and out of breath by the time she reached the cavernous, seemingly empty studio.
"Hello?" Ellie called into the room abandoned for summer vacation. Quick tears stung her eyelids—had her father decided to leave rather than wait on a daughter that couldn't even be bothered to meet him on time? Or worse, had he never showed up at all?
Ellie started to turn and walk out the door when a whispery voice with a hint of a British accent said softly, "Elizabeth."
Ellie spun around and watched a tall, broad- shouldered figure step out from the shadows, careful to walk near the walls and avoid the dying sunlight pouring into the room from the broad bank of windows. Of course, Ellie should have realized he'd remain in the dark. Ellie knew a vampire wasn't truly comfortable being up and around in the summer until nearly nine o'clock.
Ellie felt rooted to her spot by the door; she couldn't make her legs move and take her to the man crossing the room in graceful strides. As he stepped closer, Ellie was able to make out his features better, see the brown tinted sunglasses he wore with an elegant dark blazer.
Mom had always claimed Simon Baldevar was the handsomest man she'd ever seen and now Ellie found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with that assessment Of course, Ellie had known what her father looked like, thanks to her mother's treasured Elizabethan miniature. It showed a solemn-faced man dressed in a black doublet liberally decorated with diamonds and rubies. Of course, there were some changes in the intervening four hundred years since the miniature was painted. The Van Dyke beard had vanished, replaced by a clean-shaven countenance that emphasized the same sharp cheekbones that greeted Ellie whenever she looked in a mirror. His chestnut hair had also changed from a Prince Valiant cut to a style
Ellie privately thought more suited to him, close cropped at the sides with an abundance of wavy curls on top.
But it wasn't her father's handsome appearance that struck Ellie mute. Rather, it was the dynamic energy radiating from him. Though accustomed to vampires and their mesmerizing auras, Ellie had never felt anything like her father's power. It was like he sucked all the energy from the people and things surrounding him so he became larger than life while everything around him grew dim and pallid.
Simon paused 3 few inches from Ellie, pulling off his sunglasses to reveal slanted eyes of a soft, gold color unlike anything Ellie had ever seen before. They dominated his face and burned with an intensity that held Ellie in their thrall.
"I. . . I'm sorry I'm late," Ellie finally managed to say to the formidable man who simply stared but didn't speak. What was he thinking? Did she please him? Did he like her?
Ellie immediately regretted her banal words. In her countless daydreams of meeting her father, Ellie had imagined a thousand greetings and never once was a feeble apology one of them. Simon must think his mortal daughter was a flaky, inconsiderate, tongue- tied idiot.
But Simon smiled at her, his warm, open grin shattering the wide gulf of absence and awkwardness between them forever.
"It is I that must apologize to you, daughter, for missing your whole childhood. Can you ever forgive me?" Simon held open his arms and Ellie ran into them.
"Daddy," she cried, not caring if the term was immature for someone her age. Simon Baldevar had always been Daddy to her, the secret nighttime daddy she could never admit to, the provider of exquisite gifts and the dashing charmer of the stories Mom told about the man that swept her off her feet and transformed her so they'd be together for all eternity. "Daddy, you're finally here!"
"Finally here indeed, my daughter, never to leave again," Simon said, still hugging her tightly and Ellie finally felt the blissful security of her dreams engulf her in reality.
"You mean it?" Ellie said and looked up into his shining eyes. "You're here to stay? Is Mikal here too? Mom doesn't know you're here, does she?" Was she going to meet not only her father but also her twin brother, whom she knew almost nothing about? Ellie, like Meghann, was hurt and dismayed that Simon and the woman who called herself Ellie's Auntie Adelaide provided them with such scant, bare bones information about Mikal... and that Mikal had never chosen to communicate with them at all.
For a brief second, it seemed like a pall was thrown over Simon's gleaming eyes and he said tersely, "Your brother isn't with me. And no, Meghann doesn't know I've returned—I wanted to surprise her."
"You sure will," Ellie said, and Simon laughed as he released her. "I mean she's going to be so happy to see you! She's missed you so much." Ellie knew better than anyone how much her mother had missed Simon. How many times had she come upon Meghann, sitting alone with Daddy's miniature and faint tearstains marring her cheeks?
'Just as I've missed her," Simon said softly and Ellie suddenly wondered if maybe he'd shed his own tears during their seventeen-year separation. Then his expression cleared again and he extended his arm out to Ellie. "Now, I believe I've been promised a design by a very promising young architect?"
"You meant all that?" Ellie said and happily led her father to her board. 'You really want me to design a beach house for you?"
"Marvelous," Simon said, inspecting the watercolor sketch and model on Ellie's board. Ellie didn't think it was conceit to consider the design her very best work to date. She loved the organic-style villa that seemed to grow out of the jagged cliff it perched upon. The copper and bleached wood cantilevered structure resembled a hawk poised for flight with its outstretched glass wing soaring over the cliff edge so it hung suspended over the rocky, churning sea below.
"You have an immense gift, Elizabeth. I have no doubt about the impact you'll make upon your generation once you establish your own firm."
"What firm?" Ellie asked blankly and her father grinned broadly, revealing a dimple in his left cheek Ellie had inherited.
"The firm I intend to help you set up," Simon said. "Perhaps you could partner up with that Vietnamese boy you wrote about."
Ellie smiled at this indication her father had read all her letters and remembered her speaking of Huang Truong, a phenomenally talented young architect who shared Ellie's passion for private residences and prairie-style architecture. Huang, who'd graduated a year before her, was currently serving a sentence at Mead Mckim and complained bitterly of being chained to his desk with the tedium of drafting environmental impact reports or if he was blessed beyond belief, actually being allowed to assist on drawing a window or hallway. Ellie knew Huang would jump at the chance to form a partnership with her but...
"Am I such an unsuitable investor?" Simon questioned at her unenthusiastic silence.
"No, Daddy, it's just..."
"Just what?"
"I want to achieve my own success," Ellie explained just as she had when Mom offered her start-up money for her own firm. How could she make them understand how important it was to receive a paycheck that had nothing to do with them, to find a job where she was valued for her talent and not merely being their daughter? Ellie needed to prove she could stand on her own two feet with no assistance from her parents.
"Nonsense!" Simon exclaimed and gestured to her model. "Your firm will succeed because of your talent, not my money. Do not think I made this offer out of nepotism—go ask your mother if I've ever invested in a foolish venture. Besides, in our family, we do not work for others. I never called any man my superior; when your mother practices her psychology, she works alone. Why slave on behalf of someone else, Elizabeth? Why allow them to profit from your designs while you receive a mere pittance for your labors? Now if you want a businesslike proposition, I shall give you one. My money shall not be a gift, but a loan you pay back in a set amount of time, with the proper interest. Do we have a deal?"
Ellie smiled and remembered something else Meghann had told her about Simon. When he chose to be, he was the most charming man in the world and it was absolutely impossible to say no to him. "Okay."
"Wonderful," Simon said and embraced her lightly. "Shall we go home now
, daughter?"
"I'd love to, Daddy."
"Daddy... I have adored that title since you first bestowed it upon me." Simon smiled and withdrew from his wallet a yellowed sheet of paper filled with
a looping, childish handwriting Ellie immediately recognized. Blinking back sentimental tears, she reread her very first letter to her father.
Dear Daddy,
Thank you for all my birthday presents. The carousel is my favorite, it is very big and really pretty especially when you put on the lights. Mommy said it is a Rococo antique, that means it is very old and expensive so I must be careful when I play with it and not break it. Mommy says it's not just a toy and I can keep it my whole life and enjoy it. I will, I really really like it, Daddy.
The painted horses are so pretty, Lee says there is a place called Martha's Vineyard where they have a real life carousel that looks just like this one and he will take me there in summer. Mommy can come to because they are open at night and there are bright lights and music just like my antique toy.
I like real horses too. I have a pony. He is chestnut brown just like my hair so I call him Chestnut Chestnut takes lessons just like me so we can learn how to ride and lives at East End Stables. I already know how to run and we are learning to jump.
Lee has a movie called Dark Victory. It has a very pretty lady who lives in a big house just like this one and she rides horses, too. I would like to grow up like that but I don't want to die of being cross-eyed like Mommy said happened to her at the end of the movie so now I am careful not to make faces or I might die but I think that is very silly and you can't really die of that Mommy was just being funny because Uncle Charles laughed really loud when she told me that. Do you think that is funny? Do you have a horse? Mommy says you like horses a lot and taught her how to ride after you got married. She says she didn't have a horse when she was a little girl like me because she lived in the city and there would be no place to put him, poor Mommy. But she said when you were growing up, your house was much bigger than ours and you had lots of land too. Is that true? When can I see your big house Daddy?
Goodbye Daddy, I love you very much and thank you for my presents.
Love and kisses, Lady Elizabeth Baldevar
P.S. Mommy says that is my real name, that I am a Lady because you are a Lord but most of the time my last name is Winslow for Uncle Lee because he can't have a litde girl of his own so I am your girl and his, too. Mommy says it is good to share. More kisses, Ellie. That is my nickname that everybody calls me and you can, too.
"Pretty miserable chicken scrawl and abominable structure," Ellie said about her first attempts at script, smiling ruefully at the rambling tone.
"You were only five—most mortal children have not even mastered their alphabet at that age," Simon replied. "But I was most touched by your greeting ... Daddy. No one had ever called me that before."
"What does Mikal call you?" Ellie asked curiously.
"Father," Simon said flatly and his lips tightened into a grim line.
"Is there something wrong between you and him, Daddy?" Ellie could almost see a dark cloud form around her father when Mikal's name came up.
"I cannot discuss Mikal until your mother joins us."
Ellie nodded her acquiescence, thinking whenever
the discussion took place it was not likely to be a pleasant one, judging by the clipped, brusque tone her father developed when speaking of Mikal.
As they walked out of the quiet school and onto the busy street, Simon turned to her and broke the uncomfortable silence that had developed between them. 'Would you mind terribly waiting until fall to establish your firm, Elizabeth? I was rather hoping I could take you and your mother on what we used to call a Grand Tour of Europe. If I say so myself, you could not have a better tour guide than someone who's had almost five hundred years to seek out the best sights."
"Daddy," Ellie glowed, momentarily forgetting Mikal, and a few pedestrians raised curious eyebrows at this teenager calling a man who could only be in his early thirties Daddy. "I'd love to!"
"I rather thought so. What architect could possibly consider their education complete without a tour of the grandeur of Europe? Tell me where you'd like to start... Florence, perhaps?"
'York," Ellie said promptly. "I've been dying to see the Gothic cathedrals."
"But if you die, you won't get to go anywhere," Simon teased and she smiled at him, liking this warm, funny father of hers.
"My college instructor said some people actually believe the Gothic cathedrals came from alien intelligence because the work is so advanced and beyond the capabilities of the time. But Mom says maybe the Gothic style was the result of a vampire architect. Do you know anything about that?"
Simon laughed and shook his head. "I'm afraid those cathedrals were erected nearly two hundred years before my birth. Contrary to your mother's view, I have not existed from the beginning of time. But
Meghann's theory is certainly a valid one. Shall we go home and continue this discussion with her?"
"Yes," Ellie smiled and accepted his proffered arm. "Let's go home, Daddy."
Two
"Mom taught me how to drive," Elizabeth remarked as she narrowly mjissed a collision with a taxi that attempted to cut ahead of the sleekly restored navy-blue 1965 Mustang convertible Meghann had given her for her sixteenth birthday.
"I strongly suspected she did," Simon smiled as his daughter attacked the thick Manhattan traffic with the controlled aggression and high speed that were hallmarks of her mother's driving style. "And who do you think taught your mother to drive?"
"You?" Elizabeth smiled back, relaxing in Simon's easy approval of her daredevil driving.
"Indeed," Simon said, pushing his seat back and stretching his long legs as far as possible in the car's small cabin. He smiled again, remembering the battered old jalopy and dark, deserted roads he'd taken Meghann on for her first driving lessons. There'd been none of the normal timidity and heavy-footed awkwardness of a new driver in Meghann; she'd taken to maneuvering the car about with nimble self-confidence from her first time behind the wheel.
How well Simon remembered those early nights in their relationship, roaring through the night at dizzying, exhilarating speeds, stopping only to pick up some transient mortal hitchhiker. Then there would be the exquisite pleasure of indulging their blood lust together and making love, filled with all the wild, antic glee feeding and driving brought to the surface.
Simon missed those nights and he missed Meghann—his bright-eyed, high-spirited consort who made the night so much more alive and interesting for him. But soon enough, as long as Elizabeth continued to gun the little car far past the posted speed limit, he would see Meghann again.
Elizabeth—Simon turned to his daughter, marveling on how much she reminded him of Meghann, chattering away at him as she guided the Mustang along the highway road reeking of exhaust fumes and banally conversing mortals. A great many of Elizabeth's mannerisms were her mother all over again—the quick, perfunctory glance at the traffic in front of her before she turned to meet Simon's eyes, her flashing, sunny grin... even the way she turned her radio to some dull baseball game, following the announcer's spiel with the same avid attention Meghann always displayed for the inexplicable sport of grown men chasing some ball around a large park.
But Elizabeth, though she'd inherited her mother's vivacious sparkle, was no mere carbon copy of Meghann. Simon could tell that simply by listening as his daughter described her consuming interest in architecture, talking of her early facility for drawing and the construction sets that were the only toys to truly engage her interest. When she spoke of her work, Simon could see Elizabeth applied her talents with a careful, focused attention and cool logic quite foreign to Meghann's intelligent but tempestuous nature.
Elizabeth's analytic mind and artistic hands were a reflection of his own talents, Simon realized, smiling at this first sign of himself in his daughter. What a marvelous young woman his daughter had grown into
—combining Meghann's charming, infectious enthusiasm with his keenly logical mind.
Elizabeth's looks were also an almost poetic blend of his and Meghann's best features. From infancy, Elizabeth had sported a full head of his bright chestnut hair; she even had the russet streaks Simon used to develop during the summer months. Judging by her suntan, she'd also inherited the ruddy complexion of Simon's mortal years instead of Meghann's porcelain skin that had to be protected from the sun even before she transformed.
But she had Meghann's almond-shaped, chameleon green eyes that went from apple green to darkest emerald depending on her mood, though the heavy fringe of dark brown lashes came from her father. And there was Meghann's full, bow-shaped lips and daintiness of form softening the chiseled, high-planed cheekbones and long, thin nose that bespoke Elizabeth's paternity.
All in all, a very attractive young woman, Simon thought and then realized he could hardly be the only man to form such an opinion. "Have you many beaux, Elizabeth?"
"Bows?" Elizabeth repeated, at first puzzled and then turning a charming shade of pink. "Oh, you mean beaux—boyfriends. Uh, nothing serious."
There was an outright falsehood, Simon decided swiftly. He did not need to intrude on his daughter's thoughts when that starded flush (so very much like Meghann's!) and her averted eyes told Simon there must be at least one serious beau.
He was not surprised that his daughter was reluctant to discuss romance with him; matters of the heart she'd rightfully take to her mother. Simon's only concern in the matter was that his daughter not be like the lascivious young women of her age—distributing her favors freely and without thought to her reputation.
Like any father, Simon wouldn't even speculate that Elizabeth might not be . . . pure . . . but it was plain the girl had reached marriageable age. She must be married before some unsavory character came along and took advantage of her innocence.
