by Trisha Baker
Meghann frowned, puzzling over a vaguely remembered discomfort and brief vision of sun-reddened, blistered skin. "Not really, no. Where's Lee? Is he ... did he make it through the day?"
In response, Simon took her hand and guided her to the jet's bedroom where Lee Winslow reclined on a king-sized bed decorated in plain bed sheets that he'd drenched through with perspiration.
"Lee," Meghann sighed and pushed wet, sticky hair off his brow, relieved that he was still alive and knowing there was little else she could do to ease his suffering. She poured ice water from the carafe Simon gave her over a linen cloth and ran it across Lee's face, gently bringing him into a sitting position while she coaxed him into taking a few sips of water.
"Charles," Lee moaned and Meghann's heart contracted with fresh grief. She couldn't know if Lee, in his fever, mourned for his lover or maybe he was lucky enough to be in some hallucinatory world where he and Charles still walked together.
"Come along, Meghann," Simon said and pulled her off the bed. "Lee will pull through this and we'll finish his transformation tonight. I must speak to you now."
"Mikal," Meghann said, almost glad to have something divert her from her worry over Ellie and Lee, even if it was her son's unsavory tale. Ellie . . . something was the matter with Ellie, more than the brief concern Meghann felt last night. That had been a conviction her daughter was hiding something from her, now Meghann felt her little girl was in some kind of trouble—she needed her mother.
I'm coming home, baby, Meghann thought to her and felt the anxious sensation hanging over her dissipate slightly—as though Ellie had heard her and was soothed by her mother's promise.
"Here," Simon said and shoved a thick manila file into her hands. "Read this and then we will discuss Mikal."
Meghann opened the folder and inhaled sharply at the contents. "This is an MRI scan of Mikal's brain."
"It is," Simon said and Meghann's heart sank though she felt no real surprise—not after what Mikal had done to Charles. That action was enough to convince Meghann her son was a predator without capacity for empathy or love but here was scientific evidence of Mikal's deformities.
In recent years, neurologists had proven there was an organic basis for psychopathy. The report Meghann held in her hands indicated Mikal was brain damaged, not in the sense of mental retardation but in his emotional development. Most significant were abnormalities in the structure of Mikal's amygdala. The amygdala, part of the limbic system, was central in feeling emotion. A malfunctioning amygdala could, among other things, prevent an individual from feeling fear—one of the chief characteristics of psychopaths.
"You couldn't discipline Mikal," Meghann said. It wasn't a question. "He didn't learn from punishment— no matter how severe you were or what you deprived him of." Even if Simon used physical force to discipline him, as Meghann didn't doubt for a minute he had when his attempts to mold his son were frustrated by Mikal's seeming defiance, psychopaths had extremely low electrical skin conductivity, thus reducing the capacity to experience physical sensation, be it pleasure or pain.
"That would be true in a psychopathic mortal," Simon said. "But there was one thing I could deprive Mikal of to force him into some semblance of behavior—blood."
Meghann hadn't thought of that. "So whenever he misbehaved you starved him?" No wonder Mikal hated his father. "When did you conduct these tests?" Of course Simon couldn't trust any mortal neurobiologist to conduct these tests—he'd do it himself. Simon had money and connections enough to gain access to the equipment, as well as the sharp mind of a vampire that would allow him to master any mortal science.
"When Mikal was nine. There'd been a disturbing incident and I wanted to see whether the boy was suffering from a physical malady to produce his atrocious behavior."
"What did Mikal do to disturb you?" Meghann knew Simon well enough to know a son with an astonishing capacity for evil and a disregard for conventional morality wouldn't distress him the way it did her. A psychopathic child would only become a problem when he disregarded his father's ethical standards, libertine though they might be in anyone's eyes but Lord Baldevar's.
"You know me well, little one," Simon said and leaned negligently against the arm of the couch she sat on. "That Mikal indulged his blood lust avidly and in rather creative ways did not concern me overmuch. I knew early on Mikal had little use for affection but I did not fault him for that, did not try to stubbornly press a heart on the boy as you might have done. It was plain Mikal could not feel love, but unlike you, Meghann, I can empathize with our son. Four hundred years I lived without love and my life was not some bleak hell; it was quite interesting and entertaining.
"Not," Simon said, taking Meghann's hand at her indignant glare, "as interesting or beautiful as it's become since you entered my life, but amusing all the same. I knew Mikal, detached and cold though he might be, could have everything he needed—a first- rate education, dominion over the mortals and some of our kind as well, wealth, superb strength, and the ability to walk in daylight. That was more than enough to fulfill anyone."
How could it be, Simon, Meghann thought sadly, that in all this time I haven't so much as dented your offhand assurance that there was nothing wrong with feeling you were above others and their lives were yours to do with what you wished.
"Enough," Simon snapped at Meghann's disapproving thought. "I will not have you condescending to me simply because I refused to suppress Mikal's natural instincts where his prey was concerned. As far as I am concerned, I have honored the vow I made to you at our son's birth. I did not merely train his blood lust; I also provided him with an excellent education, an appreciation for the arts, and certainly instilled in him love and respect for you, our extended family, and any beings mortal or otherwise that he might eventually befriend."
"So my son spent his childhood as a miniature serial killer," Meghann said caustically. "With you cramming in little bits of schooling and culture between kills. You're right Simon—how could I ever think you hadn't done the very best for him?"
"Don't be sarcastic, Meghann. It does not suit you. Our son was no low serial killer like those penny- dreadful dregs that titillate modern society and its penchant for violence. Mikal killed when he needed to feed and that was all—like any proper vampire that does not make itself miserable through adherence to quaint mortal laws regarding the so-called sanctity of human life."
Meghann dismissed the insult to her own decision to leave her prey alive and continued her interrogation. "So what did Mikal do at the age of nine that was so atrocious only brain damage would excuse it in your eyes?"
"Many things disturbed me before that final incident First, he's lazy," Simon said, and Meghann knew anyone with Simon's ambition and drive to succeed would indeed be disgusted by idle offspring. "No interest whatsoever in making his own way—he once had the nerve to demand a trust fund of me!"
Simon Baldevar was no miser, Meghann thought, recalling all the jewels and luxuries he'd bestowed on her over the years, but she knew he'd never hand out a lump sum of money unless he thought there'd be some gain in the long run. Mikal would have had bet- ter luck asking his father to part with his immortality instead of his gold. "Maybe Mikal had other interests beside monetary ones."
Simon made a sound that could have been a snort in someone less elegant. "Oh, he had other interests. Millions of them, all so fleeting and varied I can hardly recall most of them. One night he would be consumed by astronomy and the next night the subject would bore him unendurably and he'd make no effort to continue his studies. But as he got older, I will say this much for him—in the brief space of his infatuations, he could educate himself to a post- doctorate level on any subject. So he picked up fragments of knowledge here and there but never were there long-term interests, any need to devote himself to a subject."
"A short attention span drove you to conduct an MRI?" Meghann asked incredulously.
"Of course not... I merely attempted to discipline that. No, I decided to t
est him because of what he did to his pet."
"His pet? What kind of animal did you give him? Why hurt an animal when he had humans to kill?" Meghann cried.
"You are quite right," Simon said. "Mikal never did bother harming animals because humans provided more entertainment in their suffering. The boy is utterly indifferent to animals. When I said, 'pet,' Meghann, I meant a human child I procured when he was five. I thought he could learn social interaction from it..."
Meghann thought and made a mighty effort to keep her face impassive. Simon, Simon . . . if you talked this way in front of Mikal, is it any wonder what he became?
Simon gave her a look she chose to ignore and went on. "The whole purpose of the pet was to teach him the friendship and respect for mortals I knew you wanted him to feel . . . that I myself wanted him to feel, since his own twin was born mortal. So I brought him a bright, mortal child orphaned when its mother went to jail. I chose a nine-year-old boy."
"Why did you choose a child so much older than him? Was a nine year old on Mikal's intellectual level when he was five?"
"Intellectual and physical level," Simon clarified. "Our son's metabolism was nothing short of fantastic in his early years. By the age of ten, he was as developed as a fourteen-ypar-old boy."
"Is his metabolism still accelerated? What's to stop him from continuing on into old age and dying by the age of thirty?"
"Pity he will not," Simon said bitterly. "His metabolism tapered off when he reached the age of fifteen ... resembling a full-grown man in his twenties. Now Mikal is like us, Meghann—he does not age or change at all."
Interesting, Meghann thought. "So what Mikal do to his, er, pet?"
"I thought Mikal could form an alliance with the child, that they would entertain each other. At first, that was exactly what happened. Suddenly there was a playmate, someone to socialize with beside Adelaide and myself. The boys studied together and developed normal male interests. I taught them both the art of fencing and they enjoyed hunting game around the island I reared Mikal on. I was greatly encouraged because though you could not say Mikal was affectionate toward his pet, he certainly seemed to enjoy his company."
"What happened when Mikal turned nine?" Meghann asked, having some idea of the grim answer from Simon's narrowed gold eyes. She thought Mikal might have killed his "pet" because psychopaths formed only the shallowest attachments and if Mikal had been bored one night, he could as easily kill his companion for stimulation as a normal person could decide to watch television to alleviate their boredom.
"I would not believe so young a child capable of such savagery," Simon said with a distant look in his eyes, like he was reliving the incident. "It wasn't so much that he killed the boy as the motive behind the killing."
"What was his motive?" she asked, chilled by Simon's hollow tone and bleak eyes.
"Mikal is a most unnatural boy," Simon said, his mouth curling down in derision of his own child. "By the time he was nine, I did not find it necessary to constantly supervise his activities—he and his companion roamed free over the island. But it was growing close to dawn and Mikal was still unable to tolerate direct sunlight so I began to look for the boys. I found them—Mikal and what was left of the other boy—on the most remote corner of the isle. Mikal may be brilliant but he still thought like a child, that if he just hid the evidence of his crime, there would be no repercussions.
"Mikal was so engrossed with the body that he was unaware of my approach. I smelled death miles away but cloaked my presence because I wished to know why Mikal would slaughter this creature that was the closest thing to a friend he had. I soon had my answer and it was in that moment that I first wished I'd never had a son. Mikal destroyed the other boy because certain overtures Mikal made were rightfully spurned."
"Overtures," Meghann felt her face color when she realized just what overtures Mikal must have made to put that appalled, seething look on Simon's face.
"Mikal is a base sodomite," Simon said, almost spitting out the words. "The other young man . . . his pants were down around his ankles and his legs covered in blood. After the boy refused him, Mikal apparently attacked his femoral artery and then raped the hapless boy when he was too weakened by blood loss to run away. But... if that were not enough ... when I discovered Mikal, the mortal boy was long since dead but that disgusting boy was still . riding his corpse."
Though Meghann did not have Simon's aversion to homosexuals, she was sickened to hear a child of hers indulged in necrophilia.
"I yanked him off his victim and bled him almost dry," Simon said, his hawkish eyes hard and remote. "Then I threw him into the cellar for a fortnight... finally I gave in to Adelaide's pleas and ended his punishment before he could starve to death. By then, I'd had time enough to calm myself and look at the situation rationally. Perhaps the fault lay with me, bringing Mikal a male child as companion. I should have recognized that he'd need a woman nearby when his sexual nature was awakened but he did not have to attack the boy—there were plenty of mortal females on the island he could have used for his urges."
It would take someone as crazy as Mikal might be to tell Simon it did not matter that he'd bought his son a male companion—homosexuals were born, not made. Nor did Meghann think now was the right time to antagonize Simon by telling him an attraction toward men was the least of Mikal's problems.
"I decided the boy might be sick," Simon continued, oblivious of or ignoring Meghann's thoughts. "And the tests you hold bore out my theory. Since this . . . deviancy . . . wasn't entirely Mikal's fault (again Meghann kept her silence, not bothering to correct Simon to tell him nothing on Mikal's brain scan would account for his homosexuality) I forgave him. I also acknowledged that perhaps the situation grew out of his isolation so from then on I took him on trips when I had to leave the island for business."
Where exactly had Simon taken their son in his misguided attempt to change Mikal's sexual orientation—a whorehouse? Actually, Meghann thought it quite possible Mikal would have slept with women as easily as men; psychopaths usually weren't all that choosy in their many partners.
'Tell me more about him," Meghann said, changing the subject before she goaded Simon into an argument they didn't have time for. "You say he ma- lured at a dramatic pace? Is he tall and muscular . . . like you?"
"No," Simon answered. "He is tall, but quite thin and gawky in appearance. You see, he has never been able to digest any substances but blood and water so he never gained much weight. But he's strong all the same . .. stronger in some ways than us."
No wonder he doesn't empathize with us, Meghann thought. Mikal can't even enjoy our basic pleasures like fine food ... he has no idea of what it is to be human.
"I knew about Mikal's strength before you came back," Meghann said and Simon gave her a surprised look. "He was responsible for the Ballnamore massacre, wasn't he?" Ballnamore had been Alcuin's sanctuary in Ireland, the place he invited all the others that shared his desire to leave mankind in peace. After his death, Alcuin had left the place to Meghann and Charles, but to reside in the Georgian fortress meant battling every self-righteous vampire that wished to destroy Meghann for no better reason than her bearing of Simon Baldevar's children. Deciding the game wasn't worth the candle, Meghann and
Charles simply allowed their enemies to keep Ballnamore and an uneasy compromise developed, the same one Alcuin and Simon had observed for centuries—Meghann, Charles, and Ellie would keep to their corner of the world while their enemies enjoyed free reign at Ballnamore.
But eight months ago Charles was overcome with a terrible certainty that there had been some sort of catastrophe at Ballnamore. Unlike Meghann, Charles had shared a bloodline with some of the Ballnamore vampires and he'd know if they were hurt or killed.
Meghann and Charles's best attempts to clarify his premonition were thwarted by cloudy, obscure visions that explained nothing. In the end, they had no choice but to chance a confrontation and go to Ballnamore. But when they arrived there was nothing there .
. . Ballnamore was deserted, an Irish ghost town. From the wide-open windows and French doors, Meghann and Charles deduced someone had invaded the sanctuary and the corpses had been reduced to ash by exposure to the morning sun. But who had the power to invade a vampire stronghold and slaughter over thirty immortals?
"A vampire with the ability to walk in daylight," Simon said, cutting into Meghann's thoughts.
Starded from her deep rumination, aching again for the departed Charles, Meghann asked, "Was Mikal acting on your orders?" At the time, Meghann and Charles believed this might be Mikal's introduction to vampairic society, carefully orchestrated by his father. Once other vampires had a taste of Mikal's power, they would make no attempt to cross him or Lord Baldevar.
With a twisted grimace, Simon shook his head. "The boy ran away a year ago ... I have no control over his actions."
Meghann absorbed that statement and all its disturbing implications. If Simon couldn't control the destructive force their son apparently was, then who would stop him?
"When did Mikal become immune to sunlight?" she ·isked, remembering the infant whose strange, fragile ryes could not even handle artificial light.
"It was a gradual change, as I expected," Simon answered. "As an infant, he built up a resistance to lamps and I was able to keep him in lighted rooms. He remained as we are . . . defenseless against the sun .. . until he was in his early adolescence. Then he reported to me that he was gradually waking up earlier .ind earlier, finally feeling nothing at sunrise."
"Does he sleep at all?" Meghann questioned.
"A few hours each day, never at night. Usually, if what he told me is the truth, he takes a brief nap between eight and ten in the morning. For some reason, lie always feels drained at that time. But even then he does not need a dark place to rest . . . merely pulling the shades provides enough darkness for him to rest. Daylight cannot destroy him. Our son can only be slaughtered, I believe, by decapitating him or removing his heart."
"He has all his power during the day?"
