by Trisha Baker
She stepped out of the shower, and eyed the black-marble tub. How much money does he have, anyway, she thought as she brushed her hair with a gold-backed brush. She caught a glimpse of her half reflection in the mirror above the long marble sink counter. It was just as well that Trevor hadn't included makeup—there was no way she could apply it.
The dressing room made Meghann feel like she'd died and gone to heaven. A walk-in closet was stuffed with clothing and furs. When did he buy all this stuff? A full-length mirror with wings that closed to display a medieval love scene of a lady leaning over a knight, who looked up at her in adoration, a vanity table, and cream damask silk with green accents covered the walls.
"Do you like it?" Simon entered the room, fully dressed. He held out a floor-length spring-green dress with a matching cape. He also gave her black satin strap sandals and stockings. Where did he find those? They hadn't been available for years.
"The room or the dress?"
"Both."
Meghann sat at the dressing table, and stared down at her long hair in bewilderment until Simon came to her and expertly gathered it into a chignon. "Soon enough you'll learn to groom yourself without a mirror. After all, blind mortals do it with ease. Now, do you like your suite?"
"It's lovely." She put on the dress, and ran her hand over her neck. The wounds had vanished.
Simon took in her appearance. "The dress matches your eyes."
"Trevor forgot makeup."
"No, he didn't. It's a pity you can't see your face clearly—you're breathtaking. You have no need of cosmetics. Are you ready to leave?"
She turned to him. "Why am I see-through in the mirror?"
He took her face in his hands. "Because you are no longer human. Vampires do not cast full reflections, nor can they be caught on film."
"But why?" She hesitated and forced herself to ask, "Is it because we're evil?"
"Evil is a matter of interpretation. Certainly, in the mortal world, you would be considered an evil creature, if someone could force themselves to believe you existed. People refuse to acknowledge our existence; they relegate us to the world of myth."
"So I can't go in the sun, I don't cast a full reflection, and to people, I'm an abomination. What do we have to make it worthwhile?"
"Unquestioned dominion over the night, freedom from death and disease. Meghann, when we step outside—I have given you the night forever. No one can harm us at night; we are invincible. You will have power you never dreamed of over people—to hunt, to make them do your bidding. All we give up is the sun—in a few years, you'll barely remember it. As for your reflection, don't let it cause you sadness. It is undeniable proof that you are a supernatural creature." Simon pulled her up, and kissed her. "And you, precious child, have something no other vampire does."
"What is that?"
"My love. Now let's leave this place so you can see the new world I have given you."
When Meghann stepped outside with him, the lights and noise of the city assaulted her. The worst was that she could hear the thoughts of everyone who passed by… She felt like she was going to pass out.
Meghann, Simon's voice cut into the chaos in her head. Can you hear me?
Yes, she answered silently.
Imagine a radio. Now look at that radio and find the volume. Turn the volume all the way down.
It took her a few minutes to hold the radio image in her mind long enough to turn the volume, but when she did, the noise was cut off abruptly.
"It's gone," she said in wonder.
"Very good," Simon told her. "Few novices learn so quickly. You're going to make an excellent vampire, my love. For now, concentrate on me. It's easier to ignore the noise of mortals' thoughts when you're focused on something else. If it comes back, imagine the radio again."
He hailed a taxi, and directed the driver to the Waldorf.
Simon ordered red wine, a bottle of 1924 Mouton Rothschild—impressing their waiter.
"Bela Lugosi never drank wine," she remarked when the waiter left.
Simon's mouth quirked. "I guess this is the right time for a discussion on vampire myths. Is your knowledge of vampires limited to Hollywood movies?"
"I read Dracula," she answered with a sniff.
"Even worse. Well, ask your questions, sweetheart. What do you wish to know?"
"Do I have to sleep in a coffin now?" she questioned.
Simon laughed so loud a few of the diners turned to stare. "Did you sleep in one last night?"
"Well," she said, floundering, "I wasn't exactly a vampire then."
"But I was. Do you recall me vanishing to find my coffin filled with the dirt of my burial place to keep my powers strong? What a macabre notion." Simon shook his head in distaste. "No coffin, darling. The only thing you must do is make sure you sleep in a place that allows in no sunlight. The sun will destroy a vampire. What other notions shall I disabuse?"
"Well, the bit about crosses can't be true," she said half to herself. "You touched my mother's cross. What about garlic—can that hurt you? Can vampires turn into mist or bats?"
"Why would I want to turn myself into a filthy, rabid creature like a bat?"
The waiter came to take their order, temporarily postponing vampire discussion. Simon advised Meghann to have steak, and he ordered lobster for himself.
As the waiter wrote down their order, she heard him say, "Lucky fella. How come I don't get to sit here with a pretty piece like that?"
Startled, she started to ask what the hell was the matter with him when Simon put a restraining hand on her wrist.
You heard his thoughts, Meghann—like you're hearing mine right now. That can happen when a human thinks something with a great deal of force.
After the waiter left, she asked, "So you don't hear everything people think?"
"The dreary, stumbling, mundane thoughts of most mortals are of no interest to me. I hear what I want to hear."
She thought about the food he had just ordered. "We can eat?" she asked.
"You must eat. Forget that excuse me, I already dined foolishness of fiction." Simon laughed briefly and then buttered a roll. "I always thought that a rather ridiculous presumption. If we were dead, why should it matter what we ingested? And if food was a hazard, mortals would not need crosses—they could kill us by forcing a chocolate bar down our throats. Listen carefully, Meghann. You are not undead, or any of the other precious phrases your movies have taught you about vampirism. In some ways, you'll find your life unchanged. You'll eat, drink, and groom yourself as you always have. As far as garlic goes, vampires are sensitive creatures. We are alive to sensation in a way that mortals cannot comprehend. In time, that will provide you with great pleasure, but for now, you are vulnerable. Garlic would overwhelm you… the same way that cognac did the other night. Keep your palate simple for the time being, Meghann."
Simon leaned back and sipped some wine. "Excellent. As I said, you are not dead. What you are is, quite simply, supernatural. You are no longer human. When the sun rises, you will sleep—that is not something you can control. You will find that when the dawn comes later tonight, you will start to feel very tired and weak. It is imperative to get to a resting place before the sun comes up. When the sun sets, you will wake up. Actually, vampires usually rise about an hour before the sun sets—during dusk."
"Besides sunlight, what can kill a vampire?"
"What a morbid question. Well, the books are right about a stake through the heart, but that doesn't kill you right away. It takes a few hours—agonizing hours. Sunlight, on the other hand, will kill you in a matter of minutes."
The food arrived, and Meghann tore into the steak, quite relieved that vampirism didn't mean giving up her favorite foods. She looked up, then asked, "What are the new gifts you said I have now?"
"Well, you just asked me if I could transform into a bat. I can't, but I could certainly convince mortals that I had turned into a bat before their eyes. A vampire's greatest gift is the power of mind. You can u
se your will to make mortals do or think anything you desire."
"So you just used your will to make me forget you'd bitten me?"
"Until I wanted you to remember—it's a bit like hypnosis. You can also read mortal thoughts; you have superhuman strength and an incredible ability to heal yourself. If I were to reach across the table and smash your adorable nose, it would heal in a matter of minutes. A gunshot wound could not harm you, nor could poison—"
"Can you fly?" she interrupted. "Do you live forever?"
"I'll give you a lesson on 'flying' later. As for immortality, you will live as long as you have the will to live. I know of vampires who have lived over a thousand years. Then, when they were tired, or too lonely, some died simply because they wished it. Others have greeted the sunrise to end their lives, or had a human servant expose their sleeping bodies to the sunlight."
"Servants." Meghann was horror-struck. "What about that man… Trevor? Couldn't he just decide to expose you to the sun during the day?"
"The room where we shall rest is impenetrable. No one may enter once I lock it."
Meghann ate silently, considering all Simon told her. None of it—her reflection, killing Johnny Devlin, sitting in the Oak Room having this insane conversation—seemed quite real. She felt like she was stuck inside a dream. So when am I going to wake up?
Over dessert, Simon reached into his jacket and withdrew a small black box.
"Another gift?" Meghann asked as she opened it.
"More than a gift, sweet," he told her softly.
The box held a gold signet ring that had an emerald on each shoulder, with the inscription "nul si bien" on the bezel. "None so well," she translated.
"How did you know that, Meghann?"
"Medieval history class," she told him.
She held the ring up to the light, admiring the fiery sparks in the dull gold. "Was that your family's motto?" she asked.
"Yes. What else did you learn in this class? Why would a man give a woman a ring with his family's insignia?"
Meghann realized the significance of the ring. "For marriage," she said softly. "Is this a wedding ring?" she asked him.
Simon took the ring from her, and picked up her left hand. "It is," he replied. "With this ring, I pledge my worldly goods, my love, and my solemn promise to teach you all you need to know as a vampire. Do you accept?"
"What do I pledge in return, Master?" she said, not taking her eyes off his.
"Love, obedience, and loyalty. Can you give me those things?"
"Please tell me why you chose me," she implored. "I was thinking before—there are so many girls in the world, and plenty of them more beautiful, richer, smarter than I am. Why me?"
Simon took her other hand. "Yes, there are many beautiful women in the world. And I have enjoyed the attentions of thousands of beautiful women. Most, I drank their blood and killed them. You are asking me how you are different?"
She nodded.
"Beauty is not enough to hold my interest. As for wealth, I have more than enough—I do not need to transform a woman to gain more. I fell in love with you, Meghann. I fell in love with the hectic energy and supreme confidence I felt within you—and witnessed when you asked me to dance with you. I suspect part of that is your origin—New Yorkers have a zest for living others lack."
Simon paused, then looked away. Meghann noticed that his hands were trembling a little. "I have never been in love before. Do you know how many years I have longed for someone like you? Someone with beauty, intelligence, and an inner fire to match my own. I have never loved anyone else—never wished to share my life, never wanted to love and protect a woman the way I long to love and protect you. Will you let me do that?"
Whatever she came to think of Simon Baldevar in later years, in that moment she loved him. His words and the simple, earnest look in his amber eyes pulled on her heart. She forgot the terrible things she'd seen him do. For that one moment, they were nothing more than a man and a woman in love.
"I pledge to you my loyalty, love, and… obedience," she said in a soft but clear voice.
Simon put the ring on her finger. "I had Trevor get it sized for your hand. Unless you break the ring or your finger, it's not coming off."
Meghann admired the ring. "I don't want it to come off. Who else has worn it?"
Simon narrowed his eyes, and went from a love-struck boy to a hawk. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing," she said, startled by his change of mood. "It's just that you said this is a family ring. I thought maybe your mother or other relatives must have worn it."
"Forgive me for snapping at you, sweet. I thought you were implying that I had given it to other women—which I have not. As for the ring's lineage, be patient, Meghann. In time, I shall share my history with you—and the history of my family."
He smiled again, erasing the harsh look from his face. "Shall we go? I would like to give you some lessons before tonight is over."
* * *
CHAPTER SIX
« ^ »
"Write a letter to your father," Simon instructed her. He'd taken her to his study, where he guided her to the huge black leather chair behind his massive oak desk.
Meghann looked in bewilderment at the blank parchment and fountain pen before her. "What am I supposed to write? What should I tell him?"
"That you are sorry for abruptly disappearing last night, but you and I have decided to elope. You don't want him to worry about you. Tell him that due to a pressing business engagement, we had to leave the country immediately. You are not sure when we'll be back in the States, but you'll keep in touch." Simon kissed Meghann lightly, and started to leave the room. "I'll be back in a few minutes, darling."
"Dear Daddy," she started to write, and the room swirled alarmingly. Writing "Daddy" broke down the protective state of shock she was in. Maggie, part of her soul cried out to her, this is wrong! Simon Baldevar is evil; why am I here? Then another, younger part of her screamed, Get me out of here! I want this to end; I want my daddy!
Meghann started to sob, and pushed the paper away. The thought of never seeing her father again was breaking her heart. What have I done? she thought. I'm scared. She had seen enough to know that Simon could go from a sweet, tender lover to a callous madman in a matter of seconds. Dear God, what would he do if he came in right now and saw me crying?
That thought cut off her tears like a slap across the face. I can't ever even think unhappy or disloyal thoughts; I must control myself around him. Never give him a reason to hurt me like he did Johnny and Pauline.
Meghann, a new cold part of her whispered. She recognized that voice—it was the blood lust, the part that begged her to drink Johnny's blood. Meghann, be sensible, it advised. Even if you despise Simon, right now he's all you've got. Do you honestly think your father would want to see you the way you are now? Would he open his arms to you if he knew that you killed Johnny? Write that damned letter, and don't ever think of the past again. Think only of Simon.
She knew the voice was right; this was a matter of survival. Like a sleepwalker, she picked up the pen and managed to write the letter without really thinking much about it.
April 24, 1944
Dear Daddy,
I know you must be worried to death about me. I'm so sorry that I didn't call you last night, but everything has happened so quickly I've hardly had a chance to think.
Lord Baldevar proposed, and I accepted. I know I should have waited to tell you, but he has pressing business in London. I know that sounds vague, but it has to do with the war effort and I really cannot tell you any more than that. I will write soon, to let you know where I am, and when we will visit America again.
Please tell Johnny Devlin how sorry I am. That is the coward's way out, making you tell him, but I can't stand the thought of writing a Dear John letter. Please give my love to Bridie, Frankie, Theresa, Paul, Peter, Brian, Seamus, and Patrick.
Daddy, I love you so much. No girl could have had a better father.
&n
bsp; Love,
Maggie
There, Meghann thought to herself grimly. That's the last time I think of myself as Maggie. Maggie brought to mind an innocent, happy girl with no thoughts more serious than baseball games, dances, or cramming for an exam she'd ignored. Maggie had nothing to do with the creature Simon had created.
Simon came back in, holding a pile of clothes that he put on an armchair. "Done already? Very good, let me see it."
Meghann handed him the letter without comment.
He read it quickly, and smiled over the letter. "Wonderful touch, Meghann—that bit about your fiancé. Well done. Trevor will deliver it to your father tomorrow."
"What if he wants to see me?"
"We won't be here, pet. We have a seven o'clock flight to Cuba."
"Why Cuba?"
"I own a casino there. You'll like it, Meghann. A very fertile ground for vampires. Speaking of which, would you like to learn to hunt now? It will distract you from your sadness."
Surprised that he knew she'd been crying, she looked at him. Was he angry with her?
He turned the chair around, and knelt before Meghann. "Sweet, I am not an ogre. I know that you're bemused by all that has happened in the past few days; I expect that there would be some grief and confusion."
"You're not mad?" she asked timidly.
He kissed her on the lips. "However sad you are, the fact remains that you chose me. That is all that matters. Your uncertainty will fade when you realize what lies before you. Particularly when you feel the exhilaration of the hunt. Are you ready?"
She felt some anticipation at his words. She nodded.
"Put these on." He handed her the pile of clothing.
Meghann examined them with distaste. There was a long black skirt that was far too tight; it clung to her body like a second skin. Then there was a pair of cheap red shoes with five-inch heels, and an off-the-shoulder red top that came dangerously close to exposing her breasts.
