by Trisha Baker
Meghann was touched. There were few people in the bar, so they swayed to the poignant song.
"What are we hanging around this dive for?" Jimmy asked her when the song was over.
They went into the bleak, freezing night. Meghann hoped the air might revive Jimmy a bit. He was cute, and it would be awful if he were too drunk to…
Jimmy was cursing the cold. "I hate winter!" he complained.
"I like it." Summer used to be her favorite season, but it was terrible for a vampire. There was barely any time awake before the damned sun was out. So now she loved winter, all the time it gave her, the wonderful darkness.
Meghann had been fortunate enough to find a parking space only a few blocks away from the bar for her nearly block-long 1958 Cadillac convertible. Jimmy was going to compliment the car, but they were both taken in by the two teenagers trying to gain access.
"Get away from my car," she ordered before Jimmy could stop her.
The boy by the hood came around to leer at her. He was at least six feet tall, and although he couldn't have been more than fifteen, already had the flat, menacing eyes of a much-convicted felon.
"Who's gonna make me, white bitch?" The boy slammed Meghann against the car while the other goon held Jimmy back with a switchblade.
Meghann looked up at him with no fear, merely contempt. "I'm going to make you," she said clearly. "I'm afraid you and your little buddy are now going to have to find another car to vandalize to support your crack habit."
Who the fuck did this stupid bitch think she was talking to? The thug was about to carve up that pale face when the world went blank. The street disappeared, and he was back in the detention center. He was only thirteen, and those guys got him down on the floor, peeled his pants down, raped him repeatedly, and then said they'd jam their knives in if he didn't start sucking…
The image faded, and he was back on the cold street. He looked down, and the redhead smiled cruelly. "What I have in mind will make that look like your mother's kiss, Juan," she whispered so that only he could hear.
He backed away, terrified of her shining emerald eyes that dared him to touch her. How the hell did she know his name? How could she know what he never even told his brother about?
"Bruja," he croaked at her. His friend, holding back Jimmy Delacroix, looked uncertain when he saw Juan back down and run away. Jimmy took advantage of his indecision and slammed his elbow in the boy's solar plexus. He fell to the floor with a grunt.
The kid tried to get up, then thought better of it when Jimmy produced a .357 Magnum. Before Meghann or the would-be-thief could react, Jimmy smashed the punk's nose with the butt of his gun. "Now get the hell out of here," Jimmy growled and the boy, clutching his broken nose, ran off into the night, no doubt to find his friend so they could prey on some more docile victims before the night was over. And to think I'm the one they call vampire, Meghann thought bitterly.
Meghann thought of calling the police to find the thieves, but she didn't want to get Jimmy in trouble—somehow, she doubted he had a carry permit for that hand cannon. The best thing to do now was get out of here and take Jimmy with her.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jimmy demanded when they got in the car.
"What do you mean?"
Jimmy looked at her in complete disbelief. "What do I mean? They could have killed us! You're damned lucky I have a gun—and that I got the opportunity to take it out. What the hell happened between you and that kid?"
"Maybe he saw the light." Meghann didn't know if Alcuin would have approved, but she thought scum like that needed a lesson. Why, if she and Jimmy were a normal couple, she'd have been raped and they'd both be dead by now. Well, maybe not—Jimmy had that hand cannon. Obviously, Jimmy Delacroix was used to trouble. Why else would he be toting around a gun like that?
Jimmy snorted. "And here I thought I was the one with the death wish. Is that what they teach you in psychology class—to go around taunting dangerous scum who could kill you? Pull over," he snapped abruptly.
Meghann pulled over, and he stalked into a liquor store. He came back, took a long swallow of Wild Turkey, and said belligerently, "The last person I need any lectures from is you."
"Agreed. Where do you live, Jimmy?"
"Williamsburg." He gave her the address, and asked, "Where do you live, wild child?"
"Rockaway."
"Why so far?"
"I like it out there."
They drove over the Williamsburg Bridge, and Jimmy's mood seemed to improve as the level of liquor in the bottle plunged alarmingly. Something bad had happened to him—Meghann was certain of that now. Even when that little punk had the switchblade to his throat, Jimmy hadn't seemed upset. He had the same look she had—that once the worst happened, nothing else really bothered you.
They arrived in front of the seedy apartment complex on Havemeyer Street that Jimmy called home, and he'd killed half the bottle of Wild Turkey. Still, he only staggered a bit. What was this man's drinking capacity?
They climbed the stairs to a fifth-floor walk-up. Meghann took in her surroundings. Well, if dives and sordid areas were what she was after… The place had little furniture except for an incredibly tacky baby-blue plush sofa that had probably been in the apartment since 1930 and a circular coffee table struggling under the burden of numerous empty bottles and cans.
"Why do you lug a .357 around?" she asked him.
Jimmy staggered over to his CD player and put on "So Alone" by Johnny Thunders—one of Meghann's favorite songs. "Night's not safe," he told her cryptically.
Of course—the Delacroix murders! Now Meghann knew what had happened to this young man. Not that she was going to bring it up. If he wanted to, he'd confide in her. Poor thing, she thought to herself, no wonder you drink and live like this. She was surprised he wasn't in an institution after all he'd been through.
Jimmy seemed a little uncomfortable, his bravado temporarily abandoning him. She smiled up at him. "Why so quiet?"
"Were you joking in the bar?"
"About what?" she asked softly.
His arrogance came back. "Getting laid."
Meghann slowly pulled off her tight leopard-print blouse and jeans. When she stood before him in merely a bra and panties, she said huskily, "Do I look like I was joking?"
Without another word, Jimmy came over and carried her into the bedroom.
Three hours later, Meghann felt utterly sated. She hadn't had that good a time in bed since… well, since Simon. But he and Jimmy were as different as night and day. Simon had been utterly smooth and accomplished, knew every trick in the book. Whereas Jimmy… What he lacked in style he made up for with enthusiasm. She'd never met anyone who approached sex (and her body) with such simple joy and excitement. It was enough to make her wonder what he would be like when he was sober. If after a night of heavy drinking, he could still perform four times…
Jimmy reached over to kiss her deeply. "You're awfully young to know that much." He yawned, then put an ashtray between them for the all-important after-sex cigarettes.
"Like to shake the hand of the guy who taught you some of your tricks." Jimmy looked a bit alarmed. "Promise me you're not jailbait, Maggie."
Meghann threw a pillow at him. "I told you I'm twenty-five."
"And I told you to save it for someone who might believe it." Jimmy suddenly looked a little green, and hastily stubbed out his cigarette. "Shit, I guess the booze is catching up to me after all. Think I'm just gonna rest my eyes…" In seconds, he was out cold.
Meghann got dressed, and kissed Jimmy on the cheek. It was time for her to head home—beat the sun.
"When did you know you were falling in love, banrion?" Alcuin asked. He had come up from the cellar, and was fascinated with the tale of Meghann meeting her young lover. She had never told him the whole story before.
Jimmy had become far more relaxed around Alcuin. The man made you feel safe. Besides, Max liked him. "She never has said she's in love with me—or that she plain o
ld loves me."
Alcuin looked at the shadows in his young apprentice's eyes. Even though the boy was mortal, it would have been wonderful for Meghann to heal to the point that she could fall in love. Were the memories of Simon still so bitter and painful that she could not allow herself to trust somebody enough to make herself vulnerable by loving them?
Meghann interrupted. "What I knew was that Jimmy was… special." She gave him such a sweet smile he nearly forgot how much it upset him that she never said she loved him.
Alcuin was consumed with curiosity. "And when did you tell him you were a vampire?"
Meghann cut her eyes to Jimmy, and he said, "I think I should take over from here."
February 21, 1992
At around three, Jimmy Delacroix woke up with his usual excruciating hangover. Well, how the hell else was he supposed to get through the night?
He noticed the strewn sheets and remembered. Maggie! Jesus, she was crazy, and gorgeous, and great in bed. No way that kid was twenty-five. So why lie about her age?
He thought about her, feeling happiness and curiosity push away the usual bitter mix of emotion he woke up to. She was damned pretty—with that flaming hair and green eyes—but there was something strange about her. Jimmy laughed aloud. Something? Try a few things. Especially that scene with those car thieves. Didn't she know she could be killed? Then again—maybe she couldn't be killed. She sure scared the hell out of that kid. The kid had called her "bruja." Jimmy knew enough Spanish to understand that was the word for witch. Could the kid have been right?
Don't be an idiot, he told himself, and got out of bed. He staggered into the bathroom, where he overdosed on Excedrin. Then he dragged himself into the kitchen to make some coffee. Maybe that would make him start to feel human. But what's the point, Jimmy? a voice asked him. You know you're just going to go out and drink again tonight.
Jimmy saw a note on the kitchen table. He examined the contents, and grinned. Maggie had nice handwriting—but it was a little old-fashioned, like the way his grandmother wrote.
Jimmy,
Want an encore? Why don't you meet me at my house tonight around seven? Can't make it any earlier—have to work on my thesis. We can have dinner, or something.
Maggie
She'd written down her address, but no phone number. Jimmy grunted in amusement—be there or be square, huh? Well, he would definitely be there. And what's more, he was going to show her he was something more than a low-life drunk.
While the coffee was brewing, Jimmy picked up the phone. "Darlene?"
"What do you want, Jimmy?" his twin asked in resignation.
Jimmy felt the familiar resentment and anger. Why did she treat him like this anyway? Who had committed whom?
"Just a few bucks on the credit card," he said, hating to have to beg.
Darlene sighed heavily, and Jimmy steeled himself for a lecture. "Honey, when in the hell are you gonna get your life back together? The doctors say I ain't helping you by giving you money to drink. Someday you're going to have to put Amy and little Jay behind you—"
"Don't mention Jay's name," Jimmy said through tightly clenched teeth. "And I don't want the money for drink."
"Is it for a job interview?" Darlene brightened.
"No… a girl."
"One of them whores you've been hanging around with?"
"She's not a whore," Jimmy snapped, feeling protective of a girl he barely knew. "She's a nice girl, and I want to take her out to a good restaurant."
"What's the girl's name?" Darlene asked suspiciously. A few times before, Jimmy had made up wild tales to get his hands on drinking money.
"Maggie," he told her sullenly. "And she's got the prettiest red hair I've ever seen and she's going to school to become a psychologist. Are you satisfied that she's not a figment of my imagination?"
"A psychologist—and she's in college? Oh, Jimmy, maybe she could help you go back—"
Jimmy interrupted Darlene's fantasies. "Let's not rush to the altar or anything. I think if I want to keep her around, at the very least I should take her to a place a little classier than McDonald's."
"Okay, Jimmy, I'll put three hundred on the card, but I want to meet this girl… You bring her up here for Sunday dinner this weekend, OK?"
"Assuming she's still speaking to me, I promise."
Jimmy eyed the large Victorian house. Was this her parents' place? Well, at least he didn't look like some beggar. He had on his good black overcoat (Christmas present from Darlene), a crisp navy blazer, and black slacks. His hair was in a neat ponytail, and he was sporting his diamond stud earring. So he rang the doorbell, sure he could pass any parent-meeting with flying colors.
Maggie answered the door; she was wearing a forest-green velvet dress that came down to her knees. She had her hair up in a French braid with dark green ribbon interspersed throughout the braid. He nearly sucked his breath in with appreciation. "You look great! How did you know I wanted to go someplace nice tonight?"
"Just a hunch… and you're looking very nice tonight too." She gestured inside. "Please come in."
He came inside, appreciating the decor of wood furniture, built-in bookshelves, and some Tiffany lampshades. He thought it was perfect for the mood of the house. "Who else lives here?"
"I live alone."
"How?" he asked, perplexed. "Graduate students can't afford a place like this. Assuming, of course, that you're telling the truth and your parents aren't on vacation."
"My parents passed away; they left me this house." Maggie grabbed her black cloak.
Jimmy noticed a painting over the fireplace. At first, he thought it was Maggie; then he saw the purple eyes. "Relative?"
Maggie looked up. "Ancestor, actually. That portrait was painted during the Renaissance."
Jimmy whistled appreciatively, noting the excellent condition the painting was in. "Must be worth a pretty penny. Is your family wealthy?" Her face darkened, and he put in hastily, "Not that I'm a gigolo or anything."
"It wasn't that." Maggie sighed, and looked at the painting with the strangest expression—almost like pity. "Wealth is something my family has not had since 1957."
Jimmy nodded. "You ready to go?"
They decided on a small seafood restaurant within walking distance. As Maggie promised, the food was great. Jimmy remained on good behavior and only ordered soda. Maybe Maggie didn't want to spoil the mood because she stuck to soda too.
The conversation was light, getting-to-know-you chitchat. They discovered an affinity for punk rock, Good-fellas, and the writings of Charles Bukowski.
"So why are you living like Charles Bukowski?" Maggie asked over dinner.
"Maybe I want to be another boozed-up poet. Think about it. There's him, Dylan Thomas, Rimbaud… A lot of the greats were drunks."
Maggie held his eyes. "Is that your reason for drinking so much?"
Jimmy put down his fork and took her hand. "I like you a lot, Maggie. And someday I think I'd like to tell you why I… what went wrong. But not tonight." Please just let me enjoy myself, he pleaded silently.
Maggie nodded and went back to her scrod. She didn't seem offended at all. "So why do you want to be a headshrinker?"
"Because I think I can help people." Maggie sighed and took a sip of soda. "Same deal as you—someday I'll tell you more. For now, let's just say I knew someone who… who was involved in a very bad relationship. So I know how people, women in particular, can feel trapped—like there's no way out. And after a while, they start to think they're as worthless as the guys are always telling them they are. I'd like to help people like that, make them realize that there is another way, like someone helped, uh… I mean, my friend realize."
Friend, my ass, it was you. Still, she had respected his privacy, so Jimmy wasn't going to start hammering her. So that explained the sadness, and the need for no one to see her as some doormat.
They changed the conversation back to lighter subjects, and things were going very well until a young couple wa
lked in with a small blond-haired boy who looked about two years old.
Jay, Jimmy's heart screamed. Oh, Jay…
Shit, he couldn't deal with this. And look at that goddamned pitch blackness out there. "Hey, waiter!" Jimmy's entire demeanor changed—he was the arrogant drunk of the night before.
Maggie said nothing, but she kept her cool green eyes on him as he poured scotch after scotch down his throat. What an asshole he was—thinking some girl he didn't know would care. No one cared anymore…
He became belligerent. Other diners were staring when he started cursing the waiter because he refused to bring him a seventh drink. Then Maggie put her hand over his.
"Jimmy, it is time to leave." He was about to shrug her hand off and scream louder when he felt… How could he describe it? It was like her hand weighed a ton, and some new voice spoke up in his brain—Jimmy, don't disobey her.
So he sat docilely while Maggie settled the check. Then he stood up obediently when she told him they were leaving.
As they walked to her home, he was weaving. Goddamn, why had he ruined everything because of a little boy who resembled Jay? His little guy, his slugger…
Jimmy staggered to his car, and Maggie grabbed his arm. "Not so fast."
"Why do you want anything to do with me?"
"Even if I hated you, I wouldn't let you get behind the wheel in the state you're in. You're going to come inside and sleep it off on my couch. Then you'll wake up and I'll make some coffee. After that, we're going to have a long talk."
Jimmy thought of arguing, but if she was still willing to talk to him… He stumbled on the stairs leading to her porch, but her arm held him up. How strong was she?
He collapsed on the luxurious, soft sofa and a few minutes later felt a light blanket placed over him and a pillow behind his head. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, seeing Jay. Jay and Amy, he thought drowsily…
"Jay!" he yelled, caught up in the nightmare again.
He felt somebody shaking him. "Jimmy, wake up!"
He opened his eyes and saw Maggie leaning over him. He put his trembling hands in his hair and tried to catch his breath. "Jay," he cried helplessly. He grabbed Maggie and started sobbing.
