Black Tuesday came and went, and mortal society seemed to mirror the desperation of his own immortal heart. People put on brave faces, but for the first time that he could remember, humans lived their lives with the same kind of deception he'd lived with for over thirty years. Those who lost everything in the stock market crash seemed to quietly disappear, but those who remained hid their troubles well.
The dance halls, cinemas and gin joints continued to flourish, for it seemed everyone wanted to escape for a few hours of cheap entertainment, but Garran felt the change in the air. The carefree jubilation of the 20's was gone. The joy of dance was no longer an attitude, but simply something to plug into for a few brief hours.
Still, he searched, hoping to find what had so easily slipped through his fingers. What else did one do who had nothing but time?
He was back tonight at El Jardín after weeks of looking elsewhere. In a world of sudden change, the familiar wall murals of tropical gardens were like a balm, reassuring him that some things never changed.
He spotted a familiar face, glad for someone he recognized, even if it was the wrong sex. “Harry,” he called out.
Neva's old friend smiled in return and wove his way to where Garran stood.
Harry shook his hand. “It's good to see you, old boy. I never see any of the old crowd around any more."
Garran nodded. “Cake-eaters like you and me are a dying breed, aren't we?"
Harry laughed. “It would seem so."
Garran had to ask. “You haven't seen Geneva lately, have you?"
Harry's smile fell, and his eyes were a reflection of what Garran himself was feeling. It was strange to see himself in a mortal, but Garran knew the news would be bad before Harry spoke.
"She's dead."
Garran let out the breath he'd been holding, and when he inhaled, there wasn't enough air in the room to fill his lungs.
"I'm sorry, old boy. I know you cared about her, and I know you've been looking for her. I wish I had better news."
"How?"
"She, ah, killed herself. I'm sorry. That's all I know. She'd changed. God knows things have been rough for all of us, but ... I don't know. Everything was always magnified for Neva, you know? The good and the bad."
He nodded, not knowing to say. No, that was wrong. There was one thing.
He could stop searching.
* * * *
It was a night of celebration. The Bamboo Palace was commemorating the first night of the first spring of the new decade in style, and he was there as the featured dance performer under the stage name of Gar DeLux. He'd performed earlier in the evening, demonstrating a new variation of the tango, but that had been with a professional partner. This was his favorite time of the night, when he could cull the most beautiful of women from the crowd. His card filled up every night, and tonight was no exception.
His ears took in every note of music from the orchestra, but his whole body took in the scents and sounds of the women in the crowd. He felt their laughter on the tiny hairs on his skin, and he tasted their perfume on his tongue. It was a delicious fantasy—a veneer of glamour that imitated Hollywood royalty, but he loved it. Waistlines and busts were back, and women looked like women, and if the fantasy was indeed nothing more than glitter to cover the dullness of everyday life, he didn't care.
He found one woman to single out every night, and tonight's choice was obvious the moment he spotted her. She was petite, with permed blond hair and blue eyes, and she wore a sleeveless, backless gown of midnight blue silk covered with tiny glass beads. He danced a foxtrot with her, and she smelled of lemon verbena, but as he pulled her closer, her natural odor of sweat and female arousal broke through the perfume.
"I'm Gar,” he said.
"Marguerite."
"Your husband doesn't mind his beautiful wife dancing with me, does he?” He asked the same question of every woman he danced with. If they mentioned a husband in their response, they got nothing more than a dance.
She beamed up at him. “Oh, I don't need to worry about that. A husband only exists in my mother's ever-optimistic mind."
He smiled. It was the answer he always hoped for, and with her magic words, the night opened up before him. He pulled her just a little bit closer in his hold, inhaled a little deeper of her scent, and let the beating of her heart drown out the music.
Still, the public setting forced restraint. He could only sniff, not lick the sweat that glistened on her skin like the glass beads on her gown. His hand could feel only the warmth and curve of her waist, not her breast, and his hardened cock could only fill the confines of his trousers, not the silk of her cunt. The restraint was his foreplay, pushing the level of his anticipation far beyond the pleasure of the moment.
Two hours later in her apartment, with all the need for control gone, he brought her down, slipping the gown off her shoulders and pinning her face down on the bed. He waited only long enough to make sure she was wet, then pulled her hips up and drove into her. She was so tight it felt like his throat was being constricted, not his cock, and he fought back by kneeing her legs further apart and ramming into her harder still. He felt the veins in his neck throb with the pounding of his own blood, and the promise of hers quickened his thrusts.
He gave himself up to the liquid dream, and the beating and rushing of his blood and hers drowned out all else. Confined, it raced and throbbed in his ears and in his brain, until he could stand the confinement no more. He came fast and hard, and as his cum drained out of her, he pierced the back of one thigh and let her blood flow into his mouth. The release was sweeter than the actual taste, and now that the urgency was past, he savored the moment.
When he was done, he whispered in her ear. “Sweet dreams, my love. You'll remember nothing of this night except that you enjoyed Black Gar's dance."
As beautiful as she was, he left her with no regrets. He wouldn't see her again, but he didn't care. There were plenty more where she came from, and his interest these days was only fang-deep.
Chapter Seventeen
Garran drove Cate home, and while she curled in her seat to catch a quick nap, he plotted. The next step would be another soul retrieval journey. He knew Cate was tired, but it couldn't wait. If he was going to devise a plan for them to stay together, he was going to need all his strength and cunning—human as well as vampire.
Thankfully his hunger for blood had been controllable tonight. It seemed as if the beast finally recognized how vital Cate was to his survival.
When he pulled up in front of Cate's house and stopped the car, she stirred. “Wake up, love. You're home."
She sat up and rubbed her face. “Do we have to do this tonight? All I want to do is sleep."
He got out, swung around the car and helped her out. “I know. But I can't go on in this weakened condition. It's far too dangerous for you. I need to be whole again."
Cate nodded, and once inside the house, wasted no time in preparing her shamanic tools for another journey. But before she could start the drumming on the CD, he took her arm.
"This time I come all the way with you to the Land of the Dead. The dead souls fear me, even there. As long as you're with me, you'll be safe."
"If they avoid me because of you, how will I find your lost soul-parts?"
"You'll find a way. We will succeed in this, Cate."
She smiled, and he let go of her arm. She started the drumming, and the journey began. His mind slipped easily into the altered state of consciousness, and the mouth of the tunnel to the Lower World appeared before him. Cate's spirit materialized beside him, even more beautiful than her real self. Her spirit had long hair that flowed down her back like a river of fire, and she wore a necklace of leather, bone, and beads. A long shawl draped across her shoulders, and as much as he hated to do it, he pulled it up to her head to cover her hair. He almost wished she wasn't so breathtaking. It would be easier for them both if she didn't attract so much attention.
They descended the tunnel to the River
of Woe, the boundary between the lands of the living and the dead. The ferryman waited, as silent as a monument, as did an empty boat. Garran pressed two coins into the ferryman's waiting palm. “For immediate passage."
The ferryman made no answer, but Garran's wish was communicated with a nod to the boatman, who started them on their way without waiting for additional passengers. Upon reaching the shore they debarked, but instead of covering herself more thoroughly with the shawl, Cate pushed it back from her head. He snagged the material with a bony finger and pulled it back up, but she swatted his hand away.
"Are you mad, Cate? You'll attract every life-hungry soul in this place."
She turned and favored him with a smug smile. “Exactly. How else can I find your soul? And since you're here, you can make yourself useful and scare away the ones we aren't interested in."
He hissed, but had to admit to himself that it was a plan that might work. So they wandered like nomads in the desert, he with his head cloaked and she with her golden skin and glowing hair bared for all to see. In this monotone world, she was a beacon of light and color. Souls swarmed around them like flies, reaching out for Cate until he revealed his corpse-face and bared his fangs. “Be off, shade. There's nothing for you here."
The chastised souls drifted away, and new ones took their places. Beneath their black cloaks, they retained a semblance of their human form. Garran could tell male from female, the young from the aged, but beyond that, hopelessness made them as alike as brothers and sisters.
Hoary clouds stagnated in the sky, and though no sunlight was visible, the black desert seemed to hold nothing but shadows. The only movement was the shifting of the souls, like a wave of despair washing over the parched earth, and the only sound was Cate's soft voice. Garran felt a pang of sorrow for the part of him that had existed so long in this place devoid of all sound and sensation.
Yet Cate pressed on, calling his name, examining the face of every soul that flocked to her. And he stayed at her side, like a bodyguard to a starlet, encouraging all to move on with a menacing stare or a flash of fang. Even those who didn't realize what he was knew he wasn't one of them, and none challenged him.
It was impossible to judge the passage of time in a place that knew no change, but he could feel Cate tiring. He snaked an arm around her to support her and bent to whisper in her ear. “Let's turn back for the shore."
She tried to shake off his hold. “No. Just a little while longer."
But he was stronger than she was, and he wheeled her around to head back. And stared right into his own reflection. The skin of the soul standing before him was gray, and the hair and eyes too dark to be distinguishable, but the features were his own at twenty-nine, the age at which he'd died. Garran had no words. It was a humbling experience to come face to face with yourself.
Cate, too, recognized him. “Are you the soul of Garran Lux?"
The soul nodded.
Cate reached her hand out to him. “Will you come with us? Back home?"
"I have no home,” whispered the soul, and in those four words, Garran understood more about his life than he had in one hundred forty years.
Garran cracked his lipless mouth into what he hoped was a smile. “Yes, you do. Come back with us. You're needed."
The soul looked from him to Cate and back again and slowly nodded its head.
They headed back for the shore, Cate between him and the soul, and this time she seemed only too happy to let Garran cover her head with the shawl. They moved slowly, their speed hampered by the soul, who, without purpose or direction of his own, needed to be encouraged and led. Gray hands plucked at them, beggars of light and life, but Garran's corpse-face was better than a scythe for clearing a path through the swarm.
As they reached the shore Cate closed her eyes and sagged to the ground, as lethargic as the soul. Garran lifted her up and cradled her in his arms as he settled into the boat, making sure with a glance and a nod that the Garran-soul followed. To the skeletal boatman he merely whispered, “now.” The boatman obeyed, rowing silently but effectively, and the boat surged forward, slicing through water as black as an oil slick. Cate's spirit warmed his arms, and strands of red hair escaped her shawl to trail down his side like ribbons of blood.
He gazed at his soul, who stared back, and it was like looking into a dark mirror. He wondered what the soul thought. Did it know anything of Garran's life? Did it understand one hundred forty years of subsisting in the shadows, surviving off the living? He glanced down at Cate's spirit and wondered how she would join the lost soul to him.
As they neared the bank of the Land of the Living the gray clouds thinned and lightened, and Garran could almost imagine the blue sky and sunlight of his mortal days. The prow of the boat nudged the shore, and Garran stepped out, his precious cargo in hand and in tow. He laid Cate on the ground and bent over her. “Breathe, Cate. Fill your lungs with oxygen."
Her chest rose with a deep inhalation, and her eyes fluttered open. “Garran."
"Yes, love, we're here."
Cate sat up and looked from him to the soul. “Then we must ascend the tunnel hand in hand. All of us."
Garran gave her a hand up and tried to position Cate between himself and the soul, as in the Land of the Dead, but she shook her head. “I'm all right now. We must both assist the soul."
They wrapped their arms around the soul, supporting him as though he were a friend who had had too much to drink at the local pub. Bright light filled the mouth of the tunnel high above them, and with his free hand Garran shaded his eyes. The light brightened until he was blinded, and when he could finally stand to uncover his eyes, he was back in Cate's office. Gone was his voluminous cloak, replaced by Cate, whose arms fit around him like a well-fitting garment.
Gone, too, was the soul.
* * * *
The journey was over, but the work wasn't finished. Even so, as Cate's familiar furnishings took shape around her, she was content to just hold Garran. But he gave her little time to rejoice in their victory of escaping the Land of the Dead.
He rolled over and shook her gently. “Cate, we're back in the world, but the soul's gone."
She smiled and sat up. “No, he's not.” She tapped her chest over her heart. “He's here. He reentered ordinary reality with me."
Garran's dark brows lowered. “But how does that help me?"
"Trust me. I know what to do.” She pushed against his chest. “Lie on your back, close your eyes, and relax."
He obeyed, and she kneeled beside him, tucking her hair behind her ears and taking a deep breath. She had never failed to be awed by the difference between his horrific corpse-spirit and the perfection of his real-world features. She smoothed his long hair, passed her hands over his chest as if she held a divining rod, then settled them over his heart. She formed a circle with her fingers and waited, feeling his chest rise and fall, then leaned forward and blew the lost soul into Garran. She visualized the soul entering and flowing through his body, filling in all the empty places in his heart and mind. Finally she picked up her ceremonial rattle and shook it to seal the soul parts in, then kissed his mouth to seal her promise of love to him.
His return kiss was passionate, but she broke the kiss before he could pull her down on top of him. She, for one, needed a breather right now. She suspected he did, too. When Garran's lids lifted and his sapphire eyes gleamed at her, she smiled. “Welcome home, Garran Lux."
"Home,” he whispered.
"You're going to need some time to adjust to having one soul instead of two. It's a natural part of the healing process."
He looked at her, and she studied his eyes, somehow expecting them to look different, but they didn't.
"Cate."
"Yes?"
He rose, then bent down to help her to her feet. “I'm still one of the undead. Mending my splintered soul didn't change that. I should be able to control the beast now, but I am and always will be what I am. I'll never be human. You need to be able to live with
that."
She glanced away. She knew that. She didn't quite know how she'd reconcile what she was with what he was, but they'd work it out, somehow. But she still didn't have all her answers. “I know.” She looked at him again. “I assume you've killed during your time on earth. I don't want all the details, but..."
"I haven't killed in a long time. Immortality requires patience, caution, and discretion. Those who are reckless in their habits don't survive very long."
She nodded, but she needed more than that. “I need to know about the woman we met during the spirit journey. She came to me during your performance at the Pony Express. She also came to me in a dream. There was death surrounding her, and blood, and a man I assumed to be you. I felt she was asking for my help, perhaps to bring her murderer to justice.” She paused, dreading her next question and its reply. “Did you kill her?"
The hundred-year-old eyes returned, the eyes that had held so much sadness when he'd first come to her for help. “No. Her name was Geneva. I met her in Chicago in 1925. I loved her, and being a very young and unwise vampire, I confided in her, though I knew it to be a risk. I offered her eternal life, and she left me. I found out she committed suicide in 1929. She'd been in a downward spiral for several years. I thought to give her the gift of immortality, but she didn't want it. Well, you heard her spirit. She was afraid of me. Maybe she was afraid I'd kill her. I never knew why she killed herself. Perhaps the burden of what I was, on top of everything else she was dealing with, became too great, I don't know. I think when I heard the news that she'd died, a part of my soul died, too."
Cate smiled. “It might not have been you. We'll never know. This much I do know. She did love you. Her coming to me was a plea to save you. I understand that now."
He returned her smile—that special smile that told her she was the only woman he danced for.
As if reading her mind, he held out his hand to her. “Dance with me, my lovely."
She truly wanted to dance for the first time in her life. This man made her feel both accepted and special. More than that, she was his partner, and that was something she accepted.
Dance with Me, My Lovely Page 14
