“No. I didn’t figure it out until I was in Norway. See, people have always bled around me. I figured it was their problem. But it felt different when my mom’s nose started to gush in that coffee shop.”
“Why was it different?” Sabine asked. “Was it your mother’s first nosebleed?”
“No.” Vivi swallowed. “Something felt different inside me. I felt this whoosh behind my nose, like I was getting ready to blow out a humongous sneeze. Mom’s head snapped back, like she’d felt it, too. When I saw the blood, I was so freaked. I knew I’d done it. I don’t know how I knew.”
“How did you feel when you made Raphael’s ear bleed?”
“I just wanted him to leave me alone. I was mad. But I didn’t want to sneeze. I’m sorry I hurt him. He’s like a dad to me.”
Sabine began to walk in a circle around Vivi.
“What?” Vivi asked, turning with her.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Sabine asked.
“No, I’m—” Vivi hesitated. Well, maybe she could eat a chocolate croissant. “I guess.”
Sabine grinned, showing a row of small, crooked teeth.
“What’s so funny?” Vivi asked.
“You’ll see.”
Sabine was still smiling when Lena walked into the room, holding a white tray. She set it on a table in front of the sofa. “Eat up, girl. And don’t you leave no crumbs.”
Vivi stared at the tray. Two croissants oozed dark chocolate onto a white plate. There was also a glass of milk.
Sabine glanced up at Lena. “Are you bleeding from any orifice?”
“Like hell.” Lena snorted.
Vivi folded her arms. She studied Lena’s nose and ears but didn’t see any blood. She had the feeling she’d missed a private joke between the women.
“It’s not a joke,” Sabine said.
Vivi frowned. “Did you read my freaking mind?”
“Yes. I also Induced you to want a croissant. Then I Induced Lena to bring it.”
Vivi thought about that a minute. “Is that how I made my mom drink the latte?”
Sabine nodded. “Did you injure anyone else in the café?”
“No.” Vivi tilted her head. “Why didn’t you make Lena bleed?”
“She’s got good aim,” Lena said, and glided out of the room.
Vivi ate both croissants, pausing to take gulps of milk. She’d never felt this hungry.
Sabine crooked a finger at Vivi’s half-finished glass of milk. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah. You want a swig?”
“No. I hate milk. And I especially hate to drink from someone else’s glass.”
Vivi nodded. But she wasn’t sure why Sabine was telling her about food quirks. Was she expected to reciprocate? She was just about to tell Sabine how much she hated haggis, when the doctor leaned forward.
“Vivi, I want you to Induce me to drink your milk.”
“Now? But you just said you hated milk. And you hate to drink after others.”
Sabine flipped her hand, as if dismissing Vivi’s words. “Induce me.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“What were you thinking right before your mother’s nose bled?”
Vivi put her hands in her lap and tapped her fingers together. “I didn’t want to talk to her. And she was talking too much. I wanted her to drink her latte because it would keep her mouth busy. I was angry because I hated Norway. And I was angry at Raphael, too. Then Mom picked up her cup and drank. Blood gushed all over the place.”
“All right,” Sabine said. “I want you to feel angry at me.”
“But I’m not.”
“Did you know that you’ll have to spend several months with me?”
“Yeah. So?”
“You can’t see your mother at all.”
“For real?” Vivi swallowed, and her throat clicked.
“Yes. And you won’t be eating croissants all day long. You’ll be working hard.” Sabine clapped her hands. “Go on. Get angry. Force me to drink your milk.”
“Why can’t I see my mom?”
“Because I’m a mean lady. Because I won’t let you. I won’t let you go anywhere.”
Vivi took a breath. She imagined living in this noisy penthouse, cooped up with Lena and Sabine. No croissants. The Induction lessons would be like algebra, but worse. She imagined Sabine picking up the milk, taking a long swallow, lowering the empty glass, a white ring around her mouth. She wanted Sabine to drink that crappy French milk and suffer.
Vivi pushed out a thought. Pick up the glass. Drink my milk. Drink every drop.
Sabine released an exasperated sigh. “Try harder.”
Drink my damn milk.
“If that’s all you’ve got, you can go home in the morning,” Sabine said. “You aren’t an Inducer. You can’t hurt anyone.”
“But I did.”
“You’re a dilettante.”
Vivi felt pressure behind her nose, then her pulse whooshed between her ears. Every pore in her being wanted Sabine to quit talking. To fill her mouth with milk.
DRINK MY MILK, SABINE!
The doctor crossed her arms, and her smile widened. “Sorry, you’ll have to do better.”
“I’m exhausted. Let me take a break,” Vivi said. A headache flickered behind her eyes.
Sabine started to say something, and then her brow tightened and a thin red line snaked out of her right nostril.
Vivi sat back, breathing hard. Did I do that?
Sabine patted her lip, then lowered her hand. A red sheen covered her fingertips. Another, thicker thread curved around the doctor’s lips like a clown’s mask. It ran under her chin, down her neck, and vanished under her collar.
Vivi’s hand trembled as she held out her napkin. “Here you go.”
Sabine tipped her head back and pinched the napkin around her nose.
“Did I cause that?” Vivi asked.
Sabine nodded.
“But you didn’t drink the milk.”
“I wanted to.” Sabine’s voice was muffled by the napkin. “But I knew you were Inducing me. My training kept me from lifting the glass.”
“How can my thoughts do this?” Vivi looked at the spattered blood on Sabine’s blouse. She felt nauseated.
Sabine lowered the napkin. “Induction and hemakinesis are psi talents. You were trying to bend my thoughts to your will. I bent back. That created resistance. Adrenaline was released into my bloodstream. My blood pressure began to rise. My heart pumped faster. Your hemakinesis affected my vascular system—dilating the arteries and vessels. Luckily, only a capillary burst, and my nose bled.”
“Oh,” Vivi said, but she didn’t understand.
“We’ll get into the physiology of Induction later, after I’ve taught you how to control your raw talent.”
“What do you mean, raw?” Vivi pushed down an image of an uncooked roast sitting in white butcher paper, the purple blood seeping around it.
“Your talent is unfocused. I will help you control it. When we’re through, you will be able to influence the thoughts of one person, or a whole group of people.”
“And I won’t hurt them?”
“Not unless you want to. Even then, the damage will depend on a person’s individual physiology. Someone with high blood pressure might bleed a lot. A person who takes blood thinners could hemorrhage. So could a menstruating woman. The amount of blood depends on how hard they fight back with their minds. How much resistance they exert. You see, resistance is a subconscious reaction. Strong-willed individuals will be harder to dominate. But you’ll be able to do it.”
“So no one is safe from me?”
“I’m safe. You can’t hurt me.”
“What about Lena?”
“She’ll stay out of your way during the lessons,” Sabine said. “Do you have any questions about psychokinesis?”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Kinesis refers to movement. Psycho is the mind. The realm of thought. When the
se two things come together, movement occurs in the mind.”
“I know about telepathy. Raphael can read minds. Can all vampires do that?”
“No. I’d say twenty-five percent can read minds.”
“Do all hybrids and vampires have kinetic talents?”
“Only a few vampires—Raphael is one. But most hybrids have some type of kinetic talent.”
“My mom doesn’t.”
“She’s slightly telepathic. As for the kinesis, she probably has a touch of something. She just doesn’t know it. Or she hasn’t developed it. Some hybrids are audiokinetic. That means they can mimic sounds—a barking dog, a cat. Chronokinesis is the ability to alter the perception of time.”
Vivi stared at her empty plate. Just talking about her mom made her homesick. Her stomach felt swollen, as if she’d eaten wet newspaper. Then she looked up at Sabine.
“Before I Induced you, you said I couldn’t see my mom. Were you trying to make me mad? Or were you telling the truth?”
“It’s the truth. I’m sorry.”
“Then we’ve got a problem. When I agreed to live with you, I thought I’d see my mom. I really need to be with her. She’s on her own. All she has is me.”
“Your mother isn’t alone. She’s with Raphael, and he will protect her. But it’s up to you, Vivi.”
“Your apartment is too noisy.”
“We don’t have to stay here. I have a home in Valbonne.”
“Where?”
“It’s near Grasse—that’s a charming town. Not far from the Côte d’Azur. I know a marvelous bakery. We can eat fresh baguettes every day.”
“You’d leave Paris without your cat? Maybe we can stop by Raphael’s and get her.”
“I have an idea Marie-Therese will be here in the morning. And so will your mother.”
“How do you know? Did you read her mind?”
“No, no. Marie-Therese will drive your mother insane with yowling.” Sabine dropped the bloody napkin on the tray. “You can say good-bye to Caro before we leave the city—just don’t tell her where we’re going.”
“Why not?”
“Telepathic vampires are drawn to Paris. If your mother knows where we’re going, that information could be snatched out of her thoughts.”
“Why would a random vampire look into my mom’s mind?”
“Caro is beautiful.”
“True. But what would this vampire do with Mom’s thoughts? He wouldn’t call up the bad guys and tell them where I’m staying.”
“Probably not. But let’s look at a hypothetical situation. Let’s say this random, telepathic vampire is having financial problems. He looks into your mother’s head because she’s pretty, and he sees that a girl named Vivi Barrett is an Inducer. Maybe the vampire takes a deeper look and sees the rest of it. Then he sees where you will be going. This vampire might try to sell this information.”
“Raphael doesn’t know who’s looking for us. How could the vampire find out?”
“Not all immortals are like Raphael. He is honest. He adores you and your mother. And he isn’t selling information.” Sabine folded her hands. “I don’t want to take chances with your safety.”
“Can you let Raphael know where I’ll be? His mind is stronger than Mom’s.”
Sabine hesitated, then nodded.
“Fresh baguettes sound nice.” A smile tugged at the corners of Vivi’s mouth. “When can we leave?”
CHAPTER 24
Caro
PLACE DES VICTOIRES
PARIS, FRANCE
A noise awoke me a little before dawn. I raised my head from the pillow and glanced around the bedroom. Gray light spilled through the tall windows, brightening the parquet floor. I tilted my head and listened.
Silence.
I pressed my cheek into the pillow. Just when I started to drift back to sleep, I heard a ripping sound. I opened my eyes. Marie-Therese sat on the chaise longue, her front paws moving over the silk as if she were playing a piano. As her claws pricked the fabric, the echo held in the darkness, loud as a jackhammer, and I began to regret the catnapping.
“You miss Sabine,” I whispered.
At the sound of her mistress’s name, the cat leaped off the chaise and dove behind the curtain. A murderous wail rose up. I felt sorry for the cat, but I needed a few more hours’ sleep or my head would be fuzzy.
The cat let out another high-pitched yowl.
Fine, I’d sleep in the ice-blue parlor. I grabbed my pillow, padded to the door, and opened it. Two gift-wrapped boxes fell into my room. I lifted the card and blinked at Raphael’s ornate handwriting.
Mia Cara,
A little something to make your sadness fly away.
Love,
R
I smiled. Nothing made him happier than buying presents, but every time he gave me an expensive gift, I was reminded of the impermanence of wealth. I still remembered how Jude and I had watched our savings dwindle. But surely this wouldn’t happen to Raphael. He had lived long enough to benefit from financial bubbles. He’d even helped me make smart investments.
I heard a brittle meow, and then the cat ran over to the boxes and gave me a look that said, His investments are fine, but you are an ungrateful snot.
“Oh, all right,” I told the cat. I opened the first box and lifted a darling white cotton dress that was printed with crimson sparrows. Red Christian Louboutin pumps were nestled in the smaller box. I got dressed, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. The hem of the dress brushed against my knees. The heels fit perfectly, and even though I always wore flats, I rather liked these.
At seven A.M., I decided to return Marie-Therese. Sabine was probably qualified to take care of my child, but I couldn’t take care of a feline. Neither Raphael nor I could guarantee the cat’s safety. Even if Arrapato didn’t attack her, this house had dozens of hidden nooks and crannies that led heaven knew where, and Marie-Therese might get lost.
I tucked her in my arms, went downstairs, and rang up the limo driver. Two security men led me outside to a car I hadn’t seen before, a black Jaguar with tinted windows. The tallest security man climbed in next to the driver, a grandfatherly fellow with tufts of silver hair jutting out of his ears. I gave him Sabine’s address.
Fifteen minutes later, after switching cars near the Jean Sans-Peur Tower, I was sitting in the doctor’s white kitchen, dropping sugar cubes into my coffee. On the opposite end of the room, morning sunlight poured through the arched windows. A two-note police siren bleated in the distance, briefly stamping out traffic noises from the Champs Élysées.
“I knew you’d come back,” Sabine said. She bustled around in a white quilted robe, her slippers scuffing over the tile floor, the cat weaving joyfully between her legs, as if they’d been separated for years rather than hours.
“Because you read my mind?” I said. “But how could you know what I was going to do before I myself knew?”
“I know my cat. She’s driven off dozens of pet sitters with her screeches. Lena says it sounds like a pig being barbecued alive. Lena’s my chef.”
My gaze moved to Sabine’s counters, where crocks and olive oil jars were crammed on a wooden tray. A garlic braid hung beside the stove, with pods missing here and there. A bright red Provençal dish cloth lay beside the sink. The colorful objects made me feel better until I glanced at a sunny hallway, where suitcases were lined up.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” I asked.
Sabine followed my gaze. “Yes.”
I rested my palms on my lap. “Were you going to tell me?”
“No.”
Unbelievable. The gall of this woman. “Where are you taking my daughter?”
“I’d rather not say.” She moved away from the counter and shut the door.
“I need phone numbers and an address.”
She poured a cup of coffee and carried it to the table, her slippers brushing over the floor. She pulled out a chair but didn’t sit down.
“Do you want this in
formation locked inside your head?” she asked. “Any vampire could pluck them. Without meaning to, you could put Vivi at risk.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“I understand your fears. I’ve got them, too. My penthouse is relatively safe, but it’s noisy. Vivi herself expressed concern about the traffic. The first part of her training is critical. If she masters the early lessons, the rest will move faster. Isn’t this what you want?”
I rubbed my hands on my dress, leaving damp streaks on the fabric. “Yes.”
“We’ll return to Paris at the end of August. Then you can visit.”
I stared into my coffee. A decade’s worth of fear and uncertainty churned inside me. I resisted an urge to straighten my spoon. If I took Vivi to Raphael’s house, I would agonize about her out-of-control talent, yet the thought of being away from my only child was unbearable. Did I really have a choice?
Sabine sat down across from me. “Yes, you do.”
I lifted my coffee cup, then put it down. “Please don’t read my mind. And I’d prefer if you stayed in Paris. Just in case there’s an emergency—at your end or mine. We need to be in contact.”
Marie-Therese leaped onto the table and began licking her paw. Sabine took off her glasses and polished the lenses with a napkin. Her movements were calm and deliberate, almost identical to the cat’s.
“Caro, have you ever spent any time around artists?”
“No.”
“A painter believes his time must be guarded,” Sabine said. “They put up walls. God help the fool who tries to break through. If you try, the painter becomes disoriented. He loses focus. Whatever force was guiding the artist’s hand is gone. And it may never return.”
I waited for her to continue, but I could already see where this lecture was headed.
Sabine put her glasses back on. “Vivi needs an artist’s discipline and focus. Her training will move faster if she isn’t distracted by her emotions. Each time she sees you, she will get homesick. And the process will take longer.”
I stared at the table. My spoon was crooked. And the tongs in the sugar bowl jutted out at a weird angle. Everything on Sabine’s table was bunched together and messy. What did she know about mothers and daughters?
Hunting Daylight (9781101619032) Page 21
