Old Sins, Long Shadow

by PG Forte

Damian bit back his initial response—that she was so far above Brennan’s reach he should recall his place and put her from his mind—and answered shortly, “She’s fine.”

  “Well, good. That…that’s good. I’m glad to hear it,” Brennan replied, nodding and fidgeting and muttering incoherently until, thankfully, the cab arrived. “Just… Please, could you just…tell her happy birthday for me?” he asked, as Damian climbed into the cab. “Please?”

  Damian gazed at him in surprise. He looked miserable. Truly miserable. And that look in his eyes was surely one of heartfelt regret. It was an emotion and a state of mind with which Damian was all too familiar himself. Taking pity on the boy, he smiled and nodded. “I will, Brennan. I’ll be sure to give her your message. I promise.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was uncomfortably close to dawn when Conrad returned to his room. He was relieved to see that while the broken glass and splattered blood had all been cleared away, the decanter and the unused glasses had not been touched. Good. He’d been too worked up to eat for most of the night and, as a result, he’d not had nearly enough sustenance. He poured himself a glass and drank it down hungrily, all the while scanning the room hoping to catch at least a whiff of Damian’s scent. Just the slightest trace would have been enough, would have made his meal so much more palatable, but even in this, Damian managed to frustrate his wishes.

  Though Conrad had waited all night for him, Damian never returned to the party. His decision to punish Conrad with his absence rankled. Maybe Georgia had been right. Perhaps a lesson was in order. Perhaps he should remind Damian of his rightful place.

  He belongs with me—always. I’ve every right to him. How dare he keep himself from me?

  But no matter how loudly his instincts howled, or how fiercely his heart protested, Conrad knew better. What rights did he still have where Damian was concerned? What claim, that he’d not relinquished years ago? Still, when he heard the cautious knock on his door, he turned toward it hopefully, willing to forgive any transgression, accept any excuse. “Come in?”

  “Conrad?” Julie poked her head around the door and regarded him warily. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “My dear, of course you may.” He waved her in, smiling to hide his disappointment. “I always have time for you.” His smile faltered when she stepped inside the room still dressed in her mother’s clothes. Faced with this reminder of yet another of his failures, Conrad turned away. “Come. Sit down,” he said, taking his time to refill his glass in order to give himself a chance to deal with his distress. “Now…what was it you wished to talk about?”

  “It’s hers, isn’t it? This dress. It belonged to my mother. I’m right about that, aren’t I?”

  Conrad sighed. “Julie, it’s very late. It’s almost morning. Can’t this wait for another time? You should be thinking about sleep right now, not these other matters.”

  “You told me last night I could talk to you about anything. You promised.”

  A promise? Conrad laughed silently to himself, enjoying the joke. He drained his glass and put it back on the tray. There was a time when his promise had actually meant something. Perhaps he should try and remember what that was like? “Very well, my dear. Yes. You are correct. That dress did, in fact, belong to your mother. And the first time I met her, the very first time she ever came to this house, was to attend a Halloween party—the last I’ve allowed to be held here until tonight. That, if you were wondering, is the reason I became so upset earlier this evening. It was something of a shock, seeing you dressed like this and I…overreacted.”

  Julie bit her lip. “Armand said the same thing. He also said I look like her.”

  Conrad nodded. “Yes. She was very beautiful. You remind me very much of her.”

  “Did he know her well?” Julie asked hesitantly.

  “Armand? I suppose he did.” The question surprised him. His reaction to the memories it conjured, the pleasure it gave him now to remember those few, short weeks—that surprised him even more. He recalled watching the two of them together, one dark-haired, one fair, both so pretty, so young, so full of life. Laughing together. Teasing each other. Teasing him until he felt young as well, carefree, happy… He smiled. “Yes. They were very great friends, I think.”

  Julie nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”

  When she said nothing else, Conrad asked, “So…was that all you wanted to know?”

  “I found something,” Julie said, holding out the small package she’d been clutching in her hands. “Here. This is for you.”

  It wasn’t new, Conrad realized, gingerly taking the box into his hands. A wave of fresh pain assaulted him as he noted the gaudy gold paper, the faded red ribbon; as he read his own name on the gift tag and realized whose hand must have written it. “Christmas,” he murmured, blinking against the sudden sting of tears. “She must have meant it to be for Christmas.”

  “You never opened it.”

  “I never knew of its existence. Where did you say you found it?”

  Julie hesitated. “It was with her things. Did you really tell Armand to throw them out?”

  Conrad winced. Not every memory was a happy one. “I may have done so.”

  “I want them.”

  He nodded again. “Very well.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He smiled at her surprise. “I can think of no one who has more of a right to them. But you still cannot tell anyone of your connection to her. That part has not changed. Is that understood?”

  “Yes. Of course,” Julie answered, leaping up to hug him. “Thank you so much.”

  “No, thank you, my dear, for reminding me of happier times. It does my heart good to remember her as she was.”

  Julie returned to her seat. “Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked, gesturing impatiently at the box Conrad still held cradled in his hand. “I’m sure she’d want you to.”

  Conrad looked at it uncertainly. It was so pretty, so festive-looking. Why not preserve it as it was? But Julie was gazing at him so eagerly and he could no more disappoint her than he could her mother. “All right. If you wish.”

  He slid the ribbon off the box and slipped it into his pocket for safekeeping. Then he gently pried at the wrapping. The tape was old and brittle, yet it still clung fast. The paper was thin, dry, friable. Far too easy to damage.

  Had she wrapped it herself, he wondered, as his hands began to tremble and tears obscured his sight. Had her fingers made each painstaking fold in the paper, affixed each strip of tape? He longed to press his lips against each seam, each crease—anywhere her hands might have lingered. Oh, little one, how I miss you. Still. Always…

  “Why don’t you let me do that for you,” Julie said, taking the box from his hands.

  He relinquished it readily, watching as she used her nails to loosen the tape. “Don’t tear it,” he cautioned, even knowing the warning was unnecessary.

  “I won’t,” she said, working carefully until the paper came loose.

  “No. You open it,” he urged, when she tried to hand the box back to him. He took the paper from her instead, folded it, and slipped that into his pocket along with the bow.

  “Oh, look!” Julie gasped when she’d lifted the lid. “How beautiful.” She held up a piece of stained glass about the size of her palm, blood red in the shape of a heart. Then another piece, somewhat smaller than the first, a milky-white star. Both were swirled and dusted with gold. Both glistened, almost magically, as they caught the light. “Aren’t they pretty?”

  The box held several such shapes, maybe a dozen in all. “Very pretty,” Conrad agreed as he studied them curiously. “I wonder what they’re meant for?”

  “They’re pieces of a wind chime. You know, like the one in Armand’s room? You string them all together and then hang them up.”

  Conrad nodded. Now that she’d mentioned it, he could see how strings might be attached to the small metal loops on each piece. Then the rest of her words registered. “I
t’s like…what?”

  “Hmm?” Julie looked up, blinking in surprise. “Oh. Well, not exactly alike. I mean his is all peace signs and little blue and white doves and nowhere near as fancy as this one. But it’s a similar design. Haven’t you ever seen it?”

  “Ah…no, I don’t believe I have.” A jumble of questions rattled around within Conrad’s brain. Why should Armand have a wind chime similar to this one? Where had it come from? How had Julie come to find out about it? He shook his head, hoping to clear away some of the confusion. This was too much for him to think about right now and it was definitely too much for him to think about alone. “Julie, my dear, perhaps we should call it a night.”

  “All right,” she sighed, carefully repacking the stained glass in its box.

  “Why don’t you hold onto that for now,” Conrad said when she tried, again, to hand it to him. “Perhaps, if you have the time, you might put it together for me?”

  “Of course I will.” She smiled and pressed a brief kiss against his cheek. “I’d like that.”

  “And, now, if you wouldn’t mind, could you find your uncle for me?” Damian would know if this was anything to worry about. Perhaps he’d laugh at Conrad’s concerns and call him a silly old man. Most likely he’d remind him that Julie was old enough to know her own mind; that Armand was loyal and far too intelligent to risk Conrad’s anger by doing anything to hurt her.

  “You want Damian?” Julie shrugged. “I’ll look, but I don’t think he’s come back yet.”

  “Back?” Conrad frowned at her, his confusion intensifying. “Back from where?”

  “I don’t know. He said he needed some air. Didn’t you even notice he wasn’t at the party?”

  “Of course I noticed!” He was still really angry about that, now that he recalled it. “Are you saying he actually left the house tonight?” After I asked him to accompany me back downstairs and he refused? After I told him not to take too long to join me?

  “Why can’t you be nicer to him?” Julie demanded suddenly, startling Conrad once again.

  “Nicer to him?”

  “I don’t know what you did to him tonight, but I think his feelings were really hurt.”

  Conrad shook his head. “I very much doubt that. And I don’t think you need waste your time speculating on a situation you know nothing about.”

  “Of course I know about it,” Julie replied. “I grew up with you both, didn’t I? What is there to know? You were lovers once and now you’re not but you still make him so unhappy sometimes that I worry he’s going to leave us.”

  Damian leave? Conrad’s blood ran cold at the thought. “That’s never going to happen.”

  Julie nodded. “That’s what I told him you’d say.”

  “You two spoke of this?” Conrad asked, horrified and even more confused. “When?”

  “Well, just tonight, actually. I stopped him as he was on his way out. He looked like he was running away and I asked him and he said that yes, sometimes that’s how he felt. So then I told him if he ever did go, he should take me with him.”

  Fear clutched Conrad’s heart in so tight a grip he was nearly dizzy from it. “Never!” he cried as he rose to his feet. “Do you hear me? I cannot allow that. I will not allow it. Neither of you is going anywhere. You belong here. Right here where you are.” With me…

  “Right.” Julie nodded again. “And that’s exactly what he said you’d say. But, I don’t care, Grandfather. I won’t be left behind again.”

  Conrad scrubbed his hands violently over his face. Perhaps, after all, he’d underestimated how upset Damian had been tonight. But, no, hadn’t he seen the hatred in Damian’s eyes, heard the anger in his voice? He’d known exactly how upset he was.

  Upset enough to leave me? No, impossible. He knows how important it is that he stay. We have a deal. An arrangement. There was a promise made between us…

  “We’ll have no more talk of this,” Conrad sighed, sinking back into his chair. “Put it from your mind. When next I see your uncle, I’ll advise him to do the same.”

  “You won’t hurt him, will you?” Julie asked, eyeing him warily.

  “Hurt him?” Of course he wouldn’t hurt him! What kind of monster did she think him? He shook his head. “No. I shall make every effort not to.”

  Conrad sat alone in his room for several minutes after Julie’s departure, brooding over everything she’d told him. The sun was cresting the hills of the East Bay by the time he roused himself. If Damian was not home by now…was it possible he was not coming back?

  What if Julie was correct and Damian had been planning his departure for some time? Tonight would have been the perfect opportunity to put his plan in motion. And Conrad, himself, had provided him with an all-too-plausible motive. With Georgia on hand to give witness to his deplorable behavior, and even Julie convinced he meant to do him harm, who would not find it perfectly reasonable that Damian should feel himself forced to flee—in fear of his life. The only mystery would be that more of Conrad’s lovers did not take the opportunity to do so.

  Unable to sit in idleness any longer, Conrad left his room and stormed down the hall. If he’d been stronger, or if Georgia’s presence in the house didn’t make conserving what little strength he did have such a priority, he’d have gone out in search of Damian himself. Instead, he’d search his rooms for any sign that might indicate whether or not he was gone for good.

  He eased open the door to Damian’s private suite, hoping he might find him already abed. Once again, he was disappointed; but the empty room was so redolent with Damian’s scent that one breath was all it took. Within seconds, Conrad’s fangs emerged, his body hardened. His entire being was flooded with lust, with longing, with a hunger he could barely contain.

  It was an effort just drawing breath. While he waited for his control to reassert itself, a large part of him wondered why it was he even bothered. Why fight so hard against his own nature, against his own needs? Why subject himself to this torture when he could simply give in, abandon his scruples and compel Damian’s affections? Such a thing was not impossible for one such as he. It was not even particularly difficult. His own sire had kept him under her sway for centuries in just such a fashion. Georgia’s maker, too, had employed the technique to good effect.

  So what that he’d never wanted to take a lover by such means before? That he’d scorned the very idea of coercion? Who cared if he’d always insisted any love not freely given was not really love at all? Under such circumstances as these, why should it not suffice?

  When he finally recovered enough to take note of his surroundings, Conrad was surprised to notice how attentive to detail Damian had been. Here were more than enough tokens of the two of them to convince even the most skeptical of their on-going relationship. Finding mementoes of the twins’ childhood was a more difficult task, but Conrad knew they had to be there, so he kept searching until he found them.

  Once he had, he rifled quickly through the box, staring bemusedly at the treasures stored there; the photos, the cards, the childish drawings, even a plaster handprint. Keeping such things was foolish, but leaving them behind—that would be nothing short of madness. The fact that Damian had not taken them with him when he left the house tonight was the only sign Conrad needed to convince him that he intended on returning.

  His search complete, Conrad settled into one of the armchairs in Damian’s private sitting room. Exhausted though he was, he knew he wouldn’t sleep until he’d seen Damian safely home and made his opposition to any further talk of leaving crystal clear.

  Since he had to be awake and alone in any case, he could think of no better place in which to sit and wait than right where he was.

  “Marc, what are you doing here?” Elise peered suspiciously at him through the small crack she’d opened in the door.

  Marc laid his hand on the door and pushed. “Why do you think? Let me in, Elise.”

  She gave way reluctantly, moving back to let him in. “You can’t keep coming arou
nd like this. You’re going to get us both in trouble.”

  “You weren’t at my party tonight.” He swung the door shut behind him and crowded her up against the wall. “I missed you.” Missing her didn’t quite cover it. An entire night watching others rut and feed had left him with an insatiable need to do the same with her; had made his visit here inevitable. He cupped her face in his hand, smiling as she leaned into the caress.

  “Me? Attend a party at Quintano House?” Elise snorted. “Not likely.”

  “Bad blood—right?” He’d heard more than enough about the stupid feud between their clans. He was sick of it.

  As he bent to kiss her, she held him off, pushing halfheartedly at his chest. “I meant what I told you. You’re going to get me in trouble if you keep coming by like this. Maybe even killed. Is that what you want?”

  Marc shook his head. “Never gonna happen. I meant what I said too. I won’t allow anyone to hurt you. But since when is my seeing you a problem? You’re the one who approached me, remember? You didn’t seem overly worried about it last summer.”

  “Things were different then. Besides, I didn’t know who you were.”

  “Nice try, sweetheart. But that excuse only applies to the first five minutes. You knew exactly who I was by the time you invited me back here.”

  “I wouldn’t quite say that,” Elise replied dryly. “Not exactly—no. And no one else knew who you were, either, so it wasn’t as much of a problem.”

  He couldn’t help smiling at the absurdity of her logic. “Whereas now, the whole city knows about me. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You think that’s a joke? Trust me, it’s not. You haven’t kept a low profile, you know.”

  Marc’s eyebrows rose. “Sorry. I didn’t know I was supposed to.” The indecisive, worried look on her face annoyed him. He tilted her chin up and lightly brushed his lips against hers. “Stop worrying. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

  She groaned softly. “That’s not the kind of promise you can easily keep, Marc.”