"What?"
"I have clown feet."
"Oh. I see. You don't exactly look like the Deirdre I'm used to. So what's going to happen when we get to New York?"
"First I am going to buy some new boots that fit."
"Yeah. And after that? Seriously, Deirdre, what will you do?"
"Sleep. Feed. Repeat as necessary."
"There's more to life than that."
"And what exactly would that be?"
He shrugged. "You used to know." Then he reached over and flipped open the console between the seats. "Cigarette?" He offered the pack to me.
"No, thank you. Those things will kill you, haven't you heard?"
"I've heard the rumors, yes." Sam smiled and knocked one out of the pack for himself, then pushed in the cigarette lighter on the dash. "But I don't smoke that much. Most of the time. Only when presented with a particularly tricky problem."
"And what exactly is the problem this time, Sam?"
He reached down, pulled out the lighter, lit the cigarette on the glowing coils. "You, of course."
I took the lighter from his hand and blew on it as it cooled, watching the glow grow dimmer, then wink out completely. I stuffed it back into its little compartment. "Why am I a problem for you, Sam? It has nothing to do with you."
"But I was best man at your wedding. And you two are so right for each other."
"Were. Were right for each other."
"No, you are right. There has to be some explanation. And I can't believe you are just going to let him walk away. How can you do that?"
"I have to, Sam." I looked at the clock. "For now, though, we had better find a place to stay at the next exit. If only for the sake of your car upholstery."
"There must be some mistake," I said to the clerk at the hotel desk. "Run it through again."
"Sorry, I've run it through twice and called. The card is declined; apparently the account has been closed."
"Closed? How can it be closed?" I felt the panic and anger begin to rise within me; I reached over the desk and caught hold of his shirt, pulling his face close to mine. The Cat within stirred and growled. "As if it was not enough of a blow for him to take everything, he closed my account also?"
"Miss, I, um, don't know what to say…"
Sam came up behind me then and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Steady," he whispered to me, and I let go. He handed the clerk a card. "Here, this one should work fine. We'll still want the two rooms, adjoining if you have them."
"Closed?" I paced around my room, trying to calm myself and the Cat. "What sort of goddamned explanation can there be for that, Sam? He left me first without shelter and clothing, and now he's left me without money. Do you have any idea how much was in that account?" I spread my fingers out wide, stretching them as if they were taloned, then relaxed them and gave a humorless laugh. "Hell, how could you? Even I do not know how much was in there."
"Deirdre, this isn't good."
"Really, Sam? Really? Don't you have any words of wisdom for me right now? You want to tell me again how right Mitch and I are together?"
He shook his head. "The sun will be up soon."
He pulled the curtains back just a bit to peer at the sky. "Will you be okay in here during the day?"
I walked over and felt the material at the window. "No, actually, I won't. These are too flimsy. But I can sleep in the bathtub, I suppose. And I can put a blanket under the door to keep any stray light out."
"Can I get you anything beforehand?"
"You mean like a bottle of wine? Or a good book? No, I don't think so."
He walked over to his room and came back with a large cooler. "I unloaded these from the trunk while you were, ah, checking us in." He lifted the lid, picked out a plastic bag and tossed it to me. "Will this help?"
I turned the bag of blood over in my hand. "It certainly cannot hurt. Now, if I only had a few of Elly's candles, I would be all set."
"Elly's candles?"
"Not important. I will be fine, Sam. Thank you."
I gathered the pillows and blankets from the bed, went into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. The room was totally dark except for a small sliver of light shining in around the door. I blocked the light under the door with a towel; there was not much else I could do.
I turned the lights on long enough to heat the blood under hot water. Then I tore a corner off the bag and drank. I remembered the first time I had fed out of such a bag. Mitch had still been human then and had not known what kind of creature I was. I could clearly remember the look of disgust mingled with sympathy on his face when he caught me in the act. But I had not wanted his pity or his understanding. All I had ever wanted was his love.
I dropped the empty bag into the toilet and flushed it away. "I should have known then," I said to my reflection in the mirror as I stripped off my clothes. "I should have known." I splashed some water on my face, dried off and made my bed in the tub, turning out the lights and settling in for the day.
I lay for a long time, silent, but not sleeping, eyes wide open, staring at the darkness. Searching for an answer, any answer other than the obvious one. And found nothing but lies and deceit and a wide gaping emptiness where I had once felt love.
"You arrogant bastard, Mitchell Greer, I growled, hearing the Cat's approving rumble. "How dare you do this to me? Damn you to hell."
I closed my eyes and took a long deep breath, forcing the anger deep inside. He was already in hell, I knew. And I knew who had put him there.
"Let us kill him," the Cat said. "We will find him and kill him and then we will be free."
I mentally smoothed the hair on its back. "Not free, pet. Just let him go."
"Never," said the Cat. "We hurt and we will make him pay."
It was a long day. Only the thought of how much it would upset Sam kept me from opening the door and walking out into the sunlight.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
« ^ »
I knocked on Sam's door at sunset.
"Are you ready to go, Sam?"
I heard a muffled "Come in," and opened the connecting door. Sam was in bed, and apparently, from the vacant stare he gave me, still mostly asleep.
He groaned. "Is it morning already?"
"Not morning at all," I said, "or I'm in trouble."
"Just an expression of speech, Deirdre. Must you be so literal in the morn—er, whatever?"
"How'd you sleep?"
He scrunched up his face and scratched the back of his head. "Like the dead. And you?"
I gave a little laugh. "like the undead."
"That's better, right? The sleep of the undead is the ultimate rest?"
"Quite the contrary, actually. Hasn't Vivienne taught you anything at all?"
He looked away. "Yeah, she has. I'd hoped maybe it was different for you. Do you dream?"
"Yes. Which is why I prefer not to sleep any more than necessary. And I have been up for about five hours, waiting for the sun to set. I will go in search of coffee for us and let you get ready. How do you like yours?"
"Cream and sugar, please."
I started for the door. "Deirdre, hold on a second." He crawled out of bed, barely managing to cover himself with a sheet. The good doctor slept without the benefit of pajamas; the bed was rumpled and sweaty, the room reeked of human scent. I took in a quick breath, trying not to remember the taste of his blood.
"What?" I said.
He hopped over to the chair on which his pants hung, took out his wallet and handed it to me. "You are going to need some money."
"Oh. Money. Yes, that's right. I have no money. Thank you." I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but failed.
"There's got to be an explanation, you know. I wouldn't give up hope."
"Hope? That is a human emotion. I am not human, Sam, and I have no hope. Do not ever use that word around me again." I slammed the door, cut through the motel parking lot and walked into the restaurant across the street.
> Sitting at the counter, I realized I was shaking. Either with anger, sadness or hunger; I could not really tell the difference. I picked up a menu and glanced at it while waiting for the waitress. Sam would probably want breakfast before we started back driving.
"What'll you have?" The woman behind the counter wiped it off with a wet cloth and set out silverware and a napkin.
"Coffee," I said. "Two cups. And"—I looked back at the menu, thinking what the hell, I could order it even if I couldn't eat it—"the three-egg breakfast."
"Bacon or sausage?"
"Both."
"Bread?"
"Oh, yes, please."
She looked at me and gave me a tired smile. "No, what kind of bread? Toast, muffin or biscuits?"
"All three?"
She shrugged and wrote it down. "It'll cost you extra, honey, but it's not my bill. You must be awfully hungry."
"You have no idea," I said. "I am starving to death. But, unfortunately, the breakfast is not for me, but for a friend who will be joining me. I can't eat anything; I'm on a liquid diet."
"Suit yourself." She pulled two mugs out from under the counter and poured coffee, pushed a pitcher of cream over to me and moved away.
I picked up one of the mugs and sipped at it, savoring the warmth. It felt familiar in my hands; the coffee smell taking me back in time to when I used to serve coffee in a place like this.
"If only," I whispered.
"If only what?" Sam sat down next to me. I hadn't even heard him approach.
"If only I could eat the fabulous breakfast I just ordered for you." I smiled at him. "I'm sorry, Sam, I should not have lost my temper just now. None of this is your fault and you are only trying to help."
"You ordered me breakfast? Really?"
I gave him a smile. "Well, you are paying. It is the very least I could do."
He poured cream and spooned some sugar into his cup. "You don't like having to depend on anyone, do you?" He took a drink of his coffee.
"No, not at all. I am used to making my own way."
"And you will again. But for now you need a little help. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing. And everything. It should not be this way. And what would have happened had you not been here to help me?"
"You'd have found another way." He took another sip of his coffee. "This is good stuff," he said. "Just what the doctor ordered."
"Here you go." The waitress set a plate down in front of Sam, heaped with food.
"This is great, thank you. But who's going to eat it with me?"
I shook my head; the smell of the bacon and sausage and eggs was making me nauseous. "You're on your own, Sam. All I can do is order." I reached into my pocket and handed him his wallet. "Take your time. If you give me the keys, I will wait in the car."
He made a move to hand them to me, then pulled them back. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"If you say so." He dropped the keys into my extended hand. "But no joyriding without me."
"That's probably another word we should avoid."
"Deirdre…"
"Never mind, Sam. I will survive. I'm damned good at that."
I had barely opened the car door and sat down when Sam came out of the restaurant.
"You could not possibly have eaten, Sam," I said when he climbed in and started the engine.
"I'm not hungry. I'll pick something up a little later and eat while I drive. And I didn't like the thought of you being alone."
I laughed. "I have been more alone than you could ever imagine, Sam, for most of my life. Fifteen minutes sitting by myself in your car can hardly make a dent in it."
"Even so. Let's just go." He pulled the car out onto the street. "I'm anxious to get home."
I sighed. "Yes, let's go."
He remained quiet until we reached the turnpike. "So, what will you do when we get to the city? With Viv out of town, I'm not sure I can get you into Cadre headquarters. Do you have any other place to stay?"
"No. They will let me in."
"And then? To be honest, Deirdre, I can't see you living like the rest of the Cadre. They are leeches."
"No, they are vampires, although I will grant you that it's a delicate distinction."
Sam snorted. "You know what I mean."
I shrugged. "I'll have to do something. Betsy McCain asked me to work as a consultant last time I was in town. I could do worse, I suppose, than going back to Griffin Designs. To be honest, I miss the excitement of the business. Now, at least."
He nodded. "That sounds like a good plan. And I'm sure that when Vivienne comes back, she'll make sure that you have enough to live on until you get back on your feet."
I looked over at him. "It is not the money, Sam, it really isn't. It is just the way he did it. Callously and calculated. If he wanted me dead, a stake through the heart would have been kinder, cleaner. Damn it, you have got to understand. Mitch was all I had. All I lived for. I would have let him kill me. No, I should have. It is the way it works, after all."
"The Mitch I knew would never kill you."
"No. But I'm beginning to think he was never the Mitch any of us knew."
"But why do you think he wants you dead?"
"Because he said so. Period."
"So that's why you don't want to see him again? Because you think he'll kill you?"
"Either he will kill me or the Cat will kill him. There seems to be no other alternative."
"The cat? What the hell is the cat?"
"My alternate form. You surely must talk about these things with Vivienne."
He nodded. "Ah. The inner animal. Yeah, she mentions it every so often. But it's a metaphorical creature. No one turns into an animal. It just isn't possible."
I snorted.
"Really, Deirdre. I'm a doctor and a scientist. There's no way you can change into a cat. Of any size. So when you say the cat wants to kill Mitch, you really mean that deep down inside you want to kill him. And that's understandable considering the circumstances. But I don't for a minute think you'd act on that impulse."
I gave a bitter little laugh. "Well, I am glad that there is at least one of us who is sure. And you are the doctor and you know best, whereas I, apparently, do not know anything."
"I didn't say that, Deirdre."
"You did not have to. Forget it. As far as I am concerned we have reached the end of this discussion. I have no desire to go through it all over again. Turn on the stereo and sing."
We spoke only a little on the rest of the trip. Traffic got heavier the closer into New York we came. Sam's relaxed attitude was replaced with grim determination; his humming had stopped. He gripped the steering wheel now like a lifeline.
"I hate traffic," he muttered under his breath. "These people are crazy." But when we emerged into the city itself, he managed a smile. "Almost there," he said, "and not quite midnight. Where to first?"
"The Imperial. Let's see if the Cadre is in the mood to entertain prodigals this evening."
"If I remember correctly, they should welcome you with open arms. You and Mitch did save them from Larry not too long ago."
I gave a small laugh. "That is true, I suppose, in theory. Except I was the one who created Larry. Some might think I was merely cleaning up my own mess."
"But you must have some supporters in the group?"
I thought. "No, not really. If I hadn't killed Max, of course, he would welcome me. Victor has no good reason to love me. Ron Wilkes is dead. Even Fred, who would have let me in just to cause trouble, is dead. Other than Vivienne, there is no one to whom I can turn. It is rather ironic, in a way. For all those years, I never even dreamed of their existence. And when I finally did discover them, I went out of my way to make enemies of the whole lot Never thinking that someday I would need their support."
He pulled his car into a parking garage. "Well, most of them know me. Or should. And Vivienne is still leader, so I have some small power, if only because I can whisper in her ear." His voice grew tense. Wa
s this how Mitch had felt, I wondered, when he'd still been human?
Sam shrugged off his resentment. "They are a self-serving crowd, there's no doubt about that. But if we're lucky, Claude will be watching the door tonight."
"Claude?"
"He's new. Originally from New Orleans, I gather. Mostly, he gets stuck with the jobs no one else wants to do. New man and all that. Lately he's been guarding Victor."
"Guarding Victor?"
"They've been keeping him under lock and key, in the basement somewhere. Whether to stop him from wreaking havoc on himself or them, I've never been able to ascertain. He's apparently gotten senile. Or so they fear."
"Poor Victor. And there's one more thing for which he can hold me accountable."
"I don't think he's capable enough of reasoning it out that far. The few times I've seen him, he was barely able to focus his eyes."
Sam found a parking space and stopped the car. I did not move from my seat.
"You know, Deirdre, if you don't want to do this, you can stay at my place. It's quite safe, I promise you."
"I am sure it is, Sam. But it's not that." I opened the car door and slid out. "Shall we?"
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
« ^ »
Sam misunderstood my reluctance. I had no fear of my welcome from the Cadre. Regardless of the bad blood that had flowed between us, they had to take me in. Kinship meant a great deal to those whose real families had died centuries ago. For most of them, this organization was all they had. And I knew that I could hold my own with all of them, should I have to force my way in.
No, my problem was not with the Cadre. It was this place, so fraught with memories and ghosts of love. Damn it, I thought, as we got onto the elevator to the restaurant, how the hell can less than five years with one person make such a difference? Five years was nothing to me. Five years was a mere blink, a moment. And yet, that minuscule portion of time defined me, baptized me. Mitch had washed me clean with his blood and his love.
Vampire Legacy 04 - Blood of My Blood Page 14
