by Densie Webb
It’s dark outside, but still early, when he says, “How about a glass of that champagne? You took but a sip.”
“Mmmm.”
I watch his perfect derriére as he strides unself-consciously to the closet. He pulls out a silk robe and slips it on. “Why don’t you put on one of my shirts? It will look better on you.” He winks at me, a now familiar gesture that on anyone else might come across as cheesy, but from him it’s code for “I love you to the moon and back.” He ties his robe and heads to the living room.
I look around the bedroom and spot his shirt neatly folded over the back of a chair. I get out of bed, unfold the shirt and hold it to my nose for another intoxicating hit before I slip it on. As I walk into the living room, Vincent is waiting for me with the champagne; we clink glasses. “To the future,” he says.
I want to ask the next logical question about our future, but then as if he’s read my mind, he says, “I was thinking, perhaps this weekend would be a good time—to take the cure, I mean. I didn’t ask if I would need time to recover.” He stops. “Will you be there, to hold my hand, as it were?”
I expect to see a spark of fear in his eyes, but all I see is excitement, anticipation.
“Of course.” He sits down, looking relaxed, relieved, happy. I take another sip and remember.
I need to tell him. I can’t keep that information to myself. “Vincent, I hate to bring more bad news, but there’s something I really need to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“It’s about Nicholas.”
His mood visibly shifts at the mention of his name.
“What about Nicholas?”
“Mack told me she saw him at a bar down on Bleecker last night, said he looked awful. He was a mess, slumped over the bar and drinking like crazy.”
He jumps from the bar stool, shoves his hands in the deep pockets of the robe and begins to pace the room. He walks over to the picture window and stares into the darkness. “Did she talk to him?”
“Not really. I mean she asked if he was okay and he said to give you a message. He said, ‘Tell Vincent I’m still trying.”
“Merde!” He shakes his head and falls into the sofa, his head in his hands.
It’s the first time I’ve heard Vincent curse in any language.
“Did he say anything else? Anything at all?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
He looks up again. “Where was this bar?”
“Just a sec; Mack texted it to me.”
I go over to the pile of my things, still in place by the front door, get my phone and scroll through text messages. More from Patty, of course.
“It’s on the corner of Bleecker and 7th.”
Nicholas is like a brother to him—more than a brother. Still, I wonder if it was a mistake to tell him. Especially tonight.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
“Are you going to try to find him?”
“Yes, I must.”
He sinks further into the sofa. I sit next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
He wraps his arm around me as he always does, but he’s giving nothing away. He’s drawn into himself and is quiet for the rest of the evening.
Eventually, my eyelids weigh down. I need sleep, but I don’t want to leave him alone.
I kiss him once more. “You okay?”
“Yes.” He finally looks at me. “I am glad that you told me.”
“I really hope Nicholas will be okay.” I stand, to go to bed, but he’s hesitant to let me go. He kisses my hand, gazes at the ring, looks up at me and flashes a worried smile. “Goodnight, my beloved.”
I run my fingers through his hair. “Goodnight, Vincent.”
I retreat to the bedroom and as I change into my nightgown, I’m filled with hope that this time next week, we’ll crawl into bed together at the end of the day and spoon until he closes his eyes to sleep instead of him being alone with nothing but his needling thoughts and painful memories as company.
I get into bed but I’m too revved up to sleep. I grab my phone and start to call Mack, but instead, take a picture of my left hand with the ring sparkling in the flash and text it to her. I don’t have to wait long.
OMG! OMG! Is that what I think it is?
Yep!
My phone rings before I can type a response and, before I have a chance to even say “Hello,” Mack is squealing in my ear.
“When? How? Down on one knee?”
“Tonight. Over champagne and candlelight. Yes, one knee.”
“Wow. Just wow. Did you know?”
“No. It was a total surprise. Shock is more like it.”
“What did he say? Tell me, exactly.”
“He quoted some super romantic poetry and then he said, and I quote, ‘Antoinette Rogé, will you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Vincent Arnaud Dubois?’ ”
“Oh,” she says, clearly underwhelmed.
“Don’t worry; I told him I was keeping my last name. Andie Dubois is a great name, but so is Andie Rogé.”
“Good girl.”
Over the years, Mack and I made a solid vow not to disappear into a man by taking his name and losing ourselves in the process.
She slips into her mother-hen voice. “Andie, you know I have to ask. After everything that’s happened, are you absolutely sure this is what you want—that he’s the one?”
I want to laugh. She doesn’t know the half of it. Am I sure? Of what? That Kindred exist? That Vincent and I have a bond that can’t be broken? That he will soon be human? That right now he’s not human? The only things I’m really sure of is that control is an illusion, fate is real, and that I’m ready to embrace the chaos of loving Vincent Dubois.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Chapter 55
Vincent
Standing at the window, I’m mesmerized by tonight’s super moon and, against all odds my hope rises, a tide obeying its pull. I think once again of everything the cure means to me, to Andie. To us. But my brain is an echo chamber for Nicholas’ words. “Tell Vincent I am trying.”
I pick up yesterday’s unread Daily News and spot an article about a grisly murder in Greenwich Village last night. According to investigators, the exact cause of death remains undetermined, but then I read The New York Times, which says it looks as if an animal might have attacked the twenty-one-year-old senior at New York University, majoring in urban planning. Her life, her future, the impact she would have had on others’ lives, gone.
Animal Control is patrolling the area. They haven’t a clue what kind of animal it might have been or what it was doing in the heart of the Village. Coyotes have only been sighted in the parks. But she was lying on a bench as if she had simply gotten tired and laid herself down to rest. They have one thing right; it was indeed an animal. He’s trying. Nicholas hasn’t completely embraced the dark side, but neither is he able to resist its pull.
Sometimes trying just isn’t enough.
My exuberant optimism over the cure, over starting my life anew, over my future with Andie is tamped down by thoughts of Nicholas and how he must be feeling right now. If I take the cure, where will that leave him? Alone, sentenced to an eternity of self-loathing over his inability to rein in his need? If our positions were reversed would he turn his back on me? No, he would be there for me every step of the way. But to help him through this means to devastate Andie, to go back on all the rich promises I have made to her. To us.
Time would be needed to bring Nicholas back, to mentor him once again, to be there for him each and every day as he struggles with his hunger. It was a decades-long process for him to gain control the first time and there were setbacks. Just as there were for me.
In order to help Nicholas, my plans with Andie would have to be put on hold—indefinitely. And as the years pass, what then? I’m underwater, sinking into the depths of a black ocean, deeper and deeper, the pressure building. There is no escape route, no way to the
surface, no solution in which both Nicholas and Andie are whole, happy, at peace with themselves, looking forward to the future. The bright and shiny future I promised Andie, now rings hollow.
This is an impossible choice. But a choice must be made.
Chapter 56
Andie
“Andie wake up. Andie?”
I open one eye. Vincent is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me intently.
“What time is it?” I croak.
“It’s early. I’m sorry to wake you, but there is something we must discuss.”
Well, I’m awake now.
“What is it?” I ask, as I prop myself up and grab my glasses from the nightstand.
When the pained look on his face comes into sharp focus, I’m certain my heart has stopped.
“I want to ask something of you. I know it is not what either of us wants, but I can’t think of any other solution. I don’t—"
It’s clear he’s having trouble getting the words out. I place my hand on top of his.
“Promise me that you will keep an open mind,” he says.
“Okaaay.” A tendril of fear weaves it way up my spine and ties my brain in knots.
“This is a decision you must have a say in and if you say no, I will accept your decision and never speak of it again.”
As I take in the anguished look on his face, my heart reacts to the uncertainty. I simply nod. He slides his hand out from under mine, sits up straighter.
“Andie, my love, you know that I want more than anything to leave this existence behind, to begin an amazing new life. With you.”
“But—” he says.
And there it is, with that one word of doubt, my fear is realized. My happiness was so close, but I hear the wind rushing in to blow it just out of reach. The sky is finally falling. He doesn’t hear my heart breaking, so he continues. He retrieves a newspaper from the foot of the bed and points to an article. “Read this.”
I scan it—a young woman murdered in the Village. A student. An animal attack. Tragic.
My eyes meet his. “What does that have to do with us?”
“Everything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It was Nicholas.”
As the words leave his tongue, I gasp. “Nooo. You don’t really think it was him.”
“I am certain.”
“But couldn’t it have been another Kindred?”
“No. The article says she was carefully positioned as if she were simply sleeping. That screams of Nicholas.”
The girl’s yearbook-photo smile shines brightly under the gruesome headline.
“I’m so sorry. Really. This is horrible, but…but I still don’t see how this affects us.”
He hesitates before looking me in the eye and the dump of dread I feel tells me that what he is going to say will bludgeon us.
“I can stop Nicholas’ killing—if I give him the cure.”
My heart, now shattered into a million pieces, threatens to spill out from the gaping hole in my chest.
Give it to Nicholas? Then what?
“Is there a way to get more?” I ask, hoping against hope he’ll say ‘of course.’ ”
“No. And there won’t be for some time. Gus said that once I supply the orchids, the process to create more can take years.”
I nervously twirl the engagement ring on my finger.
“But, but what about us?” I whisper, the last bit of hope leaking from my punctured heart.
I don’t want to be the jilted fiancée. Again. I can’t believe this is happening. Not with Vincent. He said he wouldn’t give it to Nicholas if I said no, but what would that make me? Selfish, uncaring, unempathetic? The opposite of his reasons for loving me. Not to mention that would make me an accomplice to countless murders still to come. Would Vincent ever look at me the same?
He’s asking too much of me. I throw the covers back and scramble out from the other side of the bed and stand in front of the window, staring out onto the city lights. He comes around.
I hold my hand up. “Don’t. Stand. So. Close.” My anger doesn’t diminish the power his presence has on me. I follow up his selfless intentions with the most selfish question imaginable. “You’ll really not give the cure to Nicholas if I say no?”
I barely hear his raspy voice. “I will not.”
I turn around to face him. “But, maybe Gus is lying? What if we could get more of the cure? Maybe he’s just saying there’s no more, to get you to help him.”
“Andie, ma chérie, we must base our decision on the facts as we know them—there is no more and there won’t be for many years.”
My thought processes are crashing and are stuck at no. I want to throw myself on the floor, kick and scream and pound my fists, throw a full-fledged two-year-old toddler tantrum and scream “What about me? What about me?” I don’t of course. Instead, my internal barometer signals a hailstorm of bitterness, resentment, and resignation brewing and, fighting back tears, I reluctantly eke out the painful words, “Give it to Nicholas.”
Chapter 57
Vincent
Once Andie has dried her tears and ceased to ask questions, she is depleted and I lay with her until she sinks into a shattered sleep. I take her hand to my lips, and softly slip its warmth under the covers before leaving the bed. She looks deceptively peaceful. But if I could visit her dreams she would be running, pursued by the legions of regret I have visited upon her. I remind myself, once again, that I’m doing the right thing for Nicholas and that he would most certainly do the same for me.
I need to clear my head, organize my thoughts, so instead of hailing a cab, I walk, under an incandescent moon, to the bar on Bleecker where Mack says she spotted Nicholas. I double check the address Andie sent to my phone. The wooden sign hanging outside says “Chalk and Cheese Pub.” So British. So Nicholas.
I push open the door. It’s dimly lit and smells of old wood, cigarettes, and grilling meat. Middle-aged men in rumpled suits are hunkered over the bar, staring into their beers, as if looking for answers. Two women are playing pool with Kindred—three of them. Is Nicholas congregating with them now? I stop and stare. They stare back a warning.
I remind myself I am here to help Nicholas. Nothing more. I walk the length of the bar, glance at the mostly unoccupied tables arranged haphazardly around the room. No sign of him. I sit down, disappointed, but not defeated. The barmaid appears at my table.
“Scotch on the rocks. A double.” I grab her bare arm as she turns to leave. “Have you seen a man in here recently—blond hair, blue eyes, tall, English accent?”
“The hot mess? Hard to miss. He was actually here earlier tonight. Got a call and he left in a hurry.”
“I see. Thank you.” A call?
The door creaks open and the sounds of the city ride in on an unseasonably warm breeze. I look up, hopeful. But it’s a defeated-looking man following a well-worn path to the bar. The bartender sets his drink in front of him before he even asks. The barmaid returns and the moment she sets my drink on the table, my phone vibrates in my shirt pocket. I pull it out and glance at the name.
“Nicholas, where are you? I must speak with you.”
“Meet me on the roof of our building,” he says. “It’s important.”
His voice sounds strange. “Nicholas, what—?” He ends the call abruptly. I call back two, three, four times, but he doesn’t answer.
I down my drink and throw some money on the table before stepping out and hailing a cab. Traffic is light and as the driver charges up Broadway, I replay the brusque call in my mind. He sounded—fearful? Perhaps he has killed again? Perhaps he needs my help to dispose of another body? Whatever he needs, I will be there for him. The cab pulls up in front of our building. My mind is still racing as I hurriedly hand the driver a one-hundred-dollar bill and leap up the front steps.
He rolls down the passenger window, leans over and yells, “Thanks, man.”
I have no patience for the elevator. I yank the doo
r open to the stairwell, pulling it off its hinges, and take the stairs three at a time. I must convince Nicholas to take the cure. Despite his protestations, I am certain he will be more at peace; he will find a way to forgive himself for past deeds and live out his remaining years happy, hopeful. Human.
He’s a young man in human years. No one else will die by Nicholas’ hand. And Andie? She will be heartbroken and I will be crushed for having broken her heart. But I will cherish her for the years we have left together.
I push open the door to the roof and scan the area. Nothing. I call out, “Nicholas?” I hear a woman’s muffled cry. Then Nicholas’ voice. “Over here.”
He steps out from behind the old wooden water tank. “Vincent…” His voice is a pale reflection of its former rich tenor. Cast in the light of the moon, his eyes glow dark. Gus comes into view and slings his arm around Nicholas’ shoulder. Under different circumstances they might be mistaken as best “mates,” as Nicholas would say. Nicholas hangs his head. “I’m so sorry, Vincent. They said they would kill Andie, if I didn’t call.”
Andie is in danger? They? Who is “they?”
“What do you think about my latest reversion?” He looks at Nicholas with a paltry imitation of pride. “He was a tad reluctant to take the cure. Took the two of us to get it down his throat. He insisted it was for you.” He looks at me and shakes his head. “He’s a loyal shit. I’ll give him that much.”
Nicholas is an empty, shattered shell. He stares at the ground and whispers repeatedly, “I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry.”
“I…I…can’t…” I’m still searching for my words when Andie stumbles, pushed into view, barefoot, dressed only in her nightgown, shivering despite the warm breeze. “Andie!” I start to run to her, but Gus stands between us. “Stay where you are, or she’s dead or—maybe undead.” He flashes a demented grin.
I’m weighing my very limited options for keeping Andie alive, when a shadowy form slithers in between Nicholas and Andie. As the moonlight banishes the shadows, a puddle of light shines on her and her features come into focus.
