Midnight Rose

by Shelby Reed

  “Go away.”

  “Get up.”

  “Mike,” she said belligerently, her voice muffled. “I’m serious. Just let me sleep a little longer.”

  “That’s all you’ve done for a solid month.” Marching around the side of the bed, he pulled the pillow from her embrace and tugged her into a sitting position. “I know I told you all you had to do was sleep and grieve, but this is ridiculous. If you love him that much, go back to him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then it’s time to snap out of it. Face the real world, and get on with life.”

  He sounded like her late, great mother. Brutally matter-of-fact.

  Glaring at him, she climbed out of her warm nest and pushed by him to the bathroom, where she came to a grinding halt and stared at herself in the vanity mirror. “Oh, my God,” she groaned. “When did I get so old? I look like a hag.”

  “That’s because you’re too thin and you get no fresh air.” Mike followed her and pulled open a drawer, retrieved the toothpaste, and squirted a healthy glob on the toothbrush she held in limp fingers. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Brush your teeth and get dressed. We’re going out.”

  Outside, the early autumn sun sat high and piercing in a cornflower sky. Mike’s apartment was a converted brownstone in The Fan, a historic and chic area of Richmond for up-and-coming professionals. All his friends and ex-lovers lived within blocks, and Mike spent much of his time floating from apartment to apartment, tending to his social life the way a gardener waters and feeds his flowers.

  “Where are we going?” she muttered as he led the way down the sidewalk, past row houses and wrought iron fenced parks.

  “To the shelter, to buy you a dog. They’re better than men. Less moody. More loyal.”

  “I don’t want a dog.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “If they’re so great, how come you don’t have one?”

  “I was going to get one, but then I met Tony.” Tony was the svelte Latin lover Mike had always dreamed about but never believed truly existed until they met four weeks ago. Tony could Salsa dance and despite his fashionably conservative appearance, reportedly had body piercings in interesting places.

  “Where would I keep a dog?” Kate jogged to keep up with his long strides.

  “In your own apartment.”

  “I live with you right now.”

  “For about one more minute. We’re finding you your own place, Kate. Today.”

  Chagrin washed her face with heat and she caught his sleeve to halt his stride. “Oh, Mike. Yuck! Why didn’t you tell me I’d overstayed my welcome? I thought we’d agreed to always be honest with each other.”

  He laughed, hooked an arm around her neck and kissed her forehead. “Katie, you’d never wear out your welcome in my home. You cook and clean and like to watch fly-fishing on TV. How rare a combination is that? But you’re not going to get over this guy until you stand on your own feet and make a new life. Staying with me makes it too easy. And Tony can’t sleep over when you’re there.”

  She poked a finger in his chest and bit back a smile. “That’s the real reason you’re kicking me out, isn’t it?”

  “You know I hate staying in other people’s beds. Even Tony’s.” He made a face. “Especially Tony’s. He’s such an incredible slob. His bathroom…my God. He lives in a petri dish.”

  They hopped a bus and got off in the suburbs, a healthy distance from Mike’s apartment, but not so far that Kate would feel totally isolated. Scouring the classifieds over bagels and coffee in a strip mall deli, they circled a few inviting possibilities and began their trek.

  By the middle of the week, Kate had a new one-bedroom apartment, a beagle-mix puppy from the animal shelter, and a fresh lease on life. She signed on as a substitute teacher, shopped for a new, moreteacherly wardrobe, and ended up spending most of her allotted funds on chew toys for Ferdinand, whom she’d named in honor of the ghostly hound in the painting at Sister Oaks.

  She plowed through the hours in this efficient fashion, cleaning out the cobwebs of her life, setting aside her memories of Gideon and Jude and leaving them in the past with childhood stories and sinister fairy tales, where they belonged.

  At night, though, she still cried, her heart filled with homesickness for the spooky old house and its bittersweet enigma. For the man and the boy, as they were before she’d discovered their ghastly secrets.

  Ferdinand, who didn’t understand, flopped on top of her and lapped at her tears with his tongue. His ears were velvety soft, his face so humorous, she found herself laughing through her tears when she looked at him. He was a bright spot in an otherwise gray, foggy existence.

  Eventually she tried dating again. First, the handsome neighbor who offered a friendly hello every time she passed him on the stairs. His name was John Smith, and it turned out he had the personality to go with the nondescript name.

  After a mediocre dinner with John Smith, followed by a so-so movie, Kate felt disillusioned, wondering if Gideon had ruined her for the male gender in its entirety. She tried again a few nights later, inviting John down to her apartment for dinner. He picked at the lasagna she’d made—he didn’t like spicy food. She labored through a stilted conversation over the table with him; he chose his topics the way he picked through his food.

  “I live by a tried-and-true rule,” he declared. “I never discuss sex, politics, or religion.”

  Finally she’d had enough. No longer curious as to why he was thirty-five and never married, she sent John Smith packing with a half-hearted claim of a headache.

  Heartache would’ve been more truthful.

  Two weeks later she met Paul Montclair. He taught French at a local high school. He was nice-looking and athletic, and he made her laugh. Not one bit frustrating or infuriating, as Gideon had been. Paul didn’t rile her or tease her; he didn’t leave her wondering if lightning bolts had struck her dumb when he smiled at her. But he was a good kisser, and Kate would have been satisfied to leave it at that, but Paul was as passionate as he was appealing.

  “I’m not ready,” she told him on their third date, drawing back on his sofa after he’d slid a gentle, searching hand under her sweater.

  He blew out a breath and sat back. “I understand. And I don’t want you to think I’m pushing. But Kate, it’s been a month, and I’m not going anywhere. I like you, and you can trust me.”

  “I know.” She stared at his hands. He had nice hands. Large and sensitive. Nice lips, too. No fangs.

  He slid closer to her again, playing with her hair. “Do you think you’ll be ready in, say, a week?”

  She tilted his head to accommodate him when he nuzzled her neck. “It’s possible,” she said. And lo and behold, felt the tiniest sting of desire.

  Then, of course, she pictured Gideon’s white flash of a smile, remembered the touch of his fingers, his lips, the slow, rhythmic thrust of his body as she wrapped her arms around his neck and abandoned herself to ecstasy…and an overwhelming wave of need crashed over her that had nothing to do with Paul Montclair’s careful caresses.

  That night, as Paul walked her to her apartment door, she shook her head and said, “I don’t think this is going to work.”

  He frowned, studied her face, his brown eyes kind and discerning. “When you say you’re not ready, you mean for anything. Ever.” A statement, not a question. God bless the man. She wouldn’t have to explain.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh. “You’re a wonderful person.”

  And he was. Wonderful enough to accept her rejection and disappear.

  * * * * *

  “It’s leaning.” Kate squinted at the oversized Christmas tree as Mike hunched beneath it and secured the trunk into the stand.

  He made a sound of frustration. “Left or right?”

  “Left. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Too far. Now right.” She stepped back, eyed it, and gave a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”

  He crawled out from under the tree, hair tousled, pine needles stickin
g to his sweater. “Is Her Highness pleased?”

  “Her Highness is more than pleased.” She smiled and leaned to smooth his hair. “For your trouble, Knave, how about some homemade eggnog?”

  While Nat King Cole crooned on the stereo, they sipped their eggnog, strung the lights and broke out the new boxes of ornaments she’d bought for her first live Christmas tree.

  Kate looked around the apartment with pride. Everything in her life was fresh and new. Herself included. She’d gained a healthy five pounds, had a new hairstyle that curled around her shoulders, and generally felt better about life these days. Christmas was her favorite holiday, and she refused to be depressed until after the New Year, when she’d face another twelve months without Gideon by her side. She could only handle the idea of life without him in six-month increments, so she’d just have to make it to June.

  Briefly she wondered about him and Jude, how they would celebrate, if they did at all. Did vampires have Christmas trees?

  The huge, empty dining room at Sister Oaks would be a perfect place for a magnificent tree. She could imagine the golden, shimmering glow of it, smell its piney scent, feel the prickle of its needles beneath her hand.

  The now-familiar sadness crept into her thoughts and she headed into the kitchen for a fresh glass of eggnog, heavier on the “nog” this time.

  When she returned with another cup for Mike, he was putting on his coat in the hallway, and Kate tried not to feel disappointed.

  “I’ve got to be up bright and early in the morning,” he told her. “The holidays may be upon us, but crime never rests. Thugs everywhere still need their legal representation.” Leaning to kiss her cheek, he added, “Keep Ferdinand away from the ornaments. He ogles them and licks his chops. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Closing the door behind him, Kate sighed and wandered back to stare at the gently glowing tree, while the puppy bounced between her ankles, chasing indiscernible phantoms. A nagging urge crept into her mind. Call.

  She wouldn’t have dreamt of it before now. But months after fleeing Sister Oaks, she could conceivably be ready to talk to a member of that household. And her curiosity raged. Were they well? Did Jude still have to be home-schooled, or was there some magical way to avoid the sunlight that granted him a semblance of normalcy? Had he scared off the rest of the staff at Sister Oaks with his new set of fangs?

  How was vampire life in general?

  Call.

  In the kitchen, she set the glasses in the dishwasher and glanced at the clock. Nine-fifteen. Gideon would be home from teaching night classes by now, if he weren’t away at a convention. Could she bear the warm, gentle sound of his voice?

  She could at least talk to Martha, if the older woman hadn’t left Sister Oaks for the night. Yes. Martha was a safe bet. Kate could ask her about Gideon and Jude without actually talking to them. Martha wouldn’t even have to tell them Kate had called.

  With trembling fingers, she flipped through her address book, located the number, and dialed it into the cordless phone. It rang, and Kate held her breath, shaking with the intensity of her anticipation.

  A low male voice answered, one she didn’t recognize. She hesitated. “Hello, this is Kate O’Brien. With whom am I speaking?”

  “It’s Jude.” Silence dropped over the line, telling Kate that he was as surprised to hear her voice, as she was to hear his.

  She was the first to recover. “Jude. Heavens, it doesn’t sound like you. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. God, Kate—I can’t believe you called. I didn’t think we’d ever hear from you again.”

  He sounded…sweet. Familiar. Releasing a shaky breath, she cradled the phone closer to her cheek. “I know it’s been a long time…”

  “We looked for you in Richmond information, but you’re not listed anywhere. Where are you?”

  “I’m still in Richmond.” She closed her eyes. They’d looked for her. They still cared. “I’m unlisted for now, but I’ll leave my phone number and address before we hang up. And I’ll give you my e-mail address. You still have e-mail, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” He hesitated, and she pictured him standing in the living room, tall and dark and lanky. Lashes too long. Face too exquisite. Unearthly and inhuman. But when he spoke again, he sounded vulnerable and real. “Look, there’s something you should know. We were trying to find you because Dad’s really, really sick.”

  Her heart jolted. “What do you mean?”

  “After you left, everything changed. I mean it was changing before you left, but I think you being gone made him crazy.”

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Don’t do this. “It was for the best, Jude. I don’t fit in your lives. I couldn’t… You have to understand. I’m just a regular person who can’t grasp the life that you and your dad lead. I couldn’t be a part of it.”

  “I understand. So does Dad. But it all happened at once, you know? And things just sort of fell apart. You left, and then I did some things to hurt him. I got into trouble. And he…oh, Kate, he’s so sick.”

  A lump of tears settled in her throat. “How? How is he sick?”

  Jude was quiet, as though formulating the right way to explain. “Did he ever show you the vial of blood an old priest gave him about thirty years ago?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a relic. Saint’s blood. Just a tiny glass tube. It came with an old book that talks about how people who are cursed, like me and my dad, can be saved. Made human again.”

  “He never told me about it.” Still, a vague recollection of cryptic words, ancient prose, danced through her memory. Gideon had told her nothing, but the dreams she’d had lately…they were somehow connected. Of course. Her heart and soul were so deeply entangled with Gideon’s, so irretrievably bound to him, every agony he felt was a mark on her being.

  She drew a deep breath to banish the wild disbelief curdling her emotions. “He never said there was anything he could do to…change himself.”

  “That’s because the book says if he drinks that vial of saint’s blood, he’ll probably die.” His voice trembled. “I guess he thought it was worth the risk. After you left, he locked himself up and wouldn’t talk to anyone. He quit teaching. His…” The words caught in his throat. “His roses died.”

  “Oh, Jude.” Despite her resolve, tears welled in her eyes, grief clenching her heart so tightly she could hardly breathe. “He drank the vial?”

  “Some of it. To test it. Not just for him, but for me. Hold on.” The phone rattled and she heard the soft rustle of a tissue. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “He only drank some of it because he wanted me to have some, for when I choose to save myself. That’s what he told me. But the book said that anyone who’s taken a life and then drinks from the vial will die and never find God. And I think Dad must have killed a lot of people in the years before I was born. He’s really going downhill fast.”

  Kate clutched her heart, half-expected to feel broken shards beneath her palm. The murderous creature Jude referred to wasn’t the Gideon she’d fallen in love with. And now that same love surged within her, potent and formidable, raising chill bumps on her skin and bringing her back to life.

  Then Jude’s words sank in. He’s really going downhill fast…

  “Jude, is he dying?” Disbelief and anguish twisted Kate’s stomach so violently, her knees gave out and she dropped to the kitchen floor.

  “The doctor says his body’s reacting like it’s been poisoned, but every day passes and Dad hangs on. I don’t think he wants to die, but he’s so tired of being ill. Last week he asked to be moved back here to the house. None of the medical staff knows he’s a nightwalker. Who’d believe such a story?”

  “I did, Jude. I believed.”

  “And it scared you away. But Kate, you can come back now. He’s… I guess maybe he’s human again, since he’s so sick.” He dragged in a shuddering breath. “I think he finally got what he wanted. Please. Please come back, Kate. Come home.”

  Come home.

&
nbsp; She swallowed, forced herself to think. She had to go. “I’m getting in my car and I’ll be there in a few hours.”

  “Good, Kate. Thank you so much. I’ll be awake. I’ll look for you.”

  Setting the phone on its stand, Kate scrambled to her bedroom and tossed clothes in a duffel bag, grabbed her toiletries from the bathroom vanity, and threw on her coat.

  Ferdinand sat in the hall and watched, his soft brown eyes following her every frantic move as she raced out to pack her car.

  She slammed the trunk, then dashed to the kitchen, poured some puppy food in a baggie, and grabbed the dog on her way out the door.

  The night was still and cold. A strange wind sifted through the trees, the promise of snow heavy in the air.

  Setting the dog on the passenger floorboard, she started the car and headed down the street, past warm windows glowing with Christmas lights, past the sparkling skyline, and onto a dark, empty highway that led to the man she loved.

  * * * * *

  By the time Kate turned onto the gravel road leading to Sister Oaks, she felt utterly singular, as though no living being existed in the far-flung countryside except her—and Ferdinand, of course, curled up on the floorboard asleep.

  Every house and business she passed was dark, and she hadn’t seen another car in two solid hours. Of course it was the middle of the night, but the stillness of the rolling landscape somehow didn’t feel right. Outside the fogged car windows, the wind moaned a barely audible dirge. Drifting snowflakes danced in her headlights and brushed against the windshield. Even Johnny Mathis’ rousing holiday carols on her stereo did little to ease the dread lodged in her soul.

  Urgency seized her and she pressed the gas pedal carelessly close to the floorboard, mindless of the icy patches glistening on the road. The tires bumped over the ruts beneath her; Ferdinand raised his head and gave her a questioning look. Up ahead, lights glimmered. The house.

  She drove through the hammock of skeletal trees and slowed to stare at the mansion looming before her. Terror had driven her away before. Now the mansion beckoned, benign and humbled, banishing the memories of fear and confusion from her mind.