Broken Heart Town 2 - Don't Talk Back to Your Vampire

by Michele Bardsley

  "You're saying that I'm afraid to face what I did and make peace with it."

  I nodded.

  "I will consider your words," he said.

  I could tell by his expression that he meant what he said. I had given him something to chew on, and I was glad. Maybe, just maybe, he could build a real life in a community that would, I was certain, welcome him.

  Lorcan leaned forward and tapped Bert's hip. "C'mon, boy. We need to let Eva sleep."

  "I'm not tired," I whined. "I want to hear another story. What about Koschei? I'd be interested to know more about my Family."

  Bert stood on all fours, shook himself so hard that drool flew everywhere, and jumped off the bed. I wiped off my slimed cheek and laughed. The Great Dane looked at me, pushed the image of a ham bone into my mind, and barked. "He wants a—"

  "Ham bone," said Lor. "He has a one-track mind. He'll get one, along with the ham."

  "What about the story?" I asked. I didn't want him to go. Being left alone drove me batty. I had everything in the way of entertainment, from the flat-screen TV to PlayStation 3, but I rarely used either. I hadn't thought I'd ever tire of books, but I felt restless and bored every time I picked one up. My skin itched and I felt like a thousand ants marched up and down my body. I tried not to react to the sensations.

  "Solas," whispered Lorcan.

  Pink, gold, and red orbs glittered into the room. They floated like chubby fairies above me, twinkling and swirling. Delighted, I watched them dance and play. Suddenly I felt better.

  "The book will read to you," said Lor. "Close your eyes and listen. And try to rest."

  "Okay." I agreed reluctantly, not energetic enough to ask questions about a book that could talk. More sidhe magic from Lor, no doubt.

  I yawned again and lay flat, tucking myself more comfortably under the thick quilt. I watched him place the open book on his chair. He pressed his palms to it and muttered. The book glowed.

  Leaning down, Lorcan kissed my forehead. I caught his face and put my mouth to his. Warmth and need flooded me instantly, but Lor's kiss was too gentle, too brief. He brought the quilt to my chin and then he turned away. He flicked off the lights, whispered good night, and he and Bert left. I sighed as the door banged shut.

  I hate to be alone. Why do they leave me alone?

  Clenching my teeth, I shuddered violently. If only I could breathe… if only I could breathe... oh, you don't need to breathe, remember? Slowly, I got hold of myself. Everything's okay, Eva. Just chill out.

  My gaze was drawn to the glowing book. As the fairy lights engaged in a whimsical ballet in the soft darkness, Lorcan's brogue filled the room…

  I closed my eyes and listened.

  Chapter 19

  Legends of the Seven Ancients

  Koschei the Second

  As written by Lorcan, Fill don Tuatha de Danann. It was said that Koschei the Deathless kidnapped women from their beds and killed men with only his stare. Others told of a skeletal man with black hair and wild eyes that stole brides from their husbands on the wedding night. Some said that his soul was hidden inside an egg stored in a chest without a key. And there were those who said that Koschei was merely a ghost, a harbinger of bad luck.

  But Koschei was not a ghost, a kidnapper, or a soulless creature.

  He was deamhan fola.

  After Ruadan the First was banished by his wife, he traveled by boat to a cold and barren place far from the land of Eire. As his nature dictated, he drank the blood of mortal beings. Doing so was arduous because no victim was willing. Though Ruadan was clever and brave, he was unable to convince mortals that he was not a monster. In every village, he had to lie in wait for the unwary and take his sustenance by force. Soon Ruadan gained a reputation as a strigoi mort—a vampire.

  Word about the strigoi mort spread quickly. Villagers and farmers begged their gods, their wise men, and their healers for protection, but though they laid herbs on their doorsills and curses around their houses, Ruadan was not affected. Superstition was not magic; he knew the power, beauty, and truth of real magic.

  One night, Ruadan attacked a farmer, who fought so fiercely that Ruadan let him go. Though the vampire fled, the farmer and other terrified villagers chased him relentlessly. Forced to travel deeper and deeper into the craggy, snow-filled mountains, Ruadan subsisted on animal blood and slept in caves.

  Three days passed. On the fourth evening, he discovered a small village tucked into the mountainside. Cold and hungry, he managed to subdue a young woman long enough to drink what he needed. But she was the favorite wife of a powerful wizard named Koschei. Vowing revenge, Koschei used his magic to track Ruadan down.

  Koschei had a more fearsome reputation than even a strigoi mort. He was bone thin and wore only black robes. His hair was long and dark, his eyes hard and green as jade. Through his magic and his psychic abilities, he coaxed food, entertainment, and companionship from other villages. Many people in the region feared Koschei and sent gifts to the dark wizard so that he would not leave his mountain home. And so Koschei had all that he needed to live a comfortable life, including many wives, concubines, and children.

  Ruadan was surprised to find himself at the mercy of a mere mortal. Koschei's most powerful gift was the ability to glamour. Within moments, Koschei compelled Ruadan to tell all his secrets.

  After hearing his enemy's stones, Koschei revealed his own secret: He was dying. He told Ruadan that he feared that his village and his family were in jeopardy, that if he died, rival peoples would attack.

  "They will not fear me as a ghost," he said. "I will make a pact with you, demon. Give me immortal life and I will teach you my magic. I will show you how to draw a human to you, to drink, and to make him forget."

  Ruadan agreed, though he warned Koschei that becoming a deamhan fola was a terrible risk. "I've never made another," he said, "and this may end your life that much sooner."

  But Koschei was determined to become immortal. They agreed that he would teach Ruadan the magic first, in case the transformation failed.

  The bargain struck, Koschei spent every evening with Ruadan showing him the ways of the mind. He showed Ruadan how to alter his voice and how to create illusions. "People believe so easily," he said. "Show them what they expect and they will not question you."

  After thirty days had passed, Ruadan had learned all that he could from the wizard. On the thirty-first day, Koschei said, "It is time for you to keep your promise."

  Ruadan drained his new friend of all his blood. When Koschei breathed his last, Ruadan tore open his own wrist and pressed the bleeding wound against the man's pale lips. His magicked blood flowed into the body of Koschei and soon the wizard awoke—as deamhan fola.

  Koschei easily learned all the ways of the deamhan fola. Ruadan was pleased by the kindness of his friend and knew that Koschei would continue to bless those under his care.

  Yet Ruadan was a restless soul and he wished to resume his travels. The night before Ruadan's parting, a great celebration was held. Dancing, drinking, and feasting went on through the night.

  In the wee hours, as everyone fell into drunken sleep, the village was savagely attacked.

  Though Ruadan and Koschei combined their powers to fight the unknown invaders, nearly all of the villagers were slain and the buildings burned. Koschei tried to Turn his sons, his daughters, his favorite wives, but it seemed none could survive the change.

  "Help me," begged Koschei. "Save my children. Save my beloved wives."

  But even Ruadan's attempts at Turning them failed. All of Koschei's wives died. One son and two daughters barely lived; Ruadan and Koschei escaped with them deep into the mountains. Koschei led them to a cave where he often stayed when hunting and they made the mortal survivors comfortable.

  Koschei's son had seen only ten winters. His daughter Ina was barely seventeen. Tritsu was nearly twenty, already married with daughters of her own.

  All but these five souls perished that terrible night.

 
Koschei's grief could not be contained. He begged Ruadan to turn his children into deamhan fola.

  "Would you curse your son? He is but a boy. If you Turn him now, he will grow into manhood only in mind," said Ruadan.

  Tritsu pleaded to die. She couldn't bear the thought of living without her children and her husband. Koschei held her hand and wept. "You will join your loved ones. This I promise, my daughter."

  As Koschei held death vigils over his son and his elder daughter, Ruadan tended the pretty Ina. As the dawn crept over the mountains, two mortals passed into the next realm and three survivors sought rest in the dank darkness of the cave.

  The next evening, Koschei continued his vigil over the ailing Ina while Ruadan returned to the village. He buried the dead and burned everything else to the ground. He bespelled the area so that neither human nor beast would enter what had once been a happy place.

  After the work was done and the spells cast, Ruadan returned to the cave.

  Koschei was readying to leave. He knew of a powerful healer in another village. "I will take Ina to her and pray that my daughter lives."

  That evening, Ruadan and Koschei parted ways.

  Another deamhan fola walked the earth.

  Koschei the Second.

  Koschei the Deathless.

  Chapter 20

  I awoke outside the mansion. I was dressed in pajamas and bunny slippers, shuffling along the driveway like a zombie.

  It was pitch-black. Storm clouds scudded across the moon, blanking out even the stars. The night was eerily quiet. I thought of that scene from Dean Koontz's Watchers when a man alone in the woods is attacked by a vicious, unknown animal. It felt like that kind of hush, right before the creature emerged, menacing and snarling.

  I turned toward the house. I had no idea how I'd gotten out. Or what I was doing trying to escape. I just wanted to get inside. If I could get inside, I would be safe.

  I heard the soft growls and the patter of feet behind me. Within seconds, my arms were imprisoned by large, furry hands.

  "Let me go!"

  The vamp/lycans snarled and whirled around, dragging me down the driveway.

  Stop! Now!

  They stopped.

  Fear knotted my throat and my stomach churned. Was Patrick right? Were my powers stronger than I had believed?

  Let me go.

  They dropped me. I landed on hands and knees. Shaking badly, I scrambled to my feet and turned to look at them. They returned my stare, but didn't move toward me.

  Who are you?

  We are no one.

  "Eva!" Jessica, Patrick, Damian, and several others ran down the drive. Jessica held her swords at the ready. My world was spinning. I tried to stay upright, but I fell to my knees.

  What do you want?

  We want nothing.

  Even though I felt like retching, I pushed into their minds and found them… empty. Someone had scooped out their memories, their thoughts, and their wills. And whoever had done that had also implanted these answers.

  Where is your master?

  We have no master.

  Patrick and Jessica kneeled beside me and helped me to stand. "They're just… shells."

  Damian and his security team surrounded the creatures, pointing guns and swords at them. They growled louder, their feet scraping impatiently at the concrete. I heard their thoughts: Kill anyone who gets in your way.

  Simultaneously, they whirled, arms extended and claws slashing.

  "Stop!" I yelled and thunder reverberated in my voice. The lycans ceased their attack. I felt every pair of eyes on me.

  "Eva?" Damian's voice was low, questioning.

  I wanted to weep. "Their minds are gone. You must do—" I felt my throat close and I cleared it roughly. "You must do the kindest thing."

  He nodded. The guns rattled efficiently and the vamp/lycans fell to the driveway, blood trickling from their wounds to stain the concrete.

  "Where's Lorcan?" I asked, my voice raw.

  "I am here," he whispered. He appeared behind me and swept me into his arms. I felt a tingling, then POP! we were in my bedroom. He tucked me under the covers, then sat next to me, brushing my hair with his long fingers.

  "What did they want with me?"

  Lorcan shook his head. "I do not know." His gaze blazed with fury. "But I will find out."

  A few days passed and I heard nothing more. Either no one knew why I had been kidnapped a second time or they were all trying to protect me.

  I'm not sure when I realized that I was dying. Maybe no one wanted to admit it. Everyone had hope. I knew from the number of visitations and the number of blood vials Stan syringed that he was working nonstop on a cure. Jessica and Patrick came every day and talked to me like I would return to my library and to my life with Tamara. I pretended that I believed everything would be all right, but after two weeks my body was so achy, so weary, and my mind so filled with fluttering, gray thoughts, I couldn't believe that I would survive.

  I supposed that I had gone through all five stages of grief, but honestly, I hadn't paid attention. Did exhaustion in mind, body, and soul equal acceptance of death? I didn't know. I was scared. In those few hours that I spent alone with no one to talk to and nothing to occupy me, terror filled me until I almost choked. I got out of my bed and walked the room, but doing so just made me more tired and more anxious. If I thought about it too long, I got really weirded out by the idea I was being kept a prisoner by my friends. I didn't know what the taint would do to me, but I knew it would be bad. Really bad.

  I decided that I had to plan for my death, even as I continued to embrace the faint hope of a cure. The Consortium would take care of Tamara financially, but she needed a parent. I knew Jessica would take Tamara as her own if I asked, but she already had Bryan, Jenny, and Rich Junior. He was just a toddler, and the son of Jess's husband and his mistress, both of whom were dead. Besides, I couldn't ignore the fact that with me gone, Tamara would have a chance to return to the real world and be, at least for her, a normal kid.

  After Lorcan and Bert left for the evening, I used the house phone to buzz Jessica. Using it reminded me that I had never gotten my backpack or my cell phone. I wondered if Lor had found it or if he'd forgotten to even look for it. Oh, well. What did it matter now?

  "Hey there!" Jessica said, her smile and her words way too cheery. "How are you feeling?"

  "Like somebody hit me with a truck, backed over me, then did an Irish jig on me with spiked cleats."

  Chuckling, she sat on the bed and held my hand. "What do you need? More pillows? More satellite channels? A bigger TV?"

  "Five pillows are plenty and so are a thousand and three channels." I glanced at the flat-screen TV that took up nearly the whole wall in front of my bed. "I don't think you can get a bigger one in here."

  "Point taken." She patted my hand and looked at me, a half smile on her lips. How many times had I sat on my mother's hospital bed doing the very same thing? I had felt helpless and afraid, though I never wanted Mom to know.

  "In the library safe is a manila envelope. I need you to bring it to me, Jess, but please don't tell anyone else, okay?"

  "Secret mommy stuff. Gotcha. Anything else?"

  I nodded toward the mobile phone on the bedside table. "Can I call long distance on that?"

  "You bet." Jessica stood up. "You want to let me in on what you're doing?"

  "When the time is right." I smiled to deflect my reluctance to confide in her. "Ever figured out what the smell is up on the third floor?"

  "Nope. I can't get anyone to go up there and check it out. The stench is worse than Bryan's room."

  I laughed. "Now, that's bad."

  When I awoke the following evening, I was greeted by the sight of Brigid bent over me. She smiled benevolently as she passed her hands above my body, uttering Gaelic in a lyrical voice.

  I had seen Brigid in meetings and around Broken Heart. Yet I had never been this close to her. She was tall—at least six feet. Her hair was v
ery long and red and her skin a creamy pale. She looked gorgeous in the simple green dress that adorned her. On her skin swirled gold patterns, as if they were animated tattoos. Jessica told me that Brigid was a true immortal, the mother to Ruadan and the grandmother to Patrick and Lorcan. She was also a healer with powerful draíocht, or magic. But she hadn't been able to interfere with the progression of the taint. Not even immortals had all the answers.

  As her hands went over me once more, I felt a soothing heat flow from my feet to my head. The magic tingled and for once my weariness gave way to clarity.

  "It seems you're preparing for a trip to the Other Side," she said in a lyrical Irish voice. "But maybe you shouldn't be packing your bags quite so soon."

  "I'm trying to be realistic," I said.

  "Is that your way of saying you're giving up?"

  Anger spiked, even though Brigid's tone was kind. "I won't put my head in the sand and pretend that the taint isn't harming me."

  Brigid waved at a cushioned chair and it glided across the carpeted floor. She sat down, her green eyes assessing me. "In the days when the Celts were one clan, when their magic hadn't been divided by those who loved the earth and those who loved the sea, I was born to Morrigu."

  "Lorcan read me the story." I gulped. "The crow queen really is your mother?"

  "That's always been the problem with mortals. They rely more on their eyes and their intelligence than they do their hearts and their intuition. Why do you think magic has faded so much from this world?"

  "Lack of belief."

  "And lack of practice." She smiled sadly. "The day I begged my mother to save Ruadan, grief knotted my soul and impaired my judgment. Maybe it would've been better to let him join his brothers on the Other Side. But I couldn't let him go."

  "I'm sorry."

  "There are rules, my darlin', for all of us. Even though I am as near to a goddess as you're likely to get, I can't just part the veil for a visit whenever I please. There is a balance we must maintain, no matter who we are or where we live. I need to focus on my work to be done in this world."