“I’m afraid the mood’s lost on me,” said Claude, idly running his fingers through Eloise’s hair, which had somehow come unbraided. “Watching one of my films always reminds me of being smothered by the makeup and blinded by the lights.”
Britt slipped her hand into Roger’s and began caressing him with the ball of her thumb. “You don’t get any thrill out of filming the—love scenes, if that’s the word?”
“Hardly,” Claude chuckled. “Eloise has nothing to worry about.”
“Sometimes I regret getting into scriptwriting,” she said, “because I don’t get turned on just watching him in those scenes the way I did before we met. I’m too busy looking for mistakes. Kind of like what being a writer does to my reading style.”
Roger, unfortunately, hadn’t developed that immunity. When Claude played his first intimate scene with the leading lady, a tender, tentative approach broken off before his understated artificial fangs pierced her throat, Roger had to force himself not to squirm openly. Britt, blatantly enjoying his discomfort, kept drawing circles on the palm of his hand with her fingernails until he felt like snarling at her.
He did snarl mentally. [Confound it, will you stop that! We have guests, and I’m not prepared to throw them out into the blizzard!]
[Then maybe you should surrender to the inevitable and offer them the guest bedroom.] But she did stop tormenting him, only to stand up and say, “We promised you dessert, didn’t we? Anybody for vanilla fudge ice cream?”
Eloise cheered for that suggestion, and Claude asked for a small serving to keep her company.
“Roger and I will get it,” said Britt. “Don’t bother stopping the VCR. We’ll catch up later.” She held onto Roger’s hand and led him into the kitchen.
Once out of sight of the other two, he broke away from her handclasp. “Colleague, I suspect your interest in ice cream is secondary.”
She stood on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. “Perceptive of you.”
“This is not a good idea. Why are you upsetting both of us when we can’t—” Her supple curves fitted so tightly against him. Yielding, he leaned back against the refrigerator and returned her embrace. He felt the throb of her heart, basked in the heat she radiated. He couldn’t resist tasting her mouth just for a second or two.
Some time later they paused for breath, her cheek rubbing his. “Maybe I should have listened to you,” she whispered. Her lips brushed his earlobe.
“Stop that.”
To his surprise and slight regret, Britt obeyed this time. “We’d better break out the ice cream,” she said, breathing unsteadily, “or we’ll never make it out of this room.”
She opened the freezer and fumbled for the carton, while Roger got out bowls and spoons. With trembling hands Britt served a couple of scoops for Eloise, a smaller portion for Claude. “Here, take these in while I get some for myself. Hurry up before I attack you again.”
Restraining himself from giving her one quick kiss, he followed her suggestion. In the living room Claude accepted the bowl of ice cream with an irritatingly knowing look. Roger wished the snow would ease up. He’d lost interest in seeing the rest of the movie.
A knock at the back door replaced his irritation with surprise.
[I’ll get it,] Britt told him.
[Let me—you don’t know what—] She was already turning the doorknob, though. Roger sensed trepidation, not hostility, on the other side.
He heard Britt open the door. Blank astonishment filled her mind. [Britt, what is it?]
[There’s a girl out here—thirteen, fourteen, I don’t know. Thin, pale, with huge eyes, red hair, and a ridiculous outfit for the weather.]
Viewing the visitor through Britt’s eyes, Roger came to the obvious conclusion before she articulated it.
[Roger, she’s a vampire.]
Chapter Three
AT ONCE ROGER knew who the pale, thin girl with gleaming eyes—the eyes of a wild creature poised for flight—had to be. “Come in, Gillian.” Before she could think of disobeying he grasped her arm, drew her inside, and bolted the door.
He felt a quiver in the cold flesh under his hand. She boldly met his stare, though. “Good evening, Dr. Darvell. Or should I call you Father?” The tone of the question verged on insolence.
Roger tried to barricade his emotions as he replied, “Since that relationship doesn’t exist in your subculture, I don’t think it would be appropriate.” The girl flinched, a reaction she quickly suppressed. Roger felt a stab of guilt.
Britt said icily, “Well, I hope you aren’t planning to make her keep calling you by your title!”
Gillian cast another apprehensive look at Britt.
“This is my associate, Dr. Britt Loren,” said Roger, maintaining his grip on the unexpected guest. “She knows about you. Now, isn’t Volnar here?” He knew better but hated to concede the fact.
“You want to talk in front of an ephemeral?” Gillian still looked prepared to dash off into the night at the faintest provocation.
Roger struggled to control his impatience with her. “I trust Dr. Loren implicitly. You may discuss anything in her presence.”
“But not standing in the middle of the kitchen,” Britt interrupted. Roger felt her pity for the child. “Can’t you make her comfortable before you start grilling her?” She lowered her voice as she turned to Gillian. “I’ll bet you ran away from Dr. Volnar, didn’t you?” Roger sensed Britt fighting the desire to touch the girl. A young vampire who knew almost nothing about ephemerals wouldn’t readily accept comfort from one.
Gillian nodded, keeping her eyes on Roger. “Are you going to send me back?”
“Not right this minute,” said Roger. He led her to the living room.
At the sight of Eloise, Gillian tensed again. “Relax,” Roger said. “My brother, Claude, and his wife, Eloise Kern.”
Surprise displaced Gillian’s fear. “You’re married to an ephemeral?” She scanned Eloise more closely. “And she’s pregnant!”
Roger strove to hide his amusement at Gillian’s shock. Claude didn’t even try. “Well, mon enfant, you must be my niece. Why does that disturb you so much? You’re a product of a similar union yourself.”
“I never asked to be!” She glared at Roger, then at Britt and Eloise. “Do you expect me to talk about myself in front of your pets?” Eloise radiated a rueful humor that echoed Britt’s.
Roger squelched his impulse to slap Gillian. “Understand, young lady—Dr. Loren and Dr. Kern are not pets. They are our lovers, friends, and equals. You will grant them the same respect you give us.”
Gillian visibly wilted. “Yes, sir.” She evaded his eyes and turned to Claude, who showed no threatening anger. “What should I call you—Uncle Claude?”
He switched off the television. “No, that title belongs to the mother’s brother. The father’s has no official status. You may as well keep things simple and address us all by our first names.”
“Very well, I suppose that’s best,” Roger said.
“If that’s settled,” said Britt with an impatient frown at Roger, “can you stop badgering her for the moment? Sit down, Gillian.”
Eloise made room on one of the love seats for Gillian, who gazed at Eloise across the foot of space separating them as if the human female were some sort of exotic beast. As if involuntarily, Eloise’s hand stretched out toward Gillian. The girl edged farther away. Projecting disappointment, Eloise backed off.
Britt said, “How long have you been running?”
“Two days and two nights. I left Dr. Volnar in Atlanta.” And she looked it. Melting snow plastered her wet hair to her head. Under the damp, mud-splashed jacket, which she had unzipped, her blouse hung in shreds. Her tennis shoes were soaked through.
“How did you get here?” Roger asked. “Did you have money?”
“Not enough.” She was beginning to relax now. “I took the bus part of the way and hitchhiked part.” A shadow of remembered fear flickered in her eyes. “It was harder tha
n I expected. I slept in the woods today—or yesterday, I suppose.”
Britt got up from the other love seat. “Poor kid, you must be exhausted. And starving.”
“Dr. Volnar has always told me not to exaggerate,” said Gillian. “I am extremely hungry, yes.”
She made no attempt to keep from broadcasting her hunger. Roger’s stomach cramped in sympathy. Britt was already kneeling beside the couch, pushing up the sleeve of her caftan.
Roger’s hand closed on her shoulder. “Britt, no!” In response to Britt’s outraged glare, he elaborated, “She’s too young for human blood. Aren’t you, Gillian?”
Gillian nodded. “I have never tasted it. Dr. Volnar says I shouldn’t need it for another two years or more.”
“And that’s starting young,” said Claude. He perched on the arm of the couch next to Eloise, who leaned toward Gillian as if she, too, would open her veins if it were allowed.
Britt stood up, moving toward the kitchen. “Then how about a nice bloody chunk of raw dead cow?”
A flash of injured pride shot through Gillian’s exhaustion. “I’m much too old for that. I’ve had my adult teeth for over a year.” She bared them, displaying deceptively human-looking incisors and canines.
“Yes, I see,” said Britt gravely. “Do you eat vanilla ice cream? Have mine, while I whip up something more substantial.”
Since she was thoroughly familiar with the contents of Roger’s kitchen, he let her proceed with the job alone while he pulled up a straight-backed chair to Gillian’s side. He tried to study her profile unobtrusively. Did she resemble him in any way? All he could see in her so far were Juliette’s sharp features and Irish Setter red curls. “Now perhaps you’ll tell me why you ran away from your advisor.”
After taking a spoonful of ice cream, Gillian said, “He ordered me to bond with him—to exchange blood.”
“You knew that would happen eventually,” said Claude. “Aren’t you rather young for it, though?”
She licked chocolate sauce from the spoon and scooped up another bite. “Yes. I started—seeing—seeing auras, feeling emotions. It came upon me suddenly, in a theater—” She broke off, as if the memory choked her.
Roger felt an unwilling surge of sympathy. He recalled with painful vividness how terrifying his own first experience of psychic perception had been. Would knowing about it in advance make the transition much less traumatic?
Claude said in an even, soothing tone, “Most unfortunate for you, especially since you shouldn’t have begun this early. But didn’t you realize that bonding with your advisor would ease the discomfort? How else can he teach you to shield against that flood of impressions?”
“Maybe it works that way for real vampires,” she said. The bitterness in her voice surprised Roger. “I have human genes. Suppose I can’t stand the touch of his mind? Suppose I’m not strong enough?”
“Where the—” An unexpected spasm of anger momentarily silenced Roger. He forced himself to speak calmly. “Where the blazes did you get an idea like that? From Volnar?”
“Of course not. Some of the other elders—I couldn’t help overhearing them, sometimes. The ones who don’t believe I ought to exist. They think I’m contaminating the gene pool. They are waiting for my—defects—to show. And Dr. Volnar’s mind is very ancient and powerful.”
“Gillian, that’s nonsense.” Roger knew neither the words nor the tone would be likely to comfort her, but, damn it, he knew nothing about comforting children. In his psychiatric practice he never accepted patients under age sixteen. He knew that letting her sense his smoldering rage at her being branded “inferior” wouldn’t help. “Volnar is my advisor, too. He bonded with me, when I was far less prepared than you are, and it didn’t burn out my brain. And I’m more human than you.”
She took one more bite of ice cream, swallowing hard, and abandoned the bowl on the coffee table. “What do you care? You never wanted me to exist either.”
Roger flinched at the sting of her anger. “Surely you don’t take that personally? I didn’t appreciate being manipulated into such an important action. It had nothing to do with you. How could it? I didn’t know who you would be.” Good God, am I actually defending myself to this vampiric juvenile delinquent? Yet he couldn’t deny that he wanted her respect.
To his relief, at that moment Britt reappeared from the kitchen. She carried a mug from which an appetizing scent emanated—appetizing to Roger and Claude, at any rate. “Best I could do on short notice,” she said. “Raw calves’ liver, minced, blended with broth and heated to body temperature.”
Sniffing the concoction, Gillian said, “I don’t like eating dead blood.”
Britt, shielding her amusement from Gillian, remarked silently to Roger, [A domesticated predator like Sigmund, hmm?]
Claude reached for the mug. “Until one of us has time to take you hunting, that’s all you’re going to be offered. If you want to function in human society, you have to accept compromises. But if you’re not that hungry—” He started to raise the mug to his lips.
She snatched it from him and drained half of the drink before pausing for breath.
“Slow down or you’ll be sick,” Claude chuckled. “What have you been doing for the past two nights, anyway?”
Eloise and Britt leaned forward in their seats, eager to hear the story. Gillian gave them each a nervous glance before beginning. “The day before yesterday, as soon as Dr. Volnar fell asleep, I took all the cash from his wallet and bought a bus ticket for Richmond. That was as far as I could afford. That night I found a ride on Interstate 95.”
“Wait a minute,” said Eloise. “Doesn’t your mother live in Williamsburg—Juliette Fontaine, the romance author?”
Gillian nodded. “Yes, that is the pen name she uses. She’s Julia Frost to her acquaintances in the area. But she is not in Williamsburg now. Dr. Volnar and I were on our way to meet her in New York.”
Britt said, “Obviously you had a reason for not calling her there and asking for help.”
Gillian shrugged. “I could have gotten in touch with her through her publisher, I guess. But she would send me back to Dr. Volnar. I thought Dr.—Roger might not.”
“I’m suspending judgment,” said Roger. “Go on.”
Gillian took a sip of her drink. “Now that I think of it, I might have hidden at Juliette’s home. The property is large, and the dogs know me. But Dr. Volnar might search there first. So I think I’ve done the most logical thing. I was picked up by a William and Mary professor named Adam Greer.” Roger heard her heartbeat speed up.
“Hey, I know his work,” Britt said. “Popular culture stuff on Bigfoot and so forth.”
“Right,” said Eloise. “In fact, I’ve appeared on a panel with him. And I believe he’s scheduled for Yulecon this weekend.”
“He mentioned that to me,” Gillian said. “He offered to take me all the way to Annapolis, since it wasn’t far off his route. But the car—” She drew a tremulous breath. “He lost control on the ice—skidded into a tree—”
Roger rested his hand on hers, trying to project a calm he didn’t feel. Whatever event she was working up to, he knew he wouldn’t like it.
Britt mentally cautioned him, [Don’t be hard on her. It must have taken incredible nerve and stamina for her to make it here alone. She needs sympathy, not criticism.]
[I’m aware of that, colleague. I just don’t know how to give it to her.]
“I changed shape. It never happened before, and I didn’t know how to control it. Greer saw me!” Gillian ducked her head as if expecting one of them to bite it off.
“Oh, my God,” said Roger.
Claude leaned across Eloise to pat Gillian’s shoulder. “Brace up, little one, it’s not the end of the world. If he’s like most Homo saps, he won’t believe what he saw. He’s probably already edited the memory to death.”
Gillian let out a pent-up sigh. Roger heard Britt remark inside his head, [But Greer isn’t like most people. Given his area of s
pecialization, he’s primed to believe.]
[If true, I suggest we not mention that to Gillian.]
[Of course not, colleague, don’t you think I have any tact?]
Claude said, “It’s unprecedented for the power to surface that young. Just the opposite of what your background would lead one to expect. Then what? You ran from him?”
Gillian nodded. “When I ran out of energy, I slept in the woods. After sunset I traveled on foot until I could steal this jacket—in an empty house—and then I found another ride to Washington.”
“No disasters occurred with that one, I hope?” said Roger.
Claude gestured him to silence. “Less of it, Rodge. Then what?”
“I asked for directions to the bus station. On the way, a group of boys attacked me. I—it happened again.” She didn’t blush—apparently she hadn’t inherited that human trait—but she looked mortified enough. “I had to hurt them.”
Britt and Eloise listened with avid interest and no sign of fear. Roger sensed Gillian’s surprise at this open acceptance.
“You didn’t drink from them, I hope?” said Claude.
Gillian shook her head. She didn’t seem to mind the interrogation. Roger supposed Volnar frequently debriefed her in the same way. “One of them was badly injured, though. I took his money to pay for the bus ticket. I rode to the stadium in Annapolis and walked the rest of the way here.”
“No wonder you’re tired,” said Eloise.
Britt got up to reclaim the empty mug. “I hope the one you robbed didn’t die—though it would serve him right.”
“She probably asked for it, though,” said Claude.
Indignation flared from both the women. Roger cut through their mental and verbal protests. “Crass as that sounds, I agree. I know what he means. Britt, don’t you remember my telling you what difficulty I used to have in social situations? Even more so than most doctors, I was constantly plagued by people asking for free diagnosis.”
Britt calmed down and considered that.
Leaning back against Claude’s chest, Eloise said, “Now I think I see. You’ve complained about the fans mobbing you whenever you let down your guard. It’s a kind of involuntary magnetism, isn’t it?”
Child of Twilight Page 6
