Child of Twilight

by Margaret L. Carter

  Claude nodded. “Certainement. Especially when we’re hungry, as Gillian must have been. Transforming drains energy, even more so when you aren’t used to it. Gillian, you must learn to turn it off at will.”

  “Yes, sir. Are you saying that they might have ignored me if I hadn’t been—projecting?”

  “Precisely. And that’s one important skill you need your mentor’s guidance for.”

  “I hope you’re not going to start scolding her again,” said Britt. “She needs to rest. And I’ll bet you’d like a shower, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, please.” Standing up, Gillian flashed a mechanical smile. “Thank you.”

  “Good try,” said Claude, “but you’ll have to work on it. Ephemerals don’t respond well if you look as if you’re baring your teeth at them. Oh, don’t look so stricken. You’ll catch on by osmosis, after you’ve associated with them for a while. The important thing is not to appear obviously different. If a monkey is dyed pink and returned to the cage, the other monkeys will attack it.”

  Britt beckoned to Gillian. “Come on, before those two start in on you again. I’ll lend you a robe, and maybe we can find a shirt to replace that blouse.” She led the way down the hall.

  Roger bowed his head on his hands. “Good Lord, what have I done to deserve this?” He looked over at Eloise. “Are you still sure you want one of those?”

  Eloise laughed. “It’ll be a challenge, all right. Roger, what are you going to do with her?”

  “For one thing, I won’t force her to go back to Volnar. Not right away at any rate. I understand all too well how she feels.”

  “If it comes down to that, I sympathize, too,” Claude said. “But you’re not equipped to train her. She does need his guidance.”

  “Damn it, I know that. And I have no intention of keeping her, either.”

  “Are you going to notify Volnar that she’s here?”

  “Not now,” Roger said. “That would destroy any trust in me she might have.”

  He heard water running in the shower upstairs. Britt walked into the room, came up behind him, and began rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel sorry for the kid. She doesn’t know what to make of me. Roger, I wish you hadn’t stopped me from giving her a drink. I could feel her hunger—I wanted to help her in the worst way.” One of the benefits—or hazards—of their bond was Britt’s heightened sensitivity to all psychic influences.

  Eloise murmured her agreement. Claude, caressing her unbound hair, said, “Very generous of both of you, but it would be the worst way. Introducing her to human blood before she needs it would incite a craving that she couldn’t easily satisfy, which is hardly doing her a favor. Besides, when she does reach that stage, starting her off with a willing donor would be a disservice.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Roger, “but I understand. She needs to learn to hunt.”

  “Yes. How often can she expect to find someone like these rare treasures?”

  Eloise lightly slapped his exploring hand. “That’s almost as bad as pet.”

  “For that matter, too much exposure to you at this impressionable phase wouldn’t be good for her in any way. Look, cherie, if you had an orphaned fox cub you planned to release into the wild, would you socialize it to human companionship?”

  Eloise’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh.”

  “I see,” Britt said. “And I don’t like it either. She’s been taught that we’re dangerous animals—and for her own good, we can’t undermine that idea too much.”

  “I don’t mean you have to reject her advances, if any,” said Claude. “Just never let her believe you’re anything but exceptions.”

  Roger relaxed into Britt’s massage. “How do you account for the premature—explosion—of her powers? As you said, with her human heritage one would expect her to start late, as I did.”

  “Looks like the genes combine differently in each case,” Britt said. “And she’s only one-fourth human. Maybe just human enough to start maturing at twelve, as the average girl would—except that it’s the vampiric form of puberty.”

  The shower cut off. Claude said, “I do believe you’ve got something there, dear Doctor.”

  “Shouldn’t we talk about it some other time?” said Eloise. “She can probably hear every word we say.”

  “Of course,” said Claude, “so why pretend otherwise?” He picked up the remote control and restarted the movie. “If you plan to let her stay here awhile, you’ll have to substitute for Volnar—give her a crash course in blending into human society. Think you can handle that?”

  “That’s a rhetorical question, I presume,” Roger said. “What I’m hoping is to persuade her to return to him of her own free will.”

  Britt, to Roger’s annoyance, sat down on his lap with one arm around his neck. “She certainly won’t blend in the way she is now. I can’t decide whether she comes across as a precocious ten-year-old or an underdeveloped eighteen-year-old. I hope I’ll get some chance to talk to her at length before she’s spoiled by too much exposure to us ordinary mortals. For analyzing how vampires think, Roger is practically useless. And Claude—”

  Half his attention on his own videotaped image, Claude said, “Analyzing me wouldn’t get you very far. I’ve had over two centuries of corruption by you seductive creatures.”

  “I was about to say that I’ve never been able to pin you down long enough. If you’d at least spare me a couple of hours to discuss your dreams—”

  “No Jungian archetypes there, dear lady. As you ought to know from Roger, our dreams are deadly dull.”

  “I have tried to explain that,” Roger said. “Very transparent anxiety and wish-fulfillment motifs. Our unconscious conflicts, if any, express themselves through different outlets.”

  Eloise shook her head in sympathy. “Lost cause, Britt. And hardly worth pursuing, since they don’t dream more than an hour or two per week.”

  Claude scowled at the TV. “Must they overdo the fog effects in those dematerializing scenes?” He broke off as Gillian came into the living room.

  She wore a bathrobe of russet terrycloth, too long for her and cinched tight by a sash around the waist. Fragrances of soap, shampoo, and mouthwash had replaced the odors of blood and damp earth that had clung to her a few minutes before. “Is that a horror movie? Dr. Volnar has never allowed me to watch one.”

  “Good for him,” said Claude. “No doubt he explained why?”

  Still standing in the middle of the room, Gillian said, “Because we’re so adaptable while growing up that we absorb the attitudes and beliefs of those around us, unless careful corrective measures are taken. That is why he prescribes a varied diet of television and reading for me.” Her recitative tone softened into one that verged on pleading. “But I’m old enough to discriminate now, aren’t I? Isn’t that one of your films?”

  “Yes, and I doubt that a few minutes of it could hurt you. What do you say, Rodge? You’re the authority figure here.”

  Not by choice! “I can’t see any harm in it.”

  Gillian flashed her feral smile in gratitude. “Anyway, I have this to remind me that it’s only fiction.” She pulled a delicate gold chain out of the bodice of the robe. On the end of it, a small cross glinted in the firelight.

  Claude’s eyes shifted. “Volnar gave you that? Ingenious idea.”

  Roger had to admit it was. “The purpose being to symbolize your freedom from human superstitions about our kind? Good—see that you don’t forget it.”

  Gillian sat on the rug, her legs folded under her in half-lotus. While she watched the movie, Roger watched her. What am I supposed to do with this waif? I can’t supervise a child; I don’t have expertise or even the time! Concentrating on that problem helped to distract him from the heat of Britt’s strong, slender body and the liquid rhythm of her heartbeat.

  When the film ended with the death of the villain at the fangs and talons of Claude’s character, Gillian extended her arms in a catlike stretch and stared up at Roger.
“I’ve heard you did that once—you killed a member of our own species.”

  Roger’s jaws clenched involuntarily. Thinking of Neil Sandor, the renegade vampire he’d destroyed fourteen years before, still had the power to elevate his blood pressure. “Did your informants tell you that I killed him in self-defense? And that he had murdered a young woman of our race, not to mention an unknown number of human victims?”

  Gillian looked confused. Claude, setting the tape on rewind, interjected, “Sandor was a jackal. Not only did he have sloppy feeding habits, he robbed others of their legitimate prey. Roger performed a public service by killing him.”

  Roger said, “I wouldn’t view it quite that way—”

  Claude cut him off. “That is how we view it. A responsible hunter doesn’t slaughter indiscriminately. Even human conservationists know that.”

  Gillian, more perplexed than belligerent now, said to Roger, “You seem to consider it more important that Sandor killed ephemerals.”

  “I do.” He put a possessive arm around Britt’s waist to combat the memory of her helpless in the renegade’s grip. “Sandor threatened Britt. He would have taken her if I hadn’t killed him.”

  Gillian reclined, leaning back on both elbows, and searched Britt’s face. “That would have made a difference to you?”

  “Of course. I don’t understand exactly what you’re asking,” said Britt.

  “I mean, if someone is feeding on your blood, why should it matter who?”

  Roger felt Britt’s bewilderment at that question. “Good grief, I don’t know where to begin. It’s a special relationship—he isn’t a generic vampire to me, any more than all human females are interchangeable to him.”

  Gillian looked from Britt to Eloise. “It doesn’t quite make sense to me. You associate with them voluntarily? Creatures who drink your blood? Why?”

  Roger began, “You’ll understand better when—”

  “Colleague, I don’t think it’ll help to tell her she’ll understand when she grows up,” Britt interrupted. “Actually, Gillian, I keep him around to open jars and reach things on high shelves.”

  “Right,” said Eloise. “And he always remembers where I parked the car.”

  “Also,” Britt continued, “he gives the most unbelievably fantastic—”

  [Britt!]

  “—back rubs,” she finished, censoring the bawdy phrase in her mind.

  Gillian scanned their faces in confusion. “This is humor, yes?”

  Claude unwrapped himself from Eloise and stood up, smiling. “One brand of it, anyway. Roger’s correct to some extent; you won’t understand until you’ve experienced a relationship like this yourself.”

  “Maybe not,” said Gillian. “You’re bonded with them. You have put your life into their hands, too. That would frighten me.”

  Claude held out a hand to her. “Come over here, infant, and listen to some facts of life from Uncle Claude.”

  She got up and stood in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back.

  “Relax, you don’t have to stand at parade rest. Now, I know you’re afraid of bonding with Volnar. Frankly, I don’t entirely blame you. Fearless Leader can be—formidable. But you must accept the fact that without that bond, you won’t be able to absorb the skills you need.” He patted her shoulder. “If you can’t bring yourself to submit to your designated advisor, someone else will have to fill the gap. While Roger’s detractors were telling you his misdeeds, did they happen to mention Sandor’s background?”

  Gillian shook her head.

  “His refusal to bond with his advisor led to the isolation in which he spent his life. Unguided, he picked up the worst stereotypes about our kind and lived them.”

  “All too obvious,” Britt said, “even from the little I saw of him—trying to overwhelm me with all that eye of the hawk, soul of the tiger flamboyance.”

  “And brain of the great white shark,” said Claude disdainfully. “He thought with his appetite. That’s what got him killed.”

  Britt silently protested, [Claude’s trying to scare her.]

  [Perhaps a good scare, judiciously applied, is what she needs.]

  Gillian gazed wide-eyed at Claude. Unshielded, she broadcast her apprehension. “If I have to bond with anyone, I’d rather it be you. Or Roger.”

  Roger’s chest constricted at the thought. What help could he give her? Even Claude would do a better job as mentor.

  Claude gave her comforting touch, carefully avoiding the chain that held the gold cross. “No need to worry about it tonight. You can think it over for a few nights. Meanwhile, there are a few skills I can help you with.”

  Eloise hid a yawn behind her hand. “Not right now, I hope. I’d love to watch, and I don’t think I can stay awake much longer. Jet lag and all.”

  “Tomorrow night is soon enough,” said Claude, sitting down and pulling her into his lap. “Gillian needs to rest, and I think she’s still hungry, aren’t you?”

  Gillian hesitated before whispering, “Yes, sir.”

  Roger sensed her reluctance to admit weakness in front of Britt and Eloise; they had already seen her at too much of a disadvantage. “In that case, I’ll take you out now.” Britt picked up the cue and got off his lap. “It sounds as if the snow has let up.”

  “Yes, and I heard the snowplow drive by a couple of minutes ago,” said Claude. “We’d better go back to the hotel while we have the chance.”

  “You’ll be here tomorrow night,” said Gillian, “to teach me?” She cast an uncertain glance at Roger, as if still wondering whether she would be here the following night.

  “Yes, please do,” Roger quickly put in. “About six thirty.”

  He got Eloise’s coat from the foyer closet, and after a flurry of goodbyes, Claude and Eloise drove away. Britt stifled a yawn. “Getting awfully late for us diurnal types.” Unlike Eloise she was a morning person, who had difficulty keeping up with Roger’s preferred hours. “I’m going to bed. See you when you get home.”

  Her silent promise sent a tingle of anticipation through him. No longer fighting her seduction, he looked forward to the pleasure they would share before dawn.

  Outside, the snow had dwindled to an occasional flake. Roger led Gillian through the woods where he and Claude had walked a few hours earlier. She wore her jeans and the pilfered jacket, which had been washed and dried, along with a sweatshirt of Britt’s. Since none of Britt’s footwear would fit her, Gillian had to hike through the underbrush in her tennis shoes, soaking them all over again.

  Once out of sight of the townhouse complex, Roger told Gillian to lead the way. He wanted to discover how well she could function on her own. He watched her sniff the cold air and circle silently, her ears figuratively perked. In a surprisingly short time, she pinpointed a raccoon perched in the fork of a tree no more than three hundred yards from the house.

  Roger hung back while Gillian locked stares with the animal and crooned to it in a throaty growl. Roger recognized the sound as an amplification of the low rumble that sometimes vibrated in his own chest when he was sated and relaxed—Britt insisted on calling it a purr. The raccoon succumbed to the lure, inching its way down the tree trunk. Gillian stood frozen in a beckoning posture, her hands held out. As soon as the animal came within reach, she gathered it into her arms. The raccoon jerked once, quickly soothed into immobility by Gillian’s hypnotic stroking.

  After entrancing the raccoon, she walked over to Roger and silently offered him the furry bundle. So Volnar had made sure respect for her elders was deeply ingrained in her. Suppressing a smile, Roger said, “No, thank you, it’s all yours.”

  She gave him a grateful look and bit into the raccoon’s abdomen. The scent of blood made Roger salivate. He didn’t want to consume any more bulk nourishment on top of the steak though; he was still saving his appetite for “dessert.” While animal blood and milk, supplemented by moderate amounts of raw meat, filled his stomach and enabled him to function, he needed small, frequent doses of hum
an blood, as ordinary people needed certain trace elements in their diet.

  Except that the parallel wasn’t exact, for human blood—Britt’s—meant so much more. Mentally reaching for her, he found her already asleep. If she’d been awake, he might have accepted a taste of the raccoon, after all. When Britt empathically shared his kills, the bond infused animal blood with a hint of her own unique flavor, making it a little easier for him to do without her between weekends.

  Gillian took less than ten minutes to drain her victim. Licking her lips with feline tidiness, she laid down the body. “Do we return to the house now?”

  “Yes. It’s close enough to dawn for us to sleep, I think.” He checked his watch—after four. He and Britt had patients scheduled at nine.

  Trotting through the woods, leaping fallen branches with the careless ease typical of her kind, Gillian said, “Why didn’t you drink? You are hungry, aren’t you?”

  “One of those things you’ll understand when you’re older,” Roger said. She ventured a smile, comfortable enough to sense he was joking. “I’m—thirsty. I don’t need blood as such; I need hers.”

  After a moment’s thought, Gillian said, “You are right, I guess. I can’t understand yet. Dr. Volnar has never even let me watch him feed on a human donor.”

  “In this case, it’s much more than feeding.” His skin crawled with embarrassment at discussing such intimacies, even obliquely. Gillian must have sensed his discomfort, for she didn’t pursue the topic.

  Back at the house he waited while she washed up, then showed her to the guest room. Gillian unself-consciously stripped naked and snuggled into the bed. Roger shut the door and lingered outside it until he felt her sink into the deathlike torpor of daylight sleep, a matter of less than three minutes.

  She feels safe here. That’s good, I suppose. She assumed she would be allowed to stay for the next few days at least, and Roger and Claude had tacitly accepted the assumption. What the blazes am I going to do with her?