Child of Twilight

by Margaret L. Carter

  Blood spurted from a severed artery. The metallic scent stung Roger’s nose. His head spinning, he hastily let go of Eloise, dimly sensing her stagger but not fall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gillian double over, stabbed by Camille’s pain.

  His whole body vibrating with the growl that issued from his throat, Claude gripped Camille’s head between both of his hands. For an instant their eyes met, both glowing crimson, one with pain and the other with hate. An image from fourteen years past flashed into Roger’s mind—his own hands gripping Camille’s brother exactly that way. He envisioned Claude twisting the woman’s head off.

  “Claude, no!” He sprang to his brother’s side. “You do not want to do this!” Roger himself, though brought up with human standards of justice, had scarcely been able to deal with his killing of Neil Sandor. To this day, calling it execution sometimes struck him as hypocritical. Once the tide of fury ebbed, how would Claude deal with the fact of being a kin-slayer? All his life he’d been taught to view that deed as the ultimate taboo.

  At first Roger was afraid Claude wouldn’t even be able to hear him. He lightly touched his brother’s arm. Without releasing Camille, Claude turned on Roger with a snarl.

  Staring into his eyes, Roger said, “Is your revenge worth the risk of becoming an outcast like her? Is she worth doing this to yourself?”

  Though it nauseated him, Roger deliberately summoned up the image of Sandor’s death. He gathered all his revulsion and self-doubt and flung them at his brother. He felt Claude mentally recoil as if he’d taken a blow to the heart.

  Claude’s animal sounds changed to heavy breathing. After a visible struggle, he managed to speak. “You saw what she did to Eloise.”

  “By vampire law, does that merit death?”

  “You’d do the same thing in my place.”

  “I’d want to,” Roger admitted. “But we’re talking about you. Do you want that memory for the rest of your life? Claude—do you want to force Eloise to share a memory like that?”

  A shudder coursed through Claude. He let go of the woman’s head and stepped back.

  Too weak to flee, Camille pressed one hand to her bleeding neck and glared up at Roger. He clamped onto her arm. “Listen to me. Volnar is on his way here with your advisor. No matter how many years her bond with you has been dormant, it still exists. They’ll track you down. Why make matters worse by continuing to run?”

  A gurgle welled up from Camille’s ravaged throat. After a couple of seconds, the blood stopped gushing. Roger was astonished that she had the strength to control it. “I won’t go back! I won’t let them lock me in that living death again!”

  Her panic reverberated in Roger’s mind like the clang of a giant bell. He shouted over it, “Surrender of your own free will, and that may not happen!”

  “Don’t lie to me!” In an unexpected surge of energy, she snatched her arm from Roger and kicked out to trip him.

  Instantly Claude was at his side. Roger leaped up, and together they held her at bay on the edge of the precipice. “You can’t escape capture,” Roger repeated. “If nothing else, we can track you through Gillian.”

  “Gillian—” Camille choked on the name. “Betrayed me—” She gazed past the two men at the child. “Then I’ll take you with me, cub!”

  Roger expected her to charge at Gillian. Instead, Camille sprang up and whirled in midair. She dove headfirst for the highway below.

  Dashing to the drop-off, he watched Camille hurtle toward the pavement. At the same instant, through his bond with Britt, he saw her fling herself at Gillian.

  “Gillian, don’t watch!” Britt cried. She tackled the girl, caught her off balance, and tumbled to the ground with her.

  Camille’s skull impacted on the blacktop in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. The driver tried to swerve too late. His right front wheels rolled over the woman’s head as the truck screeched to a stop. A voice in a numbed fragment of Roger’s brain noted, She chose her moment well. Deliberately.

  A car rear-ended the eighteen-wheeler, while traffic around them skidded off the road onto the shoulder. Roger forced his eyes away from the wreckage. An siren-like wail burst from Gillian. Her claws gouged the fabric of Britt’s coat. Britt projected no fear, only a yearning to give comfort.

  “Gillian, it’s over. Break out of it! Look at me!” She gave the keening child a vigorous shake.

  Though terrified that Gillian would strike at Britt in her torment, Roger didn’t dare interfere. Eloise and Claude, clinging to each other, also watched, helpless.

  Gillian’s scream cut off. Immobile, she stared blankly at Britt.

  “She tried to punish you with her death agony,” Britt said. “Don’t let her win! You’re free of her!”

  Absorbing Britt’s words, Roger understood Camille’s final threat. Yes, Camille had meant to drive Gillian into madness by forcing the girl to share her death. Roger prayed Britt’s intervention had blunted the edge of the experience.

  Gillian blinked. The fire faded from her eyes. “Britt?”

  “Is she—gone?” Britt asked.

  Gillian closed her eyes for a second. “Yes. When I reach for her, I touch nothingness. She is dead.” She collapsed on Britt’s shoulder.

  Chapter Fifteen

  SIRENS ULULATED IN the distance. Roger knelt beside Britt and Gillian to put his arms around both of them together. “We can’t stay here. We have to get away before the police swarm all over this area.”

  Britt stood up, pulling an unresisting Gillian with her. “I second that.” She dug out her car keys and threw them to Claude. “You two can use my car.”

  Gillian clutched Britt’s wrist. “Stay with me!”

  “Of course I will. We’re both riding with Roger.”

  Gillian clung to Britt all the way down to the cars. Just before they separated for the drive, Roger gave Claude and Eloise a long, penetrating look. They meshed with the harmony that had been absent for almost a week.

  Correctly interpreting Roger’s silent question, Eloise said in an exhausted but serene voice, “Yes, I’m seeing straight again. When we thought Camille was about to—to kill me, I felt Claude’s reaction. He wasn’t in agony over losing a food source or a drug. And when you said that about his imposing a horrible memory on me—well, I know he cares.”

  “And about time, too,” Claude said as he opened the car door for her. His voice quivered with a strain that belied the teasing words.

  “All those doubts—they already seem like a mirage,” said Eloise as she belted herself in. She was speaking to Claude, not the rest of them.

  Seconds later, both cars accelerated back toward the freeway. This time, Roger took care to stay within a five-mile-per-hour standard deviation from the speed limit. The last thing they needed right now was to draw official notice.

  On the way home, Gillian maintained a desperate grip on Britt’s hand. So far, Roger’s fear that the child would either sink into catatonia or go raving mad and attack proved unfounded. He felt her folding in upon herself as if shielding an open wound. When they turned onto the traffic-free lane leading to the townhouse, her tension slackened. She must have been so sensitized by the psychic detonation of Camille’s suicide that the emotions of strangers, even through layers of metal in automobiles, tortured her like breathing poison gas.

  When Roger parked the car, he noticed that Claude and Eloise had fallen behind and were nowhere in sight. No surprise there.

  Once he and Britt got Gillian inside, with the door bolted, she released her hold on Britt. “Thank you for your help,” she said in a subdued tone, fingering her cross. “Perhaps I should not be touching you.”

  “Why?” said Britt, though she doubtless felt the hunger Gillian projected.

  “I might lose control.” Gillian’s voice quavered. “She—Camille allowed me to taste human blood through her senses.”

  “She deliberately taught you—” Roger stifled his anger. Violent emotion wouldn’t help the girl.

&nbs
p; “Yes. I can’t be trusted near Britt now.” She stood in the middle of the front hall with her head bowed, as if expecting a slap.

  Beckoning her to the stairs, Britt said, “Now, stop that! We trust you. If you were going to break out in a feeding frenzy, you’d have done it by now. Go take a shower, and you’ll feel better.”

  While Britt and Gillian went upstairs, Roger headed for the office to check the answering machine. Switching it on in response to the blinking light, he heard Volnar’s voice:

  “I’m calling from London. I’ve made contact with Lilias, Camille’s advisor. She has agreed—with considerable reluctance—to track Camille for us. We’ll be leaving in approximately three hours.” He concluded with a telephone number.

  Roger dialed the number, which turned out to be a hotel, and was connected with Volnar. “Don’t bother bringing this Lilias back with you,” he said when the Prime Elder answered. “You’re too late.”

  “Are you saying you’ve captured Camille on your own?” Volnar’s voice conveyed his usual infuriating calm, no sign of surprise or anxiety.

  “She’s dead,” said Roger. “Suicide.”

  A moment of silence was all the reaction he got. Then Volnar said, “You are absolutely certain?”

  “No doubt whatsoever. I saw her skull crushed. Furthermore, she had forced a blood exchange on Gillian, who confirmed the death.”

  “That’s very unfortunate,” Volnar said. “Camille is the last person I would have chosen to exercise that crucial an influence over the child.”

  “Damn it, is that all you can say? There’s no telling how deeply she may be scarred!”

  “I agree with your assessment,” said Volnar, “but there is no point in letting your emotions run amok. We must rationally consider how best to treat her. Did she experience Camille’s death?”

  “I’m not sure how much of it she shared.” Sitting back in the swivel chair at the desk, Roger forced himself to match Volnar’s calm, at least outwardly. He described Britt’s intervention and explained how Camille had deliberately stimulated Gillian’s appetite for human blood.

  “That is most unfortunate,” Volnar said. “Gillian is too young. However, there’s no turning back. Once the craving has been awakened, it must be satisfied.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Roger said.

  “I shall be landing at BWI Airport tomorrow afternoon, your time. Needless to say, I’ll collect her from you as soon as possible.”

  Collect her! “Just like that? You think I’ll be glad to have her taken off my hands?”

  “Won’t you?” Volnar’s tone gave no hint of his thoughts.

  “It’s not that simple. She is my daughter, confound it!” A relationship that meant nothing in Volnar’s world-view. “My original resolution stands. I won’t turn her over to you against her will. But I suspect she’s ready to return, provided you don’t terrify her.”

  “Roger, you must have a very low opinion of my intelligence.”

  “No, it’s your sensitivity I question. If you want me to cooperate, you must promise not to force a blood-bond on her. Not after what she’s been through.”

  “Certainly not. Really, my young friend, do you suppose I’ve educated hundreds of children by purposely terrorizing them?”

  “I don’t know you well enough to judge.” Despite their bond, Roger had held Volnar at arm’s length as much as possible, and Volnar had never insisted on any contact other than superficial. Roger didn’t feel up to sparring with his mentor, but there was one statement he had to make. “I’ve come to a decision. Gillian is not just a vampire. As my daughter, she is part human and deserves exposure to human values. That facet of her psyche needs to be cultivated.”

  “Indeed? Most of our people would say that such an upbringing would only confuse her.” The cool tone betrayed neither approval nor disapproval.

  “What the blazes do they know about human growth and character development? That’s my specialty, and I’m convinced that Gillian will suffer more if that side of her personality is suppressed. Damn it, do you want her emotionally stunted?”

  “On what do you base this conclusion,” Volnar said, “aside from the questionably valid theories of psychoanalysis?”

  Roger warned himself not to let Volnar prod him into losing his temper. “Upon my own experience. I suffered for decades because you allowed me to grow up as human, totally ignorant of the other half of my heritage. With Gillian, you’ve tried to bury her human side. I don’t believe the result will be much better.”

  “Strangely enough, I think you’re actually making sense,” Volnar said.

  Ignoring the elder’s air of cool amusement, Roger said, “Before I return her to you, I want a guarantee. I demand visitation rights—joint custody—whatever the hell you choose to call it.”

  “You actually want to share the burden of her training?” Roger could visualize the skeptical arch of Volnar’s luxuriant eyebrows.

  “I’ll manage. And I think Juliette will back me up on this.” Good Lord, I completely forgot! “That reminds me, Juliette called earlier and said she was on her way down here to help me search for Gillian.”

  “Opportune,” Volnar said. “Very well, if Juliette has no objection, I’ll agree to your proposal.”

  Emotionally flattened by Volnar’s unexpectedly easy capitulation, Roger ended the conversation as quickly as possible. Did I actually talk him into that? Or was he planning to suggest it himself all along? With Volnar, one could never tell, and at this point Roger didn’t care.

  Hanging up the phone, he heard the shower and the washing machine running simultaneously. Britt must be washing Gillian’s clothes. Déjà vu all over again, as the man says. A rap on the front door announced the arrival of Claude and Eloise. In addition to Britt’s purse and her own, Eloise carried a small paper bag.

  After hanging up her coat, Roger took them into the living room and started a fire. Eloise held the bag on her lap while she cuddled with Claude on one of the matching love seats. Roger didn’t bother offering Claude a drink; their sated lethargy made that obviously redundant. He did suggest a glass of eggnog for Eloise, which she accepted.

  Licking foam off her lips, she said, “How is Gillian? That must have been terrible for her.”

  “Too soon to tell,” Roger said. “In addition to the shock of witnessing Camille’s death, she needs to be fed.”

  “Well, you have a volunteer,” said Eloise. Claude’s arm tightened protectively around her shoulders, but he wisely made no verbal protest.

  “Thank you, but I believe we already have one donor.” The water upstairs cut off. “Gillian will probably be down soon.”

  Britt, freshly scrubbed and changed, came in and lit a pair of bayberry candles to supplement the firelight and the glimmer of the Christmas tree. “You were talking to Volnar, weren’t you?”

  Claude, heavy-lidded with contentment, said, “Oh? How did Fearless Leader react to your news?”

  “I’ll tell you when Gillian’s here, instead of repeating everything.”

  “She needs human blood, doesn’t she?” said Britt, taking a seat next to Roger. “And she’s afraid to take it, poor kid. Camille couldn’t have traumatized her worse in such a short time if she’d planned it that way.”

  “She probably did,” said Claude.

  At that moment Gillian walked timidly into the room, wearing a robe of Britt’s. She approached Roger and stood with her hands folded and head downcast. “You spoke to Lord Volnar? What’s to be done with me?”

  “Confound it, you’re not on trial!” Roger moved over and gestured for her to sit between him and Britt. “Volnar will pick up your education where he left off, if you’re willing to go back to him. No one will force you to do something you aren’t ready for.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Camille?” said Britt softly.

  Gillian nodded. “She promised not to force anything upon me—and then she—” She covered her eyes and shuddered with tea
rless sobs.

  Britt’s fingers curled with the urge to comfort Gillian. Roger noticed Eloise leaning forward, straining against the same desire. He, too, knew better than to touch Gillian at a moment like this, no matter how much he yearned to help.

  After a while Gillian lifted her head and stared at Roger. “Lord Volnar wants to continue as my advisor? He doesn’t think I am irreparably tainted?”

  “Oh, good grief!” Britt curbed her anger and modulated her voice to a soothing tone. “Gillian, we call that kind of thing blaming the victim. Nobody here thinks that way, and I certainly hope a creature who’s lived God knows how many millennia has better sense.”

  “I shared Camille’s—emptiness.”

  “That must have been terrible,” Roger said. “But it doesn’t have to shape your entire life. Vampires are highly adaptable, and so are human beings. Both sides of your heritage are in your favor. And another thing—would you like to spend part of your time here? Learn from me—and Britt, for that matter?”

  Gillian’s eyes glowed. “You don’t want to get rid of me?”

  “I’d hardly suggest this if I did.” He felt an unexpected surge of affection, which he didn’t know how to handle. It had taken him long enough to learn how to express his love for Britt. And now I want to start all over with a child?

  Britt reached for Gillian, then drew back, unsure whether the girl was ready to be touched. Gillian groped for Britt’s hand and squeezed it. When Britt winced, Gillian looked stricken. “I hurt you. I knew I shouldn’t—”

  “Stop worrying, it was an accident,” Britt said. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Perhaps you should be. I know I wasn’t supposed to crave human blood yet. I don’t know whether I can feed safely—whether I can even associate with ephemerals safely.”

  Eloise said, “Are you thinking of what Camille said about being a monster?”

  “Partly.” Gillian tensed as she watched Eloise cross the room with the bag she’d been holding.

  “Here, I got you an early Christmas present.” Eloise sat on the rug next to the coffee table, stroking Gillian’s clenched fingers as she might stroke a kitten. “This is one of the most beloved and respected children’s books of all time. The heroine is a creature most people think of as monstrous, and she lives on blood.” She got out the book and placed it in Gillian’s lap.