Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 72
Chapter Nine
In the narrow aisle of the Bookworm's Delight, Stevie tried to shelve a volume between two other books while she clutched a pile of new arrivals.
"Damn!” The book fell to the floor with a hard thud, barely missing her foot, followed by other volumes. She stifled a cry as she leaned over to retrieve the books, bending cautiously as a sharp pain shot from her knees down her leg.
"Oops, looks as if you have a problem here.” A tall, good-looking man with light brown hair and a pleasant smile crouched beside her to help pick up the books.” There!” he said, setting them within a bare spot on the shelf. In brown wool pants, a white shirt and a beige sweater--cashmere, if she wasn't mistaken--he presented a picture of studied casualness, reminding her of photos she'd seen of English country gentlemen. He probably carried a pipe in his pocket. His face was familiar, too.
He grinned.” Now I know what they mean when they say 'heavy reading. '"His hand supporting her elbow, he helped her rise to her feet.” You okay, now?”
Stevie leaned against the bookcase.” Yeah, guess I just tried to do too much all at once,” she said with a smile.” Thanks for your help.”
"You're welcome.” He paused.” By the way, I'm Mark Farrell. Come here whenever I get a chance. But I won't take up any more of your time.” He nodded, backing away.” See you later, then.” After another nod and a smile, he left the store.
What a nice guy, Stevie thought as she watched him walk out. A gentleman, too, and you don't see much of that kind anymore. A gentleman, like Galan. She sighed, wondering why she hadn't heard from him.
One of the employees hurried over from across the room, a worried frown on her face.” What's the matter, Stevie? I've noticed lately you're not your usual cheerful self.” Julie gave her a close look.” Not pregnant, are you?”
"Pregnant?” Stevie wished she could laugh but feared it would hurt too much.” Hardly.” Tired and feverish, she rested against the bookcase. A week had passed since she'd noticed the stiffness in her hands, and look at her now. A lot worse!” Been a little tired lately. Don't know why. Getting old, I guess,” she said with a wan smile.
"Old?” Julie laughed.” No one gets old anymore. We all stop aging at twenty-five. But seriously, if you have problems . . . do you want to talk about it?”
"I just don't feel good.” Stevie shifted her weight to ease her sore joints. Might as well have it out in the open.” I kept thinking I'd get better, but sometimes I have to drag myself out of bed in the morning. Guess I'll have to see a doctor.” She brushed her fingers across her forehead.” Don't want to, though.”
While customers milled about the aisles, taking books down from the shelves and turning the pages, Stevie touched Julie's arm.” Here, let's move out of the way.” They headed for a far corner.
"There's a lot of flu going around,” Julie remarked next to a shelf of romance paperbacks, “and if you have something contagious, you know the rest of us won't mind helping out until you feel better.”
Stevie changed her position again, her knees aching like crazy.” Probably a good idea to take time off from work. You can take my place until I come back. Maybe a week or so. Hope it's no more than that. I'll tell the others.”
She'd ask the brothers at Camillus House, the Catholic shelter for the homeless, if she could use the free clinic. Since she often served meals to the men and women there, they wouldn't charge for a checkup, would they? And if they did? Well, then, she'd have to dip into her savings.
In spite of her pain, a rush of emotion made her catch her breath as she thought about Galan. She wanted to be in his arms, feel his mouth on hers, his body close to hers. How was it possible to miss someone so much, that you thought about him every minute, day and night? But she didn't want him to see her like this. She'd wait 'til she got better. And she would get better, wouldn't she?
* * *
Like an explosion, the alarm clock jolted Stevie out of a restless sleep. Flat on her back, she ached in every joint.
Come on, girl, get up! With a moan, she forced herself out of bed, and after dressing, headed downtown to Camillus House. If they let her in the back door, she could avoid a long wait. After a half-hour's ride on the bus and a short walk to the shelter, she got into the doctor's office right away, thank God for small blessings. In the small, plain office, she related her symptoms.
The doctor fiddled with his fountain pen.” Could be rheumatoid arthritis, but we'll--"
"Rheumatoid arthritis?”
He made a few notes in a file folder.” We'll need to take X-rays and do a blood test. Then it'll be three days or so before we get the results. . . .”
A short time later, Stevie left the clinic, not knowing any more than before. Three days to wait. Like three years.
Aching in every joint, she tried to walk normally, telling herself that many young people had much more serious ailments. So quit feeling sorry for yourself, she thought, walking along the dirty, trash-laden streets. Easier said than done.
* * *
I must see Stevie again. By St. Aidan, he missed her so, every minute away from her a constant torment, worse than the most desperate hunger. Unable to reach her by phone, Galan didn't want to arrive at her home unannounced, as he had on his first visit. Worry about her kept him awake during the day and haunted his dreams when sleep finally came.
He surmised Rosalinda spent her time with Octavius now, but the unruly vampiress was as unpredictable as a roulette wheel, damn the bitch. What if she weren't with Octavius now? What if she posed a danger to Stevie, as he'd feared before? He must never let his guard down.
Even if Rosalinda left Stevie alone, Moloch had an army of vampires and revenants to destroy her. Revenants! Monsters, neither living nor dead, not even undead, but creatures caught somewhere in limbo between life and death.
One quick glance at his desk clock told him Stevie would be sound asleep. His intuition warned him--he'd better go to her, now!
Within seconds, he found himself in her bedroom, and--Rosalinda! Red-hot rage exploded inside him. God! He wanted to destroy the bitch, drive a stake through her wicked heart. A neutral expression fixed on his face, he forced himself to stay calm, knowing he could think more clearly if not blinded by anger. But it wasn't easy.
Unaware of Galan, Rosalinda approached Stevie's bed. Bloody saliva dripped from her mouth, her hands poised to strike, long, sharp nails curved like tiger's claws. Clad in a red and black striped silk dress, she wore her hair in an upsweep, a jewel-encrusted dagger tucked among the coiling tresses of the crown.
Fearful of waking Stevie, Galan whispered, “Rosalinda.”
She swung around, shock plain on her face, but guilt, too.” What are you doing here?”
"That's my question for you.”
She shot him a defiant look.” I can go wherever I want, whenever I want. Nothing and no one can stop me.”
By God, how he hated her. To think they'd once been lovers! He struggled to smile.” I thought you spent your time with Octavius now.”
She smirked.” He's so boring. Not nearly as exciting as you. Besides, he's having a little altercation with Morcar. Morcar's been spreading lies about Moloch, in case you didn't know.”
"Yes, I did know.”
Turning onto her side, Stevie mumbled in her sleep. Galan laid a gentle hand on her forehead, returning her to slumberous oblivion. With the greatest effort, he drew his hand away, wanting to touch her hair, caress the silky locks, run his fingers down her cheeks. And remain with her for eternity.
He nodded toward Stevie.” I want you to leave her alone.”
Hands on her hips, Rosalinda glared at him, her eyes flashing.” Who the hell do you think you are, to tell me what to do! I go when and where I please. The world is my playground, the mortals my playthings, to tease and dispose of as I want.”
"Then I'm begging you. Stay away from her.”
She laughed, a brittle, mocking sound.” She really means that much to you? How can you possibly care for this mortal who lacks my charm, my powers? She is bound by the laws of nature, of physics, if you will. But I . . . and you, can do anything
we want.” She made a wide gesture.” Nothing is impossible. Why, only think how we can travel through time. And look how we can visit any place we desire without benefit of transportation, like the mortals need. You would forsake all that to stay with this . . . this miserable excuse of womanhood?”
A murderous fury erupted in him, but she was one of Moloch's favorites, and he didn't dare antagonize the master fiend. Damn them both to hell!
He reached for Rosalinda's hand, struggling to suppress his fury.” Leave her alone. Come away with me instead. The world is our playground, our powers without limit.” God, how he hated this deceit, but he had no choice.” Let's go away together. Where would you like to go?”
She smiled with triumph.” Brussels!”
"Brussels, then. One of my favorite cities. Why, only think of all our friends we'll meet in the Grote Markt.”
When would he see Stevie again? His stomach twisted in knots. Would he ever see her again?
"You must promise me something,” she said with a sly look.
"What's that?”
She flicked a disdainful glance at Stevie.” That you'll never go near her after this night. Otherwise, I'll kill her.”
* * *
Heavy rain and falling temperatures told Stevie a strong cold front was moving down the peninsula into south Florida. Oh, boy, just what she needed. Cold weather. Rain drummed on the roof and gushed onto the ground below, forming a puddle outside her bedroom window, and trees thrashed in the wind, their branches swaying.
More fatigued than ever, Stevie trudged to her bedroom closet to get a thick cotton blanket from the top shelf. Can't believe I once liked cold weather, she mused as she raised up on her tiptoes to reach the blanket, wincing with the pain. Now winter weather made her joints so much worse, stiffened her knees and swelled her hands and fingers. She'd taken a week of sick leave from the bookstore, hoping against hope she'd feel better by Monday.
And if she was still in pain? She'd go back to work, no matter what.
Blanket clutched to her chest, she plodded to the living room to watch TV, anything to get her mind off her worries, help her forget the pain. Anyway, it was still too early to go to bed, and the last thing in the world she needed was to lie in bed, tossing and turning for hours.
Getting settled with her blanket tucked around her chin, she flipped the remote control from one channel to another, finally stopping at the educational channel to watch a special program on vampires. . . .
VAMPIRE MURDERS. The Herald headline ricocheted in her brain. Silly, how could anyone believe in such creatures?
Despite her doubt, she watched the first half of the program in fascination, while the narrator related tales of vampires throughout the centuries. The undead, he called them, with a brief history of Count Dracula. So there really was a Count Dracula? He wasn't just a figment of Bram Stoker's imagination? Well, what do you know.
"And here's a vampire for you,” the narrator said after a public service announcement, “an actual woman who lived in the sixteenth century. She tortured and murdered hundreds of young women.” The TV screen showed an actress who'd played the part in an old movie.” Does she look like a vampire to you?” he asked.” Just goes to show you never can tell what one of the undead looks like.” He laughed, an eerie, mocking laugh.” Beware of strangers when you're out walking after dark.”
So what's a vampire supposed to look like? Stevie wondered as she bent to scratch her foot. She sat back up and straightened the blanket around her shoulders.
"Here's something most people don't know,” the narrator continued.” Not until the nineteenth century were vampires shown with fangs.” First I ever heard that, Stevie mused. An old movie actor from Nosferatu appeared on the screen, fangs as prominent as the devil's horns.
"Now listen to this,” he said.” According to vampire lore, they have no reflections and so avoid mirrors or any glassy surfaces.”
Stevie pressed her hand to her head, thinking hard. Something about a glass cabinet. . . The thought remained out of reach, as elusive as a winning lottery ticket. All those aspirin she'd taken a while ago had dulled her brain, but she'd think of it if she just gave it time.
"Some people still believe in vampires, and many claim to number among the undead. Why, they even form vampire societies.” So what do they do at their meetings? Stevie wondered.
Drink each other's blood?
The program ended with a long, ghostly laugh.” Better watch out, all you mortals out there.”
Not so stiff now--maybe those aspirins had helped--she wrapped the blanket around her and plodded back to her bedroom, thinking about Galan every step--his dark eyes, his smile, everything about him. He called her every evening and left a message on her answering machine, but she didn't want him to see her now, not like this. Strange, he hadn't called tonight. She swallowed a lump in her throat, trying not to think of him, wanting to drive him from her mind.
What would he think if he saw her now, when she could walk only in shuffling steps? Uh, uh, she'd wait until she got better. If she ever did.
* * *
One evening the following week, a dense fog--unusual for Miami--veiled the city, blurring houses and trees. Concealed behind the jacaranda tree, Galan waited to see Stevie as she arrived home from work. Water from last night's rain dripped from the trees and glistened on the pavement. Cars driving by made a whooshing sound on the rain-slick streets, their dim headlights cutting a pale swath of light through the mist.
Moisture from the branches dripped onto his head and down his face, but he ignored it. Dead leaves littered the lawn and driveway, like an assembly of lost souls. A squirrel across the street climbed up an oak tree, the scratching of its claws multiplied a hundred-fold in Galan's ears.
Rosalinda, the slut! had remained in Brussels with Morcar and Octavius, the latter two having resolved their differences. When he'd left them, all three were indulging in an enthusiastic, vigorous sex romp at a deserted apartment on the outskirts of the city.
"Galan,” Rosalinda had implored, “don’t you want to join us?” She'd laughed, a low, throaty laugh.” The more the merrier.”
He made a mocking bow.” Forgive me, dearest, but I must plead hunger,” he said, hoping he was giving a credible performance.” I bid you farewell, but please, I beg of you, don't let my absence spoil your fun. . . .”
With another impatient glance down the street, he tapped his fingers against his side. Fearful of arousing Rosalinda's suspicions, he knew he must return to Brussels soon.
How much longer must he live this life--this death! Would he ever discover the secret of the elixir? Fast losing hope, he searched his mind for a means of learning more, for Octavius remained ignorant of its source.
Minutes slid past as he stood under the tree, and--there she was, a spectral figure in the haze. But this wasn't the Stevie he knew, not the woman who'd told him she ran five miles every night without tiring, not his dear one with the warm smile and the easy laugh. As still as a frozen corpse, he watched as she approached the apartment, her steps slow and halting, a troubled expression on her face.
In God's name, what ailment afflicted her? Go to her, his heart urged. Take her in your arms and comfort her. And stay with her, for all time.
Agony sliced through him, as painful as the Norman arrow at Hastings. He clenched his hands, his mouth working. If only he could remain here with Stevie, discover what caused her suffering. But no, he had to part from her, never to see her again.
Never see Stevie again.
Chapter Ten
"Where the hell were you?” In a wrinkled cotton chemise, her matted hair hanging to her waist, Rosalinda looked and sounded like a shrewish fishwife from Billingsgate. Careful to mask his feelings, Galan viewed her with revulsion. Leaning against a mahogany tallboy, he observed her in the bedroom of their spacious Brussels apartment as night lingered over the city, and streetlights cast a dull glow through the crimson velvet draperies at the wide front window. The huge rumpled bed gave evidence of Rosalinda's frolic with Morcar and Octavius, but where those two were, Galan didn't know and cared less.
"I waited and waited for you,” she said.
"I told you,” Galan answered patiently, “I had to feed.”
She shoved her forefinger at his chest.” Liar! You went to her, didn't you? --to the mortal woman.”
"Madam, please do not call me a liar. I haven't touched her for a long time.” Galan went on the offensive.” And if anyone has a right to ask questions, it is I. If I remember correctly--and believe me, I do--when I left here you were taking turns with Octavius and Morcar.”
She lifted her chin.” What I do with my body is my own business.”
"Then what do you want me for?” He held up a hand.” No, don't tell me. It's only for spite, to make sure I'll stay away from the mortal woman.” Immediately regretting his words, he affected an anguished look and placed his hands on either side of her waist.” Dear Rosalinda, surely you know I'd rather be with you than anyone. How could one of our kind prefer a human woman to you?”
A tear trickled down her cheek.” You really mean it? That you'd rather spend your time with me? Remember, I asked you to join us.”
"Three men and one woman?”
"Why not?” Rosalinda slid closer and wrapped her arms around his waist.” I'm always ready for something new. Make love to me,” she whispered.” It's you I want, no one else.”
