Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 84
A speck of dust on the table irritated him, and he brushed his fingers across the table, then returned to his joyous musing. His hand trembled with anticipation, the wine spilling down the side of the glass, onto the table. He could hardly wait to kill the mortal woman.
Chapter Twenty-one
The last deadly rays of sunlight thrust through the window blinds as Galan slept in his coffin, oblivious to the sights and sounds of the mortal world.
He awoke, and after pushing the coffin lid up, he stepped out and opened his closet door as darkness covered the room and sounds of the mortal world blasted in his ears. Two foxes prowled a porch three houses down, their footsteps on the wooden planks sounding like a herd of elephants to his acute hearing, their squeaky squeals thundering like a foghorn in his ears.
Smells, too, became magnified within his bedroom. The fragrance of smoke and barbequed beef floated his way while someone down the street presided over an outdoor barbecue. Hunger roared inside him, a powerful reminder he must go feed this night.
He clutched the doorknob as impossible dreams and futile wishes raged within him. Like a comatose human, he slumped against the closet door, his need for Stevie a burning ache, infinitely more intense than his hunger for sustenance, yes, even greater than his desire for mortality.
A long sigh of despair escaped him as he sank onto the bed and leaned forward, his hands locked between his knees, too well aware he must never forget Moloch, a continual danger to his beloved.
Enough brooding. Now he must--
Galan sat upright.” Octavius!”
"Lilith is visiting friends, so I thought this would be a good time to visit you.” In his long white robe, the maverick drifted across the room and sat in an easy chair next to the bed, crossing his legs.” You've been much on my mind lately.”
Galan smiled.” Is that meant as a compliment, or am I about to get a lecture?”
"Neither, but . . .” He paused, a grin brightening his face.” Is it still true you wish for mortality?”
Galan sprang from his chair.” Octavius, what have you heard?”
Octavius spoke with exactitude, as if imparting a secret, which he was.” After all this time, I finally have some good news for you. Word has reached me--never mind the source--of a former vampire who, like you, hates Moloch for what that fiend did to him. He is human now, has a wife and family. Another thing--and this is what you wanted to know--he holds the secret of mortality. Not very many of our kind know about him.”
Opening and closing his fists, Galan gave him a steady look, his voice rising.” What is his name? Where does he live?”
Brow furrowed, his visitor pressed a hand to his forehead.” Name's Roger Dorsey, lives in New York City, Number Five Empire Towers. Here's his phone number,” he said, handing him a paper.” Oh, by the way, don't worry about Moloch following you. He's busy initiating a neophyte vampire, which is why I came to you now.”
"Does Moloch know about this man?” Galan asked.
Octavius shook his head.” Much as Moloch likes to think he can control all the undead of the world, there are a few that fall through the cracks, as the saying goes. But believe me, Dorsey is aware of Moloch.”
Galan paced the length of his room. Happiness welled inside him, more potent than an army of vampires, more beguiling than a lover's smile. Mortality! He stopped by his friend.” Octavius, should I become mortal again--and I pray that I shall--let that not end our friendship. I would hope to see you from time to time.”
A stunned look came over Octavius, then a slow grin took its place.” Friendship between a vampire and a mortal? Nothing surprises me anymore.” Octavius stood, fingers combing his golden locks.” I must leave you now. Time to fetch Lilith so we can feed together.”
Galan smiled.” Thank you, my friend. I can never tell you what this means to me.”
But he was speaking to an empty room.
Euphoria welled inside Galan, his hunger forgotten. But wait--what would Moloch do to Stevie if he gained mortality? The fiend's ghastly threats surfaced, a continual torment. He shook his head, unable to think clearly, his main consideration to protect his beloved. Go visit this man first, he decided, and see what he says.
That settled, he closed his eyes in deep concentration, and within seconds, he arrived in New York, amid the razzle-dazzle of Times Square. Reluctant to appear at the man's doorstep unannounced, he decided to phone him first.
Three rings later, a man answered the phone.” Hello.”
Galan scratched his chin. How best to introduce himself?” Sir, you don't know me, but we have a mutual friend--Octavius.”
An indrawn breath, then silence. Finally: “Who is this?”
"My name is Galan Kent, and I assure you I mean you no harm. Rather, I have a favor to ask of you. May I visit you to discuss this favor?”
"I want nothing to do with you,” the man replied in a voice full of anguish.” I put that former life--or death--behind me.”
Galan paused.” Yet I understand you have certain knowledge that may prove beneficial to me, a secret you must share with others who want to follow in your steps.”
Another long moment of silence.” Very well. You may visit me, but I make no promises. I shall inform the security guard you're coming. Do you need directions?”
Galan managed to keep his voice even.” That won't be necessary.”
Seconds later, he reached the man's apartment on the fifth floor of a magnificent red brick building, twenty stories high. He knocked on the front door, preferring to approach him the mortal way, rather than make a sudden appearance, vampire style, inside the room.
The door opened.” Mr. Kent, come in.” Tall, with gray hair and a trim build, Dorsey looked to be in his late forties. He had a low, pleasant voice with a slight French accent, prompting Galan to wonder why he resided in the United States. In a slate blue cashmere sweater and charcoal wool gabardine trousers, he exuded an air of wealth and distinction.
Galan stepped inside a spacious apartment, decorated in shades of rose and aqua, with here and there a dash of yellow. A lovely abode, tastefully done. Not bad for a former vampire.
"Mr. Dorsey, I can't tell you how much I appreciate--"
"Sir,” Roger Dorsey said, raising his hand, “you must understand that it is only because of Octavius that I agreed to see you. You spoke of knowledge I have, knowledge that may prove useful to you. But for all I know, you may have come under false pretenses. Perhaps the leader of the undead--"
"Moloch? Believe me, Mr. Dorsey, he has no idea I'm here. I do assure you once more that my interest is sincere. I shall tell you frankly that I want to become mortal again. That is my greatest wish.”
Dorsey gestured toward a chair.” Sit down, won't you, and may I get you a drink? Wine, perhaps?”
"Nothing, thank you.” About to sit down, Galan paused as a pretty woman of forty or so walked into the room. Clad in beige linen slacks with a matching silk blouse, her light brown hair drawn into a chignon, she looked every bit as sophisticated as her husband.
Roger Dorsey slid his arm around the woman's waist.” My wife,” he said,” and the reason I turned away from . . . from all that I was.”
After the introductions, Galan settled himself in a wing chair, Dorsey and his wife sitting opposite on the sofa.” The same with me,” Galan said.” I have yearned for mortality for a long time, but it is only recently, since I met a human woman, that my wish has taken on an urgency.”
"Which brings us back to my doubts,” Dorsey said.” Why should I believe you? Moloch--how I hate that fiend! --has his spies. You may well be one of them. I'm sure he'd do anything to obtain the secret of mortality, if only to destroy the concoction.”
"Sir, I--"
"So how do I know you can be trusted?” he asked on a desperate note.” Going on the assumption you mean us no harm, I agreed to see you. Yet you must realize I'm taking a big risk.” Galan spread his hands wide.” What can I say to convince you? All I can tell you is that I mean every word I say . . . from the bottom of my heart.”
For the first time, Dorsey's wife spoke up.” Darling, have you forgotten that you've retained your psychic powers? Surely you can tell if you can trust our visitor--"
Dorsey waved his hand dismissively.” I've tried to put every aspect of that previous life behind me. My psychic ability causes me more misery than joy. I want only to live a normal life.” He nodded toward Galan.” As for this gentleman, already I'm wondering if we may have to move, to escape Moloch's clutches once he discovers where we live.”
Galan held his hands out.” Sir, I swear to you that I mean you no harm. I hate Moloch as much as you do. You must believe me!”
Touching his arm, Dorsey's wife spoke again.” Honey, please, just this once.”
He sighed heavily.” Very well. Mr. Kent, hand over your keys, anything of yours that I can touch and hold.”
"Of course.” Galan dug into his pants pocket and handed over his gold pocket watch.
Eyes closed, Dorsey held the watch for a long moment, turning it over in his hand, his fingers covering the entire surface. A myriad of expressions played across his face, then a slow smile appeared, and he opened his eyes again.” Ah, yes, we can trust him. Very good.” He handed the watch back to Galan.” Mr. Kent, I see now you're not lying, that you truly wish for mortality.”
"I can't tell you how much it means that you put your faith in me,” Galan said, returning the watch to his pocket.
"Sorry I doubted you, but you have to understand why I must be cautious.” Dorsey tapped his fingers on his thigh.” One mission I shall ask of you first which is no easy matter. Destroy Moloch, eliminate him once and for all so he can no longer endanger another mortal.”
"But--"
"Mr. Kent, let me finish. Should have done this long ago. Always regretted that I never eliminated the fiend.”
"What does he matter to you now?” Galan asked.” I mean, if you are mortal, and you know I won't betray you--"
"Revenge, mainly, for what he did to my loved ones and to me,” he said, his voice choking.” Killed my first wife and young son before transforming me into a vampire. There! First time I've used that word 'vampire' in a long, long time.” As if lost in memory, he stared off into space, then slowly returned his gaze to his visitor.” For the present, I am safe from him. He doesn't know where I live. Even though I became mortal twenty years ago, it's been a constant worry how long I'll remain safe, for, as you know, time means nothing to the undead. Others, too, might betray me.”
He cast a loving glance at his wife.” If he ever found out about me, it would be just like that demon to go after the very ones I hold most dear--my wife, two sons, and a daughter. I could not bear it if any harm came to them. But more important, we must protect other humans from his evil influence. So get rid of that demon and come back with proof of his destruction. Then, and only then, will I give you a potion that will restore you to mortality.”
Galan suffered a barrage of doubts and emotions.” You are asking me to destroy--"
"--a monster! Moloch has ruined so many lives. He must not be permitted to exist.”
Galan switched topics.” This potion. . .”
"The effects of this elixir are truly painful--mortifying, if I may use that word. Many who have taken it have not been able to bear the pain, finally driving a stake through their own heart to end their agony. And once you swallow this concoction, you cannot undo its effect. There is no antidote.”
"I see.” Galan clenched his hands in his lap. He considered the enormity of all he must do. Eliminate Moloch. Thou shalt not kill. For centuries, he'd refrained from killing any beings, mortal or vampire. Now, in order to become mortal again, he must murder his nemesis. Kill him in cold blood. Cold blood, he repeated to himself. The irony of those last words taunted him, their veracity a painful reminder of his vampirism, of what he must remain if he failed to get rid of the monster.
No matter that Moloch was evil, that he deserved to perish, Galan didn't know how he could lower himself to the demon's level. But if he didn't get rid of him, he, Galan, would remain a vampire throughout eternity, destined to exist only in the world of the undead, never to see Stevie again.
By all that was holy, what should he do?
* * *
Stevie sat with Mark on the sofa, his arm around her waist, his look deep with longing. He drew her closer to kiss her.
She tried, oh, she tried, to lose herself in his kiss, to enjoy the taste and touch of him, especially after the wonderful time they'd shared on their date this evening. But another man intruded on her efforts, a man with dark hair and ebony eyes, his face etched with harsh lines and sharp angles. A man who could tempt her with just a look.
After long moments, Stevie eased away, knowing she couldn't deceive Mark any longer, couldn't pretend something she didn't feel.
A look of hurt bewilderment crossed his face.” Stevie, what is it?”
"Mark, I . . .”
"No, you don't need to tell me.” He gave her a sharp look.” It's someone else, isn't it? The guy who came here to your apartment.” He smirked.” Barged in is more like it. Frankly, Stevie, I don't understand what you see in him.”
I see his basic goodness, she wanted to say. I see the most wonderful man in the world, one I can never have, because he's not even human. A man I will always love.
She sighed.” Mark, I think it's best if we stop going together and--"
"God, is that what you really want? Never to be with each other again? Is that all I mean to you?”
She twisted her fingers in her lap.” It's because you mean a lot to me that I think we should break off--"
"You're not even making sense.” With one quick movement, he pulled at his tie, jaw clenched, his hand shaking.
"Just listen to me.” She ran her finger across his shirt collar, but he jerked back. Licking dry lips, she tried to hide her hurt.” It's not fair to you for me to continue to see you, when I lo--, when there's someone else on my mind. Believe me, I appreciate all the good times we've had, and I'll always remember you, but--"
"Well, thanks a lot!”
"--but let's make a clean break of it, with no hard feelings.”
"Right! If that's the way you want it.” With one last angry glance, he sprang from the sofa and stormed out of her apartment.
After the door slammed behind him, Stevie remained motionless for a long time, pressing her hand to her throbbing forehead. She wanted to cry for all she'd lost, for a good man she'd never see again. Still, she knew she'd done the right thing, knew it wasn't fair to string Mark along when he'd never be more than a special friend.
She stared around the room, trying to absorb its restful atmosphere, to expel Mark's harsh words from her mind. Hoping to distract herself, she inhaled the nutmeg scent of a phalenopsis on the coffee table, one of the orchids Galan had given her. A hundred memories swamped her. Why couldn't she forget him? What would she gain by thinking about him all the time?
She slipped off her black slingbacks and stretched her stockinged feet out on the wide coffee table. Her glance flew to her porcelain rabbits--gifts throughout the years--that had finally found a home in a one-shelf pine bookcase she'd recently bought at a yard sale. Unable to shrug off Mark's bitter words, his hurt looks, she unbuttoned the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons of her blue silk dress, then pulled her gold-plated ear rings off, dropping them into her lap. She went through these movements with careful precision, as though to pretend everything was normal, as if her heart wasn't breaking.
Aren't you glad Galan's out of your life? her brain challenged. Liar! her heart cried. She missed him every minute of every day. He's out of your life, her brain repeated. Time she got used to his absence.
Carried on a wave of despair, she gathered up her shoes and ear rings and headed for her bedroom. It was getting late, and she was going to the early church service tomorrow, so--
The phone rang, yanking her from her reverie. Alarm froze her steps. It was after midnight. Something had happened to her father! More likely a wrong number, she prayed as she retraced her steps and set her shoes and ear rings on the coffee table. The phone rang again.
Her hands shook as she picked up the receiver.” Hello.”
"Ah.” A low, hissing sound came over the phone, like a snake that's zeroed in on its prey. The sound increased, as if a thousand starving snakes were trapped in a pit. The temperature in the room dropped, or was that only her imagination?
She gripped the receiver.” Who is this?”
Another hiss.” Don't you know?”
Chills raced down her neck and back, then along her arms, down to her fingertips. Warily, she looked around the room as her eyes focused on every corner. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her hand pressed to her stomach. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She exhaled slowly. She would not let the fiend sense her fear.
The hand that held the receiver trembled, but she spoke with determination.” Hey, you scumbag, why don't you meet me face to face?”
"I intend to. You won't get away from me now,” the scratchy voice warned.” This time tomorrow, you'll be dead.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Send the mortal woman to hell--tonight!
Moloch raised the lid of his casket and climbed out, his fingers gripping the edges, skeletal feet touching the stone floor. He sat down to tug on his short leather boots, then strode toward the trestle table to pour a goblet of burgundy as problems crammed his mind, especially the mortal bitch. Galan had promised to leave her alone, but what assurance did he have the nightwalker would keep his word?
The wind tossed Moloch's bushy hair about his face as he drained his goblet, resolved to settle the matter of the mortal woman once and for all. Hunger stalked his body, a fierce agony that demanded satisfaction now. His deprivation weakened him unbearably, but he would soon assuage his need . . . with the human slut.
