.
Mikhail woke with the setting sun. He opened his coffin, and stared up at the dark ceiling above him. He felt as if a heavy weight sat upon his chest, and for a moment, as he had the previous evening, wondered why. Then he remembered. He had to take Xanna to see Cameron. He had promised it to Cameron a couple nights ago, but had not yet summoned the nerve to actually go see her in person. I must tonight, though, he thought. Cameron will not take kindly to my excuses forever. Soon, he will demand that I bring her to him. And he will probably kill her.
He clenched his hands into fists, and pressed them to his eyes. Damnit! That is what I tried to avoid in the first place. It is why I made her a vampire. I did not want her to die.
Well, now is that time. I must go see her. I must find some way to protect her. I can't believe that I missed her in Crixton all these weeks. The familiarity of that thought struck him. This is like deja vu, after I met her in May. I had missed all those months she was in college. Now I have missed her again when she was practically in front of my face. I should have seen her . . . but I was so wrapped up in my own guilt over what I had done to her, I couldn't even see what was in front of my eyes.
Oh, a ansacht, he thought, getting out of his coffin. Why did you have to come here? I would have found you eventually, no matter where you went. Our connection would have brought me wherever you were. We might have gone to a place with no one like us, and answered to no one. But then, maybe it was our connection that brought you here, where I am.
But now . . . . He sighed, and prepared himself for the night. Before leaving his lair, he called Cameron, and let him know that tonight, he would be meeting Xanna face to face.
"Good. I am looking forward to it." Mikhail could hear the warning tone of his voice, and it sent chills up and down his spine, even over the telephone. With a click, he hung up, not wanting to speak to Cameron more than necessary. Not after what he had agreed to do to Xanna.
Why did I agree to this? he asked himself, walking down the dimly lit street. What was I thinking? I should have known it was her . . . what other new vampires have been made without Cameron's permission? No wonder he's having fits. No one told Xanna she had to go see him, and he found out about her only by accident.
Oh, Xanna. His old, abused heart started breaking, and he had to blink hard to keep the tears from coming. I should have stayed. I shouldn't have abandoned you there. But I was afraid that you would hate me still more if you saw me then. Have you gotten over your hate now? Will you accept me? Le cunamh De, please, God, let it be so! Oh, I have missed you . . . . His feet slowly, slowly, led him towards Xanna's apartment.
What will I find?
Who will I find?
Xanna hesitated in front of the door to her apartment building. After her scare the other night, she had been very wary of returning and trying to enter her apartment. But it had been well over a week since Janis had caught her, and there had been no hue and cry for staking the vampires, so she assumed that she was safe. Of course, I don't know if she printed her story in today's paper.
First, I will go upstairs and shower, she thought, longingly imagining the water flowing over her shoulders, washing away the dirt and grime of a week and a half of living in that vault. At least I made it to work before they fired me. That was a very good thing. I wouldn't have blamed them if they had, because I'd missed so many days. I told them I was so sick I couldn't move, and they seemed to buy it. She opened the front door and started up the stairs, climbing faster the closer she got to the shower. But, the other night . . . what had it been that made me pass by? There had been something here, something . . . but I don't know what. Well, it's not here now. And that is also very good. She opened the door to her apartment, not noticing that it was unlocked. Oh, shower, here I come!
She stripped on the way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes in her wake. Soon, steam was fogging up the mirror, as the hottest water possible hissed from the shower head. It would have scalded her skin had she been human, but she wasn't thinking about that now. She was simply luxuriating in the feeling of being clean, of feeling the water bead up and roll off her skin.
After about half an hour, she decided she was clean enough, and turned off the water. She was drying off when she realized that the door had been unlocked, and she remembered locking it when she last left the apartment.
She felt a sinking feeling that involved her whole body. Oh, shit. Still a little damp, she started frantically pulling on clothes. She started her search to see if anything was missing in her bedroom. The only things that were gone were the ones she had taken herself. She started to look around the rest of the apartment, paranoia getting to her again.
There was nothing missing in the entire place, as far as she could see.
She sank down onto the sofa, and tried to make herself think rationally. All right. Take a deep breath. Very good, now let it out slowly . . . . Now, think back. Was the door unlocked when you came tearing in after Janis caught you in the alley? She closed her eyes in concentration. It must have been, she recalled in dread. I ran up the stairs, threw open the door, tossed things into my bag and ran back out. I don't remember having to use my keys on this door, and I didn't lock it when I left. Oh, God, it's been open for more than a week.
Who could have opened it? Was there someone following me? No, there couldn't have been, I would have seen them, or heard them. I would have known they were there, because vampire senses are so much more acute than human ones . . . .
Unless they were used to tracking vampires.
She started pacing around the sofa, becoming more frightened with each step. I've got a vampire hunter on my trail, and I can't sense them, I can't hear or see them. I don't want them to get me, I've got to run again . . . .
Wait a minute. She stopped stock still. What the hell did I just think? When did I start to want to keep living this way? Is that why I just spent a week in the vault? Oh, Lord, what is happening to me? She ground her fists into her eyes. This is insane!
"All right." She spoke out loud to try and calm herself down. Her voice sounded high and fast in her ears. "What I've got to do is, first of all, try and find out if anyone is following me. And then, I've got to see if anyone has been in here. That's going to be difficult, so maybe I ought not to bother with that. Then, I've got to try and find another apartment, so they won't know where I've gone. And then, I'm going to have to pray to God that no one will guess what I am, and stake me."
A knock at the door made her skin jump. She quickly walked over to the door, and asked, "Who is it?"
There was no response, not even another knock.
"Who's out there?" Her paranoia was starting to work overtime again. She heard her voice falter as she spoke. Again, no response. She peered out the peep hole.
The hallway was completely empty. Oh, God, now I'm imagining things. She slumped against the door, hand pressed to her breast as if to still a rapidly beating heart. But her heart hadn't beat fast . . . or much at all . . . for more than a month. I am really going to lose my mind over this. Without warning, she felt a presence in the room with her. She whirled from the door to face the room, even as part of her mind was thinking, How could anyone be in here? I boarded up the windows . . . .
But there was someone in the room with her. She didn't know how he got there, but there he was.
"Mike." The whispered word fell from her lips into the silence of the room. She took a step toward him, feeling her eyes swim with tears.
And stopped.
Mikhail had started to hold out his arms as if to embrace her. When she stopped, a look of puzzlement swept over his handsome features. "What is wrong, a ansacht?" he murmured, moving forward. His voice caressed her, and she closed her eyes at the sound. Oh, Mike, she thought, longing mingled with despair, I've missed you so much . . . .
Their connection must have gotten even stronger despite their separation. She could hear him whisper, "And I you, Xanna ionuine." Before she could open her eyes again, to stare up into his amber ones, she could feel his fingers trace her cheek, and his arms enfold her. The dam against her heart broke, and she flung her arms around him, holding him to her as tightly as she could. For long moments, they stood locked against each other. "Oh, Mike." Finally, Xanna pulled away. "There are so many things I have to tell you . . ."
"Perhaps now is not the time, my love." He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, smiling slightly. "We should leave here."
Suddenly, all her anger at him rose to the fore, and she shivered with the force of it. "Like you left me at the lake?" She saw him flinch at the harshness of her words and tone, but plunged on. "Why? Why did you make me into this? Wouldn't it have been enough to just let me die there? Did you have to do this too?" She held her arms out away from her body to emphasize her words.
His smile faded with the impact of her accusation. "I can only say I'm sorry for what I did then. I wish I could take it back, and have been with you when you awoke. But I knew your thoughts when you did awake. They weren't pleasant, a ansacht. You hated me then. Would you have hated me even more if I had been there with you? The one who had given you this dread curse?" She looked away, and he nodded slowly. "That is what I thought."
"I would have hurt you in any way I could," Xanna muttered, staring at the floor. "I fell in love with you, that night on the green, and wanted to be near you. I was thinking about you that night at the lake. Then, the next thing I knew, I was a vampire." Her gaze flew to his face. She saw the hurt there, but couldn't stop now. "And I knew you did it!" she cried, despair and pain filling her voice. "You took my life away, and gave me death! I thought you loved me."
"But I do," he replied. His hands were wringing in his desperation. I've got to make her see! he thought, hopelessly.
"No." She cut him off in a voice as hard as nails. "If you did, you wouldn't have done what you did."
"Would you believe me if I told you I had no choice in the matter?" he asked softly. "If I said I loved you so much that I couldn't bear to see your essence pass from the earth?"
She was unable to look at him. She heard him sigh. "I thought you would believe me. I guess I was wrong." He took a step toward her again, and reached out to touch her arm. She flinched away. "We should still leave here, before . . . ." He trailed off, and Xanna looked up at him. His eyes were staring off into the distance, widening at some horror she could not see. Then she felt it as well. It was that presence that had made her forbear entering her apartment a few days ago. But now, it was closer, much closer. "You know, you're right," she said, moving to the door, ready to flee again.
But before she opened it, it opened itself. Mikhail felt his heart sink at what lay beyond the threshold. Or rather, who.
Cameron Sang stood outside the door, eyes blazing red. "Miss DeCourt. I have been waiting to meet you. How clever of you, Mikhail, to keep her here for me."
"What . . . ?" Xanna turned around, confusion stamped across her face. "Mike, what's he talking about?"
"Oh? Are you acquainted?" Cameron inquired, sugar dripping from every word. He stepped into the room, and closed the door behind him. "Why, yes, I believe you must be. I heard your charming little argument all the way down the stairwell. I doubt the other occupants of the building could hear it, so your secret is safe on that account."
"Are . . . are you a vampire?" Xanna asked, fear evident in her tone.
"Yes, my dear, I am. I am Cameron Sang, Eldest." He started to pace around her, studying her all the while. "Shame on you, Mikhail. Didn't you tell this charming young woman that I wanted to meet her?" He smiled at her, and she saw his fangs, much longer and whiter than her own, clearly against the blood red of his lips. "You see, ma chere," he continued, lowering his voice confidentially, "one of the things the Eldest vampire in any given area must do is decide who shall create a Childe." Xanna felt fear freeze her heart. "And you, petite, were made without my permission. I don't like that at all. I was unsure about your Ancestor . . . until tonight." He turned his glowing ruby eyes upon Mikhail.
"More than shame upon you, Mikhail." His voice was hard as he spoke. "You should know better. You had to plead with the Eldest of Dublin for your new life when you were created, n'est-ce pas? Your Ancestor made you out of spite, without permission."
"Actually, seanduine," Mikhail replied casually, "I believe my Ancestor was the Eldest of Dublin. She was the only one in Dublin until she made me. No one cared one way or the other, except me, and my feelings weren't taken into consideration." Xanna glanced at him in astonishment. How could he be so relaxed in the face of such a smothering effect? This Cameron's age covered him and them like a blanket. Maybe Mike didn't feel it; after all, compared to her, he was fairly old, too. She had no doubts at all that with age came power. But he wasn't relaxed. Mikhail stood poised on the balls of his feet, muscles tensed for fight or flight. The hair hanging down in his face and his black clothing made him appear more than ever like a wolf. His eyes glowed amber, not red. Not yet. He wasn't angry, only cautious.
Cameron shrugged. "That doesn't matter. Despite that, you knew, or you should have known, that only the Eldest decides who can have a Childe. And you are not the Eldest here. Not by many, many years." His voice grew harder still, if such were possible.
When he turned back to her, she was surprised to see his eyes were blue. "But, you, my dear." He stroked her cheek in almost the same way that Mike had done. She tried not to shudder at his touch. "You, I think, shall be my protegee. That will depend, of course, on how well we work together, and whether or not I decide to let you prove your loyalty to me. I know a way to make you loyal, but I'd much rather have it freely given. Do you understand me, Roxanna?"
Swallowing, she nodded silently. "But what will you do with Mike?"
"Mikhail?" he asked, pivoting to face him again. "Oh, I don't know. I might stake him out to meet the sunrise for making you without my permission." She shivered at that, and saw Mike stiffen in shock. "But then, if I did that, I really should stake you out with him. Ancestor and Childe should die together like that. But since I'll be keeping you, I suppose I shall let him go. Besides, he did me a great service tonight. He allowed me to have this chance to get . . . better acquainted with you." Again, she felt his fingers caress her cheek. She had her eyes closed against the false sweetness in his voice. "Didn't you, Mikhail?"
Xanna opened her eyes, and pleaded with Mike over Cameron's shoulder. This can't be true! Mike, please tell me you didn't! I don't want to be anywhere near him!
Cameron was obviously expecting an answer. Mikhail found himself nodding, and saying, "Yes. I guess I did." He saw Xanna's eyes widen in surprise, and begged her along the connection in their minds, Please! I didn't know he would be here! I was meeting with you to leave Crixton! He couldn't tell if she believed him or not. And why should she, he thought, surrendering hope. After all she has had to go through, I can't blame her a bit if she didn't believe me.
"Roxanna, let us go. I would like to get to know you better." One of his powerful hands took hold of her shoulder, and suggested forcibly that it was time to leave. "My car is waiting outside. Mikhail, I thank you once again for your assistance. Your reward is your continued existence." His voice was glacier cold as he spoke. He propelled Xanna through the door.
Mikhail stood in the living room of the apartment, staring at nothing, until he heard the faint slam of the car door. Then, as Xanna had done nearly two months ago, he threw back his shaggy head and howled as if his heart would break. That eerie cry of the wolves was the only expression he could give his grief, and now he understood why Xanna had done it before. It was a call of utter aloneness, that only one who had been isolated for so long could understand.
He had the terrible suspicion that he would never see her again. At least not alive. But I'll have to change that, he thought fiercely, leaving the apartment. She cannot live with him. She will be a prisoner, and her heart cannot stand that. I will have to rescue her somehow, he mused. And if that means giving her the final Death, so she can be free, then I will, as I could not before. He headed into the darkness, alone, where he'd thought to have someone with him.
Just as she was settling into the car- limousine, actually- as far from Cameron as she could get, Xanna heard something that raised the hackles on the back of her neck. And she recognized it. Mike was howling out his pain, as she had howled hers on the shore of the lake the night she'd woken as a vampire. It seemed so long ago, and yet it was only . . . two months? Was that all?
Cameron said nothing as the car started moving. He said nothing through the entire ride, and looked out the window, away from her. She could think of nothing to say; her mind was running in circles. She too stared out the window, stealing surreptitious glances at him. Who is this guy? He's so old! I can feel the age just radiating out from him. He must be pretty powerful . . . he could probably read my mind in a second if I let down my defenses. And he seems like the kind who would do it. I wonder . . . if you're a vampire for longer than a certain number of years, do you stop caring about other people? Do you stop caring for anything?
Cameron could feel her gaze upon him from time to time, and could guess the thoughts going through her mind. But his own thoughts confused him, and he was too busy dealing with them to reassure her. Let Mikhail think he planned to torture her if he wanted. He had told the truth when he said he wanted her to trust him. He didn't want to have to resort to forced loyalty. He was sure it would mean nothing then, while if she came to trust him of her own free will . . . it might change something in him.
Change something? He was surprised at his own thought. What would the trust of one young vampire, nothing more than a neophyte, mean to someone who had been existing this way for more than 500 years? How could it change me? He scoffed silently at the mere idea.
Finally, after an age of silence, the limo stopped and Cameron said, "We have arrived." He opened the door and assisted her out of the car. They were in a basement garage of some kind, Xanna could see that much from just looking around. "This way, please." Cameron started taking long strides, without waiting to see if she were following. "Wh . . . where are we, sir?" she asked, stretching her legs to catch up to him. "Is this your house?" She looked up at him, trotting beside him.
For a moment, Cameron said nothing. Finally, after a quick and intense internal debate, he sighed, and replied, "Yes. This is where I sleep during the day. I run my business from here as well."
"You have a business? I didn't know that vamp- that we could do that." She caught herself before saying something that might make him angry again. He obviously wanted her to become accustomed to him, and an "us and them" attitude wasn't going to help much.
"You can do whatever you want." He didn't seem to notice her slip. They started up a set of stairs. "Well, almost." For a second, she could have sworn she saw his lips twitch upward in a smile. "You can't go out and get a suntan like you used to, and I wouldn't suggest that we tell ghost stories around a campfire. But other than that, you may do whatever you please. Being a vampire can be very . . . freeing, once you get used to it."
She was speechless for a moment. Did he actually make a joke? It couldn't have been; she must have been mistaken.
They had reached the top of the staircase, and he held the door open for her. I wonder if he was a nobleman before his . . . Ancestor? Yes, that was the term he used . . . his Ancestor took him? He locked the door behind her, and led her out into the body of the house. The first room they entered was what she supposed had to be called the parlor. The thick red velvet drapes hung thick with dust, and the furniture was covered with white drop cloths. The same held true for settees in the hallway with the grand staircase. It had a mahogany bannister, and circled down from the floor above in an elegant curve. The carpet on the risers was dusty as well, and her hand came away from the bannister covered with grime.
Upstairs was little different. There were several doors lining the hall. At the far end, there was a cross-wise corridor, and two elegantly carved doors that she supposed led to the master suite. Most of the doors are probably locked, she thought. I'd kind of like to see some of these rooms. At one of the doors near the T junction, Cameron stopped, and dug out a ring of keys. He unlocked the door, reached inside and flicked on the lights then stood back. "This will be your room, if you like it. If you don't care for it, then you may choose one of the others on this floor."
She stared at him in disbelief, and then peeked around the doorjamb into the room. Stunned by its appearance, she walked into the room as if in a dream, gaping. Unlike the rooms downstairs, this one had been recently cleaned. The dark blue drapes, velvet like the ones downstairs, hung to the floor, and appeared to have been beaten clean of the dust. The walls were also blue, and were hung with paintings. There was another door on the wall to her left, which, as she suspected, led to a small bath. There was no window there. But the most amazing thing was that in the center of the room, on a dias where Xanna could easily imagine a four poster bed with canopy, was a coffin.
It was stained a very light brown, and glowed almost golden under the lights. She could tell it was heavy, just by looking at it. If I didn't know better, I would swear that it's the color of my eyes when I wear my contacts, she thought in amazement. She walked over to it, and ran her fingers lightly over the cover. It was as smooth as silk, and felt almost like glass under her hands. She glanced back at Cameron, who still stood in the hall. "May I . . . ?" she asked, gesturing toward the cover. He nodded, and she pushed the heavy cover back. Inside it was lined with sky blue satin, just as smooth as the finish outside. She looked at Cameron in wonder. "Whose is this?"
"It's yours." He seemed a little embarrassed, as if he had been caught not being the big bad wolf. "I didn't think you had one."
"Didn't think . . . or knew for certain?" It hit her like a brick, finally. "You were at my apartment, weren't you? Before tonight, I mean."
"Perhaps I was. Perhaps I was not. Why do you ask?" His cool attitude suggested that this line of questioning was beneath him.
She cocked her head to one side, and studied him. "Because I tried to go back there this past week, but something warned me away. I don't know what it was, but something about the building told me not to go in." She continued to scrutinize him, looking for some kind of reaction. "I think it might have been you, after meeting you, and feeling this . . . aura of age that surrounds you. It's almost smothering."
The old vampire shrugged. "It happens when you age. I cannot help it. Unfortunately, that means I cannot hide it, either. Yes, I was at your apartment before tonight. You left the door unlocked. I was hoping you might not sense my presence. But, c'est la vie."
He turned to go. "In any case, the coffin is yours to use or not as you wish. I will expect to see you -cleaned and fed- tomorrow after sundown. I will have your clothes delivered here in the meantime. They will be downstairs when you awake." He left the door open and unlocked.
Slowly, Xanna slumped down next to the coffin, staring at the door. I could leave, she thought hopefully. But that's not why he left the door open like that. If I do leave, he'll probably stake Mike. Despair settled over her. And anyway, he'll find me. I don't know how he did it before, but he found out about me. He must have had someone follow me after that, and I never noticed. So, if he can find me once, he can find me again without too much trouble. I guess he wanted me to figure that out on my own, instead of having to do it the hard way. So. I suppose I'll stay. She rested her cheek on the glossy finish of the coffin. I wonder what it's like to sleep in one of these?
But that wasn't the reason that Cameron left the door open at all. He couldn't even clearly define the reason to himself, much less try to explain it to someone else. He sat at his desk and mulled it over for several minutes. Out of the jumble of his thoughts, all he could come up with was a single word: trust. He wanted her, for whatever obscure reason, to trust him. And the way to do that is to let her know that she does have the option to leave.
No one should have eyes that color, he thought suddenly. He stared at his hands, folded on the desk in front of him. Much less two people so very alike in attitude. Xanna's eyes put him in the mind of wolves. He repressed a shudder. Wolves were a business to be avoided altogether. Vampires and wolves just don't mix. Well, it's the same with dogs. Dogs and wolves seem to just know a vampire.
His mind returned to the presence of the young vampire just down the hall. Well, he thought tiredly. I may expect her tomorrow night, but will she be here? That is another matter entirely. Maybe I do know why I brought her here, after all. Perhaps I need a friend more than a protegee.
The thought shocked him. He decided it wasn't worth further examination, and blew out the candle on his desk. For a moment, he sat there in the darkness, then, with cat like grace, he picked his way to the other end of his office, where the door to the master suite was hidden behind a velvet curtain.
Senile, indeed, he thought bitterly, climbing into his coffin.
Cameron did nothing to betray his surprise when he heard a knock at the office door. The knock was timid, as if the person was afraid. There was only one person who would knock. "You may come in, Roxanna," he called softly. He twitched aside one of the thick burgundy velvet drapes, and noted with satisfaction that she had taken him at his word. The sun had been down for just over an hour. He let the drape fall back as she entered.
She had taken him at his word for her appearance as well. She was freshly scrubbed; indeed, her hair was still damp. Her clothes were clean, if not the most fashionable in the world. Inwardly, he shook his head. I will never fathom the reason for denim, although the shirt is quite pretty.
Xanna was still a bit frightened. She could still hear his statement ringing in her ears. Stake you out to meet the sunrise played over in over in her mind, and even though it was directed at Mike, she felt it still applied to her. Why make him angry when it would take so little effort to please? So she did what he asked. She stood fidgeting before the desk, unsure of what to do next.
Cameron noticed her discomfort. I guess I did all that I could to frighten her, poor girl, he thought. "Well, sit down," he said, with a forced note of exasperation. "I don't intend to become fatigued just by watching you stand all night." Her eyes grew wide at his tone, and he thought for a moment that he saw her mouth twitch in a smile, as she fathomed that he was just trying to tease her. She promptly sat down in another wing back chair, opposite Cameron.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Cameron settled back in his chair, and folded his hands. "Well, Roxanna. I intended this time to get to know you, and to start training you as my protegee. I would like to know more about you, and the best way is for you to tell me."
Xanna said nothing, but her mind was rapidly searching for something to say. Her hands would not stay quiet in her lap. Finally, in desperation, she said, "I don't know where you want me to begin."
Cameron regarded her in silence for a minute. His mind too was turning over what words he might say. "Well. I notice that you are a little nervous at being here." Xanna's pale face pinked very slightly with color. "Perhaps it would make you feel more at ease if I told you something about myself instead. I have lived over 500 years, and I have a wealth of experiences to tell you. What would you like to hear?"
Xanna blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. "Tell me . . . tell me about your Ancestor, and why he made you a vampire. Please?"
He was a little surprised that she wanted to hear about that. "Hmmmm. That is quite a long time ago. Give me just a moment, to gather my thoughts." He closed his eyes, and his head nodded down over his hands. He sat that way for nearly a minute, and Xanna thought that maybe he'd fallen back to sleep. I wonder, when vampires get old, do they act like human old people? Do they become senile and forgetful and sleep a lot? She smiled wryly at the thought.
"His name was Francois, and he was a comte, or what would be called a count today. He had no little power with the king at the time . . . I believe it was Charles VIII. I don't remember exactly who was king, it has been so long. I have seen so many kings come and go, in so many different countries. Francois was French by birth, like me, but from about 300 years earlier. His small county was brought under the French crown at his supposed death around 1200, but later, he appeared as his own heir, and changed his name to keep up appearances. Eventually, he was able to claim Perche again, and the lands near Chartres, where he had been born. I suppose it brought him some measure of satisfaction." Cameron smiled faintly at the thought.
"Francois had changed his name many times before I knew him. I grew up in Perche, and we often whispered of the oddities of our previous lords, but he was a comte, and could do as he pleased, especially in the Middle Ages. How he came to notice me, I'll never know. I asked him about it many times in the century or so I spent with him, but he always changed the subject. I've always been of the opinion that it was my height. I was so much taller than any of my family that I was labeled a freak. It was not an advantage until I became a vampire, and started to acquire lands. People expected to look up to their lord.
"Mais, hien. I knew him first as Le Comte Francois de Perch-Chiambraud. He changed his name several times over our association, but I shall always think of him as Francois. You have to do that, ma petite, as a vampire. I have done so many times myself. I know Cameron Sang is not the name I was given, but I can no longer remember the other, and this one is convenient.
"So, Francois started to notice me, and to prey on me, from time to time. After what now seems a very short time, he decided to make me his Childe. He was the Eldest in France, I think, although he might have been the Eldest in Europe. It was many years indeed before I thought to inquire. Do you remember your waking as a vampire? How frightened you were? Well, cherie, imagine, s'il vous plait, awakening after your death in a coffin. It is quite a harrowing experience."
And so it went the entire evening. In the candlelight, under Cameron's pleasant storytelling tone, Francois became a presence in the room. Xanna could almost see him standing behind Cameron's chair; shorter than she by several inches, but with golden hair that was permanently just beginning to grey, and soft brown eyes. He was a poet, a dreamer, and yet, something harder and more bitter than either. He had been cut off in the prime of his life, and given the Final Death a few years after the assassination of Henry IV. "I believe," Cameron concluded, "at that point, he had completely lost any interest in continuing his existence, living or dead. The world may have changed too much for him, or perhaps he got careless. In any case, one evening when I went to see him, all I found was a pile of ashes near his coffin, and soon, even that blew away. I set myself then to keep up with the times, and not lose interest in the world. I'd had the benefit of his wisdom for well over a century, and knew I could survive, and even prosper, on my own. And so I have." He leaned back in his chair, and stretched until his muscles creaked.
Xanna shook her head, as if breaking an enchantment, and stood. She too stretched the kinks out of her back, then looked over toward the windows. There was a single bar of shadow across the middle of the thick velvet drape, and as she went closer, she realized it was a shadow cast by the sun. The moon wasn't bright enough to make the rest of the drape light enough to contrast with the window frame.
"Oh, my God!" she cried. "It's daytime! We're going to get fried!" She shivered in terror, and started to back away from the window, toward what escape, she knew not.
"No." Cameron said, a pillar of outward calm. "We're not." Instantly, he was by her side, and propelling her toward the window again. "If you are not touched by the light or the fire, you will not die from seeing it." He held her firmly by the arm, and pressed her up against the wall between the ceiling high windows, and pulled the drape.
Sunlight, strong and bright, flooded into a dark room that hadn't seen it in a decade or more. Dust motes danced and spun. Xanna peeked over Cameron's arm, holding the drape, and blinked in amazement. Her eyes couldn't water, but she felt drops of blood wetting them. "Oh," she breathed, full of wonder. "It's been so long . . . ." She stared at it for several minutes in silence, letting the blood tears well in her eyes, and stain her pale cheeks. Cameron's other arm was about her shoulders. Instead of watching the sunlight, he watched her. If she could stand in the sun, he thought, her eyes would glow like the finest amber. Her hair would reveal such rich and dazzling color. He felt a unexpected burst of pity for her, such that he thought his old heart would break. Oh, that such a creature of the sun should be condemned to walk the night, and never see the day again!
Suddenly, he was conscious of Xanna's head burrowed into his chest. "It hurts," she whispered. "Please . . . ." Obedient to her plea, he allowed the curtain to drop back into its accustomed place.
"Roxanna." Automatically, one hand stroked her hair, as a father would comfort his daughter. He spoke softly. "You should go to sleep. Watching the sunlight can be very . . . tiring."
Pulling away, she wiped her hand across her cheeks, and nodded. Before he could turn, she was gone, and the door clicked softly behind her.
Cameron quickly prepared himself for his day of rest. His last waking thought, before the sleep of the undead took him was, I must speak with Mikhail again, and the reason was unpleasant.
But Mikhail did not show up that week. He did not send word to Cameron that month, or an apology for the delay. It was nearly two months after Cameron sent out word that Mikhail appeared. But in that time, Cameron concentrated on getting to know his neophyte, and in having her open up to him. Their first night wasn't the only one when they talked until dawn. In fact, they spent almost every waking moment together, except for hunting. Cameron held that the hunt was the most private aspect of life left to a vampire, and it should be done alone. She knew he disapproved of her feeding habits, but he said nothing, and she didn't want to kill humans every night. Otherwise, their strained beginning relaxed into almost a father and daughter relationship, that both found a little surprising, and even disturbing. No one could take her father's place, Xanna thought . . . but Cameron came pretty close. And Cameron himself found it odd to want to be in someone's company for a purpose other than business.
If occasionally Cameron saw that Xanna was depressed, he knew the reason. She missed Mikhail, but for a much different cause than he himself did.
Xanna saw Mikhail the evening he finally answered Cameron's summons. She was about to leave on her hunt. He was stepping out of Cameron's limousine. "Mike!" His name blurted out before she thought of melting into the shadows, and his head whipped toward her.
"A ansacht!" You're all right! he thought happily. He smiled, and made a move toward her, as if to embrace her. She stepped back, still unsure of her feelings, and not sure yet if she could trust him. The smile faded, and the sadness of an age settled on him again. Xanna immediately felt ashamed, but could say nothing, not after what she had already done.
"Is Cameron at home?" Mikhail asked, very formally.
Xanna nodded. "Yes, he is upstairs." She took a breath as if to say more, but not a word came out. Mikhail studied her for an instant, and then started to climb the stairs to the street level of the house. "Wait!" she cried suddenly. Damnit, she thought. I've got to do something about this. I care for him so much . . . .
Mikhail turned on the stairs, his face a mask to her. "Will you wait . . . until I get back? Please? I would like to talk to you." She felt very self conscious, and knew her face would have flushed, if she were human.
"Yes, ionuine. I will wait for you." His voice caressed her, and she heard his footsteps recede up the stairs. I can't keep treating him like this, she thought, leaving the garage. All this get-away-closer has got to make him wonder. I'll apologize tonight. I have to. She quickly left the garage on foot, wanting to be alone for her hunt.
Mikhail took a deep breath and knocked upon Cameron's door. He thought he could guess what this meeting was about. Ah, if only I'd stayed! he thought. If I hadn't returned to Ireland . . . . But her rejection hurt, even though I'm sure she didn't mean it. I could have gotten this over with much earlier, and not have seen the light of another moon. Just one last view of the sun before becoming a pile of ashes. He heard Cameron's voice say "Entrez, Mikhail." He opened the door. Cameron was seated, as usual, behind his magnificent mahogany desk. His eyes were red embers in the darkened room.
"I'm pleased that you have finally taken me up on my invitation." Cameron's deep voice dripped sarcasm.
Mikhail closed the door before replying. "I've been away. Surely you knew that." He sat down across from the Elder, and his tone became flippant, as it usually was with Cameron. "I feared for my life, and so fled. But I can't be too terribly bright, because I came back." Or, I must be in love with Xanna, because she is here.
Cameron bent forward, and moved the crystal vase and its rose to the side. He then folded his hands on the desk, and stared at Mikhail, looking more malevolent than ever with his ruby eyes. His fangs, prominent now in the candlelight, could not detract from his appearance.
His voice was soft as he spoke. "Enough with your teasing, Mikhail. I have a serious matter to discuss with you."
Mikhail swallowed. "And that is?"
"Why you made Roxanna into a vampire." His eyes burned, but his tone was glacier cold.
He nodded. "I thought that would be it. Very well."
Less than an hour later, Cameron had stopped asking questions. He was no longer sitting in his chair, but pacing behind his desk. He turned to Mikhail and demanded, "Is this true?" His eyes were ice chips, no longer flames.
"Yes. You can verify it another way if you want, although I'd just as soon you didn't."
"What did you see? Who did you see?"
But before Mikhail could answer, a phone started ringing. The secretary in the outer office answered it, and suddenly the intercom on Cameron's desk buzzed insistently. "Yes?" he barked, slamming the button.
"Sir, there is someone on the phone for you. She says it is urgent."
He sighed. "Very well. I shall take it in here." There was an antique phone on a small table behind his desk. He picked up the receiver, and said, "Yes?"
As Mikhail watched, Cameron's face hardened into stone, and his eyes blazed crimson again. "I see," was all he said. He carefully placed the receiver in the cradle, and turned to Mikhail. "It seems that someone else wants to be Eldest in America."
"What? What do you mean?" Mikhail was puzzled. He could see the fierce anger beneath the calm he displayed.
"That was Miriah, whom I thought was my friend. She has taken Roxanna prisoner, and demands that I return to Europe. She wishes to be Eldest here, and since she can see no way to kill me, she has taken this route. She can be quite ruthless when she has to be. I've known that for years." Suddenly, Mikhail was terrified for Xanna. "And I believe she also has something in for you, Mikhail."
"Why? What did she say?" If she harms Xanna, I'll stake her myself!
"She said, 'Tell Mickey that his cailin is waiting for him.' Does that mean anything to you . . . Mikhail?"
He had gone deathly still, his eyes staring wide at another place and time. "Miriah," he breathed. "What does she look like?"
"She has long black hair, and blue eyes that seem even more memorable because of the way they slant in her face, almost as if she were a Gypsy. I found her quite beautiful . . . ."
"NO!" Mikhail shouted, surging to his feet. "No! Not you again! I thought you had done with me an age ago, daemhan!" His fists were clenched, and as he stared at Cameron, his eyes too glowed fiery red.
"Miriel," he whispered. "My Ancestor."
On to Chapter 8.
Back to the Writing Page.
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