Fire Nectar 2 (7 page)

Defensively, she adjusted her position to face him as he moved. “Liar!”

He picked up her gown and tossed it to her, standing fully clothed now, shoving his neckcloth into the pocket of his pantaloons. There was no time for frivolities. “I swear to you, I tell the truth.” He held out his hands as one does to a scared child. “Remember I said fire is the death of me. The Sun is fire, Marion. Does it not burn the skin to sit beneath it for too long?”

She thought a moment, her black eyes looking to the window. Her head turned back and she sneered. “If you are lying …”

“I love you! I would not hurt you. You know this. Trust me. I can fix you.”

“I am not to be fixed! I feel free for the first time in my entire life! You do not own me. I do not need your permission now!”

Joshua fought hard not to be hurt by the biting words. A feeling of doom threatened him. “My apologies. I misspoke. But I tell you the truth when I say we must hide before the dawn comes. She is on her way. Do you not feel tired?!” He hoped she did, for to remove her from this place without her consent or without raising eyebrows of the others living here – would be impossible. She would have to leave with him willingly, and now.

Marion’s hand reached for the dress, but her sickening black tar-like eyes stayed set on him. “I feel heavy.”

Joshua jumped on this bit of hope. “Yes! That is it. We must hurry.”

She blinked once–an old human habit. Rising, she pulled on her gown but declined the shoes he offered her. “I want to run free,” she hissed in a low, frightening voice.

“So be it. I know of a place not far from here.”

The bloodlust ran through her veins hard and fast as they raced through the streets together. It was only her rabid wish for survival that pushed her on. She had not yet tasted human blood. Had she, she would never have followed him and would have run askance at the first scent of human flesh. She was so enamored with the speed of her legs that she thought nothing of following him into a cemetery. He did not explain it to her, but he did expect that she have would wanted him to. But she never asked and this disturbed him as one more thing on a list of wrongs. Looking at her face–so changed–sickened him. He must get her to safety until tomorrow when he would have help.

Both his male vampire friends had more dignified places to safely rest. There was no time to think of an alternative and he could not join Ludovico tonight. Not without explanation of her and what he had done. The only solution come to him was that they must hide where humans would not look. As they entered Pére Lachaise Cemetery, he pulled open with his strength the door of the first mausoleum they found. Marion stepped inside and collapsed onto the floor. “Joshua,” she whispered, sounding like her old self. “What is happening to me?”

He closed the door and rushed to the sarcophagus, straining to break its century old seal. As it gave way, he told her, “The Sun is near.” He was only a month old himself and struggled hard now against the sleep. “Come!” He pulled out the bones which lay inside and dumped them onto the ground unheeded. Everything inside his instincts told him to climb inside now or die. He slogged to his fledgling and lifted his love with a great deal of effort. His strength was leaving him quickly. Carrying her and laying her now sleeping body onto the rotted fabric, her head on the crushed pillow, he caught a glimpse of the young, peaceful woman he loved. The vampire with the blackened eyes had vanished and his heart had hope he could make it disappear forever. He pulled himself in to lie with her and with willpower alone, he strained to pull the lid on top of them just as he felt unavoidable sleep take hold.

He whispered, “I’ll save you…” even though she could no longer hear him. A sense of foreboding overtook his senses. Things would never be the same, in so many ways. He felt it. But he did not know that this was the last night they would spend together.

T
he door was locked
as it should be; no intruders tonight. A disappointment. He could use a distraction to wash away this feeling. As he turned the key and then entered the security code, he felt the sadness rise from within. He had not known until William’s call that he had been this lonely, this detached from the others and in effect, from himself.

Yes, he corresponded often with the humans who purchased his music for the San Francisco Symphony, and he had his instruments to keep him company…always, his music was his best most loyal friend…but it was not the same.

“Damn curfews and damn you, Sun,” he swore under his breath as he set down his bag by the door, very close by it for the comfort of knowing he’d be needing it again first thing tomorrow night.

Walking to the stairs, he stopped in front of the painting to gaze at the likenesses of William and Ludovico drawn so perfectly on that night in Montmartre, Paris over two hundred years ago. He sighed, “Well, I suppose you would not complain about having to wait, now would you, Lud? You’d tell me to enjoy every moment of this eternal life. How I wish you were here so that I could spend just one more night under the shine of your smile.” The corners of his immortal lips pulled up slightly, and he reached out and touched his friend’s painted shoulder, the brush strokes slightly raised and thick.

Pulling out his phone, he checked it to see if Daniella had called. She had not. “Can’t expect her to call me tonight. I know I was no good to anyone…”

He dialed and heard her voicemail message, and waited for the beep. “Dani, I just wanted to call again and try you, one last time. I needed to say something. I miss you. I miss all of you. And for some reason, I think you’ll understand that more than anyone.” He ran a hand through his soft hair. “Oh well, I’ll see you tomorrow night, love. Try to hang in there. I hope he’s worth it. I know mine was not.”

There was still some time left before the Death Sleep took him. Perhaps another stab at the piano concerto before he went to bed.

Hanging up the phone, he walked into his basement music room and made his way to the piano. Sat down. Picked up a pencil. Looked at the notes he’d left behind. And smiled. “Hello friend.”

T
he End
of Joshua’s Story.

T
he sun winked
to him a deadly promise: the threat of another day, tomorrow. William grabbed and held onto the last golden-hot flare of her tip for as long as he could see it. But it was no use. As with every other night she vanished a hasty retreat, escaping beyond the horizon. The coward.

He touched the window glass and whispered, “I bested you again, you wench. For still I stand. I can see more of you each night, and my skin feels no sting. There will come a time when my body does not sleep against my will–when we stand face to face once more. Then it will be I who wins this war.”

He strolled away from the glass absently running his left hand through his hair. Immaculate, modern, and luxurious–in quality and price–his Manhattan high-rise condo was uncluttered, absent of vases, pillows, and extraneous furniture of any kind. What was there had a purpose–save for the art, which was purely sentimental in value.

The sole painting was of his wife, painted by an artist in 1894 at his commission long after her death. It had had to be painted by William’s memory and memory alone. The painter had done a superb job, but William rarely looked at the piece. If he let himself look, he missed her more than he could bear. It helped and hurt him simultaneously, just as the memory of her love did. The fact that he’d had with Matilda a love that would never die ebbed his loneliness. But that he could never again see her face, hear her sweet voice, feel her gentle touch...was torture. The painting must be ignored except when it could not.

Other than her painting, the art in his home was not ‘the norm.’ Adorning the walls and flat surfaces of various tables, were weapons from the centuries. Not one of them could hurt him but they had hurt many men, and by his hand. Each earned a memory or more before they’d become merely decorative. He liked to pick them up now and again, feel the weight of iron in his fist, swing the mace and see if he still knew how.

They kept him company.

During the days when guns were not invented, he had never been careless when wielding these fatal tools. Never. The men who felt his judgment, his strategy, his revenge–had deserved it. They were those who held no care for what was right. Those who were not brave enough to stand up for truth even beneath the confusing umbrella of war. Those who made other men lesser men just by their influence. They had to die so that decency could live. It was up to him.

William found his true home in battle. To lead his men to victory,
that
was his calling. It had always been that way and he knew it always would.

Standing in front of one of his immaculately shiny black walls, he touched a spot invisible to those who did not look for it, and waited. Recognizing his unique thumbprint, a computer chip set inside activated and transformed the wall into a door. Behind it hid a refrigerator holding secret packets of blood of all types, all hospital labeled.

Like Dani, he paid handsomely for his supply. People who work for a low wage are easily persuaded and kept quiet with a steady injection into their monthly income. Accounts could not be traced to him. He made that clear when he made the deal lest they ever wish to expose his odd “perverted fetishism.” He also informed them that they would never see him again, and if they remained quiet and kept his supply varied and constant, he would make them very rich in only a few years time. Mention the potential of riches, ears and minds miraculously open. If someone betrayed him and talked? Well, they could easily be silenced. He made that clear.

Tonight William pulled out a packet labeled “O+” and firmly closed the door as he had done hundreds of times before, walking away as it sealed shut and became invisibly hidden once again. He stepped around the kitchen island to the deep aluminum sink where, beside it, his chalice sat patiently waiting. Sliding the packet into the microwave hung perfectly under the kitchen cupboards, he keyed in ‘one minute twenty seconds’ of warming time and turned to look at the gorgeous Manhattan view. He’d chosen the penthouse with two walls of floor to ceiling window so that he could always keep an eye on the city surrounding him. Charcoal grey designer blinds operated by a slender remote closed him off from the world’s eyes when privacy was called for. The bedroom behind him held a room similar to Dani’s Safe; coded, alarmed, sun-proof.

Looking at the view, he marveled the manmade miracles of skyscrapers, which never ceased to amaze him. Their twinkling lights were the magical evidence of human intelligence and innovation. It was truly extraordinary how far the world had come since he had been turned. He stared and stared out the windows until the beep of the microwave arrested his attention. He turned to pull out the steam-filled blood-bag and, tearing it open with quickly sharpened fangs, he splattered the counter with multiple little red drops. He scanned his well-fitting Hugo Boss suit. It had been saved. Excellent. He looked at the counter’s mess and decided he didn’t feel like cleaning; he’d get it later. Picking up the single gold chalice–the only one he ever used–he stopped and looked at it. A mistake.

“Matilda,” he whispered, tracing it with his fingertips. “My wife. My love.” His heart pulled in his chest and he moaned against the pain. It did not matter that his one and only true love had given him this chalice many lifetimes ago, because still the memory had not faded in any way. She’d wanted to give him a gift to celebrate his being crowned King of England. It was Christmas Day, 1066. She’d waited until they were alone in their bedchambers that night, after the ceremony had finally ended and all had left for sleep. He could still hear her laughter as she told him hurriedly,
Close your eyes.

“I have a present for my king,” she’d said.

“I am your husband still, Matilda. You need not call me king,” he’d laughed, secretly loving the sound.

“Are they closed, my king?” she playfully smiled.

He smirked and shut them tightly. “They are, my love.”

“Then here,” she’d said, with a laugh, and pressed her present into his open palm. “You may open them now!”

When he did, he saw her sky-blue eyes shining brightly at him, her warm smile glowing. She was stunning, with long black hair freed, porcelain skin highlighted and shining in the candlelight as they sat together naked on their bed. Her happiness and approval were the only rewards that ever satisfied his searching heart. As it would always be. Forever. He’d kissed her then and told her he loved his gift, that he had never seen a finer chalice and would always cherish it. And then they had made love until the rising dawn.

Thinking of the sunlight falling on her sleeping form that morning, his heart closed down again and shut away the pain of loss. He drank deeply from the chalice this night, to forget all nights without her. Unsatisfied, he refilled it. He crossed to the window and stared harder at the city outstretched before him.
Let the view distract me
. He had no knowledge that at that very moment–almost three thousand miles away–Daniella and Elizabeth faced demons of their own. Searching the view for salvation, he had no idea that his course was about to change.

Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C-Sharp exploded from his phone. He looked to it and saw the name
Elizabeth
lighting up the screen. Surprised, he strode quickly away from the window to greet his friend. “Elizabeth, you sexy beast, how goes it?” He’d not seen her gorgeous face in decades.

“William, only you can get away with calling me that, but I do love to hear you say it.” She smiled through the phone but her voice was tense.

He could hear the forced cheerfulness. He wanted to quiz her on the reason immediately but restrained himself
. Let her tell me in her own time
. “I can get away with a lot of things, my lovely friend. Where are you living now? Which human female are you bedding? Would she be interested in a handsome male joining in the fun?”

“William, as much as I’d love to slap you with my wit and give you a proper set-down for saying such a thing, this is not a casual call. We need you. Both you
and
Joshua. We need you and we need you now. You must come to Los Angeles at once. I assume you are in contact with him, still?”

“Of course. And so you will have us. Who needs our help, dear? Who is ‘we’?” He put the emptied glass firmly down on a table.

“Daniella. She’s made the same mistake as he…Joshua, I mean. You remember Marion, do you not?” They reverted easily to the vernacular of earlier centuries. It did not matter that it was 2012, or 3012, for when they had met,
that
would always be the diction they felt most comfortable speaking in. It was like a warm blanket to ease the flow of so much time.

“Of course. A face and a screech I wish to forget. But alas, I believe I never shall. She had more than one way of getting under one’s skin.”

Elizabeth agreed, ““Yes.”

“It’s happened again, has it? I had thought it was odd for this much time to pass without such.”

“How do you mean?” she asked, confused.

“Before we’d face a demon like that again,” he grimly explained.

Her voice held a tinge of something he could not place. It dropped to almost a whisper as she asked, “Had you thought that, William? Really?”

“Yes, indeed, I had. Often. But you know me. I plan for attacks - either real or potential. It’s how I keep myself entertained.”

She bit her lip through the phone. He could hear her do it, his sense of hearing was so keen now. “I wish
I
had foreseen it. Perhaps I would have been able to prevent her pain…but it’s too late. The worst has happened. I must shake this off, William. Help me. I am trying. There is no time to regret what I cannot change, and I must be strong. Dani will be very angry that I called you.” He knew that she felt him to be a father figure, that she could lean on him and show her vulnerability as she did to no one else. He treasured the honor.

He assured her with a strong commanding voice, “Elizabeth, I am yours. Do not be afraid. I am coming. Joshua, as well. I will call him as soon as we say goodbye. He will be honored, I assure you, and will come running to be of service to you, from wherever he is.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Where is Daniella? Is she with it? Has the thing run amuck, already?”

“It has, yes, but I have it with me now. We drained it and… What?” The question was not to him, he knew. At once he realized someone was with her. He’d been so drawn in, so focused on her and the surprise of her call and tone, that he’d not heard the second heartbeat, a surprising oversight. William’s protective instincts flared as he listened to a male voice asking desperately, “How do I lock the door? What if he wakes up?”

She shh’d the man and returned to William, “Sorry William, I am not alone.”

“Who is with you? I do not recognize the voice.”

“It’s Daniella’s assistant, Julian. He is not like us, but we can trust him… I think. I’m sure your intuition will let you know if I am right, when you meet him.”

William could not see Julian, but he could hear the human heart skip when she spoke and knew the human to be afraid.
You should be afraid, human
.
Do not betray my girls
. “I heard his heartbeat skip as you spoke. It seems he is frightened, and humans do stupid things when in fear. Be careful. Does he know of where you sleep?”

“No, I assure, he does not.”

“Keep it that way. Where is Daniella?”

“She was right behind me, I don’t know what has stopped her from… Oh! I hear her coming now. The front door below has opened. She is on the first floor and moving fast. I have to go! Call Joshua, won’t you please?”

“Right away. We will be flying to you tonight.”

“Tonight? Is there time?”

“I have the coastal time change on my side, my dear. I am in New York, that’s three more hours than you think.”

“Oh, thank you, William!”

“Until tomorrow at sundown, my friend.”

Her voice was tense, “Yes, ‘til-” and in her haste, mid-sentence, she hung up.

It was rare to hear Elizabeth struggle in any way. When she was human, she’d lived among English royalty and still possessed an air of confident superiority, as he did. She had not been a member of the royal family as he had come to be. She was instead a member of its court; close friend and confidante to Queen Elizabeth I, and sometimes - when she could convince the Virgin Queen to let down her strawberry locks –the Queen’s most attentive lover. William discovered this once during a friendly conversation with his striking vampire friend some centuries ago and had marveled at the news. “Why do you think she never married?” Elizabeth had explained, with a serene smile.

Dialing Joshua’s phone number, a photo appeared to greet him as it rang. Joshua’s angular slender features were fairer than his own darker, brooding ones. And where William had dark hair and eyes, Joshua hair was light brown and his eyes were thoughtful and gentle. William believed the constant whisper of the muse must be half inspiration, half torment because–as with most musicians–Joshua had a haunted look about him. But his inner battle gave him depth, an admirable quality to William. As soon as he saw Joshua’s photo, Daniella came to mind at once for he remembered he had no photo of her. He frowned against the notion that such an absence could be an evil foreshadowing.

Joshua answered, his smile beaming through the phone, “William, old friend - this is a surprise! How goes it?”

“I’m afraid I’m not calling with good news Joshua, although it is always good to hear your voice. How are you?” He let it be known with his tone that there was a more pressing emergency to discuss.

“I am well, as always. Alright then, let’s hear it. What news? Have you gotten yourself into a scrape? Surely you can find a way to make all well, once more. Although I can’t wait to hear the story!” Joshua’s lightness of spirit annoyed him. Was he making fun of him?

“I? No, not I,” he said, with growing irritation. “Elizabeth just rang me.”

“Is something wrong with Elizabeth? I’ve not heard from her in ages.”

“What? No. No. It’s not Elizabeth, Joshua, but it may as well be, because the problem is with Daniella and you know how Elizabeth feels about her.” And how you feel about her, he wanted to add, but kept that knowledge strategically to himself. Take this seriously, Joshua, he thought, staring out the window at New York. Artists are so flighty. “When we spoke, her voice was grave and almost fearful, a drastic departure from her normal calm composure, as you know. We are to go to them at once, my friend. Tonight.”