Immortal Obsession (10 page)

He wondered where Amanda had raced off to at Zero Hour, and with whom. He decided to duck into the museum as he approached it. He entered through the freight entrance on 82
^nd
Street. As he headed north through a labyrinth of hallways, he scoured the offices and studios that housed the less glamorous but equally integral parts of the museum. The only light in the narrow corridors was an occasional exit sign. It had been six months since the last assault, and if he knew his enemies, this one would be insidious but no less grim. No throat slitting in a public park this time. Amanda’s attacker would be smiling. Someone she trusted would rip her throat out.

His high-heeled boots barely echoed as he crossed the Great Hall toward the Arms and Armor galleries. Once inside, Christian stopped to gaze at the daggers, swords, and other medieval weaponry. He was on his way back into the European Sculpture and Decorative Arts galleries when something caught him off guard. As he passed the terracotta statues, marble sculptures, and numerous vitrines full of porcelains and jewels, he thought for a moment he sensed something there; something not mortal. He ran ahead into each smaller gallery, but the feeling dissipated. Occasionally he slipped into the shadows while guards passed him, totally unaware; their voices seemed loud in the quiet spaces. There was no need to avoid the security cameras, since neither his image nor body temperature registered on their screens.

In the main hall, he pushed open a door in the wall and hurried down a dark stairwell toward the curatorial offices. Ruminating over Peter’s words ‘he is both a night and a day walker’ Christian realized that it could only be Ryan’s blood that gave the vampire the ability to walk in the daylight, and the only vampire who had had access to Ryan’s blood had been Lucien. Michel did not believe Lucien had the audacity or the authority to return to New York, and both vampires guessed that Lucien was dead at the hands of Gaétan and Solange.
Whoever killed him has the blood
, he thought, winding down the familiar hallway and then turning right into Amanda’s office.

What a temptation to be able to walk in the daylight.

Christian was always amazed at the stacks of books piled on her floor, her detailed notes, her doodles on a yellow legal pad, and the numerous empty coffee cups. He admired her dedication to art, scholarship, and the written word. Comfortable at her desk he pushed aside several stacks of books, exposing her desk calendar; where various appointments, birthdates, and telephone numbers were neatly written in the squares. He expected no less from her.

He put his feet up on her desk and leaned back to think a moment. He recognized the familiar photograph of her and Ryan with their father. A new one caught his eye. It sat in a dark wooden frame next to her telephone.

Taken on the steps of the Met on a summer day, Amanda sat smiling like a typical ten-year-old girl, shy and awkward. Her long dark hair was parted in the middle and hung almost to her waist. She wore shorts and a tailored blouse. Ryan sat next to her, brooding like a typical bored brother, in jeans and an Eric Clapton T-shirt.
We all need our memories
, he thought, putting the frame down and his feet back up on her desk.

Christian marveled at how little she reminded him of her mother, Catherine Richard, a bohemian woman whose interests in art and politics surpassed her love of her two children. Her sudden death had left Amanda parentless and her fortuitous consolation was her new job at the museum. His heart had broken for her even then; an orphan at such a young age.

He was scanning her office for anything out of the ordinary when her telephone rang. He jumped before he realized that a ringing telephone was a common occurrence despite the hour. She received calls from Europe, and there it was already ten
AM
. He slid back into her chair, transfixed by her sedate voice projecting around the office, curious about the caller nonetheless.

Hello, you have reached Amanda Perretti at 555–635–1071. I am unavailable at this time. Please leave a message and I will return your call as soon as possible. For immediate assistance please dial Cole Thierry at extension 1070. Thank you.

“Amanda … I hope you liked the flowers … Thanks again for such an incredible evening … sorry I had to leave before you woke up … hope you are okay with it all. Talk to you soon. Bye.”

Christian’s gut twisted as he heard an old familiar voice that made his skin crawl. He slammed his fist on the desk and tried to suppress the jealousy swelling up in him. He had not heard him in centuries, but no, it wasn’t possible, and yet, there was no mistaking the raspy, seductive voice.

First Josette and now my Amanda.

He was here in New York. Just as Christian had feared, his enemy had found Amanda, and more than found her. They were lovers. Gaétan had infiltrated her world right under his nose. What kind of a fool was he?
How could I be so unaware?

He raced out of the museum and made it to his front door just as the pre-dawn sun slipped over the horizon. No matter how hard he fought it, he died every dawn; as if a switch was turned off. Michel, Amanda and even Gaétan would have to wait for sunset as he collapsed onto his bed.

Please God, give me one more day to save her.

Chapter Thirteen

A
MANDA WAS CHECKING
her e-mails one more time before finishing up for the night.

“Glad I caught you.”

Amanda knew the sultry voice before she looked up to find Thomas standing in her doorway, dressed for the night shift. He hesitantly sat down in the only chair in her tiny office.

“Did you get my message?”

She grabbed a catalog and covered her legal pad, not wanting him to see what she was writing or to whom.

“I did, and I loved the flowers.” She blushed, feeling a little too vulnerable for her own good as she replayed Saturday night in her mind. She had tried not to spend Monday wondering what to say to him when they ran into one another. She liked him but her heart just wasn’t in it. Still, maybe she needed to give the idea of being his lover more time. “Maybe we could go out this Friday. I have the night off.” He picked up a book off her desk.

“Bethany is having a birthday party for her boyfriend, Jeff, at La Crusada over on First Avenue. I would love for you to join me. It’s the big three-oh for him.” She smiled and twirled a strand of her dark hair.

“I have to be honest with you. I hate dinner parties.” He shrugged.

“Maybe I could meet up with you afterward.”

“Okay. I’m sure we are going bar-hopping afterward.” She watched him dust off the cover and open up the old volume, ignoring the white gloves she had pulled out of her desk drawer. No matter how often she reached for the gloves he never put them on. She gave up trying to protect the rare books from further damage.

She watched him, as if in a trance, he ran his hands over the binding, gently turning it over before opening up the book.

“It’s definitely rare.”

It was rare and brittle and Amanda thought it odd that she had found the book on the floor, especially since she distinctly remembered leaving it atop a stack of other research materials on the other side of her desk. How it had gotten on the floor beside her chair was a mystery.

“Can you translate it?”

‘La vie de cour au 18ème siècle France.
Court Life in eighteenth-
century France.
” His words rolled over her, confirming her theory that it did not matter what one said in French, anything sounded beautiful.

“Could you take a peek at it for me? Maybe give me the gist of it since your French is impeccable.”

“Sure.” He shrugged, putting the book down and meeting her gaze.

“Cole asked me to research these objects.” She handed him two slides of eighteenth-century porcelains, trying not to be distracted. “Not sure if they are Sevres or something inferior, but they are still so beautiful. Imagine eating dinner off these plates?”

Cole had hired her right out of graduate school as his assistant. Their relationship centered on their mutual love of eighteenth-century France, and need; her need for a prestigious career, and his need to have an assistant that gave him 150 percent. The harder she worked, the better he looked. The better he looked the more work he gave her. They were like parasites, feeding off each other. But she had the utmost respect for him and dreamed of one day being a curator herself. There was almost nothing she wouldn’t do for him.

Thomas held each slide up to the light. “Porcelain factories existed in France that made imitation Sevres. Everyone copied the royals and I think that’s what you have here.”

“Thanks, Thomas.” She smiled and touched his hand.

He smiled devilishly and returned the touch. She purposely wore a turtle neck sweater, hoping to cover up the tiny puncture marks on her neck thinking about the night they spent together.
That was some hicky
.

He winked as he slipped out of her office door. At that moment, Amanda wondered why she had invited him to Jeff’s birthday party in the first place. He was attractive, smart, great in bed, and they had an easy rapport but she could only think of one person. She could have told him she had plans and left it at that.

Why do I feel so guilty?

She grabbed her legal pad and continued to write the letter she had started earlier.

Dear Christian
,

I was hoping you might reconsider your position and speak to me just one more time. I am happy to come to the Grey Wolf.

Amanda

Christian found himself impatiently pacing his living room waiting for Michel to come out of his bedroom for the evening.

“Things are really bad when you are pacing, my friend.” Michel joked as he closed the French doors behind him. Christian could not let go of the hilt of his machete, pressed against his chest. As he spoke he kept his eyes on the carpet as he told Michel everything, leaving out the part about Eve accompanying him to Zero Hour. Michel would only chastise him for stooping so low as to get Eve involved in their affairs and he just wasn’t in the mood for it.

On more than one occasion, Michel reminded him how ironic he found it that while Christian so vehemently vowed not to interfere in the mortal world he could not help himself when it came to Amanda Perretti. Christian rationalized his covetousness and especially now with Gaétan here in New York he felt justified to snooping around in her personal life. What he called protecting, Michel kindly referred to as stalking.

“I am not stalking her, Michel. I am watching over her. There’s a difference,” he snapped.

“I just don’t see one my friend. It’s as if you are in love with her. Are you Christian?”

Christian stopped, shocked at his directness. He half wondered if Michel was joking, but his serious face and quizzical gaze spoke otherwise. Christian tried to avoid looking him in the eye and began to pace again.

Michel gently grabbed his friend by the shoulders. “How do you feel about her?”

“I can’t have her … it’s … incestuous. You know that.”

“That is not what I am asking you … Putting that aside—”

“There is no putting that aside, Michel. I fathered Solange. Amanda is her descendant. How can you even think of such a thing? Christ, we are vampires, not monsters!”

Michel ran a hand through his dark hair, his bright eyes suddenly clouded over, as if all life was drained out of him. In all the centuries of their friendship, he had seen Michel cry only once and even then, he never explained what had upset him so. This was different. Christian felt as though Michel was reliving a memory that was too painful to speak of.

“What is it?” Christian whispered. He could not imagine what would have Michel so shaken. Then the unimaginable crossed his mind. “It’s not Amanda, nothing’s happened—”

“No, dear God,” Michel choked. “She’s fine my friend.”

Christian stepped back, afraid of his own emotions. Michel straightened his Dior embroidered jacket before he continued.

“I understand the danger Amanda is in from Gaétan. A strike is inevitable, but there is something I must tell you now, before things get… even more complicated …I know that the heart wants what it wants without reproach or reason—”

Christian grabbed him by his lapels. “Are you trying to tell me you want her?” He hissed, a knot forming in his stomach.

“Christ no,” Michel snapped. “All I am saying is … it’s like the night you met Josette on the Pont Neuf, remember? Your passion for each other was palatable to anyone watching you both.”

Christian stared into the dark eyes of his best friend.

“I see it happening with Amanda. Don’t deny it, Christian …” He stepped back.

“What is it Michel?”

“Josette made me promise.” Michel stared past him out the window.

At the mention of her name, memories flooded Christian. Happiness and pain woven together, and then one surfaced. Christian remembered wanting so much to surprise her. Luc Delacore had been away for a fortnight and he had felt the anticipation of having her to himself. He could see himself racing up the stairs into her luxurious apartment near the royal palace in Paris on a bitterly cold March night. It had been snowing hard.

As he entered the salon he had heard her arguing with someone. She was trying to keep her voice low, but with his superior hearing he had clearly heard her fighting, but with whom? As he moved past the ornate Louis XVI furniture and slipped toward her bedroom door, Michel had emerged with Solange on his hip. Christian had been so startled that he had gasped aloud. The crying two-year-old was being comforted by Michel and Christian felt like an intruder watching his friend coddle the child in front of the roaring fire place.

Then Josette had come out of her boudoir behind him. Her beautiful dark hair hung around her shoulders and the dress she wore was everyday, not one of the gorgeous gowns Christian had bought her.

She seemed nervous, embarrassed, and guilty. Michel had begun to joke; begging Christian to go out carousing with him, while Josette had taken Solange and excused herself.

Christian had tried to quell the unsettling feeling of something he would not admit, but felt in every ounce of his being. It had been as though he was a spectator, stepping into an intimate moment in the life of a married couple, yet he had thought Josette and Michel were barely acquaintances. When Michel had left to go gambling for the evening, he had stood alone at the fireplace, watching the snow fall, sensing there had been much more between them. Michel had never explained his presence that night and Christian had never asked him for the truth.

“What is it she made you promise, Michel?”

As he asked, he realized that he already knew the truth, just as he had sensed something that night in Josette’s apartment. Even that surreal night when both vampires said good-bye to her, he had felt their desire for each other through the smoke and flames. Christian had tried to ignore it, had hoped that time would diminish its power to hurt him.

Michel cleared his throat then blessed himself. “You are not Solange’s father, Christian. She had an indiscretion … with Gaétan …”

Christian stared at him in disbelief.

“Josette knew Solange was his, but she came to me for help since she could not go to him or to you. She feared your wrath. I listened as she weighed it all and in the end she decided to keep the child and say nothing until she was forced to give her up. We both knew you would be the responsible one and you would take care of her.”

Michel wiped the corner of his eye.

Christian had to sit down, feeling sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted to betray her or hurt you. Josette knew you would never forgive her for …seeing Gaétan again, but she also knew you would take good care of Solange, and you did better than that Christian. You have taken care of them all.”

“I loved her and trusted her above all others …” Christian whispered. “An indiscretion? Oh my God and no one ever told me?”

“Please do not judge her.” Michel asked, sitting down beside him.

“I am such a fool Michel …”

“No. You are and always have been incredibly loyal to those you love. It made you so happy to follow all these crazy mortals around and it seemed to give you a mission, Christian, and you always needed a purpose in life.”

He rubbed Christian’s shoulder and he knew Michel was right. He could never tolerate feeling adrift, even as a youth in Meudon, he always worked, always had plans for his day.

“All these years I thought I was preserving something that was mine by rights. How could she sneak around behind my back, especially with him?”

“I don’t know what was in her heart, but I do believe their liaison was short-lived. I can’t imagine you would be pleased, no matter who she was … who she was sleeping with.”

“And Gaétan … if he fathered Solange then he seduced his own daughter?”

Michel shrugged, staring at the ground. “Perhaps he had no idea. But we cannot change any of it, Christian. It’s all ancient history as they say.”

He smiled and the sparkle in his light eyes returned. He never failed to mesmerize Christian.

“This is true, but Amanda has no idea that our past is coming for her. Am I alone in trying to save her life?”

Michel hugged Christian before the other vampire could react. “You amaze me, my friend. She is nothing to you and yet you continue to honor your promise. You never lost your humanity.”

Lost in thought, Christian wondered how Gaétan would strike and if he was he alone. Then another nagging thought made his heart ache. Was the child really Gaétan’s or was it Michel’s? He had lived his life wondering if they were lovers and yet never able to face that possible truth. It would have changed how he felt about both Josette and Michel and Christian was honest enough to know he would never be able to forgive them. Their indiscretion would have destroyed him then so it was less painful to live a lie.