Sanctifying Grace (Resurrection) (6 page)

It was obvious I didn’t and Wil took great delight in that. ‘It appears that Mark has failed to tell you everything,’ he gloated. ‘Perhaps you do not know him as well as you think you do. ‘Roman’ is purely a nickname.’

I thought Roman
was
his name. I had no reason to think he was called anything else, and I felt betrayed and deceived. Why hadn’t he confided in me?

Then
, I decided it didn’t matter; he trusted me with something much more important, something that was at the heart of who he is, the reason why he exists – the knowledge that he is a vampire.

I pushed aside the thought that Wil also knew. He was only privilege to that information because Roman considered him vampire material (I couldn’t see it myself). That was the only reason Wil had been told. Roman had trusted me with this darkest of secrets for no other reason than he wanted to.

Wil wasn't happy when I told him.

‘You may share his bed,’ he retorted, ‘but I share his mind.’ And on that note he stalked out of the study.

I rubbed my hands across my face, weary and a little heart-sore. But I did wonder if Wil really understood what kind of mind it was he thought he shared. I had seen for myself how utterly ruthless and alien Roman could be. Had he let Wil see that side of him? Or was Wil being seduced by the polish and charm that Roman exuded? Did Wil truly realise he would soon be tasting the blood he was so arduously studying?

I had an awful feeling Roman was making a mistake in choosing Wil to be his regalato, but I couldn’t decide whether it was only my dislike and jealousy of Wil that was colouring my opinion.

I shrugged. Roman read humans the way a literary critic read novels. To him, we were as transparent as children are to their parents. Roman couldn’t be wrong.

Could he?

By the time Roman had risen, just as the sun sank below the horizon (how he knew when this was, if the day was cloudy, was a mystery to me) and had retreated to the study to discuss the events of the day, it was going on nine thirty.

Roman invited Wil to join us for dinner, (well, me really, because my lover didn’t partake of dinner in the accepted sense: he had his own meal planned) as he did every evening. Wil declined as usual, refusing to look at me. He didn’t want to spend any more time with me than I did with him. Good
. I could live with that, for now. But what would happen when Roman resurrected Wil? Would I ever get Roman on his own or would he have to spend all of his time and energy making sure Wil didn’t kill anyone? Admittedly, this depended on whether I would make another trip to the past. The time between our two eras was becoming rapidly shorter: Roman’s time and mine were soon to converge. And what would happen then?

Wil sorted himself out in the food department and Roman took me to yet another restaurant and watched me eat.

Will was working in the study when we returned. Roman hesitated by the door, so slightly that if I hadn’t been looking directly at him I would have missed it.

‘Go ahead, if you want,’ I said, my off-hand tone at odds with my dismay. I didn’t know how much longer I was to be here; it had been four nights already, almost a record apart from that extended stay during the twelfth century, and I wanted to spend every waking minute with him.

‘No, for now I will remain with you. But if you stay in my time any longer then I will need to give Wil more of my attention.’

‘Ok
ay.’ It wasn't really, but I had no right to object. His life continued without me and decades, even centuries passed when I failed to appear to him. I couldn’t expect everything to stop just because I had turned up.

‘His work is at a critical point,’ Roman explained. ‘I only brought him with me to Brecon because the laboratory is not yet complete and until the last pipette is in place, Wil can work on his equations and formulae just as eas
ily here as in the laboratory. But he will have to check on progress soon.’ He paused, not sure if I understood. ‘I will have to go with him.’

‘Ah.’  Now I got it: if Roman left Brecon then I would almost certainly return to my own time.

The sudden prickling of tears behind my eyes was almost painful and I battled not to let them fall. I didn’t want to believe Roman would leave me knowing I couldn’t possibly be here when he returned. It appeared he was choosing Wil over me, but in reality, he was choosing his interest and dedication to his science over the inexplicable phenomenon that was me. I was an enigma, a curiosity, something that couldn’t be rationalised. Yet, his understandable fascination with blood was fuelled by the massive strides that were being taken in all aspects of the scientific world, from engineering to physics, chemistry, to medicine. Of course he was immersed in it, mesmerised by it.

I was happy for him. The next century would be all he dreamt of and more. My stories of microscopic worlds and stars without end had given him a renewed interest in life. It was all about to come true for him.

His fascination with me was overwhelmed by what was occurring in the real world and when I thought about it, I realised this had probably been happening since the time before Lettuce, when he had first shown me his collection, only I hadn’t been in his reality long enough to see its effects.

Our lovemaking that night was poignant and tender. It reminded me of the last time Joe and I had been together as a couple, when we knew it was the end but neither of us had the strength to put our relationship out of its misery. Joe felt bad about abandoning me when it was certain I was going to die within the year
, and I felt bad because he had been the only constant in my life for months. My decision to go back home to Brecon had been a relief to both of us.

I didn’t feel relief now. Far from it. The pain in my heart was worse than any pain I had ever known. I was going to die soon, so why couldn’t Roman have kept up with the pretence for a while longer. I would never have known. I thought he probably did care for me in his own way, but I had to constantly remind myself he was not human. His brief stint at humanity was far outweighed by the centuries he had been vampire.

That night, during lovemaking, in desperation, I let him bite me, not caring if the puncture wounds would still be visible when I returned home. Privacy was starting to become a distant memory in my real life and explaining away bites to my mother would be a challenge, but I didn’t care. I wanted to feel the special closeness (and pleasure, let’s don’t forget the overwhelming, exquisite pleasure) that came from being bitten during sex.

We made enough noise to wake the dead and Wil must almost certainly have heard. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered except Roman.

He held me afterwards, cradling me to his chest, cool and solid, whilst my heart was being ripped from my body, slowly and painfully.

‘You are troubled, my lady.’ It was a statement not a question. I smiled at ‘my lady’: Roman was very good at blending in with whatever era he was living in, whether it be fashion, mannerisms or speech, but occasionally he lapsed, using words or phrases from an earlier time. And always, always, there was that faint hint of accent in his voice.

‘Yes,’ I admitted.

‘What is it, Eryres?’

I couldn’t tell him what I was really feeling and thinking. I didn’t want to bare my soul to him to such a degree, not when I could feel him pulling away from me. He knew I loved him. He could probably guess he was hurting me if he cared enough to think about it. And I didn’t want his pity. I’d had enough pity to last me a lifetime. I didn’t need to add his to the pot.

So pride, and a desperate fear of not wanting to hear him say the words that would end this strange relationship of ours, made me turn my thoughts away from me, from us, towards Wil. Whatever happened between Roman and
I would not alter the fact that I didn’t trust Wilfred, and I said so.

‘Leave Wil to me. You need not concern yourself,’ Roman advised. ‘I know exactly what he is
, but I do not wish to lose his mind and his intellect to old age and death, like so many have been lost before him. He is still young and is coming into the prime of his life. I wish to resurrect him when he is at his full potential so he can carry on the work he is doing. I have let so many sparkling minds turn to dust. I do not want to lose this one.’

‘But he’s got the hots for you,’ I blurted out.

‘Hots? What are these ‘hots’?’

‘He fancies you. He wants to sleep with you like a man and a woman sleep with each other.’

‘Grace,’ Roman replied patiently with a trace of humour in his voice, ‘I know all about love between men. I, however, prefer women. And when Wil is resurrected, his preference will be for blood above all else, and he will not care whether his meal is male or female, though he will still probably gravitate towards sex with men.’

I wondered if Roman, in all his long, long life, had slept with a man. Probably, I reasoned. I gue
ssed there was not much Roman had not tried, sexually and in every other aspect of life.

Which brought me back to his passion for all things scientific and his relationship with Wil. Call it women’s intuition (or just stubborn jealousy)
, but there was something about Wilfred I couldn’t quite grasp.

The next afternoon
, I woke early and began a systematic search of the study. I had no idea what I was looking for or what I expected to find, but that female intuition of mine was screaming that there was something about Wil that wasn’t right and I was going to do my best to find out what it was.

Two hours later
, I had nothing to show for my efforts. I was very careful to put everything back where I had found it, and although the desk was a mess of papers, I had no doubt Wil knew exactly where each scribbled scrap was. The majority of the notes and papers were indecipherable to me, but even the ones I could read held nothing of interest. I had opened drawers and taken books off shelves. I had peered into little boxes and had even rifled through the overflowing bin. Nothing. Nada.

I had no idea when Wilfred would be back
, and I was becoming increasingly concerned about the lateness of the hour, when a thought stopped me in my tracks. Why would Wil keep anything that might incriminate him where Roman could easily find it? I almost slapped my own forehead at my stupidity. If he had something, it would either be in his room or about his person. I had a gut feeling he wouldn’t be able to keep this most momentous of discoveries to himself, that there was life after death (
apparent
death, that is), and his ego would compel him to share the knowledge, share the fact that he, in his eyes, was special enough to be chosen to be immortal. He knew no one in South Wales, as far as I could tell, no one well enough to be close to. He was American and all his friends and family were thousands of miles away. The only way he could maintain contact with them would be by letter, or possibly telegram. Of course, he might have told someone everything before he boarded the ship, and if that were the case, then there would be nought for me to find. But somehow I didn’t believe it.

There was nothing for it but to look through his bedroom and
, if that didn’t work, I would have to wait until he was having a bath and then search his pockets.

As I swiftly sped up the stairs
, I had to admit it was dislike and jealousy that was driving me. I didn’t like the way I was feeling, but I couldn’t help myself. I
wanted
to find something which would change Roman’s mind about Wil. And it was all down to selfishness: I didn’t like sharing. I also didn’t like
me
very much at that point, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself and continued my search anyway.

I pushed open Wil’s door with trepidation and a deep sense of unease. Rooting through the study was one thing – the room was shared by both men – but this was Wil’s private space. I had no right to invade it and I considered how I might feel if someone went through my stuff. Then I convinced myself that I was doing it for Roman and if I didn’t find anything then no one need know and no harm would come of it. But if I did…?

The weak, early spring sun was dipping rapidly down behind the mountains to the west when I found them, a folded bundle of letters tied with a thin red cord of leather. I scanned each one quickly. All were from
“
your beloved Charles
’
” Passages jumped out and I read them with growing unease.

“
I cannot believe the news. To be tempted to Europe when you have yet to complete your work here. What can have possessed you? To leave all that you have strived for, all you friends and the people you care about, and I class myself as one of them, my dear, dear Wil…”

And the next one:

“You astound me! I can only surmise you have either lost your mind or this charlatan has deceived you grossly. I could never conceive you could be so swayed by a handsome face and obvious wealth. This benefactor of yours must have an ulterior motive to spin you such an unbelievable yarn.”

A later one read:

“I see you truly believe what this man has told you. Have you proof? Can you merely take the word of a complete stranger? I dread to think what diabolical designs he has on you to
– “