Shades of Gray (11 page)

Humming softly, she mixed mayonnaise with a can of tuna.

She fixed a sandwich, then went into the front room and sat on the floor to read the paper.

VAMPIRE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN, DEATH TOLL RISES TO 13

That quickly, her sense of well-being was destroyed.

She read what was becoming a familiar story. The body of a young woman had been found in the foothills behind Griffith Park, her body drained of blood. There had been no sign of a struggle, no evidence of foul play save for two tiny wounds in her neck.

Her appetite gone, Marisa put her sandwich aside, hating herself for wondering if Grigori was responsible for any of the deaths.

She didn't like to think of the dark side of Grigori, didn't like to admit she was physically attracted to a man who wasn't even alive in the normal sense of the word. And yet he seemed so alive, so vital. And she cared for him far more than seemed wise.

She had held him in her arms last night, felt his grief and his pain as she comforted him.

She wondered where he slept during the day, if his sleep was interspersed with dreams, or if he was shrouded in the silent darkness of death.

She wondered what her parents would say if she told them she had met a vampire. Kissed a vampire…

She glanced at the clock. Almost two. She wondered why Ramsey hadn't called, and then shrugged. Even vampire hunters needed a day off.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Miss Richards?"

"Hi, Edward. Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine." She heard him yawn. "I was out rather late last night."

"Did you find anything?"

"No. I guess you've heard the news?"

She glanced at the newspaper and shuddered. "Yes. It's awful."

He grunted softly. "I'll be over before dark."

"All right. Bye."

Edward showed up just before sunset. They shared a thick-crust pepperoni
pizza;
then Edward produced a deck of cards and they played canasta. Marisa kept glancing at the clock, wondering where Grigori was.

At ten, Marisa went into the kitchen and made a bowl of popcorn.

Sitting on the sofa, with the bowl between them, they watched the news. It seemed that the stories were always the same: trouble in the Middle East, increasing unemployment, politicians making promises they couldn't keep.

"And in local news, the bodies of two teenage boys were found in an oil field near Huntington Beach just moments ago, bringing the number of killings attributed to the vampire killer to fifteen. Police are asking for anyone who might have information relating to any of these killings to get in touch with them immediately by calling the number on your screen.

"Chief Harrison has issued a statement asking everyone to stay as close to home as possible between the hours of six
p.m.
and dawn until further notice. When asked if he believed the killings were the work of a vampire, the chief stated an unequivocal
No,
but said the department was working on the assumption that the person or persons perpetrating these crimes was quite possibly operating under that delusion. In other news…"

"This is all my fault!" Marisa exclaimed. Rising to her feet, she went to the window and drew back the curtains. He was out there somewhere, and it was her fault. Somehow, her blood had revived him, and now he was prowling the city, killing innocent people, and it was her fault, her fault….

A flicker of movement caught her eye. At the same time, she felt again that sense of evil that she had felt twice before, and with it the sense that someone was trying to reach inside her mind.

Marisa… open to me…

"No!"

"Miss Richards, what's wrong?" Edward bolted to his feet, and then he went suddenly still, his senses attuned to the knowledge that a vampire was near.

"He's out there!" She yanked the curtains closed, and quickly moved away from the window.

Ramsey went to the window and peered out, his gaze darting up and down the dark street. Was it Alexi, or Grigori, or perhaps another of the undead?

"I… I heard his voice in my mind. Alexi's voice. Where are you going?"

"To see if I can find him."

"Are you crazy? You can't go out there."

Ramsey sighed. "No need. He's gone."

She couldn't believe he was really gone; the feeling of evil still felt so strong. But Edward had more experience than she did. "You're sure?"

Edward nodded, then resumed his seat. "Any vampire hunters in your family, Miss Richards?"

"Not that I know of."

"Has he tried to speak to you before?"

"No, but I've felt his presence." She crossed her arms, suddenly cold. "It's so creepy. It reminds me of those old science-fiction movies where aliens come to earth and take over people's minds."

"Except Kristov isn't science fiction," Edward muttered.

Grigori arrived a short time later.

"He was here," Edward said. "Just a few minutes ago."

"I know."

"You saw him?"

"Yes. I chased him for several miles, and then I lost him."

Ramsey shook his head. "I've hunted vampires before. I've never had this much trouble tracking one."

Grigori nodded, his attention on Marisa. She seemed distracted. "Are you all right?"

"He spoke to me."

"You saw him?"

"No, no, but I heard him. In my mind."

"What did he say?"

"He wanted me to let him in." She looked up at him, her eyes dark with fear. "It was awful. I feel as if I've been violated somehow."

Grigori didn't say anything, but it seemed as if he backed away from her, over an invisible chasm she couldn't see, couldn't cross.

"It doesn't feel that way when you read my mind," she said softly. "It feels, I don't know, right somehow, when you do it." She looked up at him, silently entreating him to hold her, to shield her weakness with his strength. "I'm afraid."

"I know." He crossed the bridge her words had built between them and took her in his arms. "I won't let him hurt you, Marisa, I swear it."

Ramsey cleared his throat. "I think I'll, uh, go home."

"Good night, Edward," Marisa said. "Thank you for coming over."

"My pleasure." Ramsey looked at Grigori, his eyes filled with reproach. "Call me if you need me."

Grigori nodded, keenly aware that Ramsey's blatant disapproval barely masked the man's jealousy. And yet Ramsey had no reason to be jealous. As much as he, Grigori, might wish it, nothing could come of his growing affection for Marisa. There was no way they could have a life together, no reason to think she would want to spend any more time with him than she had to. He could never be a part of her world; she would not want to share his.

And yet, gazing down at her now, seeing himself reflected in the emerald depths of her eyes, he wished, fleetingly, that he were a mortal man again, capable of giving her a home, a family. But there was no hope of that, and he had no right to think there might be, not now, when Antoinette hovered in the netherworld between life and death.

"It's late," Marisa said, disturbed by his silence, by the tension she felt in the arms that held her. "I think I'd better go to bed, too. I've got to get up early for work tomorrow."

With a nod, Grigori let her go. "Sleep well, Marisa."

He watched her walk away, and though he knew it was only a trick of his mind, it seemed as though she took all the warmth of the world with her.

Ramsey came awake with a start, all his senses suddenly alert. And then he heard it again, a woman's soft cry of pain.

Throwing back the covers, he slid out of bed and went to the door.

"Who's there?" He pressed his ear to the wood. "Who is it?"

"Help me. Please help me."

"I can't, I'm sorry."

"Please! I'm so afraid."

Heart pounding, Edward went to the dresser. Picking up a sharpened stake, he slid it in the waistband of his pajamas; then, one hand clutching his cross, he opened the door.

A young woman crouched in the hallway, her face half-hidden beneath a fall of tangled black hair.

"Please," she said with a gasp, her voice heavily accented. "Please help me." She extended a slender hand toward him, a hand covered with blood.

Cautiously, Edward peered up and down the hallway. Seeing no one, he reached for the girl and pulled her into his room, then closed and locked the door.

The girl huddled on the floor, sobbing, her face hidden by her hair.

"What's happened to you?" Edward asked. "Do you need a doctor?"

She did not answer, only continued to sob as though her heart would break.

Kneeling beside her, Edward brushed the hair from her face, gasped in horror as he saw the two telltale wounds in her neck.

Scrambling to his feet, he backed away from her, his hand clutching the cross so tightly it cut into his skin. "Who are you?"

She looked up at him through blue-green eyes that had no doubt once been beautiful, but were now empty of all humanity. And then, moving slowly, she rose to her feet and walked toward him, her steps stiff, like a robot's.

"No!"

He reached for the stake in his waistband. In a blur, she lunged toward him. Grabbing the stake from his hand with a strength that belied her slender build, she broke it in half and tossed the pieces away.

Terrified now, Edward struck out at her, his fist clipping her chin. With a feral growl, she picked him up and threw him across the room.

Ramsey cried out as his head struck a corner of the dresser. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed a chair and smashed it over the woman's head, once, twice, three times, driving her backward until she dropped to her knees, a horrible, inhuman sound emerging from her throat as blood dripped down her forehead into her eyes.

Knowing she would soon recover, he turned and threw the chair through the window. Grabbing his jacket and keys, he bolted over the sill into the gray dawn of early morning, grateful that he had insisted on a room at ground level.

He raced to his car, not daring to look behind him.

"Edward, what happened?" Marisa stood back so he could enter her apartment, then closed and locked the door behind him.

"I'll tell you in a moment." Breathing heavily, he staggered into the front room and collapsed on the sofa.

"You're bleeding!" Marisa exclaimed.

"No," he said with a gasp. "I'm all right. It's not… not my blood."

"Then whose?"

He held up a trembling hand to stay her questions. "Wait… just… wait."

With a nod, Marisa went into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. A glance at the clock showed it was barely six
a.m.
She drummed her fingertips on the countertop, wondering what had happened to Ramsey. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Or a vampire… but it was morning. Surely Alexi was asleep in his coffin, wherever that might be.

The thought made her shudder. Thinking of Alexi brought Grigori to mind. He had told her he didn't sleep in a coffin, but she couldn't help picturing him laid out in a silk-lined casket, his arms folded over his chest, dead but not dead.

She closed her eyes against the nausea that roiled in her stomach. She had let Grigori kiss her, had kissed him back, had wondered what it would be like to make love to him. How had she even considered such a thing? How had she forgotten, even for a moment, what he was?

Pouring two cups of strong black coffee, she went out into the living room.

Ramsey smiled faintly as he took the cup she offered him. "Thank you."

She sat down at the opposite end of the sofa, cradling the mug between her hands. It was comforting somehow. "Feeling better?"

He nodded, then, using as few words as possible, he told her what had happened.

"But how could she be out in the daytime if she was a vampire?"

Edward shook his head. "She's not a vampire. She's a revenant. I suspect Alexi sent her."

"To kill you?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I think she was supposed to take me to him." A sickly smile flickered across his pale face. "I have a feeling I was supposed to be dinner."

Marisa stared at Ramsey. It was too awful even to think about, yet she couldn't stay the awful images his words conveyed.

"A revenant." Marisa spoke the words aloud without realizing she had done so.

"Yes. Fearful creatures. I've only seen a few, but they are even more frightening than their masters."

"Grigori told me Alexi had turned Antoinette into a revenant. You don't think…?" She stared at Edward in horror.

"I don't know." He sipped at the coffee. "It's possible. But I just don't know."

"Did you… is she…?"

He looked up at her, his face ashen, his eyes troubled. "Dead?" Slowly, he shook his head. "No. There are only two ways to kill a revenant. Remove its head and heart, or kill its master."

"I feel like I'm living in the middle of a nightmare!" Marisa exclaimed. "None of this can be true. It's impossible."

"I wish it were."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I shouldn't have run. I should have tried to restrain her, make her tell me where Alexi takes his rest."

"Are you mad? From what you told me, she sounds stronger than the two of us put together."

"I might have been able to subdue her long enough to tie her up." He lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "I panicked. There's no excuse for it."

"I can think of several," Marisa muttered.

"Grigori will see it as a weakness on my part."

"Well, we mortals are allowed to be weak now and then."

Ramsey smiled faintly. "Would you mind if I stayed here today?"

"No, of course not."

"I don't think you should go to work."

"You don't think she'll come after me, do you?"

"I don't know. It seems unlikely that Alexi would send her into the city in broad daylight, but… I'd feel better if you stayed home."

"We're really busy at the office," Marisa remarked, "but I've got some sick time coming. I guess it wouldn't hurt to miss one day." She glanced at the clock. "No one will be there yet. Why don't you get some rest?"