The Fertile Vampire (20 page)

The only time he was less than slavish was when I told him I wanted the car for a month.
 

“A month?”
 

“I have to buy a new car and I don’t want to rush.”
 

Why I had the need to explain was probably something buried deep in my nature. I explained myself to everyone. Maybe it was because I was an insurance adjuster. I’d gotten used to having a reason for everything and it had carried over into my personal life.
 

Or, I was just insecure and wanted approval for everything I did.
 

Either one worked.
 

“I’ll change your plan to our long-term rental,” he said, the tail wiggling commencing again.
 

When I was finally done and had signed everything, I got into the blue Ford Focus, learned where all the relevant buttons were, and waved goodbye to George.
 

In the distance, the horizon was fading to gray, the presage to dawn. I wasn’t a morning person, even before becoming a vampire. I love the late hours, the mystery of midnight. I like when dusk rolls in to give us a last gasp of daylight. Squirrels scamper to their nests; birds fluff their feathers and stalk sideways on branches to find the very best roost. The world hunkers down for darkness.

I felt the pull of sleep, the lure of my bed, but I ignored it.
 

I locked the rental car, opened the door of my apartment, but instead of going upstairs, I peeled off my jacket and walked through to the kitchen.
 

Miss Renfrew said a Dirugu will enable vampires to live as humans. If that were true, what would be the difference between a vampire and a human? An enhanced lifespan?
 

The promise of dawn must be considered rebirth for vampires, a resurrection. To be able to walk in sunlight would be heaven itself.

Were vampires angels in disguise? Or angels who’d been thrown from heaven? Or was a vampire’s existence what we thought of as Hell? Were they forced to drink the blood of mortals in order for them to fully appreciate their eternal punishment?
 

Here is the blood once coursing through your veins, proof you were created as part of mankind. You must drink it to exist, but you can never truly live as a mortal from this moment forward.
 

What if they could?
 

What if I was a Dirugu? What if, somehow, I could bring salvation to vampires? Would that make me their goddess? What, exactly, did I have to sacrifice?
 

I pressed my hand against the blackout curtain shielding the patio door. I could feel dawn thrumming behind the fabric, a warning I had crossed over from human to something else, something unholy and weakened.
 

When I had been “alive” - and I winced at thinking of myself as dead - had I been as conscious of the passing of my days as I should have been? Had I simply ignored the changing hours with arrogance? Had I always thought I’d be able to see the dawn or the blazing brilliance of a noon sun?
 

On a hot summer day, I’d often retreated indoors to the cool, fan bathed air of my grandmother’s porch to read rather than join my friend on a blanket on the grass. I didn’t like to sweat and never sought a tan. Maybe a part of me recognized the sun would one day be my enemy.
 

Pushing back the blackout drapes, I opened the sliding glass door and stood on the threshold.
 

The sky was taking off its scarf of gray wool, revealing clothing brightly hued and vibrant. Party duds as my grandmother would say. Pink streaks vied with orange puffs of clouds, wisps of purple coyly peeped behind blue streaks.

Dawn was here and so was I - two objects of creation that should not meet.
 

If I disappeared in a wisp of smoke, few people would care. I had no children to worry about. My mother had effectively disowned me. My father had done so years ago. Nonnie was afraid of what I’d become. My friends had faded away. I existed for myself and myself alone.
 

I wanted to matter to someone else other than me.

Instead of being afraid, I was calm. I felt like all the knowledge of the world was waiting for me to grasp it. My power was untapped, unused, dormant but available whenever I truly accepted it.
 

Who the hell was I?
 

What
the hell was I?

My eyes should have been burning right about now. At the very least, the promise of sunlight should have made me flinch and turn away. But my heartbeat didn’t escalate. The pace of my breathing didn’t increase. My skin didn’t blister.
 

I stared at the sky as it brightened before my eyes, waiting. I was on the precipice of some great knowledge. I wasn’t suicidal, but I didn’t step back inside the door and close the blackout curtains. I had no desire to die since I’d chosen to live, but I didn’t move, my fingers trembling on either side of the doorframe.
 

Closing my eyes, I stood where I was, feeling the dawn breeze bathe my cheeks.
 

When I opened my eyes, the sky had changed. Yellow and orange streaks on the horizon shouted the notice of a new day. No doubt somewhere a rooster crowed, but here in my little slice of suburbia, the only sound was the whirr of the refrigerator behind me.
 

I should retreat into the darkness and not toy with my own survival.
 

Instead, I stepped down into my tiny garden, a square of concrete banded by strips of grass. Part of me recoiled in horror, certain I was going to die. The calm restrained
knowing
part of me only laughed with delight.
 

The heat on my cheeks was a benediction, a touch from the Almighty whose existence in my life had been uncertain in the past weeks. Who but God would create a vampire, giving him a taste of immortality and a longing to be human at the same time? Who but a Higher Power would gift a creature with such power at the same time He bequeathed it such weakness?
 

The gentle breeze, cooler than a month ago, swirled my hair around my shoulders, brushed the fabric of my top in a touch here, a pat there, smoothing it against my skin in a tender benediction.
 

I was alive, truly alive as I’d never been. I was Marcie Montgomery, changeling, unique, and rare.
 

I turned my face up to the dawn sun, watching as it peeped above my fence, greeting me shyly. My knees trembled. I wanted to kneel in obeisance. Instead, I closed my eyes, bowed my head, saying a prayer from my childhood.
 

Angels bless and angels keep

Angels guard me while I sleep.

Bless my heart and bless my home

Bless my spirit as I roam.

Guide and guard me through the night

And wake me with the morning's light.
 

I smiled as the sun bathed my eyelids, danced on my cheeks and warmed my lips.
 

I opened my eyes.

Dan stared back at me.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-T
HREE

You are getting sleepy…

I like coffee and can taste the difference in the beans and the strength but I prefer convenience more than anything. If a coffee maker promises “one hand use” and something “easy”, I’m going to buy their product, which was why I was using a single serve brewer to fix Dan and me a cup of coffee.
 

“Are you going to tell him?” I asked, passing him his cup.
 

I didn’t have to mention who I was talking about. We both knew Il Duce would want to be notified about this newest development.
 

Dan sat at my round kitchen table, his arms folded and resting on the white wood. He watched me carefully, as studiously as a student enthusiastically dissecting a grasshopper.
 

“Milk? Sugar?”
 

“Nothing. Just black, thanks.”
 

He took a sip and gave me a smile of approval. I turned back and brewed my own cup, choosing Jet Fuel. I needed the caffeine. I hadn’t pulled an all nighter since college.
 

I took my cup, pulled out the opposite chair, the legs making a scraping sound on the tile. I sat, focusing on my coffee, taking pleasure in the heady scent.
 

He put down his cup and regarded me steadily.
 

“What else can you do?” Dan asked.
 

I propped one elbow on the table and placed my chin on my palm.
 

He’d seen something I hadn’t wanted him to see, me greeting the sun. I wasn’t about to tell him all my secrets.
 

“What makes you think I can do anything else?”
 

“Because you went through the drive thru at Taco Cabana yesterday,” he said, turning the cup so the handle pointed to the left, then to the right. Finally, he motioned toward the counter with his chin. “And you’ve been eyeing that loaf of raisin bread for the last five minutes.”
 

“It’s really good raisin bread,” I said in my own defense.
 

“You’re not a vampire. What are you?”
 

The temptation was there, trembling on my lips. I hadn’t anyone to confide in and I was being assaulted on all sides by new and different components in this new and different life. I wanted to tell someone. The fact I didn’t revealed how afraid I was. My urge to protect myself was obviously greater than my loneliness.
 

I had no idea who Dan the Driver was. How close was he to Il Duce?
 

“Are you going to tell him?” I asked again.
 

He stared down into his cup, picked it up, sipped, then put it down again. Okay, I could play at that game. I was endless patience. I was the damn Goddess of Patience. You want patience, buddy? I’ll give you patience. I’ll be the Sphinx.
 

“You’re not like him,” he said, when I was about to surrender and beg. Either that, or reach for the raisin bread. I was hungry.
 

“Like Il Duce?”
 

A smile curved his full lips.
 

I had no business noticing his lips. Or the way his eyes seemed green one moment and hazel the next. His black hair was thick, cut in a military style and my fingers almost itched to thread through it.
 

All I knew about Dan the Driver was he was too handsome for my own good. Oh, add one more thing: he wasn’t a vampire. A vampire wouldn’t have been sitting at my kitchen table drinking coffee in the morning light.

“Everyone else is afraid of him.”
 

“Are you?”
 

Here came the smile again. He shook his head.
 

“But you work for him.”
 

“Jobs are a little hard in this economy, unless you’re an oilman. So, what are you?”
 

Evidently, Dan wasn’t a man to be sidetracked. No wonder Il Duce had picked him to watch me. And why the hell had I forgotten about him when I went to Taco Cabana?
 

Black stubble appeared on his face this morning. I liked the look. Il Duce was sophisticated charm, dangerous and dark. This man was a warrior with rough edges.
 

“Nothing special,” I said.
 

I have often wished, but never more so than now, to have some degree of talent in something. I wanted literary skill beyond the rather sappy poetry I wrote as a college freshman. I yearned for the talent to paint, to sketch a sunset, or preserve the exact moment of a rose between bud and blossom.
 

If I had that, I could have claimed it at the moment, labeled myself as something more than who I was now.
Oh, I’m an artist, I’d say, looking both proud and modest. Or I’m a photographer, perhaps you’ve heard of me?
 

But I couldn’t. I was just me. Marcie Montgomery, former commercial claims adjuster, part-time vampire, Dirugu or something. Only the “something” was a big fat blank line to be filled in when I figured out what it was.
 

“Nothing special,” I repeated.
 

"I disagree," he said, his voice low and intent. "I think you're someone very special."

His eyes seemed to twinkle as he stared at me, his smile deepening. I glanced away, willing my libido to be obedient for once. I didn’t need to be attracted to Dan.
 

He reached out, resting his hand on my bare arm. If it had been a month ago I wouldn’t have noticed. But I hadn’t felt the touch of a mortal for weeks.
 

I looked at his hand. When he moved it, I wanted to call it back, feel the warmth of his skin, hold his fingers with mine.
 

“Tell me, Marcie,” he said.
 

He pronounced my name like a secret word, something soft and beckoning. Did he expect me to betray all my secrets because he was good looking and I was lonely?