The Power (17 page)

“Two at once. Quite impressive, Chicky.” she said, glancing from one body to the next. The woman
they had taken to the hospital had been raped, or so Nicole had been told. It fit the profile, the evil-doers biting it by the hands, or rather the fangs of their female vampire. How did she do it, distinguish between them? How did she know which ones to kill? Did she study them? Did she follow them? Of course she did. That was the only logical answer, Nicole thought as she cut into the sternum of the second male, a young man who appeared to be around the age of forty, but probably was actually only in his twenties. Drugs did that to a body; at least the really bad ones did, caused premature aging.

There had been no bruising of the bodies, no tears or cuts, nothing but the puncture wounds in the necks. The female was a clean killer. She killed only to feed, Nicole thought it over, but why these two? Sure, they had raped a woman, but they had been high on Heroine more than likely. No, that was no excuse, but to be killed because of one mistake, however bad that mistake had been? And how had she known to be there last night, th
at the two were up to no good, that she would find them alone with the woman?

“She said she was the devil.” Nicole whispered the mother’s terrified
words from the night before.  “

She said she would be back for my soul. Have to get clean, for my daughter, or
she’ll be back. She’ll be back.” Nicole still remembered the last of the deranged ramblings of the terrified woman. Had the creature actually been looking out for the child’s best interest? Nicole had never heard of such a thing before in her limited dealings. But what did she really know of vampires, other than what she had studied up on the internet and countless novels and urban legends she had found at the local library. She suddenly recalled the newspaper article that she had copied and kept at the age of fourteen concerning her parents. The papers had suggested that her parents had been killed by wild animals due the many bite and claw marks that had riddled their bodies. Of course, those wild animals had never been identified, nor caught. And then Nicole thought of the journal in her possession and how she had come about possessing it. Her memories of that night so long ago when she had been a child, when her parents’ had been savagely murdered were few and far between, but she could still see the white eyes, could still hear the terrified screams of her parents, and then the bright green eyes of the kind man who had come to her rescue. She could not remember his face clearly, but the sound of his kind voice stayed permanently etched in her memory. He had placed his jacket on her small shoulders, and later she had found the journal nestled within. But why had the kind man possessed such a journal, the journal of a female vampire? It didn’t make much sense, but perhaps the man had come upon it somewhat like she, herself, had?

Nicole finished with her work, and covered the body. There was nothing else she could do here tonight but write her report
for Detective Stone to laugh at. It wasn’t as if she put the words vampire or creatures of the night in her report. No, she simply stated that the victims had died from blood loss due to the two gaping, inch-apart holes in their necks. The holes of course caved in nearly an inch for the female, just far enough to meet the jugular vein and withdraw her nourishment. The male’s immortal kiss, however, went deeper. But those last few facts were not in her report, just measurements and factual, medical findings. However, she did tell Jack her personal feelings in person, hoping on some level that he may begin to believe her. She would discover nothing more until the lab results came back, she thought in disappointment. She had put a rush order on the job, but even with it, she knew it could be days or even a week before the results were in. There was nothing more to do after the writing of her report but to go home. Home to a cat, she thought in near depression. This obsession she had with the dead and with, well, the undead was starting to get rather lonely!

Chapter
thirteen

Lillian was out of the house as soon as she rose that evening before Reginald, Josh or Troy could even see to her needs. She had to know. Taking a cab, she reached the coffee shop at a little after eight p.m., but Jack wasn’t there. Still, she exited the cab and paid the driver. Waiting for over an hour, she finally gave up, and called home and asked Reginald to look up Jack’s number on the caller ID. Reginald was curious to who this Jack Stone person was now, but Lillian did not fill him in. Instead, she thanked her nosy butler, and used the coffeehouse phone to call Jack.

He answered on the third ring. “Stone here.” he said, sounding busy and urgent. Lillian wished silently that she could read his mind through the phone, but that was impossible.

“Hello, Jack.” She greeted, and she heard when his breath hitched. Was he glad to hear from her, or did he know?

“Lilly.” he said, a smile in his voice, and she almost sighed in relief. He didn’t know. He didn’t realize that it had been she he had been chasing last night. “I dreamt of you today. You were watching me sleep.” he said, and she smiled. Yes, Jack. I dreamt the same thing, she wanted to tell him. Instead, she drew on her tongue. “Where are you?” Jack asked.

“Our place.” she told him, and he caught his breath once more.

“I like the sound of that.” he confessed. “But I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me?”

“Never.” Lillian smiled, glancing at the portly man in the stained apron behind the counter, who was staring at her in a begrudging way.  Plopping a twenty down on the counter, she gave the man her back. “I wanted to see you.” she told Jack.

“I wish I could, Hun, but I’m up to my eyebrows in work right now.” Jack said with regret. He sounded tired, Lillian thought.

“That’s too bad.” Lillian felt the loss sink to the bottom of her stomach. “But you know me, I’m always out late. Perhaps, later on?”

“Ah, Honey, i
t’s a bad night for me. All hell’s broken lose.” he was saying, and Lillian couldn’t help but to think she had slit her own throat. If she had not gone on the hunt last night then Jack wouldn’t be so busy now, and they could spend time together. Oh, she was getting in deep here! If he knew, if Jack knew who she really was, the things she had done…

“It’s fine. Really. I’ll let you get back to work. Goodnight, Jack.” she said quickly in dismissal. She heard Jack call her name, but it was too late, she had already handed the phone back to the man behind the counter, and he had wasted no time in slamming it back down on the receiver.

This was insane. What was she doing with this man? If he was who she thought he was then she had cost him his life once before! Oh, but how she had cherished him, had needed him even. And it had been more, much more even though their time together had been so brief. He had helped her when no one else could have. He had saved her; or rather, he had tried to. But he couldn’t be Jackson, she scolded her fanciful thoughts. She had never heard of such a thing happening before, of men being reborn, of men living again as they had before. But there had been rumors of rumors of reincarnation. Of course, she had never found any documented proof. Then again, by that same rule, there was no documented proof of her own existence. It was all very confusing, but Jack Stone was never far from her mind, not since the moment she had first met him at the coffee shop. In truth, not since she had known him once before so very long ago if he truly was her Jackson.

Exiting the coffee shop for the poorly lit street, Lillian placed her long, slender hands into her pockets and began to walk westward. With only her thoughts to keep her company, she thought of Jack. She thought of
Jackson, and she thought of her dark mother, Gina, of the years they had spent together, a sort of training for Lillian, to prepare her for the nights ahead, for the years of upcoming solitude.

“You have loved before? When you were mortal, I mean?” Lillian had asked one evening when she and Gina had still been traveling together. She and her dark mother, Gina, had been staying in San Francisco in a shabby hotel along the bay area. It had been good pickings in a large city. They had come there from the Phoenix area, where they had stayed no more than eight months before moving on to a new stomping ground, or rather a new killing ground. The year was 1926, the roaring twenties, or so it was called. The music was lively, the people even more so. Evil-doers were few and far between, but never too hard to locate. Lillian was learning to use her mind to read the thoughts of others, and she was becoming quite good at it. She could not, however, break into the mind of her dark mother. It was a goal Lillian had set for herself since Phoenix.

Gina sat perched on a long, rectangular, wooden table in the center of the room. No one but she and Lillian knew that the table was hollow, that inside it, Gina slept while the sun burned bright outside. Nor did anyone know that the chest at the end of the bed in the one bedroom served as Lillian’s sleeping chamber. They paid well to have their room undisturbed during the day, claiming to the hotel staff that they worked the night shift at a lo
cal plant where shoes were made while they slept during the day. Sleep they did, but at night, at night Lillian was the student and Gina, her dark mother, was the teacher.

It was nearing dawn now, just another hour or so. The powerful sleep that pulled at Lillian at the end of the evening had not begun to come over her as of yet. Gina, beautiful Gina, with her strong Italian features, large sky blue eyes and mounds of wavy, dark hair that spilled over her shoulders and down her slender back, stared over at Lillian, and a soft smile touched her lips.

“I was married once. I had a daughter as well: Antonia.” she said in fond memory.

“What happened to
them?” Lillian asked curiously as she lounged on the uncomfortable, floral print sofa against the far wall.

“Scarlet fever.” Gina whispered lowly, turning her head. “I was young. They were young, very young. My daughter was but five.”

“That must have been heartbreaking.” Lillian felt for her. To have a husband and a child, a family, and then to lose them to death not so long after they had come into her life? It was indeed heartbreaking. But at least, Gina had known what it was like to love, not only a husband, but also a child, her own child. Lillian would never know such love. Gina had informed her that as a vampire she would never be able to bear children. She would never be a mother. Lillian had accepted the loss of such a dream in stunned depression for many years, but as her immortal self grew stronger, wiser, colder, she did not think on such things as often or as bitterly.

“I recall it being so.” Gina agreed. “It’s been so long ago.”

“Then you no longer feel their loss?” Lillian asked softly, not seeing how that could be possible. She, herself, still longed for the family she had lost at such a young age. Her memories were far and between, but they were hers to cherish forever. It was difficult to hold on to though. Though the memories were still sharp and clear within her mind, she found that those same memories no longer moved her as strongly as they had once upon a time. Human emotions faded with each kill that she made. Each night, she felt herself becoming colder and colder as she tried desperately to hold on to what she could only assume was her mortal soul.

“I recall the pain. I remember the loss. I remember their sweet spirits, the sound of my husband’s hearty laughter or the tiny smile that would light my Antonia’s tender face.” Gina ducked her head, and dark hair spilled into her pale face. Sweeping it aside, she glanced up and smiled. “Conversations we had have been lost somewhere in my memory, and I can not find them or replace them there. I remember his touch though, warm, gentle, and kind. I remember his love and the love I felt for him and for our child, though now, to me, it feels as if these memories must belong to another, as if I am simply an observer of a life I had not truly lived.”

“I’m sorry.” Lillian could only think to say. Gina smiled. She shrugged her slender shoulders.

“They were gone before I was made into this.” She motioned to herself. “I’ve warned you before not to drink of the innocent.” she reminded, becoming suddenly very serious. Lillian listened well. “However, I’ve never told you why.” she went on.

Lillian leaned forward with interest as Gina stood and gave Lillian her back. “If you take from the innocent, no matter if you take their life or not, you will lose a part of your mortality, your precious memories, what is left of them. The blood of the innocent will turn you cold, Lillian. It will make you crazed, turn you into the monster the mortals presume us to be.” Gina explained in a sad, but strong tone as if her words were the most important words Lillian would ever hear.

“Like Ewan.” Lillian whispered furiously. A flash of Ewan’s evil smile, of his bright green eyes filled with horrible laughter as he had tossed
Jackson overboard to the dark, stormy waves below came to her mind. She could still hear the scream that had torn from her that night, and the screams thereafter when she had tried to dive overboard after Jackson, to save him, but Ewan’s brutes had pulled her back, had restrained her even as hard as she had fought them. Ewan had won that night. He had taken the life of the only man Lillian had ever truly thought she could love.

“You’re thinking of
Jackson.” Gina stated more than asked.

“It’s difficult not to.” Lillian confessed. “It was my fault.” she whispered, feeling the heavy, burdening, guilt as it rose to her throat. Gina didn’t reply, which only confirmed to Lillian that it was indeed her fault that
Jackson had died. If she had not become close with him, if she had just walked away…