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CRAVINGS
By
Teri Adkins
© copyright January 2006, Teri Adkins
Cover art by Amber Moon, © copyright January 2006
ISBN 1-58608-807-6
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
For my parents, for teaching me love;
My brother for teaching me laughter;
And my two sons, for teaching me true joy.
But most of all, my husband, for giving them all to me.
Chapter One
Happiness in life is not free. You pay for every minute of it. And believe me, it doesn't come cheap.
Payment comes due the instant awareness sets in. At least it did for me. I woke up one day, took a look around and thought, Hey, life is good.
That very night, I made my first payment.
The good news is I won't be making another. That one took care of my happiness problem. No happiness, no payment. See how well things work out?
I live in Memphis. That's Tennessee, not Egypt, although we share more than a name with our counterpart across the ocean. We have a modern day Pyramid and our own life-sustaining river. And six years ago, we discovered the West Nile Virus had arrived.
A year later, I teamed up with two doctors to study this virus and discovered more than anyone wanted to know.
Something else had arrived with the infected mosquito. Or maybe the vampires had been here all along, and we'd just never known about them.
Either way, they changed my life. That was five years ago.
My name is Lindy Campbell and I'm a vampire. Sometimes. Other times I'm human, with warm blood flowing through my veins. Makes life confusing, but there you are. Officially, I'm considered a Vamp-hum. Not very original but since I'm one of a kind they didn't know what else to call me. Mostly, I consider myself a big mess.
Since it is most inconvenient to go dead when you're least prepared for it, I've learned to always be prepared. Unprepared will get you permanently dead.
There was a time when I was completely human. When I belonged among the living. The littlest things will get you kicked out of that club. Like growing fangs. Now I live among the undead. It's not that I'm totally accepted there either. They're just a bit more forgiving of the strange and unusual.
And I owe it all to Malcolm Montay. He's the bat boy who bit me.
I was down in New Orleans doing research on the Vampire community last year. My momma always told me if you go looking for trouble….
Luckily, one of the doctors from St. Frances I was working with at the time knew what to do. Doc started a blood transfusion immediately and got me to the hospital quickly. Would have worked too, if Malcolm hadn't been so old and powerful.
It cost me my job at the hospital. Can't have a vampire, even one half human, around all of the bloody patients, of course. So, I work in the Vamp community now.
The Memphis Vampire community is small time, a sort of test case for the larger cities who still deny they have any citizens who could drink their neighbors dry. The community welcomed my help. Sort of.
I was a nurse in my other life, but there wasn't much use for one among those who never die. Talk about your wasted college years. So the mayor decided--after pressure from the government--to name me the Director of the Bureau of Vampire Affairs.
We have one employee. Me. I had a choice between a dingy office in North Memphis or an office in my nineteenth century home in Midtown. It wasn't like I was ever going to use my dining room again anyway.
Basically, I do what needs to be done. I mean, not all cities cater to our undead citizens who live by the night and sleep in the day. Makes it hard to conduct business during regular working hours.
There are also the security issues to be dealt with. If you want to kill a vampire, what better time than when the sun is high?
Lately, I've been mediating between the societies. It's amazing how much the vampires and humans hate each other. I've learned from experience the hate is bred by fear. I can understand it. At times, I fear them both myself.
I haven't turned in almost a week. I know its coming and the wait is getting to me.
Usually, I look normal. Okay, a little better than normal. My hair grows quickly, I can't keep my nails trimmed, and I've never been in better shape. Must be the extra iron.
All the result of turning. Even then, I'm not the traditional vamp. Sunlight doesn't faze me. I'm a mixture of human and vampire at all times. Just like in life, I can't seem to commit.
Vampires don't kill their meals anymore. Much. Its illegal and bad publicity. Instead, we have nightly deliveries of blood, much like the milkman. They even have these nifty containers that keep it fresh and at body temperature. You'd be amazed at what humans are willing to sell for the right price, lucky for us. And blood is at a premium. The mayor also reminds his citizens on a regular basis that if the blood supply runs low, the vampires will go out searching for their own meals. Gives a whole new spin on blood drives.
Downtown Memphis belongs to the vampires. Being on the Mississippi River, humans couldn't tolerate the mosquitoes since the big invasion, so they gladly turned it over. And it is good for mosquito control. One bite of a vamp and the pesky little things drop dead. Humans couldn't be happier.
Few security measures are needed in the undead community. Vamps are vulnerable and the humans could easily slay them. What prevents it? The living sleep at night and vamps believe in revenge. You tell me, who's scarier?
Which brings me to my newest problem. Someone killed a vampire last week while he rested. Now a human has disappeared in apparent retaliation. Talk about my worst nightmare.
Everyone is putting pressure on me. The mayor suddenly remembers that I'm half human, and the vamp community now acknowledges I'm one of them.
My first course of action would normally be to meet with the head vampire. The Master. Problem is, he's the one found staked out at dawn. The city has run amuck every since. Even the undead need leadership. I have rogue vigilante groups forming on both sides and the only thing standing between them is me.
I could talk to Joe Andrews, the MPD detective heading the case, but we're kind of not speaking at the moment.
We were dating when I became one of them. Believe me, it's never a good idea to date your food. Joe was the appetizer, entrée and dessert all rolled into one. Not that I ever had the chance to indulge.
Funny, 'I love you no matter what' doesn't include turning into a vampire during sex. And 'adrenaline made me do it' doesn't help.
Joe tried, I guess. But when I couldn't promise it would never happen again, our trouble began. Then he refused to move in with me on my side of town, and I couldn't move in with him on his, so we reached a stalemate. Talk about irreconcilable differences. Geez, it wasn't as if I bit him or anything.
So that leaves me with Malcolm. As the oldest vampire left in the city, he's next in line as the head boss. Lucky me.
I'll have to talk to Joe eventually, but given a choice between the man who tried to kill me or the man who dumped me because of it, I'll take the biter any day. At least Malcolm could claim hunger. Which explains why I was on my way to see the scariest man in town.
I turned on Central Avenue and parked my car at the Castle. It had stood for over a hundred years. Built by an eccentric in the eighteen hundreds, at one time it had housed a bar, restaurant and now the master of the vampires.
It was a beautiful place--an accurate replica of a mid-size castle that could be found in Scotland. I had heard rumors the stones had been shipped from there, taken from an old keep that had fallen to ruin.
Matching round turrets stood on each end, connected by a balcony on the second floor. There was an otherworldly feel to the place, as if centuries of souls had soaked into the stone and were standing guard, protecting all who entered. Oddly enough, it was a comforting feeling.
I had dressed carefully for this meeting. It was illegal to bite a human against her will, but I wasn't sure I completely qualified. And some men broke the rules. Just in case, I took the time to cover all of the tempting points.
Black leather boots covered the ankles and stopped at my knees. Custom made 4" bracelets covered both wrists and came with a matching necklace made of platinum. It was a fashion statement all its own. Starting at the top of my neck, the tiny spider web weave spanned to the top of my shoulders. I had had it made after the reprimand from Doc when he patched me up after Malcolm bit me. Someone whose dark blue veins stood out under pale, translucent skin should not walk around looking so tempting. There are plenty of other places on a body blood could be taken, but since complete body armor was gaudy and rude, I ruled against it. No sense insulting the man I had come to question.
I walked up the stone steps and reached down deep for my courage. I don't have much, and I keep having to replenish my supply. I hoped I had enough to get me through this meeting.
The style of a vampire varies, depending on his age. I have to admit, I prefer the older ones. The tight britches, tall boots, and flowing white shirts with lace at the cuffs remind me of the historical romance novels I sometimes read. Okay--not good for my tough woman image, but I'm a romantic at heart. Not that it's doing me any good.
As my eyes gawked at the man who led me through the halls, I wondered if becoming a vampire made everyone beautiful, or if there was a rule against biting someone ugly. Of course, if you were going to be shackled to someone for eternity, which would you choose?
He smiled when he caught me staring, but for the life of me, I had never seen a red haired vampire. Curling naturally, his thick mane reached his mid back and framed his pale face. I could see him in a plaid kilt, standing formidable on a mountain looking down over the valley. He was Scottish, I just knew it. Good thing he hadn't spoken a word to me, since it would be quite embarrassing to start fawning all over the enemy. It was the accent that did it to me every time.
After leaving me alone in a room, he made his exit quietly. I knew the building had electricity, but for some reason it wasn't in use. Candelabras were strategically placed around the room and were the only source of light. It reminded me of old black and white Dracula movies. Colorizing them had ruined the eerie effect, but they still showed some of the originals. How ironic was it that I had always loved them?
The room had been decorated true to its history. Rich fabric in red and gold brocade covered the windows and settee, as well as the chairs. The antique pieces were mahogany wood and were in pristine condition. It was as if I had stepped back in time. I had to remind myself there was a room full of coffins somewhere in this place to keep the romantic in me at bay.
"Ms. Campbell, how daring of you to visit."
I hadn't heard him enter. Not very smart of me, to go off daydreaming when I'm about to meet with my worst nightmare.
I turned and faced him. I didn't flinch or run, score one for me. In truth, Malcolm was a handsome man. His face was aristocratic and caused the observer to wonder at his origins. Had he been the son of a noble in his other life? His eyes were blue and fringed with dark lashes. His hair was dark and flowed down over his shoulders. Again, the romantic in me tried to surface, but I beat her back. I may not require much in the men I date, but a heartbeat was definitely high on the list.
"Not really. I think the risks are minimal." Unless you counted the risk of heart failure from my racing heart or the increasing possibility of turning with so much adrenaline flowing through me. Turning in the presence of the vamp who bit you couldn't be a good thing, could it? Talk about losing the upper hand.
"How so?" He moved gracefully across the room to the side table.
"Well, it is illegal to bite me for starters. Not to mention that the case I'm working is high profile, making me a hot commodity. Someone would certainly miss me if I were to disappear. And you need me Malcolm, whether you're willing to admit it or not." I didn't add that no one had a clue that I was even here, and were I to disappear, the path would not lead to Malcolm's door. I'd make certain the next time it did.
"Ah, interesting. So you feel you are safe with me?" He filled a silver goblet with deep red liquid, held it up in a silent offer. I shook my head. It wasn't wine he was offering.
He reminded me of a cat playing with his food. I wasn't sure if he thought of me as the main course or dessert. "You won't kill me, so don't toy with me Malcolm. Two men have already been killed."
"You could be right. I will not kill you, as you say." He sipped his drink, savoring it. "However, not for the reason you think. There has been only one death. Surgis. The human that was taken still lives."
My body silently did a little thank you dance, but outwardly, I was the epitome of calm. It would seem callous of me to gloat. Still, it would make my life so much easier if the vamps hadn't killed yet.
"How do you know?"
His raised brow told me clearly he found the question amusing. Glad I could oblige.
"The human taken is not worthy. Surgis was master among us. He had lived for centuries and was an honorable man. The human that was taken is beneath him." Could there be such a thing as an honorable vampire? I doubted it but didn't bother to argue the point. Maybe his ideas and mine were different.
"Okay. So why take him?" He raised the goblet to his lips slowly. I wished he would just drink it and be done with it. It was beginning to look a little too good to me.
"I said they have not killed him. I did not say they would not."
"Where is he, and how do I get him back?"
"It is not so easy."
Nothing ever is. "Look, the last thing any of us want right now is a war. We need to work together to stop this thing before someone else is harmed. And we have to figure out how to protect everyone until we end this."
"I agree we need to take precautions to ensure the safety of our own. I am not concerned with providing the same to the humans."
Okay, that made sense. But what I was about to suggest didn't. "Protecting them is protecting us."
"Us? Are you one of us, Lucinda?"
Since I still haven't figured out what I am, I ignored the question.
"Guarding against a daytime attack will be complicated, if not impossible. We can't stand guard during the day. And the humans will need to stand guard at night. Inconvenient, but possible. I have a plan that will benefit all."
"Continue." Finished with his nightly snack, he crossed to the chair in front of me. No man should move that gracefully. I preferred him at a much larger distance. Vampires move at breakneck speed, so the distance would only be an illusion of safety. I'd take what I could get.
"Well, it's simple really. We have the humans protect us during the day, and we protect them during the night."
"You would have our enemies guard us while we sleep?" The humor in his voice told me clearly what he thought of my plan.
"We're not all your enemies. Some of us have honor as well. There are those among us who can be trusted, just as there are those among you." I was not going to get into a debate about trust with someone who didn't bother asking permission before draining you dry.
"So, you stand with the humans once again. You jump sides easily, Lucinda."
"I have no side, Malcolm. You saw to that." Probably not a good idea to bring up unpleasantness when I wanted something from him. Nor to remind him of his failure in turning me.
"I would have welcomed you as one of us. You chose against it. I am not responsible for the dilemma you face." He steepled his long fingers in front of his face, bracing his elbows on the arms of the chair.
"Aren't you? I didn't ask to become a vampire."
"If I am responsible for your unhappiness, I can certainly rectify it. I can turn you Lucinda, you've only to ask. I will give you a side in this battle." His eyes took on that glassy hue of shadows and fog. The look that hid centuries of secrets, lifetimes of things seen and done so horrible that most humans would never believe them. I wasn't one of them. I had seen some of those nightmares first hand.
"No thanks." I moved to the edge of the seat, ready to bolt if the need showed itself.
"Very well. I will not force you." His eyes cleared and my stance relaxed.
"Why?" I know, I should just be grateful. But I don't trust unexpected gifts. Given the opportunity, Malcolm would force his will on anyone to get his way. "You said earlier you would not kill me for your own reasons. What are they?"
"Why would I remove from the world something I enjoy? Until I cease to enjoy your existence, you are safe."
Oh, yeah. "You tried to change me once. How can I believe you won't try again?"
"You are a worthy adversary. It is rare in a woman. You have been offered a gift--to be part of two worlds. I find that interesting and possibly beneficial to me at some point. We have a connection that can only be broken through death. I will not deny that I want you by my side. However, you have earned the right to choose. That is why I will not turn you completely against your will. You will come to me, but of your own accord."
Wanna bet? A vampire is a dangerous creature. But that creature was once a man. And this man came from an era when honor meant everything. I trusted him not to kill me. At least not yet. How stupid is that? What was even scarier, I felt something intriguing about his words. His body called to mine. Whether it was the adrenaline or his blood in my veins I didn't know. But I knew I would turn soon, and I didn't want to be anywhere near him when it happened.
I crave two things when I go dead. Blood and sex. I'm not picky, any order will do. Give me a quart of blood, a good vibrator, and locked inside my apartment I can calm the beast enough to survive. It was like eating fat-free cookies instead of Oreos. It satisfied the hunger but not the craving. Instinctively, I knew if Malcolm was around me there would be no taming, no settling of the beast. I'd want the damn Oreo.
"Give some thought to my words, Malcolm. I'll speak with the living"--I needed that distinction to remind myself that giving in to lust would get me undead--"and let you know of their decision."
I left on that note. Got out of there as quickly as I could without actually running.
On my way home, I made my weekly stop by Doc's house for my contribution to science. I'm the perfect specimen. Doc would love to dissect me, but we compromise and I give him blood instead.
He's trying to define the cause for my cell regeneration. If he can do this, it would be a real breakthrough. Cancer could be eradicated. Many illnesses would be a thing of the past. It's worth a needle prick to me.
Lately my life seems to revolve around blood. Pulling it out or pouring it in. I made my donation and left quickly. I was not in the mood for questions, and Doc always had plenty.
I decided to skip my talk with Joe for the night. I didn't need the stress, and the threat of turning was enough of a scare to have me postponing until tomorrow. I went home and dropped into bed.
Working both the night and day shift is rough. I try to make it to bed by two a.m. and rise by ten. Splits my time between them evenly.
Ten o'clock comes early when you've had little sleep. I slapped the alarm, then showered and dressed carefully. Unlike last night with Malcolm, I wanted to attract attention today. My ego demanded it with Joe.
I wanted to look good. Shoot, I wanted to look better than good. I wanted to give him a few sleepless nights, thinking about what he had given up. Pathetic, I know, and probably it would never happen.
I had just the little black skirt to do it. I even wore heels to showcase my long legs. What was the risk of a turned ankle when compared to making an ex regretful? Joe had always had a thing for my legs. I added a white blouse and short jacket then glanced in the mirror. I looked like a sexy businesswoman. He would never know he was being set up.
VAMPIRE CLOSE
By
Susanne Saville
© copyright April 2006, Susanne Saville
Cover art by Dan Skinner, © copyright April 2006
ISBN 1-58608-902-1
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
CHAPTER ONE
Scraping sounds stalked Fiona MacPhee down the dark, deserted wynd. She froze once again. Her legs quivered, muscles protesting the repeated restraint. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe this time the scratching would continue. Simply some dry branch against a window pane. Or a cat out hunting prey. Hunting me, apparently. The sounds had stopped when she did. Yet again.
She glanced over her shoulder, down the narrow alley. Just like before. Nothing. Only the bleak brick walls, permanently stained with ancient soot, and the worn cobblestones that comprised the wynd itself. Why hadn't she brought the little canister of CS gas Joan had given her? What did Joan call it? Something medieval ... Mace! Where was it tonight? Protecting the top of the telly, of course, right where she had left it. Fiona mentally kicked herself.
But it was just supposed to be a simple errand. A quick errand. Out and back. No need for a purse. No need for a coat even, despite the crisp October air. Just my luck. Out of all of Edinburgh, she would choose the wynd with the serial killer. Stop imagining things!
Taking a deep breath, she crept forward. The click of her heels upon the cobblestones sounded unnaturally loud in the strained silence. The scratching had not started. She quickened her step over the uneven surface. It still hadn't started.
Then the scraping sound began again. Fiona laughed. This canna be happening to me.
All of a sudden, the hairs on the back of her neck tingled. Something was behind her. As she spun around, disembodied male laughter echoed off the blackened walls and antique buildings. The gloomy wynd was empty. But she was not alone.
Her fingers clenched fistfuls of her skirt's crimson fabric. He's playing with me. Cocking her head, she attempted to determine the eerie noise's source but the walls were too close. Imprisoning walls. Enclosing her. Immuring her. Not now! She simply couldn't have a bout of her dreaded claustrophobia now.
A smattering of pebbles cascaded down the near wall and clattered upon the cobblestones, jolting Fiona's thoughts back into focus. She peered up into the murky night. Something was crawling on the roofs above. Instinctively seeking light, she ran for the wynd's solitary, quaint street lamp.
"Joan? Are you here?" she shouted, as she reached the pool of lamplight. "Joan!"
Suddenly a man landed on the pavement just a few meters in front of her. Fiona involuntarily jumped back and hit the lamppost. The man straightened from his predatory crouch and sauntered toward her. He entered her circle of lamplight. He had sharp features and tousled chestnut hair that arced in a stray forelock above bottomless black eyes. His stylish, sable clothes accentuated his tall, wiry build, from the winged collar of his long, leather coat all the way down to his pointed boots. He was definitely handsome, in a rakish sort of way. And he was coming closer.
She pressed back against the cold metal post. As if amused by her apprehension, the man gave her an insolent grin. This revealed his exceptionally pointy canine teeth. She guessed that any passerby would think both he and she were somewhere in their mid-twenties, but the presence of his gleaming white fangs made his age irrelevant. He was a vampire. Mace wouldn't have worked anyway.
Then he spoke. His voice possessed remnants of a mellifluous Highland lilt, and the texture of warm honey.
"How would a bonnie lass like ye like to live forever?"
Fiona pushed herself off the lamppost, turning to run. She had taken but one step when her body slammed against the black brick wall. The vampire had pounced on her like a tiger.
She writhed and twisted, trapped between his hard body and the unyielding bricks, expecting to feel the vampire's fangs ripping into her neck at any moment. How close was Joan? Then the vampire surprised her. He stepped back.
Placing his hands against the wall to either side of her head, he pinned her in with his extended arms. There was space between them now. But there was nowhere to go.
She met his gaze defiantly. "Clear off."
The vampire leaned toward her. "Or what?" he replied, chuckling.
"I'll think of something."
He bent even closer to her. "I bet ye would 'n' all." The vampire nuzzled her temple, sniffed her hair.
The contact was fleeting. But the tingling of her skin persisted even after his touch deserted her. Fiona mentally berated her wanton skin. It should be crawling. What was wrong with her?
"Ye should be careful," he continued. "A girl alone on the streets at night. Dinna ye ken there's something dangerous about? And 'tisnae ye or your friend."
"Ye might be surprised," she responded dryly.
She felt him nuzzle her hair again, then nudge her tresses out of the way with his nose, so that his whispered words puffed against the delicate skin of her ear. "Think about my offer."
His head was moving lower. She could feel his hot breath upon her throat.
"Your beauty should be preserved. And embalming isnae half as fun."
Fiona cursed him and tried to duck under his arm. It didn't work. The vampire seized her by the shoulders, but she didn't care. She had caught a glimpse down the wynd. Charging toward them was a swirl of strawberry blonde and steel.
Joan Armstrong, at last.
Joan's sword whacked the sooty brick wall, so close to them that Fiona felt the breeze from the blade.
"That's your only warning. Let Fiona go," Joan commanded. Her American accent complimented the menace her tone of voice expressed.
The vampire turned and casually inspected the lissome newcomer glaring at him with pale gray eyes as hard as flint. Her bright hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail and her utilitarian garb was clearly worn for combat rather than fashion, but she was tall and fit and undeniably feminine. Fiona thought of Joan as a ballet dancer. A ballet dancer in combat boots.
"Quite the wee soldier. I'm guessing ye must be Joan." The vampire released Fiona and stepped back, amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Ye are shorter than I expected. But now that I have your attention..."
"You're going to get more than that, buster." Joan lunged at him.
He dodged the sword. "Leave off! I have a proposition for ye."
"I'll bet." Joan attacked. Her sword reflected the lamplight, sending dazzling flashes piercing through the darkness.
The vampire adroitly ducked and dodged. "I dinna expect ye to feather-bed me, but ye might at least listen!"
"So say something." With a grin, Joan maintained her assault.
"The Fury," he shouted, narrowly avoiding her swinging blade.
The words halted Joan in mid-swivel. "What?"
"Ye want him," the vampire stated. "I can help."
Joan pulled back to a defensive position in front of Fiona. "What do you know about it?"
The vampire rolled his eyes with the air of a recalcitrant schoolboy being forced to recite the patently obvious by a pedantic teacher. "All the signs say that this Samhain eve the Andromache is going to rise, which gives ye, countin' tonight mind, only five nights to find it before 'tis too late."
"What does the rising of the Andromache mean?" Joan questioned.
The vampire grinned. "Ye tell me. Probably the end of the world. These sorts of prophecies never herald tax cuts or free public transport."
Joan folded her arms. "I don't see what this has to do with the Fury."
"Aye, ye do. The warning's out that the Fury's in town and everyone kens he's trouble. 'Tis for certain he's the one raising the Andromache." The vampire gave them a pitying smile. "Ye shall need all the help ye can get."
"And ye want to help us?" Fiona inquired, peering at him from behind Joan.
The demon touched the tip of his nose with his forefinger, and pointed with his other hand at Fiona. "She's twigged it."
"How do you know all this?" Joan's eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"I listen. I'm a fount of information," the vampire replied smugly.
Fiona snorted. "A shallow fount. The warning the Fury's in town is the biggest gossip goin', I'll wager."
The vampire acknowledged her guess with an indifferent shrug. "The demon community's fair buzzing with it, to be sure. 'Tis much higher priority than the news that Joan Armstrong's over from the States."
Joan's eyebrows arched. "You've heard of me?"
"Aye, but I dinna ken yon dark lassie ye are protecting."
"And you won't know her." She beckoned to Fiona. "Let's get you to safety so I can shish-kabob this guy."
The vampire winked at Fiona. "Ye are turning down an irreplaceable offer."
At first she wasn't certain to which offer he referred, but a sudden flash of memory, his warm breath upon her ear, made Fiona's cheeks begin to burn. She rolled her eyes. "'Tis ridiculous. Why would the likes of ye help humans against the Fury?"
"Ye humans may fear demons, but the Fury is the nightmare demons fear. He is a faceless, relentless destroyer--of demons, vampires, humans, anything. And the tales I've heard of what he does to his prey..." The vampire gave a theatrical shiver. "'Tis horrific even by demon standards. I dinna fancy that sort gettin' the upper hand of anything, let alone control over an enigma like the Andromache. Who kens what powers it might possess? Now if 'twere a friend..."
"Shut up," Joan interrupted tiredly.
Fiona traced the edge of a crooked cobblestone with the tip of her shiny, black shoe. "Mayhap 'tis not such a sketchy idea."
"You must be joking," stated Joan.
"He could help with my research."
Joan rounded on her. "You want his help?"
Fiona flinched back. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she drew herself up to her full height. "I would rather work with the Undead than the Sassenach."
"That is insane," Joan responded, shaking her head.
The vampire looked about the wynd. "What Sassenach?"
"Nothing." Joan shushed him with a dismissive wave.
"He rang us just after ye left," Fiona continued.
"But that was hours and hours ago--why come out now? I've told you before it isn't safe for you to be out here by yourself."
"What Sassenach?" the vampire repeated.
"Look, is anyone speaking to you?" Joan glared daggers at him.
The vampire smiled. "Ye are dead crabbit for a goodie."
Joan tapped her sword against the cobblestones. Then she spoke, enunciating each word with icy precision. "There's a deacon at St. Giles' with an English accent, and Fiona objects. Satisfied?"
"A Sassenach in the High Kirk." The vampire whistled. "Sacrilege."
Joan turned back to Fiona. "So what did he want?"
"To tell ye he canna meet ye tomorrow." Fiona paused. "I suppose 'tis more accurate to say today since 'tis well past..."
Joan interrupted. "But this is an emergency!"
"An' so I told him. Which is why I'm out here now. No sense interrupting your work beforetime."
"What?" Joan snapped.
"He allowed he could see us now, if 'twere that important."
The vampire laughed. "At this hour? What, 'tis last call at the pub and he doesnae wish to get home?"
Fiona ignored him. "He said he'd meet us in front of St. Giles'."
"Are ye certain he's a real deacon? Surely a genuine deacon would be abed by now."
"Enough," Joan snapped at the vampire. She made a threatening twitch with her sword in his direction.
He raised his hands. "What? I'm helping."
"Give me one substantial reason to spare him, Fiona, or I'm running him through right now."
"Well..." She glanced at the vampire. He was a handsome devil. Not that that was a substantial reason. Not that it was any reason. Why was she thinking these things? She was going to have to check her protection spell. His vampire magick was obviously affecting her. Yes, that was it. That had to be it. And for his magick to be that powerful, he must know some of the Old Tongue. "I think he could help with the translations."
"The translations." Joan repeated the words slowly, as if proof of their substantiality could be measured by syllable.
"Aye. Some of the ancient languages are dead tricky."
Joan stood silently. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Times like these made Fiona nervous.
"Joan?"
She lowered her sword. "Yes, yes, all right, all right."
"So we're all workin' together then?" the vampire queried, rubbing his hands together with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Joan nodded, but her expression was grim. "Everyone to St. Giles'. You--vampire--go in front where I can keep an eye on you."
The vampire led the way out of the wynd and down the Royal Mile, followed by Fiona, with Joan bringing up the rear.
"You won't regret this. I'm good in a fight," he boasted.
"I'm not having you at my back. You're helping Fiona with the research. That's it." The tone in Joan's voice made it clear that this was not up for debate.
In silence the little group walked through the night. The historic street, sparsely populated at this hour, had been invaded by wheelie bins awaiting the morning refuse removal. Fiona sidestepped to avoid one, saw she had veered too near the vampire and overcompensated. She almost lurched into the side of a bus shelter.
The vampire chuckled. "Gone off grace as a virtue, have ye?"
"Belt up," Fiona responded petulantly. She busily smoothed her skirt while she walked, as if there were invisible pleats that needed to be arranged perfectly.
The vampire hung back, attempting to fall in step with her. She ignored him, and continued to obsess about her skirt.
"What do they call ye, lassie?" he asked, affecting a casual air.
She deliberately stared across the street. "Fiona MacPhee. Not that 'tis any of your business."
The opposite side of the street became gradually less interesting as the vampire failed to reply. She shot him a sidelong glance. He was no longer looking at her. Her words tumbled out, almost a challenge. "What's your name, then?"
"I don't want to know his name," Joan called. "He's an evil, undead fiend."
Fiona laughed, and smiled back at Joan. "If we're doin' research together, I can hardly be callin' him Evil Undead Fiend."
"You don't have to call him anything. In fact, I'd shun all contact with him," Joan retorted cheerfully.
The scattered street-lamps keeping vigil over the shrouded pavement seemed more inclined to produce intermittent obscurity than illumination. As they departed one pool of light, the vampire spoke softly.
"Ruaridh." The quality of his accent had changed, thickened, and the word sang with the mystique of an ancient language.
"What?" Fiona glanced at him, but they had crossed the light's periphery and the gloom beyond enveloped them both.
His answer, when it came, seemed to float disembodied in the empty night.
"My name was Ruaridh MacLaren."
Even through the intimate darkness, Fiona could see his profile. It was almost possible to think of him as human.
"I have not been called that for..." His voice trailed off. As they entered lamplight again, she tried to make eye contact, but his eyes were momentarily clouded and he did not see her anymore.
"All right, I'm curious. What did he say?" called Joan.
"My name is Rory," the vampire answered. He glanced at Fiona and shrugged. "She'd never get the accent right."
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