She bounded away for a moment; he heard a rushing whoosh as she yanked the drapery cord to cover the offending window, and he actually chuckled, impressed by her quick thinking, even though he was suffering the purest agony he'd ever imagined.
Neely returned to him, and he felt her hands against him, pushing. He was sheltered beneath something then, and the pain lessened ever so slightly. Still, he could see nothing but the blazing light of the fire that was consuming him.
Aidan lay gasping, realized that the cooling touch of darkness surrounded him, eased the pain. "Where-what is this place?" he whispered.
"You're under my bed at the Majestic Arms Hotel," she answered breathlessly; he could tell she was rushing about, doing something. "Nice of you to pop in."
He made a groaning sound. "This is no time for morbid humor," he said.
She dropped to the floor and crawled under the bed frame to lie beside him. The mischief was gone from her voice; she sounded fragile, worried, and very sad. "Are you going to die?"
"Probably not, thanks to you," Aidan answered. "For someone who hasn't been trained to administer emergency aid to vampires, Neely, you did rather well." He sensed that she wanted to touch him but hesitated because she feared causing him further discomfort.
"I untucked the blankets and sheets from the mattress and arranged them so the light couldn't get in," she said earnestly. She was about to cry, Aidan thought, and he was at once touched that she cared so deeply and fearful that he would find her sorrow even more torturous than the sunlight.
"Very good." He sighed the words. "It feels as if- I'm going to lose consciousness for a time. There may be changes-please don't be frightened..."
A sheen of tears glistened in her eyes. "Is there anything more I can do?"
"Yes. You can stand guard, so to speak, and make sure I'm not exposed to the sunlight."
She was silent for a few moments and made no move to leave his side. In fact, she cuddled close and cautiously put an arm around him. "There's a storm outside, you know,"
she finally said. "A blizzard, actually. The sun is mostly hidden."
Aidan was slipping, though he didn't know whether death and judgment awaited him or an ordinary, healing sleep. "A stroke of good fortune, that," he mumbled, "though the light always gets through-no matter what." He opened his eyes, but Neely was only a faint shadow beside him; his vampire vision, ordinarily sharper than a cat's, was gone. In the next moment oblivion closed around him like dark, cool water.
Aidan might only be resting, and he might be dead of his injuries. Neely had no way of knowing, since the usual signs of life-a heartbeat and breath-didn't apply in this case.
Being careful to let in as little light as possible, she slipped from beneath the bed and got to her feet.
The room was gloomy, since she'd closed the drapes and turned out the lights, but it was a poor substitute for the kind of deep, encompassing darkness Aidan needed.
Neely put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door and locked the room from the inside, just to be extra careful. Then she snatched all the towels from the bathroom racks and draped them over the sides of the bed, along with the heavy blankets, sheets, and bedspread, in an effort to shelter Aidan as completely as possible. When that was done, she crawled underneath the bed again, on the side opposite the window, and lay beside him, trying by an effort of sheer will to transfer her own strength to him.
The telephone rang once, but Neely ignored it, leaving the improvised lair only when she needed to use the bathroom or get a drink of water. Since she didn't want to leave Aidan, and was even less willing to call room service, Neely breakfasted on half a candy bar, found adrift in the bottom of her purse, and reminded herself there were worse things than an empty stomach.
Like seeing Aidan die, for instance.
Maybe it was the jet lag Mrs. F. had spoken of, but after a while Neely nodded off into a half-sleep and drifted along the moving surface of dreams yet to be dreamed and hopes yet to be recognized.
Maeve awakened at sunset, in the corner of what had once been the abbey's wine cellar, and saw that Tobias was already conscious. Perhaps he had never slept at all; he was a very old vampire, despite his youthful appearance, and she had heard that some of the old ones did not require rest or even very much blood.
She shifted her gaze toward Valerian's prone form. His skin was lumpy and gray, as if bubbles had arisen beneath. He was utterly motionless, and Maeve sensed no vitality in him, no power. "Is he dead?"
Actually she was much more interested in finding out what had happened to her twin, her beloved Aidan, but caution guided her words. She was not used to these elder vampires, did not know enough of their ways and habits to predict the things they might do. This was not the time for a faux pas.
"Perhaps we were too late."
Tobias laid one hand lightly on Valerian's disfigured forehead. "He wanders somewhere far from here," he mused, "keeping his distance from the pain."
Maeve shuddered, the memory of the nightmare unspooling itself in her mind in the course of seconds. She had sensed Aidan's distress, being so attuned to him, and raced from her den, where she'd been about to settle down for the day, to find her brother on the hillside behind the old abbey.
If she lived to be a thousand, Maeve reflected, she would never forget the terror of reaching his side, only moments before the sunrise. Seeing Lisette, she'd screamed in fear and rage.Maeve had heard, or perhaps only felt, Aidan's cry. Neely. In the next instant, he was gone, utterly vanished, and then Lisette had fled as well.
"Come," a voice had commanded from behind her. "Quickly!"
Maeve had whirled, seen the stranger crouched beside Valerian's inert body, watched mutely as he lifted the fallen one into strong arms. She'd felt the first acid sting of the sunlight then, and hurried to the other vampire's side.
The next thing she remembered was the blissful, chilly safety of the wine cellar. There she had learned that Valerian's rescuer, and perhaps hers as well, was called Tobias, and that he was an ancient one, a member of the Brotherhood.
"What of Aidan?" she whispered now as the night stirred around them. Indeed, she could withhold the question no longer. "Where is he?"
Tobias arched an eyebrow. "Don't you know? The two of you are twins, are you not?
Linked by some unseen and unbreakable cord?"
Maeve's eyes burned, but she told herself that was only a residual effect of her close call with the sunrise. "It used to be that way," she said woodenly. "Before-"
"Before the woman?"
Maeve looked away. "Yes. Her name is Neely, and Aidan is a fool for her."
"I know," Tobias said easily. "He was never meant for this life in the first place, in my opinion. He thinks too much like a mortal."
"Yes," Maeve agreed sadly. Eternity yawned ahead of her like a great void, and she knew some of Valerian's fathomless despair, though she had been slightly contemptuous of it before. She had become a vampire to keep from losing Aidan, but now it appeared that it had all been for naught. Even if he had escaped Lisette and found safety somewhere, he was bent on either destroying himself completely or becoming human again. The very fact that she couldn't locate him in her mind meant he was veiling himself from her.
"Tell me, please. Where is my brother?"
Tobias sighed. "London, I believe. It was a near miss for him, and he's blinded-though that condition is probably temporary-but the woman is looking after him."
Maeve's relief was so great that she nearly swooned under the force of it. "What will happen now?"
The other vampire shrugged. "Nothing has been decided, really. There are those in the Brotherhood who want to agree to the experiment, merely for the sake of learning. Others feel that rebellious vampires should simply be destroyed, for the protection of all, and as an example to those who would digress from our code."
"I see," Maeve whispered. So there was a way to be mortal once more, and Aidan had found it. Inwardly she grappled with the staggering realities of what her brother meant to attempt.
"In either case, Maeve," Tobias said kindly, "there is nothing you can really do besides accept whatever course he chooses."
"And Lisette?"
Tobias sighed. "I must go now," he said, nodding toward Valerian, "and hunt for this one, since he cannot hunt for himself. As for Lisette's whereabouts, I know not, but she has surely taken refuge in some lair. She will not return for a while." "Why not?" Maeve asked. She had never feared another vampire, had in fact grown stronger herself with every night's feeding, exercising her powers, learning, practicing, but she knew Lisette was a dangerous adversary.
"She wants no truck with the Brotherhood," Tobias said. "And now, adieu."
With that he was gone, and Maeve was alone with the cobwebs, the rats and spiders, and Valerian's insensate hulk. She ventured to his side, touched his warped, discolored skin, and remembered a time when she had loved him. Even after she'd come to despise Valerian, she'd thought him beautiful.
"Come back," she said softly.
One of Valerian's eyelids twitched, just slightly, but he did not look at her or speak.
She stroked his singed hair, half burned away now, but once so glorious and thick. "You mustn't leave me, Valerian," she whispered. "I've lost Aidan-I can't spare you as well."
The wounded vampire did not stir.
Maeve watched him for a long time, remembering. Soon her own hunger drove her out of the hiding place to hunt.
Night came, finally, and Neely crawled out from under the bed and sat cross-legged on the carpet, biting her nails and waiting for Aidan to rouse. She didn't think about what she would do if he was dead-weren't vampires supposed to be immortal?-but she did consider his need for blood.
She even thought of offering him some of her own, though she hoped it wouldn't come to that.
Ten minutes passed, and there was no ruffling of the edges of the blankets. Neely gathered her courage, lifted the covers, and peeked.
Aidan was gone.
Neely was relieved-surely this meant he was alive- but she was annoyed, too. Why, if it hadn't been for her, that vampire would be nothing but a mysterious pile of ashes waiting to be vacuumed up by the maid, and how had he repaid the favor? By vanishing without so much as a good-bye or a thank-you!
She dropped to her knees and peered under the bed again, just to make sure. There was nothing there, not even a dustbunny.
Soon Neely became restless, her emotions in a tangle, and the half candy bar had long since worn off. She showered, dressed, brushed her teeth, and put the bed back into a semblance of order, so the maid wouldn't speculate, then went out for some fresh air and food.
The night was dark and cold, and, though the storm had abated a little, the great city was still essentially paralyzed. Neely called Mrs. F. again, from a corner pub. She was safe and sound, she told the housekeeper, and taking plenty of extra lemon in her tea.
After eating, and warming herself with said tea, Neely braved the sidewalks again. A part of her wanted to go back to the hotel room and wait for Aidan there, but she discarded the idea. When the time was right, she would see him again.
She bought a ticket to a foreign movie and whiled away a couple of hours in the dark theater, but she never really saw the film itself. She was busy thinking about what it meant to be a vampire, not just to drink blood, but to be a creature of darkness, never stirring into the daylight.
Tears brimmed along Neely's lashes. She was a day person; if she ever traded her flesh and blood for immortality, she would always yearn to see the sun, even as she lived in terror of its rays.
She was pondering this when suddenly the empty seat beside hers was filled.
Wild hope stirred Neely's heart, but in an instant she knew that her visitor was Maeve, not Aidan. The vampire was clad in a hooded cloak of dazzling dark blue velvet, and she brought along with her an ambience all her own, one rife with tension.
"Where is Aidan?" she asked moderately.
"I don't know," Neely answered in a mild state of shock. She'd bought popcorn, but so far she had just held the carton in her lap and played idly with the kernels. She told Maeve about Aidan's sudden appearance the night before, his condition, and her own clumsy efforts to help him.
Maeve was silent for a few moments, probably absorbing the images and emotions Neely's account would stir in a sister's heart. "I see," she said finally.
The remark sounded ambiguous to Neely, but she wasn't foolish enough to say so.
"It was wise, your leaving my house, although I wouldn't have recommended it," Maeve announced presently. "Perhaps this is the safest place for you after all, in the very heart of London, among the throngs."
The theater was more than half empty-not much of a throng-but again Neely kept the opinion to herself. "Am I really in such terrible danger?" she asked.
Maeve looked at her in silence for several seconds, then answered gravely, "Yes, you are.
After this I recommend that you stay in at night, however. These are, after all, the hours when vampires stalk their prey."
Neely suppressed a chill. She was well aware that Maeve Tremayne could turn vicious at any moment, like a once-wild wolf thought to be a pet, and tear her apart. "Is there anything you'd like me to say to Aidan if I see him before you do?"
The beautiful creature stiffened, her face glowing pale as alabaster inside the graceful hood of her cloak.
A heartbeat too late, Neely realized her mistake.
Maeve leaned close, so close that Neely squirmed, and whispered, "Aidan and I took root in the same womb. We grew together, each of our hearts beating in perfect unison with that of the other. No one will ever, ever displace me in his affections."
"I don't want to be his sister," Neely pointed out, wincing inwardly at her own bravado, especially since it came on the heels of a blunder. Some instinct told her, however, that since she was in for a penny, she might as well be in for a pound. Maeve wasn't the sort to respect any person less forceful than herself.
"No? And what would you be to him, if you are not willing to become a vampire?"
Neely was defiant, angry that the most basic, the most cherished, of her emotions should be questioned. "I love Aidan. He is a part of me, and I am a part of him. And if he succeeds in making the change, I will be his wife-more than that, his mate, for all of eternity if I have anything to say about it-and I will bear his children." Maeve was silent for an uncomfortably long time. "Tell Aidan not to forget the white roses," she said in a very sad tone, and then she vanished again.
Neely gave up trying to watch the second feature, tossed her popcorn into a trash bin in the lobby, and walked out into the snowy street. Even at that late hour the traffic was still tangled and angry. Accompanied by the sound of honking horns and insults shouted between cars, she hurried back to the hotel.
It was something of a disappointment to find that Aidan had not returned, a conclusion Neely didn't fully accept until she'd looked under the bed as well as behind the shower curtain and inside the closet.
Unable to sleep, too proud to keep a vigil, Neely opened her romance novel and began to read. She visualized the hero as Aidan and the heroine as herself, and for a brief, tenuous time the story kept her distracted from her own problems.
The return of Aidan's vision was gradual-the patrons of the Last Ditch Tavern were mere shadows, shifting and swaying-but his other senses compensated quite nicely. He circulated, catching a scent here, picking up a snatch of conversation there.
That night, feeding, and feeding well, was a matter of survival.
Finally he selected his prey, a young thug named Tommy Cook, who made his living snatching purses and holding up the occasional convenience store. Tommy's mind was a greasy, unpleasant place, but Aidan planted an idea there, and it soon bore fruit.
Cook wandered into the gloomy hallway leading to the rest rooms, stopped in front of the cigarette machine, and fumbled in the pockets of his jeans for change.
Aidan closed in, rendered Tommy unconscious with a strategic tap at his nape, and caught him before he slumped to the floor. Though several people passed while Aidan was taking the pint or so of nourishment he needed, no one looked twice, let alone interfered.
Tommy's blood was powerful stuff, like potent wine. Although Aidan hated it, just as he always had, he felt a sweet, dizzying ecstasy, unlike anything he'd experienced before. A moment after he'd hauled Tommy to a chair at a corner table and left him there to sleep it off, however, it was as though someone had just injected him with a syringe full of raw sunlight. He was on fire, but this time his insides burned, not his flesh.
Aidan's knees buckled; he fought to remain upright.
Tommy, stuporous before, was now smiling up at him, his dark, impudent eyes flashing with triumph. Aidan's vision sharpened, dulled, and sharpened again, in sickeningly rapid sequence, and he gripped the table edge to keep from falling.
"What is it, Vampire?" Tommy drawled. "Are you ill?"
Warlock, Aidan thought. Too late, he remembered Valerian's injunction to beware of other supernatural creatures when he ventured into such cesspools of consciousness as the Last Ditch Tavern.
Tommy laughed. "Yes," he said.
The pain rose up around Aidan now, as well as within him, like a smothering vapor. He turned, staggered, fell.
The warlock's taunting laughter echoing in his brain, Aidan struggled back to his feet.
Mostly by groping, for the vivid world of the night was branded into his injured eyes one moment, hopelessly black the next, he found a side door and thrust himself over the threshold.He gasped, then fell unconscious into a new, powdery snow.
"Look," said Canaan Havermail, giggling as she pointed a small, chubby finger. "He's a snow angel."