The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. In The Lonely Dead of Midnight Copyright © 2004 T.D.McKinney Cover art and design by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2004 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.Extasybooks.com
Tarot Card: Knight of Cups A knight in the truest sense, this is the knight of love, the Romeo. The teen we all know and love; dreamy, sensitive, moody, ‘deep’. he plays music, spends long hours alone in his room with the shades drawn, he writes dark, meaningful poetry. He will fall in love; passionately, profoundly, and he and his love will be inseparable. On the negative side, he should be watched for depression, which can be very real. Though moody, he’s fiercely loyal to anyone he loves, including family.
For Plum, who loves this one best.
T.D. McKinney
In my memory, I heard the lonely, lonely music once. In my memory, it’s been haunting me ever since. In the lonely, dead of midnight, In the dimness of the twilight, By the streetlight, by the lamplight, - I’ll be around. “In The Midnight” by Van Morrison
New Orleans, Louisiana Thursday, 10:38 pm May 10, 2001 I love you, but you’re crazy,” Chance Dubois “J ulian, said as he kissed the other man deeply. His teal eyes were solemn as he swore levelly, “I ain’t been anywhere but here all night.” It was true. He hadn’t left the big house on Rue Royal all day. Tomorrow the family would celebrate the anniversary of his awakening as a vampire and take on the town, but tonight he had wanted to be alone with Julian, Vivian, and his sire. His vampiric parents were delayed at a charity function but would be home after midnight. Julian had just stomped in, upset and radiating more 1
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anger than Chance usually saw from his eventempered brother. Something had surely managed to rile his Cajun temper. “I’m not crazy, though God knows you’re trying to make me that way,” Julian said with more than a touch of irritation and annoyance. “I’m just saying that this trick you’re playing isn’t funny.” Chance handed his brother a drink. “I ain’t playing any tricks, Julian. I promise.” There was nothing but truth in his heavily-accented voice. He made sure here was no duplicity in their consort bond, either. Julian would know if his brother was lying to him. Chance might be able to fool most of the world but he’d never been able to lie to his family, especially not to Julian. After all Julian had done for him, he owed his brother nothing but the truth. When Chance had awakened as a vampire, Julian had been the one to reach out a hand and say, “Welcome to the family. I’m your brother now.” And he’d lived up to that statement. It was Julian who patiently taught Chance how to control the bloodlust and kept his new brother from becoming a mindless animal. Explanations of the unique rules they all lived by and an understanding of how Chance could hold on to his humanity though he was now a demon had all come from Julian. When the heartbreak of loving their sire’s wife became too much, only in Julian’s arms could Chance find any peace or solace. It had been Julian’s love that at last gave Chance the strength to become the man he’d always wanted to be. 2
T.D. McKinney Julian ran a distracted hand through his hair, disordering heavy brown curls. One fell across his forehead and Chance couldn’t resist touching it. He smoothed the soft lock back into place. Unable to withstand the urge, he ran his hand through the thick, silky strands. Julian was wearing his hair longer, more relaxed than he had in some time. It made him look absurdly young, incredibly handsome, and more vulnerable than Chance had ever imagined he could appear. Chance felt a rush of protectiveness. Something was making Julian unhappy and Chance was determined to stop whatever it was. He had never imagined he would fall in love with a man, even one as attractive as Julian. Chance sometimes thought half the city was in love with Julian Dareau. They had reason enough, of course. Self– confidence tempered by good humor and a natural humbleness augmented his vampire brother’s very masculine good looks. Though only a bit above medium height, Julian possessed a presence that many a larger man envied. Even in jeans and a T-shirt he emitted an easy elegance and sang froid that few could match while wearing a suit and tie. His physique was wonderful, muscular and manly without any of the extremes that bodybuilders mistakenly thought appealing. Julian was very much a man’s man, yet he had never sacrificed his caring and sensitive nature to his masculinity. One look in his expresso-brown eyes was enough to convince anyone of how sympathetic and gentle Julian could be. Chance had to admit it was that 3
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gentle nature that had drawn him to Julian in the first place. No one had ever treated Chance as if he mattered until he met the other Cajun, and each passing year made Julian more precious to Chance. He was amazed at how stupid he’d been and how many years he’d wasted thinking it was wrong to love Julian simply because he was male. In truth all he’d been doing was making them both miserable. With any luck, he’d have centuries to make it up to his brother. Right now, he intended to find whatever was causing Julian such distress and kill it. “This really is getting to you, ain’t it?” “Don’t be stupid! Of course it’s getting to me. It’s gotten so bad that every time I walk out of my office door I hear something!” Julian snapped and took a hefty sip of his drink. Chance arched one eyebrow; his lover was seldom sharp with him. This was really bad. Julian took a deep breath and laid his hand over the one Chance still had resting on the side of his head. “I hear someone whispering but there’s no one there. Sometimes there’s no one for blocks. It’s damned eerie.” Chance allowed his hand to drop from beneath Julian’s and sat down beside him on the couch. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what’s going on? From the beginning this time.” **** Julian looked at the one man he loved more than any 4
T.D. McKinney other and sighed. Even with a frown marring his perfect brow, Chance was the most beautiful person, male or female that Julian had ever seen. Tall and lean with the broad shoulders and narrow waist, he carried himself with the natural grace of a dancer. Long satiny hair so black it shone with a blue iridescence complimented his clear olive skin. Even a vampire’s pallor couldn’t detract from his nearly impossible beauty. It only made his hair seem darker and made his deep-set eyes blaze brighter against his creamy complexion. It was so easy to lose himself in Chance’s eyes. Of all the physical attributes God had seen fit to bless him with, those eyes were arguably the most stunning. They were the clear teal of a deep tropical sea ringed with thick jet lashes so long many a woman had expressed her envy aloud. Those eyes often sparkled with mischief and humor as an easy smile filled with boyish enthusiasm flashed startlingly white against his swarthy skin. Right now Chance’s striking face was solemn as he continued, “You know I’m slow sometimes, Julian. I’m the stupid one in the family.” Julian realized these encounters really were getting to him; otherwise, he never would have used the word ‘stupid’ in reference to Chance. “You’re not slow. You never have been. Don’t say that about yourself.” He knew it was hard for his brother. Surrounded by college-educated, often brilliant people, Chance sometimes felt inadequate. Julian, Royce, and even their sire possessed doctorates. Their clan mother, Vivian, had two Masters degrees. A GED 5
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gained in prison and an incomplete semester at Tulane just didn’t seem to measure up, and only increased Chance’s sense of failure. It was a wound that while closed never quite healed. And sadly, Royce had become adept at picking at that particular scab. The two men had been rivals ever since Vivian had brought Royce home as her new Favorite. Chance hadn’t liked being replaced as Vivian’s preferred companion, even though he admitted that his feelings for Vivian weren’t the same as they were when he’d first been turned. Though Chance and Royce were the same age, Chance had been turned when he was only twentytwo and looked fifteen years younger than Royce’s death-age of forty-four. So Chance dug at Royce about his youth—vampirically speaking—and the age that showed on his body. Chance emphasized the fact that Royce had yet to prove himself in combat against a master vampire while Chance was an acknowledged warlord. Royce retaliated with slurs about Chance’s criminal background and his lack of education. Chance might be able to flaunt his youth, beauty, and deep bonds to Vivian and Julian in front of the former CIA agent, but when it came to a psychological battle, Julian had to admit that Royce was a much better fighter. With only a couple of sentences, Royce could set Chance to brooding for days. There were evenings Julian was ready to stake both of them. Now Julian feared he’d done as much damage with his unintentional words as Royce did 6
T.D. McKinney with his more purposeful ones. But Chance shrugged, Julian’s words rolling off his inner defenses as if to say he knew his own weaknesses. “Now tell me what happened.” Julian took another drink. He needed it. He still felt chilled from the latest encounter. Each one was more frightening than the one before. And it had started so simply. They all knew taking a teenage mother and her son into a vampire household would require changes, but they thought they would be few; after all, other humans lived with them. But it turned out to be very different when the human was a child and had such deep bonds to the family. As Devereau grew and began to play throughout the house, his baby squeals and laughter ringing through the halls, Julian became increasingly concerned about his safety. Any number of demons and vampires passed through his office daily. Humans of a far less than savory variety were common visitors. They were necessary to the running of Dirk’s empire. Julian couldn’t refuse to see a Mafia boss who paid them millions of dollars in protection money yearly just because he didn’t want Dev exposed to such a person. Likewise, he couldn’t turn away the head of a demon clan that had sworn loyalty to Dirk. As Crown Prince, it was his duty to both Dirk’s subjects and to his father to tend to requests made under liege law. But by inviting them into the house, there was always the chance that they would return and harm the baby. There was also the chance that any of them might be an assassin sent by Dirk’s enemies to kill Nina or Dev. As humans, they were 7
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the most vulnerable members of the family. As important, well-loved members, they were prime targets. Julian had finally opened a separate office in a house a few blocks up Royal Street, removing the threat. It seemed the perfect solution, but problems had begun the first night he used his new office. Finishing with his work for the night, he’d been the only one there. It was not very late, only about eleven o’clock, when he thought he heard gunshots. He’d gone outside but had seen and smelled nothing. At that hour, the north end of Royal was quiet and there was no one on the street. The stillness had been almost uncanny, in fact. It was so quiet he had no trouble hearing the sound of breathing from the humans locked inside their houses around him. The cars on the elevated interstate sounded loud though they were blocks away. He’d stood on the top step with the door open for long minutes, unable to shake a sense of expectancy. He was turning to go back inside when he heard a whisper, little more than the sigh of the wind, except there was no breeze. “You lied.” There was still no one anywhere nearby. It wasn’t the only time it had happened. Not every night, but often he heard shots. It was always the same; three shots in rapid succession followed by a peculiar metallic rattle and a thud like something soft hitting something hard. Julian had heard the sound often enough to be able to identify it. It was a body hitting pavement. Almost weekly he heard the same 8
T.D. McKinney sequence of sounds but even more often he heard that soft, pained whisper. “You lied. You lied to me.” Then he’d started seeing someone near the office, never clearly, never close enough that he could actually see their face. Most often he saw them in the parking lot but sometimes he saw someone sitting on the steps leading to his office door or standing by the gate that led back to his courtyard. They neither breathed nor had a heartbeat. It had reached the point where he was actually creeped out by the thought of going to his office alone. He, a vampire lord and a prince among the Undead, was disturbed by a haunting. He was actually becoming uncomfortable in his own office because of sounds in the night! Tonight he’d seen them more clearly than ever before, someone so closely resembling his brother in form that he’d called out to him. And tonight, the voice had been the clearest it had yet been. The heavy Cajun accent, the tone, he’d know it anywhere. It was Chance’s voice that accused him of lying. Chance was on his feet already. “Come show me this office of yours, frère. Someone’s messing with you, making it look like me, and I don’t like that shit, no.” He gathered his guns and tucked them into their shoulder holsters. Whatever was persecuting Julian was going to die. It didn’t take long for the brothers to walk the few blocks that separated Dirk’s house from Julian’s office. As they stood across the street from the old house Julian had purchased, Chance frowned. He recognized it. “I wouldn’t come down here for nobody but you, Julian,” he stated as he stepped out 9
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into the street. His attention was focused on the parking lot next to the house. He’d died there the first time. It wasn’t a site he cared to visit. He’d avoided it for years, always walking on the other side of the street when he was forced to pass this way. He shivered. It was bad enough that it was the anniversary of his death, but it was the same day of the week and about the same time. He looked up at the gibbous moon; even its dying face was nearly the same as it had been twenty-two years earlier. Just standing there gave him the shakes. He’d walked past this very stoop only minutes before he’d been shot. He’d tossed his cigarette through the gate unto the damp green grass of the courtyard path, never imagining that it would be his last. “What the hell made you pick this house, Julian? There ain’t nothing here but bad memories.”
10
T.D. McKinney
New Orleans, Louisiana Thursday, 11:38 pm May 10, 1979 Dubois stomped through the View Carré. He Chance couldn’t believe he’d let Louis talk him into this.
Again. Why did he always, always, give into whatever his older brother wanted? It surely wasn’t from affection. These days he mostly hated Louis. Chance snorted. These days he mostly hated himself. He couldn’t in all fairness blame this all on Louis. He’d agreed to it, hadn’t he? He was as angry with himself as he was at Louis. He’d let his manipulative brother suck him back into the family business. He’d managed to stay away for nearly three months, but the first time Louis really applied any pressure he’d caved. He hated that weakness. He hated that he was involved in the family business. The family business, it sounded so innocuous. It didn’t convey the broken lives or the deaths associated with that business. In general, Chance tried desperately not to consider it. He tried not to think of how many lives he’d helped ruin but tonight he 11
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couldn’t seem to avoid it. The words of that black girl who had died a few months back haunted him. She’d hated him, despised him for what he was. And rightly so. Chance hated what he was, too. What he had become was despicable. What had the girl called him? A two-bit hustling punk? She had no idea. And she didn’t know the half of what he really was. Unfortunately, Chance knew exactly what he’d become. He was a drug dealer, supplying the street hustlers with enough coke or crack or heroine or whatever the drug du jour to keep half of the Quarter stoned. He’d smuggled it, he’d sold it, he’d given it to users free to get them hooked so they’d buy it later. There wasn’t a drug he hadn’t dealt. The drugs bothered him less than the prostitution. He was a pimp. He’d beaten the crap out of his hookers for not doing enough johns, for hiding money from him, for whining. He’d sold their bodies without the least consideration for what they might be feeling. No, that wasn’t true. He’d cared. He’d felt for them. Because he knew what it felt like, because he’d sold his own body. He’d prostituted himself to any man with money enough to pay for the privilege. Because if he didn’t, Louis would beat the shit out of him. After the third beating, he’d just given up and let Louis sell him to whoever wanted to pay to fuck him. Yes, Chance knew exactly what he was; he was a dealer, a pimp, and a whore. And he’d sworn he wouldn’t do it anymore. He was finally big enough and strong enough to knock the crap out of Louis or at the very least give as good as he got. And he was 12
T.D. McKinney brave enough to leave home and find his own way. So why was he headed for a back alley off Rue Barracks with a satchel of money to buy crack off a supplier? Why was he dealing again? How long before he was whoring again? He shivered. He couldn’t stand that thought. Just the memory of the salt taste of semen in his mouth made him gag. Chance made a decision. He’d put a bullet in his head before he let another man fuck him. He’d die before he went through that again. Nothing was worth that pain and humiliation. Louis might be right. He might be good for nothing but whoring and fighting, but he’d rather be good for nothing than be a whore again. He took a deep breath. This really was the last time. He’d buy Louis his damned drugs and leave town. He’d always resisted the thought of leaving Louisiana. He had emotional ties to this place that only another Cajun man could understand, but staying here wasn’t worth selling his ass to some nameless john to make money for Louis. Chance didn’t care if it was for the family. He wasn’t doing it again and if that meant he had to get out of the state, he’d do it. He’d head for Los Angeles. They liked pretty men there. He was strong and he wasn’t afraid of work. He’d find something to do. He walked across the tiny parking lot and approached the man waiting in the agreed-upon spot. “You Louis Dubois?” the supplier asked. “Yeah,” Chance lied. Louis had told him to. Said the supplier would only deal with Louis. Chance had shrugged. It wasn’t the first time he’d claimed to be his brother for something like this. They looked 13
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enough alike that any description of one fit the other, though Chance was acknowledged to be the better looking of the two. Louis was an inch shorter and heavier but not big enough for it to matter. “Yeah, I’m Louis Dubois.” Chance never saw the other man pull the gun, never saw the supplier pull the trigger three times. He felt the slugs hit, knocking him from his feet, his body rebounding from a tall chain link fence, sending him tumbling to the pavement. He felt the damp from the rain-wet asphalt against his cheek, seeping into his shirt where he lay on the ground and he heard his killer running away, but he felt very little else. There was a sort of numb ache in his chest and he didn’t want to move. He knew he was dying. **** Vivian Chadwick flinched when she heard the gunshots. She had actually seen the flash from the muzzle of the pistol. She, her husband Dirk, and their son Julian were buried in the night shadows of the porch of a little shop. She had been aware of the two men at the other end of the parking lot but she was more interested in kissing Dirk and Julian than in anything the two mortals might be doing. She knew she was safe; she had her husband and her son with her. She might be just a human woman, but they were both vampires and had sworn to protect her. She had long ago lost all fear of the night. Still the shots, unnaturally loud in the damp darkness tightened her 14
T.D. McKinney chest and sent a rush of trepidation through her. She watched the taller man fall, obviously hit by multiple shots from his assailant’s weapon. The other man ran. Julian and Dirk were after him in an instant, vaulting the porch rail and running into the night. Vivian approached the fallen stranger more cautiously but still was quickly kneeling beside him. He had fallen out of the shadows and into the light from a nearby street lamp and she could see him clearly. She could see where the bullets had exited his back, tearing huge holes in his flesh. She shivered and gently turned him over, pulling him half into her lap as she did so. His blood immediately began to seep into her jeans. She looked down into the most beautiful face she had ever seen in her life. Eyes of an impossible shade of blue-green stared up at her. A jolt, a shock such as she had never felt went through her, leaving her breathless and aching. She felt faint. Something she didn’t understand tugged at her heart and mind. All she understood was that she couldn’t bear to see this man die. **** Chance felt gentle hands turning him, lifting him from the wet ground. He opened his eyes and saw an angel. There was no other explanation. Only an angel could cause the feeling he was experiencing. It wasn’t that she was stunningly beautiful, though her oval face possessed an arcane sort of loveliness. Loose curls, deep red under the glow of the streetlamp 15
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complimented the ivory of her skin and enhanced the beauty of hazel-eyes that could only be described as golden. He stared into those amber eyes and his heart swelled. He loved her. He knew it instantly. He had finally found the woman he loved. Chance was twenty-two years old and he had never been in love, until now. It wasn’t fair; he had found her and he was dying. It wasn’t right; he should be able to spend years with her. Now, if he were lucky, he’d have a few minutes. He reached out, touching her face. “Je t’aime,” he managed to say. At least he’d gotten a chance to tell her. He could die knowing he’d spoken it. He’d finally said the words to someone and meant them. Vivian took his other hand in hers, wrapping her small fingers around his long, slender ones. She knew what he said. It was one of the first phrases Julian had taught her. “I love you?” she translated. “You don’t even know me,” she whispered. “Don’t matter. It’s true.” Chance coughed as blood began to fill his left lung. Vivian pulled him closer to her, leaning back on the fence so she could hold him against her, his head resting on her full breast. She gently wiped the grit from his face. He was so stunning. It wasn’t right that someone so beautiful was so hurt. Her heart ached. He couldn’t die. It was so very wrong. He stared at her as though he were memorizing every pore on her face. His teal eyes drilled into her heart and his hand, gently touching her cheek, sent wave after shocking wave of sensation through her. “I do love you,” he said. 16
T.D. McKinney She started to weep. She couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t be taken from her. She didn’t know why she felt that way, but she did. “Dirk!” she screamed. He had to be nearby. Her husband was never far away. He could help; he’d know what to do. She caressed the wounded man’s striking face. “I won’t let you die. I’ll think of something.” Chance pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. “It’s too late, cher. I’m gonna die. Life’s a bitch, ain’t it? Just when I find you, I die.” Vivian’s tears fell on his face and she held him tightly as he was racked by another coughing fit. “Vivian? What’s this, then?” Dirk rushed to her side when he saw the anguish on the face she lifted to him. “Turn him. Please, Dirk. Turn him.” Her face was streaked with tears. Dirk frowned. She seemed too desperate, nearly hysterical. She never got like this. “Here, Vivian. Calm down. What’s wrong?” She couldn’t answer him. She just shook her head and wept. “Was it because you saw it happen this time? We couldn’t have stopped it, dove. You couldn’t have known.” That possibility cut her. She hadn’t thought of that. Was there a way she could have prevented this young man from being hurt? Her mind screamed at the very thought. “Oh God! Please, Dirk! Please turn him.” Dirk knelt opposite her. “Dove! Shh. Don’t be so upset! I’ll do it!” She’d never pled like this before and Dirk wouldn’t refuse her. If the fledgling turned out bad, he’d simply kill it quickly. But she shouldn’t be upset by this. He wouldn’t allow it. “I’ll give him the 17
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choice.” Julian joined them as Vivian closed her eyes in relief and squeezed Chance’s hand tightly. He’d obviously heard Dirk’s last statement. “You’d better hurry, Papa. He doesn’t have long.” Chance was aware of the other two men though they were nowhere near as important as the woman. Being able to see her and touch her was vital. There was something about the other man’s voice, though. “You Cajun?” Julian swam into Chance’s view, and Chance was caught by the warmest brown eyes he’d ever seen. “Yeah. I am. And it looks like m’ cher Maman wants to make you my brother.” “He’s slipping away. Dirk! Hurry!” Vivian whispered frantically. He laid his hand over hers where it clasped Chance’s. “I will.” He addressed Chance in a stronger voice. “Look at me,” he ordered. “Julian and I, we’re vampires.” As he spoke his face changed, long fangs like those of a cat lengthening his canines, the faintest of points appearing on his ears, and delicate ridges appearing on his brow. “And I can make you one, too. You’ll die, but you won’t stay dead. You’ll come back.” Chance stared at the monster before him. He’d heard stories all his life about such things. He’d thought they were swamp tales, but it appeared they were true. He nodded. “I’d come back?” Dirk grinned. “Yeah, you would. You’d be a demon, though. You’d need blood to survive and 18
T.D. McKinney you’ll be prey to a hunger like you’ve never known.” Chance already felt such a hunger. He’d felt it the moment he’d laid eyes on the red-haired woman. He hungered to see her and touch her and simply be with her. He nodded again. It hurt to talk but he tried any way. “I’d come back. I could be with people? I could be with her?” Julian arched an eyebrow in surprise. “That’s an odd thing for a dying stranger to say,” he murmured. Dirk’s grin grew. “Yeah. You’d be with us. We’d be your family.” Chance had already stopped listening. “Do it. I want to come back to her,” he said. Pink foam was beginning to bubble from his throat as blood mixed with the gulps of precious air he managed to breathe. Julian’s eyebrow climbed a bit higher. Dirk nodded and gashed his wrist. He offered it to Chance. “Then drink. Drink and become my son.” He lowered his head to Chance’s throat and sank his fangs into the tender flesh there. Chance gasped and grimaced at the pain, but obediently sucked the blood from Dirk’s wrist. His eyes never left Vivian’s face even as her image blurred and Death claimed him.
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New Orleans, Louisiana Thursday, 11:04 pm May 10, 2001 nodded at Chance’s aversion to the house. “I J ulian understand why you don’t like this place. I know it’s where you died, but I had to have somewhere with parking and I didn’t want to be too far from home. This was the only one for sale in the Quarter that fit the bill.” He crossed the street and began to key in his entrance code on the pad beside the door. Chance followed reluctantly, waiting in the middle of the empty street until Julian opened the door. Only then did he finally step up on the sidewalk. As soon as his silver-bedecked cowboy book touched the broken concrete of the sidewalk, he was slammed against the wall of the house. A furious wind sprang into being, whirling though the empty street, howling and crying, “Thief!” It held him pinned against the old brick. The chain link fence surrounding the parking area rattled and chimed with the sound Julian described as always following the ring of gunshots. The trees bent in the gale, young leaves 20
T.D. McKinney torn from the branches, blossoms spinning in wailing currents, their softness turned sharp and stinging as they beat against Chance’s skin. The wind whipped Chance’s dark hair across his face, the ebony strands thrashing against his teal eyes, tiny sharp flails that sent tears cascading from their ocean depths down his cheeks. “Robber!” the wind cried. Chance was lifted by the tempest, thrown past Julian and slammed against the fence with enough force that bright splotches of light played across his vision as his head slammed into one of the steel posts. The metal links tore into his shirt. The wind ripped at his clothes, tearing them. Debris whisked up by the hurricane grated against his skin, seeking to tear it the way it was shredding the delicate silk of his shirt. It shrieked in his ears, deafening him, labeling him a thief. Sand blown by the maelstrom filled his eyes, further blinding him. He felt as though someone was raining hard blows from determined fists on his face and body. He could feel unseen knuckles, cruel and stony, pounding against his cheek bone, against his stomach. Disoriented by the blast of sound and the might of the wind, he couldn’t battle the force that held him pinned to the fence. There was only the wind, the noise of it overpowering and unstoppable. He could barely hear Julian calling out to him but Julian’s hands were strong and solid as his brother pulled and tugged, trying to drag them both to some sort of shelter. Chance felt the inside of his mouth split as one of the phantom blows drove his teeth against his lip. Blood, salty and metallic, flowed 21
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across his tongue and dripped from the corner of his mouth. Julian threw himself against his lover, trying to shield Chance from this invisible attacker, shouting that they needed to head for whatever safety and help they could find at their father’s house. Wrapping his arms tightly around the slim form he’d sworn more than once to love and protect, Julian threw them both out into the street. The wind died as quickly as it had sprung up. The night was peaceful and calm, the only sounds crickets in the hidden courtyards and the soft beating of human hearts behind the walls of shuttered houses. Further away there was music and the hum of tourists and distant traffic. But here the French Quarter was quiet. There was no evidence that a hurricane had swept down Royal Street except the sound of the brothers’ rough breathing and the tang of Chance’s blood on the still air. Lying in the middle of the street, they both heard the dying whisper of that illusory wind: “Thief!”
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New Orleans, Louisiana Thursday, 11:49 pm May 12, 2020
D
irk watched as Julian tossed the last bit of bloody gauze away and took Chance’s right hand in both of his. Vivian already had hold of Chance’s left one. Dressed in a clean shirt, the innumerable tiny scratches and abrasions on his face and upper body cleaned and tended, Chance looked as though he’d been in a fight with dozens of tiny cat-clawed demons. One cheek was bruised and there was purpling around his left eye. His lower lip was slightly swollen and puffy. Royce shook his head. “Damn, you look like Hell.” Chance agreed. “I didn’t get this beat up when I took Macon, and God knows that redneck cracker and his brothers were tough!” He clearly wasn’t happy to see Royce, but since his nephew had been attending the same function as his parents, it wasn’t surprising that the man had joined Vivian and Dirk in their rush back to the house in response to Julian’s call. Dirk smothered a grin. Chance had to know Royce was seldom far from Vivian’s skirts. She was his sire and 23
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his lover, and Royce was as attached to her as any child Dirk had ever seen. Dirk was happy Royce was there; as he’d explained to Chance, Royce was their best researcher and surely Chance wanted to find out what was going on quickly? “You have anything, Royce?” Dirk asked as he turned Chance’s shredded shirt over and over in his hands. He could smell the faint taint of his son’s blood on the ruined garment. “Give me just another second,” his grandson responded as his fingers danced over the computer keyboard. The tall, rangy blond had been an CIA agent of some repute in life and those skills had not lessened with his death. He might be abrasive, arrogant, and opinionated, but Royce Fleming a considered asset to the family. He would tackle whatever problem was put before him with a bulldog tenacity that sometimes surprised others. Additionally, Royce was utterly devoted to Vivian and willing to do anything she asked of him. Dirk understood that his devotion was as attractive to Vivian as Royce’s all-American golden boy good looks. As far as Dirk could tell, Royce posed no particular danger to him or the family. And Dirk had no problem with Royce, as long as the young vampire remembered to treat Dirk with the respect due to the Master of the city and head of the family. At the moment, though, Royce was totally focused on the task at hand, his willow-green eyes locked on the computer monitor. “I think I’m onto something,” he said absently. 24
T.D. McKinney Dirk nodded and turned a concerned glance on his consort. He had greater concerns than how well Royce Fleming did or didn’t fit into the family. Vivian had been oddly quiet ever since Julian and Chance had related their story. She simply sat and held Chance’s hand so tightly that had he been human, she would have snapped several of his bones by now. Still dressed in her midnight blue evening gown with her hair swept up in a diamond clip, she almost seemed a stranger. Dirk couldn’t help but feel that some days they were drifting further and further from each other. Tonight, when he should have felt close to her, offering her solace and support in her worry, easing her concern for Chance, he felt further than ever. On the ride over, it had been Royce’s hand that she clung to and his soft assurances she’d listened to. And here at the house, she’d drawn away again, merely sitting beside Chance, holding his hand and saying little. Dirk couldn’t help but worry how much longer she’d be content to consider herself his wife as well as his daughter. He’d felt he was slowly losing her ever since he’d been forced to change her into a vampire. “Got it,” Royce said interrupting his grandsire’s reverie. He looked up at Dirk. “Okay, this is crazy. Does someone want to explain this to me?” He began to read the article he’d found. “A New Haunting? Maybe a new site needs to be added to the famous Ghost Tour. For the last two decades, visitors and residents alike have been reporting odd occurrences on Royal Street. At a certain spot in this historic district, people report being stopped by a beautiful young man. In Cajun accents he invariably asks after 25
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a red-haired woman. When he doesn’t receive the answer he’s seeking, he fades away before the astonished visitor’s eyes. Should the visitor happen to be a red-haired woman, she is left with something a bit more tangible. The young man is said to shake his head sadly, touch her shoulder and say, ‘You’re not her,’ before fading away. His touch leaves a mark like a bloody handprint that no dry cleaner can remove. Some have reported that blood begins to seep from the man’s chest just before he vanishes. Because of his accent and his outstanding good looks, the local ghost aficionados are calling him La Beau. It would appear that New Orleans has a new ghost to add to its list of historic figures such as…Blah, blah, blah.” He gazed pointedly at Chance. “So, does that give anyone any ideas?” Vivian leaned her head on Chance’s shoulder and began to cry softly. Chance put his arm around her and glanced from his father to his brother. Julian looked more than a bit sick to his stomach. “No wonder he said I lied. Oh, mon Dieu!” Dirk sat down heavily in a chair. “God in Heaven,” he murmured. “I never thought…Christ!” **** Royce sighed. “So we’re looking at Pretty Boy’s ghost, then?” he said with a nod toward the black-haired vampire. He’d been afraid that was the case. Still it made no sense to him. “Someone want to explain the logistics of that to me? How can his ghost be haunting 26
T.D. McKinney a parking lot when he’s right here annoying decent people?” “Royce, please. Not tonight,” Dirk sighed. “It’s alright, Papa,” Chance said. “One day Maman will get tired of him and then she’ll let me kill him.” Never taking his eyes from Royce’s, he leant over and kissed Vivian on top of her head. He pulled Julian close. “After all, they love me more than they’ll ever love him.” Royce growled slightly and his hands curled into fists. He desperately wanted to use them on the Cajun punk. “Stop it. Both of you,” Dirk ordered before Royce could act on his impulse. “Royce is family now. You’re both going to have to learn to get along.” Vivian lifted tear-filled eyes to look at the only child she’d ever turned, golden-green irises meeting silvery-green ones. She held out her hand. “Royce.” There was no rebuke in her tone, just need. He was kneeling before her in an instant. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be good.” He kissed her fingers. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” She didn’t say anything but her grip on his fingers was so tight her knuckles were white. It almost hurt. He hated the way the rest of the family kept her upset so much of the time. She deserved some peace; why didn’t they all see that? He swore there were times when the only one he could tolerate was Julian. So Royce looked now to the Crown Prince. “So you want to tell me what’s going on?” Julian nodded. “Chance, Papa, and I are full vampires. We’re not half-breeds. We didn’t keep our 27
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human souls like you and Maman.” Royce was well aware that there were different sorts of vampires and that Dirk had wanted to keep Vivian with him forever in every sense of the word. He had turned her in such a fashion that her soul remained even as a demonic element entered her body. Vivian had turned Royce in the same fashion because it was what Royce wanted. He knew the others didn’t understand. There was a certain slur attached to being a half-breed, neither fully human nor fully vampire, that was more acceptable in a female than a male. He didn’t care; he knew he was as strong and powerful as any of them. They’d find that out one day. He nodded his understanding and Julian continued, “When the human ‘us’ died, our souls left. They went wherever they were supposed to go.” “I figured mine went to Hell, considering what I was,” Chance said with a slight grimace. Royce looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t expected Chance to admit the sort of man he’d been. Maybe the punk wasn’t completely without scruples. “Looks like I was wrong,” Chance added. “So that’s your ghost? Your human soul that’s haunting people?” Royce asked. Chance nodded. “I guess so. Looks like I didn’t go anywhere.” Dirk got up and poured himself a drink. “I promised a dying man that he would come back. But of course, he didn’t.” He cupped Chance’s jaw with one white hand, lifting his son’s head. “You did. A demon possessed the body that used to be Chance 28
T.D. McKinney Dubois. You have the same body, all the same memories, the same basic personality, but you’re still different.” Royce shivered as Dirk kissed Chance’s forehead. Royce didn’t want to think of leaving his body for a demon to inhabit. That was the reason he’d begged Vivian to change him as a half-breed. He’d wanted immortality, even if it mean condemning his soul to damnation. He couldn’t blame the ghost for haunting the place he’d died. He’d be pissed off, too, if he’d been promised vampiric life only to find his body given to a demon. He was just grateful everything had worked out so well for him. He knew that he was different from the others, even from Vivian. He didn’t feel the duality they all talked about so freely. He didn’t even really understand it. From his point of view, he’d simply woken up one night a hell of a lot better off. He’d actually thought the others were more than a little nuts when they talked about the two halves of their being. He guessed this ghost thing proved he was wrong about that. Dirk was smiling down at Chance. “I thank God nightly for you and Julian. I wouldn’t be the man I am without you two.” He kissed Julian’s upturned lips before he turned back to Chance. “But it looks like I’ve done a terrible wrong to the man you were. And I need to see if I can talk to him.”
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New Orleans, Louisiana Friday, 1:48 am May 13, 2001 flanked Vivian as they stood across the street Royce from Julian’s office. Chance stood on her other side. Dirk had wanted them to remain back at the house, but Vivian had insisted on coming. Chance refused to let her come without him. Whole corrals full of wild horses wouldn’t have kept Royce away. Julian insisted on accompanying his father. He maintained that the ghost had never offered him violence; even when it was injuring Chance, none of the hostility had been directed at him personally. He’d caught some of the fallout but only because he’d been trying to help Chance. Dirk and Julian stood in the middle of the street now, surveying the parking lot. It looked peaceful enough but Julian had explained just how quickly that could change. Taking a deep breath, Julian stepped onto the sidewalk and headed for the door. There was no reaction. The night remained calm and peaceful. As he turned the doorknob, though, a voice 30
T.D. McKinney spoke out clearly. “Liar.” Royce grabbed Vivian’s hand as he felt her distress bloom through their mental connection. He squeezed her fingers tightly and she locked her grasp around his. “That was definitely Chance’s voice,” he said. Dirk nodded and headed for the parking lot. “Liar!” The voice rang out forcefully. “Deceiver!” A cyclone began to whirl about Dirk. It lifted him from his feet and threw him against the fence, only inches from where Chance’s body had rebounded from the links. “You promised!” Dirk fell, landing in the exact spot Chance had fallen all those years ago, blood pouring from the wounds of an assassin’s gun. A puddle of gleaming crimson spread around Dirk, sticky and smelling of old death. It clung to his clothes when he was picked up and tossed against the fence again. “You lied!” Dirk felt a hard blow and a gash appeared across his cheek. He was shaken by unseen hands and slammed against a tree trunk. Julian, attempting to help him, was flung back and away so forcefully he landed nearly in the street. Vivian broke from Royce and Chance’s protection and ran to her husband. Dirk’s head was being pounded against the tree while the wind howled its litany of “Liar, deceiver.” “Chance! Stop!” she called as she ran. “Please, sweetheart, stop!” As her delicate pump touched the specter blood staining the asphalt, the wind died away; the storm calmed. Dirk slid down the tree trunk and put a hand to the back of his throbbing head. Royce was beside him instantly even as Chance was helping Julian to 31
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his feet. Dirk’s hand closed painfully around Royce’s arm just as they heard Julian breathe an awed “Mother of God.” Royce followed Dirk’s gaze and his jaw slowly dropped open. Vivian stood beneath a lamp, her beaded gown sparkling in the darkness, phantom blood pooled at her feet, the diamonds in her hair glittering like the stars above her. And surrounded by ethereal fire, glowing like the night around her, Chance coalesced from the moonlight shining through the live oak branches. With a hand as pale and luminous as the disc riding the night sky, he reached out for her, that gentle hand stroking her hair. “I found you,” he whispered in a voice formed from the breeze that ruffled the leaves above him. “They took you from me and I couldn’t find you.” Tears glinted star-like on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I’m so sorry.” She reached up and touched a perfect face made of moon-glow, his eyes formed from the midnight sky. Stars flickered in their depths, galaxies turning in the void of eternity. Love burned at the heart of them. “I didn’t know, sweetheart. I would have come sooner.” Glowing fingers plucked the clip from her hair, dropping it, a fallen star splashing and twinkling in the gore at her feet. Tresses red as the blood the diamonds swam in floated about her pale shoulders. Moonlight fingers lifted the soft curls as a night-dark head bent close. Gardenia wafted on the gentle breeze. “Je t’aime.” The first words he had ever spoken to her and his last as he lay dying in her arms. “Je t’ai 32
T.D. McKinney aime toujours.” She smiled sadly and guided phantom lips composed of moonlight and stardust to her own cool, dead ones. “I know, darling. I know you’ll love me forever. You love me so much that your body remembered that love.” She swallowed back sobs of grief for what might have been in another time and place. “Your love for me is so strong that it lived on even when you were gone.” She kissed glowing lips. She motioned for Royce to get Dirk to safety. “They took you from me,” the ghost said, an angry breeze dancing across Vivian’s hair. “Liars! Thieves! They took my love away from you.” “Shh. No.” She kissed him again. “Your love’s never been away from me. Not for a single second. It’s always been there, protecting me. Can you see inside me? Can you feel me?” Her fingers twined in hair as soft and ephemeral as the dusk. “Your love is still there.” Grief and rage warred in the star-flung void of his eyes. “He’s there! The thief!” “No, not a thief,” she insisted and kissed him again. “A protector. He’s guarded your love all these years, nurtured it, kept it alive. Your love lives because he carries it in his own heart.” She took his hands; they were warm. She had no memory of Chance having warm hands. Her lover’s hands had always been cool. “He loves me with your love.” The revenant smiled. “But now I can love you. You can stay with me now.” Cosmic zephyrs stirred his jet locks, stardust flashing blue and silver about his head. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, my darling.” She 33
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stepped back. “We can’t be together.” Her fingers slipped from his. “We weren’t meant to be.” “No.” The devastation in his voice tore at her heart. “Vivian, you have to come away now,” Dirk called softly. He knew the ghost would try to keep her with him forever, not understanding that he’d destroy her. She stepped further away from her true love’s specter. She’d felt her consort’s call and knew he was right. “I have to go.” “No! Stay!” The wind cried high in the treetops. “I’ll come back. But I have to go now.” She edged away slowly. “It’s only for a little while.” “No. You’re mine.” There was a gale blowing now, high above the street, singing across the slate roofs. “You have to stay with me.” Incandescent arms reached for her. “I won’t let you go!” River mist, glowing in the light of the nearly full moon, swirled and thickened about them, shielding them from view and creating a private sanctuary for them alone. In an instant, the others vanished in the mist. Everything faded, leaving the two of them alone. **** Deep in the silvery fog, Chance smiled down at Vivian as he at long last enfolded her in his arms. The emotions flowing through him were all contained in that smile. Vivian smiled back. She suddenly felt more at peace than she’d ever felt. She had no fears. Chance didn’t want to hurt her; he only wanted to love her. 34
T.D. McKinney There had always been something about her beautiful vampire son and lover that could bring her peace. There was a quietness within him that flowed into her when he touched her. Just being in the same room with him could soothe her heart and mind. Looking at him had always brought her such joy. He was so incredibly beautiful. She had always thought Dirk was the most attractive man ever born and she was still convinced that he had the most beautiful body she’d ever seen. He was a fine Grecian statue made flesh. Perfect in form, with the face of an angel and smooth hair the color of ripe flax, Dirk was a work of art. And Chance was a miracle. Tall and lean, his was a more human form than Dirk’s. Of course saying Dirk had the more perfect body of the two was like saying that a Michelangelo statue was more perfect than a DaVinci painting. But Chance’s face transcended beauty. She had no doubt that there was no more perfect countenance in all the world. No man born had ever been as beautiful as Chance Dubois was. It was only right that he was immortal now. Such beauty should never be destroyed by age or death. She had thought that beauty only lived on in her vampire son, but she saw now that it lingered in this specter, enhanced by his phantasmagoric nature. This ghost composed of the night itself was even more stunning than the body he’d left behind. And when he looked at her as he was doing now, with such love and concern shining from his incredible blue-green eyes, she felt as though she were dying again. Her heart contracted at the devotion she saw on that 35
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perfect face. “My Chance,” she whispered as she raised a shaky hand to touch his cheek, hesitantly, tentatively, afraid he would melt away at her touch. This was the man who’d sworn undying love for her at no more than a glance. She had come to love the vampire who wore his body, who was doubtless very like this man, but there was something precious about this ghost. She’d always felt something was missing from her life, and perhaps it was he. Was it possible there was such a thing as soulmates? Was this the person she was intended to spend eternity with? Was he why Dirk was never enough? She had thought for years that she and Chance were meant to be together, and it was Dirk that kept them apart. Was this ghost why regardless of how hard she and Chance had tried, it had never quite worked out for them? Was that why the Chance she knew so well had always been drawn to Julian? Were the vampire Chance and Julian meant to be together and she was meant to be with this man. Fate had snatched him from her too soon. But he had fought fate. She couldn’t believe he still existed, all because he loved her so deeply. “My beautiful, beautiful Chance,” she murmured before she urged him to deepen their kiss, wanting and needing to taste him. His tongue lightly caressed her lips before slipping easily and naturally between them to twine and dance with hers. Her arms drew him close, sliding under his shirt to skim across his broad back. “Oh, cher coeur. M’ belle ange, I have found you at 36
T.D. McKinney last.” He pulled away to stroke Vivian’s face, love bright in his eyes. “All this time without you, these years, I had no reason for being except for you.” When she breathed his name, he welded his lips to hers again. She wrapped herself about Chance as though her life depended on being as close to him as she possibly could. Perhaps in that moment, it did. This was his realm, removed from the one she existed in. He was even now in the process of creating a world for her. Moon glow, starlight, and river mist came together with the deep night shadows gaining solidity and form until they were surrounded by a garden of twilight splendor. Pale flowers bloomed against sable foliage, the heady fragrance of gardenia heavy on the light breeze that stirred Chance’s ebon hair. It mingled with clean pine and rich jasmine. Crisp tea olive lightened the perfume, its dark, glossy leaves black in the darkness. Silvery moss, lush and velvet soft covered a gentle knoll awash in the dappled moonlight that bled through the live oak and pine. It was the perfect setting for her. Holding her now, he felt complete. Nothing else mattered. She was here in his arms. She was where she belonged. Through the long, empty years he had dreamed of this moment, fantasized about it. He’d wanted her since the instant he’d seen her and finally his longing would be fulfilled. A breeze blew across them, heavy with moisture and the scent of gardenias wafting gently on the warm night air. He’d smelled it as he lay dying in her arms. It had comforted him then, and it did so again. 37
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He placed a kiss atop Vivian’s head, breathing in the scent of her hair, identical to the smell of the flowers around them. He laid her gently down on the moss, his arms tight about her, reluctant to release her. She obviously felt the same way because her arms clung to him. He stared into her warm hazel eyes. “I want you, my fleur. I want to hold you and touch you and take away this pain I feel. I want it to go away forever.” She reached up for him. “Then let me make you not hurt, my Chance. Let me make us both not hurt.” He kissed her hands. He’d searched for her for so long, he’d had never dreamed that he’d ever be able to hold her. His heart felt as though it would burst. He had expected to be confined to Hell when he died. He had no illusions about the life that he’d led. But instead he’d lingered in some sort of Purgatory, bound to this place by the need to find her. And now that he had, he knew he had found Heaven. It burst into being the instant his lips touched her. Now that she was here, he’d have Paradise. Chance stretching out beside her. He propped himself up on one elbow so he could simply look at her. To him she was beautiful beyond compare, though he knew others would not see her so. He reached out and caressed her face, her ear, her hair, not saying anything, simply looking at her. She returned his gaze with those solemn eyes, for whose sake he’d bound himself to Earth. Chance pulled her hand to him, pressing his lips to her wrist. He looked up at her through long black 38
T.D. McKinney lashes. “I was dead. My whole life. I was worse than dead. Dead would have been an improvement on what I was. I didn’t start to live again ‘til I touched your hand. And it didn’t matter that I died then, I’d had a taste of living. I feel the same way right now. Hell, I think maybe my heart’s beating.” She placed her hand over his chest. “I think maybe so. I think maybe mine is, too.” She looked into those tropical blue eyes. “Love me, Chance,” she whispered. “Love me the way I love you.” He covered her lips with his, tasting her as he began divesting her of clothes. He felt her hands play over the planes of his back, his shoulders, sensed the love and need flowing from her into him and returning with his own need and love to her. She felt what he was feeling and pulled her mouth from his long enough to murmur, “M’ amant.” Chance moaned. Her lover. Yes, he was, and he would be as long as he walked the Earth. He kissed her snowy throat, licking its pristine whiteness. He longed to make her his forever. He wanted them to be together in death. He didn’t know where their souls were destined, but he knew that Heaven would be incomplete without her; it wouldn’t be Paradise. He hoped that he would be allowed to follow her wherever she was bound. He would see to it somehow. In life or death, he would find a way to be with her. His love, his pain, his joy all poured from him, seeking her mind, forming a connection that he knew would never be broken. They were now linked in the way they were destined to be. Finally, he could feel 39
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her heart. Her feelings, equal to his, poured back into him, forming a loop so powerful, so intense, that their feelings flowed out beyond them setting all the flowers in his phantom garden abloom. Their love was so strong it filled the area around them, giving birth to life even though they were both dead. Chance’s joy was boundless as he moved down her body, savoring the lushness he’d been denied for so many years. His mouth traveled restlessly across one full breast to the other and back again. He pulled gently at her nipples with fingers, lips, and blunt teeth until she moaned and gasped beneath his touch, beneath his mouth. Her hands smoothed and stroked his hair while her sweet voice spoke to him of her love and his beauty. Those sounds, her voice, were sweeter to him than the wind in the tall pines or the call of the whippoorwill deep in the night. Nothing had ever sounded so right to him. Nothing had ever felt so right as loving her like this. Nothing could compare to the bliss he felt in being able to touch her freely. This was all he had ever wanted. He continued to kiss, caress, and love his way down her pale beloved form, settling finally between her legs, midnight hair stark against moon-white thighs. The taste of her was intoxicating, and he nearly climaxed simply from the scent of her arousal. With tongue, lips, and teeth he drove her closer and closer to oblivion, his hands smoothing and massaging her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. She called out for him, begging for him to enter her, to 40
T.D. McKinney make them one. Chance could refuse her nothing. He locked his mouth on hers, kissing her deeply as he sank into her. Vivian cried out at the sheer feel of him inside her. She had craved this for such a long time without even knowing it. She had needed him all these years. This was what she’d been seeking in the embrace of man after man and never quite found. The love she felt for him was overwhelming. It swept all other emotions and needs before it, leaving only uncontrollable hunger for this one man. There was no one who could substitute for Chance, no one who could compare. Her body cried out for his touch, her heart cried out for his love. He felt so perfect inside her, so right. When he began to move, slowly, lovingly, punctuating each stroke with words of love so filled with his devotion that she could hardly bear it, her heart melted. “Je t’aime. Je te besoin.” I love you. I need you. His voice was so beautiful, filling her soul the way he filled her body. “Tu es m’ coeur, Chance,” she told him. You are my heart, Chance. “Je t’aimerai toujours.” I will always love you. Each word, spoken in the French that Julian had taught her, was an awl, carving and shaping him into something fit only to love her. The fire that burned through them consumed everything, leaving only that love, that need, that desperate passion for each other. Deep within her, she knew she was meant to be here, like this, with him forever. Their souls were one, though her heart now belonged to another. It was that awareness that brought her sorrow even 41
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in the midst of such joy. She knew this couldn’t last. If she’d been a mortal woman he could take her soul and bind it to him forever, but she was a vampire. She couldn’t exist without the blood of living man. She would die without it, and as a demon she would not be allowed to linger in the world of men, even as a ghost. She had already died, and this was her afterlife until she faced the fate that waited for all of her kind. A phantom garden filled with devotion and passion was not the reward she could look forward to. Soon she would have to leave him, regardless of how she felt. The pain of that knowledge was all-consuming. The agony of it gnawed within her. It ate at the corners of her mind, threatening her sanity, pushing her towards madness. Only the feel of his lips on hers, of his strong body thrusting into her, could stave off that madness. He was her sanity, her only source of serenity. Only in his arms could she find peace. “Tu es m’ âme,” he told her. You are my soul. Chance felt as though his very being was melding into hers. “Tu es m’ salut. You are my salvation. He could feel her, light and darkness swirling around him. “Je vis seulement pour tu, m’ ange.” I live only for you, my angel. He would die again without her. “Ma vie est pour tu.” My life is yours. It wasn’t important that they were wrapped in a void where only the two of them existed, because only the two of them mattered. The earth could tumble into the sun and burn, the universe implode, and it would not matter as long as he was holding her like this when it happened. “Je t’aime, Chance!” she 42
T.D. McKinney cried. “Oh, God, Chance. I love you!” She climaxed, calling out her need for him. Chance spiraled into orgasm with her, calling her name, exclaiming her beauty and his devotion as he emptied himself--body, heart, and mind--into her. He knew now what Heaven was like; Heaven was holding her and loving her. He lay against her, gasping for unneeded breath, feeling her doing the same. Each breath, each movement of her body was precious. Chance wrapped himself around Vivian, settling her comfortably against his body, his arms and legs clasping her to him, determined to hold her like this forever. Vivian held him just as tightly, her face buried in his chest, and wept for joy and for what couldn’t be while Chance murmured soft words of love and adoration into her hair. **** As stars she didn’t recognize circled above them, Vivian slipped gently from Chance’s arms. Moments like this stolen from the world would be all they could ever have. She was bound to the world of the living as strongly as he was bound to her. “Cher?” The confusion in his voice brought tears to the back of her throat. “I have to go now, my Chance. I can’t stay,” she managed to say around the emotions that were choking her. She looked down, amazed that she was dressed. She distinctly remembered Chance removing her clothes with ardent passion. It seemed that in this 43
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ghost realm, thought was the same as action. She even wore her shoes. “No,” he argued with a frown. “I just found you. I know you love me. You can’t leave me.” “I have to. I don’t have a choice.” He sat up and reached for her. She tried to step away from him and found she couldn’t. Vivian was frozen, ice glinting in the moonbeams of his smile. She couldn’t move. “You have to stay,” he said and the night wind had returned to his voice. Something was pulling painfully at her chest, drawing all the strength from her body. She looked at him in distress, unable to speak. The pain in her chest grew, stretching from her to him. Her soul was being sucked away by his nightsky eyes. She would join him forever in the void. Formless, his love would give her shape and aspect. He didn’t understand that she was both demon and soul now, joined forever and incapable of existing as he did. Like a flower on a clear winter night, she would freeze and die. Royce slammed into her, the force carrying them away from the phantom. They burst through the fog. Royce gathered his sire into his arms, lifting her off her feet, and ran for all he was worth. When the whirlwind descended, it was too late, two steps against its fury and he had her safely in the center of the street as the mist vanished. A cry of pain and anguish such as Royce had never heard echoed through the wrought iron galleries. Moonlight shattering, crystal starlight splintering, the ghost fell to his knees. Kneeling in his own blood, a phantasm 44
T.D. McKinney of night skies and lost love, he held out his pale arms to her. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone!” Clasping her tightly to him, Royce strode away, leaving the grieving ghost behind, willing his sire the strength to resist that pitiable call. Vivian buried her head in Royce’s chest and mourned for a man she had never really considered dead until that moment. **** Dirk wasn’t surprised when his son latched onto Vivian the minute Royce placed her on the couch. When the river mist had become so thick that they couldn’t see her, Chance had panicked. He was sure the ghost had spirited her away, but Royce was sure she was still with them and had charged at the spot where they’d last seen her. As was often the case, Royce was right. Julian settled himself against his sire, both seeking and offering support. Royce was perfectly content to keep a watchful eye on his sire and accepted Dirk’s thank-you with a grin and a nod. Dirk gratefully accepted the drink Royce handed him before watching his grandson press a cup of warm blood into Chance’s hands. “Make her drink that,” Royce ordered. For once, Chance didn’t demure. A similar cup was pressed on Julian with orders to not argue, just drink. When Chance held out Vivian’s empty mug, a full one replaced it. Surprise bloomed in Chance’s eyes when Royce stated flatly, “That one’s for you.” Dirk couldn’t help but grin. 45
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“What now, Papa?” Julian asked wearily. He looked bone-tired; all of them did. Dirk sighed. “I suppose we send for a priest or a mage, ask him to perform an exorcism and send the ghost on its way to where it belongs.” “No.” Vivian’s denial was calm, forceful, and offered no possibility for rebuttal. She didn’t give Royce a chance to ask his question. “If you exorcise Chance’s ghost, you’ll be sending his soul to Hell. I won’t do that. And I won’t let anyone else do that, either.” Royce, thinking of the pain of the phantom’s last cry, had to ask, “Could Hell be worse than what he’s facing now?” Vivian looked at Dirk. He knew the punishment that waited for such creatures as she. “Oh, yeah. It can be much worse. Believe me; I know.” “So what do we do, then?” Julian asked. The eyes Vivian lifted to look at her beloved son were as tormented as those of the ghost that cried for lost love. “Nothing. We do nothing. Sell your office. I’ll buy you a new one somewhere else. Don’t go back there. The same goes for you, Chance. Don’t ever go near there again.” She looked at her husband. “I don’t have to tell you not to set foot near there, Dirk. You know it already.” Dirk nodded. One look at her set face and he knew she wouldn’t be gainsaid on this. Still, he had to be certain. “Dove, are you sure?” Her eyes were empty. “I won’t send Chance to Hell. End of story.” 46
T.D. McKinney Dirk nodded again. “As you will, Vivian.”
47
In The Lonely Dead of Midnight
New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 7:39 pm December 12, 2220 guide pointed to a small area of greenery in Thethetour midst of the old French Quarter. “This is Le
Parc Des Amoureux,” she stated. “Founded in the early twenty-first century by the Chadwick family, it’s one of the area’s newer parks.” A faint floral scent reached the tourists. “What’s that smell?” “That’s one of the noted peculiarities of the Lovers’ Park,” the guide said. “Even in the dead of winter, gardenias bloom here. Only a few feet away, here in the planters and across the street, they go dormant, but inside the park they bloom continuously. Since Le Parc Des Amoureux is private property, there have never been any scientific surveys to see what causes this phenomena. The locals say that it’s the ghost known as Le Beau that keeps them blooming.” She opened the beautifully wrought-iron gate that was only locked on May 10th. As she led her tour though the small garden, she related the story of Le Beau and 48
T.D. McKinney his endless search for his red-haired love. “Rumor has it that he finally found her and isn’t completely alone. The locals say that she built this garden for him and that even now, centuries later, she’s still alive and visits him regularly.” One of the more skeptical and less romantic of her charges scoffed. “Yeah, right. I can see how that’s possible.” Before he could elaborate, the gate opened to admit an exquisitely dressed woman. Her dark red hair was piled fashionably on her head and she carried a bouquet of flowers. Golden eyes cold and distant, she weighed the skeptic and found him wanting. “Leave now,” she said to the guide. The young woman didn’t hesitate. “Yes, ma’am. If you would all follow me, please. Our next destination is quite interesting…” As the tourists trooped out, a tall man with blond hair and willow-green eyes laid a hand on the skeptic’s shoulder. “Open your eyes and you might see something some time.” The man, along with several other members of the tour, looked back toward the garden. The red-haired woman was now seated on a simple marble bench, watching expectantly as the moonlight coalesced into the most beautiful man any of them had ever seen. Glowing with starlight, he sat down beside her and took her hands. Royce smiled as he watched the mist gathering about his wife and her phantom lover. Chance could have these brief moments with her; Royce knew where her heart lay, and he wasn’t threatened by a 49
In The Lonely Dead of Midnight
ghost. What happened inside the mist wasn’t even real; it was just illusion. If it gave that poor revenant some solace, and more importantly, if it soothed Vivian’s heart, Royce would say nothing. He’d stand guard and see that she was safe. He smiled. “She’s come every week for the last two hundred years. She never forgets.” The once-cynical man swallowed nervously. “How...how do you know?” Royce’s smile grew. “Because just like anywhere else she wants to travel, I always come with her.”
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About the Author D. McKinney was probably born with eclectic T.tastes. Growing up on the American Gulf Coast,
she gained a great appreciation for all things Southern and a fascination with what the community around her termed the War of Northern Aggression. Frequent trips to New Orleans to visit relatives instilled an early love for that city and for the Cajun culture; one of her earliest memories is viewing Mardi Gras parades when she was three years old. She freely admits that at the tender age of six she fell in love with both Barnabus Collins of Dark Shadows’ fame and Jonny Quest’s scientist-father, Benton Quest. Sherlock Holmes followed soon after as one of the great abiding interests of her life. These early influences doubtless explain a great deal about the author and her writings. There is very little she doesn’t find interesting, whether it’s art, music, history, vampires, web design, or forensic science. Everything is there to be explored, investigated, and attempted at least once. This trait often carries over into her writing. She loves exploring characters that are not afraid to take a risk or step outside the constraints of society or family. And if the character doesn’t want to take that chance, she likes creating situations that require they do so.
T. D. lives in the Dallas-Fort Worth area of north Texas with her husband and young daughter. Artist, author, career woman, web designer, mother, and wife, she manages keep busy. In her spare time, she shares her husband’s interest in collecting swords, vampires, the Internet, science fiction, and all things Japanese. You can email T. D. at
[email protected] or visit her website at www.tdmckinney.com .
