Forever Starts Now Page 23

"A vamp?” Claire finished for her when she faltered. “Yes. And I'd never hurt you or Tom or the baby. You know that, don't you?"

  Her throat closed on the last words as she realized that nothing she could do or say might be sufficient to convince her friend. How could she prove she wouldn't do something? She didn't know what she would do if Maggie closed the door on her.

  "Of course I know it."

  Maggie hesitated a little before she crossed the threshold, but she did, and that was what mattered. Letting her bag fall to the ground, Claire opened her arms to her friend and was hugged in reply. Between them, tiny feet kicked and they both laughed.

  "I'm so happy for you,” Claire said as she pulled back. Tentatively, her hand came close to Maggie's abdomen, and at her slight nod of encouragement rested there very lightly. She grinned in wonder at what she felt and heard, then again when Maggie's hand covered hers.

  "And I'm happy to see you. I thought you were dead."

  A smile twisted her lips as Claire looked up. “Well, technically..."

  Maggie rolled her eyes. It was good to see her adapt to the situation so easily, but then it was a trait Claire had often envied her friend. “You know what I mean. Really dead. Dust and ashes dead. Everybody thought so. Where have you been?"

  "It's a long story. You want to sit down?"

  They sat together on the wooden bench on the side of the porch, and Claire told her friend everything that had happened since the night she had gone out in search of Matthew, everything that she had needed so much to tell someone. It felt good, at last, to share the wonders she had discovered since becoming a vampire, and the pain of having the very existence of her feelings denied by the person she was in love with.

  "It's been more than four months since I left,” she finished, her voice trembling. “I miss him more every day. But it was the right thing for me to go."

  "Of course it was.” Maggie squeezed her hand. “And it'll get better. I know it will. And if you need anything, I'm here for you."

  Claire nodded, thankful. “I knew I could count on you. And actually ... Would you mind helping me get a few things from my home?"

  Maggie visibly paled and her hand tightened a little more on Claire's.

  "What is it?” Claire asked.

  "Your dad ... he sold everything. When you disappeared, I called him to see if he had heard from you. He came in town, and the police investigated your disappearance."

  Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. She had never even thought of calling her dad since she had been turned. They weren't very close and they did little more than exchange cards for birthdays and holidays. If she had simply called him, things would have been very different, because she could see where this was going already.

  "The cops found a surveillance video at a club downtown. Of you, with a vampire, and Jonas confronting you. And then this couple stepped forward, said they had seen you and the same vamp in their elevator the next night. They also saw Jonas near their building. And the cops found your car there too."

  "They figured out Matthew changed me, and thought that Jonas dusted us both,” Claire finished with a sigh. If Jonas had been upset before, he had to be murderous now.

  "They had so many clues...” Maggie's voice dropped to a whisper. “You had talked to them and they had a record of that, and I told them about the notebook we found when packing his things. A Special Enforcer came forward, and he said you had told him about Jonas too. And then, they received a video. They never figured out who sent it."

  Claire knew, without the shadow of a doubt, who had to have sent it, but she didn't interrupt Maggie.

  "It showed Jonas staking a vamp, they investigated but never found out who the vamp was. They couldn't convict him of killing you without a witness, but the video was enough to discharge him. He stayed out of jail on a technicality. He swore he didn't touch you but...” Her eyes filled with tears. “We all figured he had."

  Inside the house, the voices from the television suddenly became quiet.

  "You should get in,” Claire suggested. “Tom is going to wonder where you've gone."

  "But you just arrived! There's so much I have to tell you!"

  Claire stood, her hand still in Maggie's. “I'll be back. I just arrived in town, I have to find a place to live."

  "You could—"

  She didn't let Maggie finish. “No, I really couldn't."

  She liked Tom a lot, he was a good man, but he was also scared of vampires, and she had no desire to test his reaction to what she had become.

  Letting go of her friend's hand, she picked up her bag and walked down the two steps off the porch before turning back, hoping despite herself.

  "You said my father sold my things ... Did he keep anything?"

  Maggie must have heard the hope in her voice, and she knew Claire well enough to guess which items she would miss the most.

  "The letters...” A grimace played over her face. “He was so puzzled about them, I told him what they were, what you had told me. I'm sorry, Claire. He burned them all."

  Claire forced a smile to her lips despite her disappointment. “It's OK. It's better that way, I guess.” She hesitated, then asked, very softly: “What about the dress?"

  Maggie seemed worried suddenly, almost apologetic. “He asked if Tom and I were married yet, and when I said we were waiting for the baby to arrive, he ... “. She finished in a whisper. “He gave it to me."

  This time, Claire's smile was genuine. “I'm glad he did. You'll look gorgeous in it."

  Maggie beamed, clearly relieved. Claire took another step away from her friend, and she turned back to her again.

  "Please don't tell anyone that I'm back yet."

  With both hands cupped beneath her belly, Maggie stood. “Anything you want. You'll be back to see me, won't you?"

  "Of course. I'll see you soon."

  Claire waved goodbye before walking away for good; behind her, the front door opened and Tom's urgent whispers rose in the night. She ignored them, ignored his fear, then his relief that Maggie was fine. He had reasons to be afraid, she told herself. He didn't know what kind of vampire she was.

  How could he, when she hadn't figured that out for herself yet? Four months on her own, six since she had become a vampire, and the only thing that she knew was that she had never felt so lonely in her life, not even after she had broken up with Jonas. And yet, at the same time, she knew leaving had been the right thing to do, just like breaking her engagement to Jonas had been necessary. In both cases, she would have lied to herself if she had closed her eyes. That didn't make things any easier, however.

  Every night, she looked for a willing victim to feed from, but even in those rare cases when names were exchanged, she felt no connection with her prey—because that was how she thought of them, always. That was how Matthew had taught her to see them, and she couldn't forget this lesson, or any other. If she hadn't needed blood to survive, she would never have talked to most of those people. She was beginning to wonder if Matthew hadn't been right about blood bars too. She still hated putting herself on display, but at least in such a place it was always clear what the offer was. She had been to many different clubs, in the past months, and had realized that, more often that not, humans expected sex in exchange for their blood. As much as she craved the feel of hands on her, of skin against hers, she couldn't bring herself to sleep with her prey; not when the only person she wanted was Matthew.

  Lost in her thoughts, she allowed her memories to guide her to the center of town, and to the apartment building she had only visited once. The elevator still creaked noisily, but this time she barely noticed. She didn't have a key to Matthew's apartment, but she didn't let that stop her. A hard push, and the lock gave in. She entered the apartment on the tip of her toes, unwilling to disrupt the ghosts of her past that might still linger.

  She could see herself, that first night, following Matthew to the bedroom through the darkened apartment. She could see Diane, sitting on
the sofa as though she were on her throne and holding court, could see her rising and coming to her. She took a few steps in the living room. Right here, yes. This was where she had died, thralled, unable to defend herself or plead for her life. She didn't remember the next part, but she imagined it was here too that Matthew had fed her his blood and made her his Childe.

  Continuing her journey through the past, she walked on to the bedroom. The robe she had worn, when awakening in Matthew's bed, wasn't on the chair where she had left it, nor were the sheets rumpled from a day spent in bed with her Sire. She wondered, briefly, who had cleaned up behind them, but it didn't matter. She left her bag at the foot of the bed and stepped out of her shoes to climb onto the bed. The sheets smelled of softener, but if she focused really hard, Matthew's scent was all around her, an almost tangible presence in the room.

  For the first time in four months, she fell asleep in mere moments.

  * * * *

  The horizon, just a moment ago, had been covered by the darkest ink and morning had seemed farther than even the stars. Already though, a touch of light was creeping up, so slow at first that it seemed like nothing more than an illusion, but gradually faster. The black ink lightened, becoming navy then a deep violet.

  "Get in. Now."

  Matthew was moving before he even knew it, leaving the iron scrollwork of the balcony and a half empty glass of blood behind to reenter the apartment. Diane closed the window behind him and pulled the curtains shut in brusque movements that didn't hide her anger. Then again, her voice alone would have been sufficient for Matthew to guess her mood. In more than a century spent by her side, it was only the second time she had used the modulated tones of thrall on him. When she stood in front of him, arms crossed and shaking, her eyes were even darker than the horizon had been a moment earlier.

  "If you think I'm going to let you wait for sunrise—"

  "I was about to come back in."

  His soothing tone didn't work, and when he tried to lay a hand on her arm she moved out of his reach.

  "About to?” She scoffed. “Would that have been before or after you started burning?"

  "I wouldn't—"

  "Wouldn't you?” Her gaze pierced right through him, as though trying to hunt down his deepest thoughts. “You've not been out of here more than a dozen times in four months. When was the last time you fed from a human rather than a bag of blood?"

  Matthew tensed against the onslaught, his hands curling into fists before he forced them open again.

  "I'm just not in the mood to hunt."

  He walked past her and out of the bedroom. She followed him to the kitchen, silent until he had emptied a blood bag into a tall glass and put it to warm. When he turned away from the buzzing microwave, she was right there, so close that he almost bumped into her. Even with her high heels, she had to strain her neck to look at him in the eyes, and yet he still felt like she was looming over him.

  "You're a hunter. There's no ‘mood’ about it. I've watched you hunt since the night I made you and I never, never had a doubt that this was what you were born to be. I'm not going to watch you throw it away because you're too proud to go to her."

  Several seconds passed. They remained immobile, staring at each other. Finally the microwave beeped. Matthew blinked. More than a hundred years spent with Diane; he would have thought she understood him more than that.

  "You don't get it."

  Her gaze hardened but she let him continue.

  "It has nothing to do with pride. It's about having a purpose. Keeping her safe was mine. What am I supposed to do, now? Feed and fuck for the next ten months or ten years until I get tired of it and kill someone just to give a S.E. a reason to stake me?"

  Diane frowned, uncertainty flickering in her eyes before she shook her head. “You have a purpose. Your Childe needs you. If you hadn't pushed her away—"

  "I can't even look at her!” Matthew snapped. “I failed her—"

  "You failed no one, not any more than you failed her mother when she got sick."

  Resentment flooded Matthew. “Claire didn't get sick. You killed her. And I didn't stop you."

  "I did what you'd never have done for yourself.” Her face softened and she reached up to lay her hand on his cheek. “Do you know what I've been seeing, since she started showing up at On The Edge? I've seen the same look in your eyes that you used to have when you talked of turning Helena. The same fire. The same passion."

  Matthew moved back, severing the contact between him and Diane, and bumping in the counter behind him. “No."

  "Yes. You can deny it all you want. I know you."

  He laughed, the sound like crushed glass in his throat. “If you knew me, you'd never have killed her."

  "No, Childe. If I had known you back then as much as I do today, I'd have sired Helena when you talked of doing it."

  Pushing past Diane, he strode out of the kitchen. He started going for the door, but belatedly realized he couldn't go out. The sun had to be up by now. When he turned on his heel, Diane was there once again, pushing her words and unwanted memories back at him. He tried to walk past her again, but she put herself in his way and stopped him until he met her eyes.

  "Claire is not Helena,” he murmured.

  Diane's hand stroked his arm lightly. “No, she's not. But that didn't stop you from falling in—"

  "Don't say it. I didn't. I don't. Vampires don't love. You taught me that."

  Once more, he tried to walk past her, but her fingers tightened on his arm, preventing him from escaping.

  "I was wrong. You told me a hundred times I was wrong. So why did you teach her something you knew was wrong?"

  Matthew bit down on his lower lip, refusing to answer. Admitting that he had lied to Claire about what she could or could not feel would be too close to admitting he was lying to himself as well. Even if it was true, it didn't mean he was wrong for doing it. She was better off on her own, and he told Diane as much.

  "Of course,” she replied with a humorless laugh. “She's much better back in the town of a madman who kills our kind for fun."

  Matthew stared at her in shock. Claire had all but promised him she wouldn't try to go home. He had never imagined it was necessary to warn her he had made sure Jonas would be dismissed from the Special Enforcers ranks. The man had been ready to kill her before, he would not hesitate again if he learned she was in town.

  "She's too clever to do that. She wouldn't put herself in danger that way."

  Diane sighed quietly. Her smile was very soft; a mother indulging her child. “And you're too clever to play hide and seek with the sunrise. Pack your suitcase and get some rest, Childe. We'll leave at nightfall."

  For the second time that night, Matthew felt compelled to obey by a voice that left him no other choice. Diane wouldn't have needed to thrall him, though. He would have gone to Claire regardless, to shake some good sense back into her. She might be a vampire, that didn't mean she was immortal. He had never thought he needed to tell her that in so many words. He would repair his mistake, convince her to get as far away from Jonas as possible, and then he would let her be.

  She'd find someone, eventually, he repeatedly told himself. Someone who would make her happy.

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  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When she first entered the Scarlet Bow, Claire thought that the flickering light descending from the candelabra came from candles. Combined to the large paintings that decorated the walls, most of them portraits of pale figures that didn't belong to this century, it gave her the eerie feeling of stepping back in time. A closer look, however, revealed that the flickering was due to a special kind of light bulbs, and the paintings were lithographs, not originals. She supposed the people who cared about the décor turned a blind eye to these details as long as the general impression suited them. As for herself, she was here for blood; she couldn't have cared less what the blood bar looked like.

  After she paid the cover price, a waitre
ss wearing a long skirt, petticoats, an apron and a lace bonnet guided her through a series of small rooms to a private alcove that reminded Claire of the first blood bar she had visited with Matthew. A pang of longing coursed through her, but she pushed the feeling away.

  She sat down on the padded bench and the waitress pulled a notepad out of her apron's pocket. She didn't ask Claire what drink she wanted however.

  "Do you have preferences as to the human that will join you?"

  Pencil poised, she waited for Claire's answer.

  "I ... a man, I guess."

  "A favorite blood type?"

  Claire stifled the nervous laugh that was trying to rise in her throat. “No, no preference."

  "Very well. I'll be right back."

  Still a little puzzled by the unusual questions, Claire looked around her. She could see two other alcoves from where she sat, both of them closed off by a curtain that fell down to the floor. Quiet talking came from one of them, two women chatting. The sounds drifting from the other one, although just as quiet, were much more explicit and Claire cleared her throat as she looked away. The waitress was coming back, a man following her closely. Rather short in stature, he was at first glance bulky, but when he bowed slightly toward Claire, she could glimpse the play of well-developed muscles beneath his tight shirt. A little taken aback by his formality, Claire half stood and returned the bow.

  "Mistress Caroline, may I introduce you to Sir Falcon. Sir Falcon, Mistress Caroline."

  Falcon, if that was his real name, sat down on the bench next to Claire and she slid farther toward the back on the alcove.

  "Will you be requiring anything else?” the waitress asked.

  Falcon waved her away. Before leaving, she drew the curtains that framed the alcove, enclosing Claire and her prey. Although when he looked at her through hungry eyes, Claire had the brief and uncomfortable feeling of being the hunted, rather than the hunter.

  "I don't think I've ever seen you before,” Falcon said, his voice a deep rumble.

  "It's my first time in this bar,” Claire replied. She tried to ignore how he slid closer to her again, his knee coming to brush against hers, just at the hem of her dress.