In the Dark (4 page)

Who in the hell would choose to be something like
that
if they didn't have to?

“You know what I think?” He grabbed one of Julie's paperbacks from the stack by the window seat and waved it in her face. “I think you just like the idea of being a vampire 'cause you think it's sexy. I mean, look at this crap you read.” He opened the book at random and read aloud. “…
satisfaction gleamed in the prince's dark eyes as he drew back and looked her over, still licking the last traces of blood from his lips. My blood, Celeste thought, her breasts rising and falling more quickly with the realization. It was her blood, her life force from which he'd been feeding and her body ached with the need to give him more
.”

“Give it back!” Julie reached out to snatch the book from his hand.

Marc smirked. “Is that really how feeding makes you feel? Do your eyes gleam with satisfaction when you do it? Maybe, next time you eat, you could take out your mirror and check to see. Oh, but, wait a minute—” He smacked himself in the head. “Since you're a vampire, I guess you must be invisible in mirrors too, huh?”

“Funny.” Julie gazed at him resentfully. “You know what, Marc? It's called fiction. And, for your information, if it's got a good story and three-dimensional characters, nobody cares if some of the facts are a little sketchy.”

“Whatever.” His anger spent, Marc dropped into an armchair facing his sister. “Think what you want.” Obviously, they could both see their reflections just fine when they looked in a mirror. They didn't need to sleep in their native soil—thank the stars for that! Holy water didn't do a damn thing other than get them wet. And, no matter how debilitating they found sunlight to be, they'd certainly never yet burst into flames when they'd gone out during the day.

As for the question of whether or not they should accept being labeled as vampire when they clearly didn't fit the mythological profile—well, that was a long-dead horse. Not even. It was horse dust. And no amount of beating was ever gonna make it run.

Doesn't any of it bother her,
he wondered. Or did Julie never even think about how weird their lives were, how aimless and disconnected, how relatively empty—and, yes, damn it, how
different
from most other people's.

Like he'd really needed her to point
that
out! Marc knew damn well they were different. He'd always known. There'd never been a time in his life when he hadn't felt that way, even when they were kids. No,
especially
when they were kids. Growing up with no parents. Schooled by private tutors. Moved every four to six years to a new house, a new community, where, once again, they'd be discouraged from interacting with anyone who hadn't been carefully screened by either their grandfather or their uncle—the only two constants in their constantly changing lives.

Then there were the admonitions, repeated over and over again, until they were second nature.
We don't feed in public. We don't show our fangs to the other children on the playground. What's said in this house, stays in this house.
And, most important of all:
You must never tell anyone who or what we really are.

The only trouble with that, Marc thought, as he ran his tongue over the small protuberances on the roof of his mouth that hid his retracted fangs, was that he really didn't know
what
he was, and he wasn't always as certain of the “who” part as he'd like to be either. Despite having grown up in their care, the twins had always known that neither Conrad nor Damian were biologically related to them—or to each other, for that matter.

Obviously, they'd had parents at some point, but no one had any idea who their father had been and, other than her name and a few bare facts about her, neither of their “father figures” seemed to know very much about their mother either. Certainly they didn't like talking about her. Who was she
,
he wondered for what had to be the trillionth time. How did she die? Why were the events of their birth shrouded in such secrecy?

“Do you think she was ever here?” Julie asked suddenly.

Marc shrugged, not even a little surprised that his sister should be reading his mind. There was nothing new about that, was there? “Our mother? Probably. She and Conrad had to have met somewhere, right?”

Julie's mouth tightened. “That's another thing. How are we going to find Conrad? I mean, what are we, the FBI? Damian can't seriously be expecting us to do this on our own, can he? There's gotta be someone else he could call.”

“Ghostbusters?” Marc teased. He shook his head. “Beats me. I guess there has to be something we can do to help.”

“Like?”

“I dunno—things! Ask questions? Snoop around? Hell, Jules, you know Damian—I'm sure he's got some devious plan in mind.”

 

Devious? Was that another dig? Julie frowned at her brother, but before she could open her mouth to call him on his choice of words, she was startled by a knock on the door that led out into the hall. “Who is it?” she called.

“It's Armand. Just checking that you have everything you need. May I come in?”

What now?
Julie's gaze flew to Marc's face, but he was already on his feet, silently retracing his steps across the room. “Go,” he mouthed silently. “Answer the door. Find out what he wants. Ask questions.”

Ask questions?
Julie stared in consternation as her brother slipped back into the bathroom, leaving the door behind him ajar.
What kind of questions? Questions about what?
She stared irresolutely after Marc—not missing the point of the open door. So, he thought he could just listen in on her private conversations now, did he? She couldn't decide whether that made her feel safe or merely spied upon.
Eavesdropper
.

She was tempted to close the door on him, and lock it as well, before letting Armand in. It would freak Marc out if she did something like that, and serve him right to boot. But how smart would it be? Considering Conrad was missing and Damian didn't know who to suspect, it was probably not very smart at all. So, in the end, she left things as they were, plastered her brightest, most unconcerned expression on her face and went to answer the door.

“Hey there, Armand,” she said, pulling the door to the hallway open just as he'd raised his hand to knock again. “Whazzup?”

He looked startled for an instant. An odd half-smile flickered to life on his lips. His too-intense eyes swept her face, taking inventory of her every feature. For far too long.

“See something you like?” she inquired, when she could think of nothing else to say.

“Yes,” he replied, still staring. He colored abruptly and dropped his gaze. “Sorry. You caught me by surprise. When you answered the door just now, you sounded…so young.”

She sighed, having heard it all before. “Yeah, well, I'm not really as young as I look.” Then it was her turn to blush when his smile turned mocking.

“
Ah, mais oui
. That goes without saying. Who of us is, eh?”

“Right.” Julie nodded. “What was I thinking?”
House full of vampires. No one's as young as they seem. Gotta remember that.
It shouldn't be so hard, really. After all, when had she
not
lived in a house full of vampires? But that was different. That was Marc and Conrad and Damian. It struck her, suddenly, that the only people she'd ever been able to open her heart and explain her deepest thoughts to, were the very people who'd never needed the explanation in the first place. Because they already knew everything there was to know about her.

Now that she thought about it, it kinda sucked. And, apparently, it showed on her face.

“Why so sad?” Armand asked softly. “Has something upset you?” His expression veered between curiosity and concern as he glided closer.

“Of course not.” Forcing another smile, Julie backed into the room a step, relinquishing her grip on the doorknob in the process. “It's nothing. So…um…what did you say you were here for again?” With nothing else to hold onto, she crossed her arms and held herself.

Armand shrugged. “I didn't mean to disturb you. I just wanted to be sure you have everything you need. I was about to retire for the night when it occurred to me to ask.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. I think I do.” She had no idea how long she'd be here, or what she'd be doing, so how could she know what she'd need? Except a GPS lock on Conrad's whereabouts, of course. That would have come in handy. Too bad that wasn't the kind of thing Armand would likely be able to supply.

“You don't sound very certain,” he observed, cocking his head to one side and smiling once again, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Perhaps I should stay until you are? We can discuss the possibilities.”

“I'm sure that's not necessary,” she answered firmly, managing to sound a whole lot calmer than she felt. She glanced at the door, now sadly out of reach, but if he got the hint she wanted him to leave, he ignored it.

She could simply ask him to go—claim exhaustion, or whatever, claim he really
was
disturbing her—but she was sure he'd see through her excuses and she was strangely reluctant to admit to how unaccountably nervous his presence made her. Maybe she should just shove him out the door? Sure, he'd likely think her rude, but could he really resist anything that blatant? The only trouble was she was even more reluctant to lay hands on him. Besides, maybe she shouldn't be sending him away so quickly. Marc was expecting her to ask questions, wasn't he? “So, do you live here too?”

Armand nodded. “I have my own apartment downstairs, a small efficiency on the first floor.” She must have looked impressed because he smiled and added, “What can I say? Old habits are sometimes hard to break.”

What old habits would those be?
“Damian said there were only a few people living here. Do you all have separate apartments?”

He shook his head. “No. Just me. Of course, Conrad and Damian each have their own suite of rooms—on either end of this floor, as it happens. Everyone else has individual rooms, most of them on the upper floors.”

“Like this one?”

“Not exactly.” Armand cast a thoughtful eye over the room and Julie glanced around as well, noticing anew the plum-colored silk on the walls, the velvet drapes, the rosewood and red marble furnishings. “These rooms are among the nicest. They're generally larger than the ones upstairs and a little more elegantly furnished. Conrad likes to keep them in reserve for his special guests or more important visitors.” His gaze returned to her face. There was a hint of a question in his eyes, as though he were assessing her just as he had the room.

He's probably wondering why I rate such a nice room,
Julie couldn't help thinking
.
Wasn't that ironic? Here she was, wondering how it was
he
rated an entire apartment to himself. Or, maybe that wasn't where his thoughts were trending at all.

“If you're interested, I'd be happy to give you a tour of the house. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“I'd like that,” Julie said while she wracked her brain for a natural-sounding way in which to bring the conversation back around to Conrad. “So, I guess Conrad's had this place for a while then, huh?”

“Since it was built, I believe, or shortly thereafter. Although, of course, he doesn't live here all the time.”

“Oh, doesn't he?” Julie consciously widened her eyes, going for an innocent expression, attempting to sound only minimally curious—and mentally crossing her fingers that he wouldn't see right through the act. “My mistake. I was under the impression this was sort of his home base.”

A shadow seemed to cross Armand's face. “For the most part, yes. He does like to travel from time to time, however, and—just like now—he doesn't always keep us apprised of his whereabouts when he goes.”

“Is that what you think he's doing now—traveling?”

“I have no idea what he's doing now,” Armand answered and, this time, both his face and his voice were without expression. “Perhaps you should ask Damian about that. If he doesn't know, then I really don't know who would.”

Julie nodded, hurrying into speech to hide her disappointment—and her fear. “So, did more people used to live here or something? 'Cause it seems kind of strange that he'd choose such a large house if he wasn't planning on filling it.”

Armand shrugged once again. “Not so strange, really. It would be difficult to keep our activities secret if the permanent population were to become too extensive, but a house this size still comes in handy. Situations arise. It seems as though there are always a few of our people who find it desirable to…disappear from their regular lives for a while. It's convenient to have a place like this for them to come home to. Also, at one time, Conrad was in the habit of throwing very large house parties. It used to be the case that, on most weekends, nearly every room in the house was occupied.”

“Used to be?” Remembering the party they had interrupted with their arrival tonight, Julie found herself smiling. “Things looked pretty lively tonight. You're saying it's different now?”

Armand sighed. There was a bleakness in his voice when he answered, a hint of buried sadness that hadn't been there before. “I'm saying…things haven't been the way they used to be for quite a while.”

“What happened?” Julie asked softly. She wasn't even sure why she was asking, and she could all but feel Marc, on the other side of the door, seething in frustration as she pursued a line of questioning that couldn't possibly be connected with their mission, couldn't possibly yield the answers they sought. Connected or not, she was certain there was a story here, one she suddenly wanted very much to hear. “What changed?”

Armand stared at her for a moment without speaking. Something in his eyes told Julie this was one story he was not yet ready to tell. “Life happened,” he answered at last, shrugging slightly as he dropped his gaze once again. “Isn't that what they say? Change is the only constant. It's the one thing in life you can always count on.”