Now Comes the Night (27 page)

“I see.” Drew shook his head. “Well, it’s certainly a worthy goal.” And about as impossible to achieve as anything else they’d discussed so far tonight. It was also clearly useless to argue that point. “But how can I entice you to come back to Akeldama?”

Marc sighed. “I don’t know man. I think it might be awhile. I’m still getting used to this.” He gestured at his eye patch. “And, in the meantime, I’d hate to put your customers off their feed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Drew scoffed. “If anything, your injury is an asset. With that patch over your eye, you look like Hollywood’s idea of a pirate. Women love a wounded hero. Haven’t you ever heard that? You’ll have to beat them off with a stick. Besides, what do you do here all night? It can’t be as entertaining as what you’re used to.”

“Now there’s where you’re wrong.” Marc drained his glass. His smile seemed just the slightest shade of bitter as he poured himself some more brandy. “It’s very entertaining here. Kind of like being on the island of misfit toys. You know, from the old Christmas special?”

“Misfits.” Drew grimaced. “Yes, I’ve no doubt. How do you put up with them? I admit that girl—Heather—seems vastly improved since you’ve taken her under your wing. I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but I’m convinced the results you’ve achieved are due at least in part to her being so young. You can hardly expect the same from the rest of them.”

“We’ll see about that,” Marc answered grimly. “I’ve given them my word I’d help them, and failure’s not an option.”

Drew frowned. Mindful of his orders he inquired, “Does Conrad know what you have in mind?”

Marc blinked in surprise. “Do you know you’re the second person who’s asked me that this week? Hell yes he knows. At least… Well, he knows they’re here, and he knows I’m working with them. He hasn’t asked me anything else about it, so I figure that’s good enough for now. I’ll tell him more when the time is right.”

“Let’s hope Conrad agrees with your way of thinking. He’s no one to trifle with, you know.” The same could be said for Georgia. Drew could not help but grimace as he thought about that. He hoped the meager information he’d gathered would be enough to satisfy the lady.

Marc smiled grimly. “I think I can handle Conrad.”

Drew was in no way certain of that. “I hope you know what you’re doing, my friend. In the meantime, the offer still stands. I miss having a partner and I’m sure, in the long run, it would be a much healthier path for you to choose. Anytime you want to come back, your job will be waiting. If you just want to visit, that would be welcome as well. I will make every effort to ensure you don’t feel out of place.”

Marc nodded. “Thanks, Drew. I appreciate that. More than you know.”

“Well, then…” Drew drained his glass. “I guess there’s nothing else to say. It’s getting late. Are you coming back to the mansion? Perhaps we could take a run through the park on the way?”

Marc shook his head. “It’s tempting, but I’ll have to pass. I still have some work to do here.” His eyes strayed to the duffel bag Heather had left behind. “I’ll probably just crash on the couch.”

Drew eyed the bag as well. It would be nice to be able to give Georgia a complete report on Marc’s interests. “I’d be happy to stay for awhile and help you translate, if you’d like? You’re not the only one with an interest in history, you know.”

Marc smiled. “Thanks, but I kind of promised Heather we’d go over them together.”

Drew inclined his head, accepting the inevitable with as much grace as he could muster. “Ah. Of course. Can’t disappoint the lady, can we?” He could only hope the other lady—the one he’d have to answer to—wouldn’t be disappointed either.

After Drew left, Marc poured himself a little more brandy then went to sit behind his desk. Someone had patched the radio into the warehouse’s sound system. Christmas music echoed throughout the nearly deserted building. Marc smiled at the irony. If Georgia had thought it strange for vampires to celebrate Halloween, he could only imagine what she’d think of this. The familiar music put him in a nostalgic frame of mind, reminding him of his childhood, of all Damian’s attempts to ensure he and Julie felt normal. Not that they ever really did, still he’d always made the effort. As had Conrad in his own way.

Marc had never doubted Conrad’s devotion to him and to his sister. As a boy, he’d idolized his “grandfather” and wanted his approval more than almost anything else in the world, but nothing Conrad or Damian did could ever completely take away Marc’s sense of isolation. It had been bad enough growing up vampire in a world full of humans, feeling lonely and different so much of the time, feeling at odds with those around him. But now, faced suddenly with the possibility—no, the probability—that he would never find a place where he truly fit in, not even among other vampires, that he was an oddity even among the misfits, he felt more alone than ever.

Hoping for distraction, he pulled one of the map cases out of the duffel bag and studied it idly. Antique parchment. Latin scrolls. That had to be just about the last thing he’d ever expected his little scavenger hunt would turn up. It must be connected to Audrey though, because the odds of anything that old or obscure having been left behind, hidden in this not-that-old industrial space by anyone else, would be entirely too much of a coincidence. Even more of a coincidence than Drew showing up here so soon after Georgia’s visit. They were both too far-fetched to be believed.

Not that Marc held it against his friend. He didn’t doubt the sincerity of Drew’s offer, or his concern, and if they’d both given each other something to think about tonight, well, fair was fair, after all. Marc wasn’t altogether certain what use Drew would make of the information Marc had given him, but at least now Marc had a glimmer of understanding as to what lay behind Conrad and Damian’s continued insistence that the twins keep their past a secret.

Dangerous…

How ironic that Drew should use that term, or that the very claim Marc had made to Nighthawk only a short time earlier, should come back to bite him in the ass. Apparently, he was both more dangerous than he’d ever imagined and more endangered as well. Small wonder he felt such a kinship with the ferals—other outcasts like himself. It seemed, perhaps, he was more among his own kind with them than he’d ever been in his life.

Chapter Fifteen

March, 1983

The fencing foil felt as though it were made of lead. It weighed heavy in Marc’s hand as he fumbled yet another attempt to parry Conrad’s thrusts. Sweat prickled along his hairline. He shook his head and blinked several times to clear his vision. It didn’t help.

“Focus, Marc,” Conrad urged impatiently. “Watch what you’re doing.”

Too winded to speak, Marc could only nod in response. The nervous excitement welling inside him made it nearly impossible to concentrate. He felt weaker and slower than ever before. And never in all his thirteen years had he ever been
this
hungry. But those were all good things, wonderful things. They were signs his plan to turn himself human by eating only human food and eschewing blood was working.

Even the fiery sensation deep within his bones, as though his very marrow had been set ablaze, had to be an indication he was on the right track, didn’t it? As a vampire, he’d never suffered from such things before. Colds, fevers, flus, any of the myriad ailments that afflicted humans, were unknown to him. He’d read about them, though. Literature was filled with vivid descriptions of such things, and he had no doubts this is what he was experiencing now. If he’d already contracted a human disease, could the final transformation be far away?

Another thrust. Another miss. The button of Conrad’s foil jabbed into Marc’s arm and he winced at the unexpected pain. “Ow.”

Conrad scowled. “Stop playing games! What is it that has you so preoccupied tonight?”

“Sorry,” Marc mumbled fighting against the sudden compulsion to confess. He wasn’t sure how Conrad would react to the news, but he doubted he’d be pleased. More than likely, he’d see it as a rejection of himself, his way of life. Perhaps he’d even order Marc to stop. That was a chance Marc wasn’t willing to take. Better to keep quiet until it was too late for anyone to try and interfere.

“Very well,” Conrad sighed. “Let’s try it again, shall we?”

Marc nodded once more, already panting with the effort, trying his best to ignore the dizziness, the hunger—as well as a sudden pang of regret. How disappointed would Conrad be when he learned what Marc had done? Letting his grandfather down was the last thing Marc wanted. If only there was some other way to accomplish his goal. If only…

A sharp blow to his sternum startled Marc out of his daze. His breath lodged in his chest. “Damn it, boy,” Conrad growled. “This is ridiculous! Why do you waste my time in this fashion?” But Marc made no answer. The words died on his lips as his vision went black and he felt his feet slipping out from under him. The jolt as he hit the floor forced the air from his lungs. Consciousness lingered for just a moment longer. He could hear Conrad calling frantically for Damian, then nothing.

The scent of blood pulled Marc back to consciousness. His fangs descended as he reached, without thinking, for the sustenance he craved. Almost too late, he stopped himself.

“No,” he protested, pushing aside the plastic IV bag, and the hand that proffered it. “Get it away. I won’t eat it!”

“Come,
chico
.” Damian murmured in response. “You gave it a good try, but enough is enough.”

Marc shook his head. “No. No blood. I was doing okay without it. It was working.”

Damian sighed. “Even if that were so, Marc, it’s time to end this experiment. I cannot have you passing out. Surely you can understand that? Just drink a few sips for me, like a good boy. After that I’ll get you something else, if you wish.”

“No.” Marc clamped his lips together and shut his eyes once more, hoping to block out at least the sight of temptation.

“Marcus!” Conrad thundered from somewhere behind Damian. “Enough of this nonsense. Do as you’re told. At once!”

Marc’s eyes flew open. He glanced up, startled. He hadn’t even noticed Conrad looming over Damian’s shoulder, his face taut with worry and concern. Guilt struck at Marc’s heart. He transferred his gaze to Damian and glared at him reproachfully. “You said you wouldn’t tell him! You promised.”

Damian grimaced. “A promise?
Sí.
But what choice did I have after you passed out at your poor grandfather’s feet and scared him half to death? Or would you rather I let him continue to think he’d nearly killed you?”

“No.” Marc dropped his gaze. “Of course not.” It was bad enough that he’d embarrassed himself in front of his grandfather. The idea that Conrad had been frightened on his behalf, that he’d thought it was somehow his fault, was even worse.

“Now, come,” Damian murmured enticingly. “It’s just a little bag. Why not drink it up? It will make
me
feel better—if nothing else. And then you may have whatever else you like. I have a roast in the oven already and I’m making cookies and…” Before Damian could finish, Conrad interrupted him. Growling, he grabbed Damian by the arm and hauled him to his feet.

“Give me that,” he snarled as he snatched the bag from Damian’s hand. “And get out of here. Now. I want you out of my sight.”

“What?” Damian gazed at him in surprised dismay. His face ashen, he cast an uncertain look in Marc’s direction. “Wh-where is it you want me to go?”

“I don’t
care
where you go. Just leave. Now.”

“But… No, Conrad, what are you talking about? You can’t— The boy
needs
me.”

“I know what the boy needs.” Conrad eyes snapped and seethed with fury. Damian seemed to wilt a little under his glare. “I know what he needs far better than you do, it seems. Now, I’m warning you, Damian. You know how little I like repeating myself. Do
not
make me do so again. Go
away
!”

“Conrad…please.”

Conrad’s face grew darker. He grabbed Damian by the arm once again. “Listen to me,
hidalgo
, and heed what I say. I can promise you the boy will come to no harm in my care tonight, however I cannot say the same for you. I’m angry, Damian. I’m
very
angry. And I think we both know what that means. So if you’ve any wish to survive this night with your skin intact you will
leave…my…sight
.” As he finished speaking, Conrad thrust Damian away. “Go!”

Damian looked stunned. His face, already pale to start with, had turned an even more sickly shade during Conrad’s speech. Now, a shudder wracked his frame. He cast just one more quick, worried glance in Marc’s direction, then turned and hurried from the room without so much as another word to either of them. He didn’t see the momentary slump in Conrad’s shoulders, the agonized expression on his face as he stared helplessly after him—but Marc did. Knowing he was the cause of so much pain and unhappiness left him feeling even worse than before. Misery washed over him and he couldn’t stop the low moan that broke from his lips and brought the full force of Conrad’s attention back upon him.

“Take this.” Conrad shoved the bag at him again. “Drink it down. All of it. Now.”

Marc frowned mutinously. “Now” appeared to be Conrad’s new favorite word, if his present overuse of it was anything to go by. Marc opened his mouth to say as much, to protest the order he’d just been given—and to protest Conrad’s treatment of Damian, as well—but Conrad cut him off with a look.