Children Of Night: Ashes Of The Day Part 9

"I know." She ducked her head and whispered miserably. "I know I did and I know you're angry. I don't blame you for that." She deserved his anger, deserved his confusion. h.e.l.l, she was pretty confused herself right now. "I don't understand what's happening."

"Well," Armand's breath huffed out on an angry-sounding sigh. "That makes two of us then."

"Can't we just talk about it? Please?"

"No." He shook his head when she tried to say more, silencing her with a single word. "No more talking. When you figure things out, you know where to find me. Perhaps I'll be waiting. But, either way, until that time, just leave me alone."

With tears in her eyes, Julie watched him go, the second man she'd somehow managed to lose in one night-all by trying to do the right thing. She thought briefly about calling him back, chasing after him, doing...something. But what was the point? She couldn't even explain to herself what had happened.

All she knew was that, from the moment their lips met, pictures had begun to flash before her eyes, like snapshots. Images of other people, other times, things that might have been. There'd been parties at Christmas and Halloween. She'd seen herself baking cookies in the kitchen, playing hide-and-seek out in the woods...

She wasn't positive, but she was pretty sure she knew what these strange images represented. They were pieces of a life she'd never know, the life she could have, should have, would have had, if her mother had only lived.

If their mother had lived, Julie and Marc could have grown up here, right here in this house, surrounded by family and friends. Armand really would have been Uncle Armand then. Already an adult, but looking not a day younger than he did right now, he'd have been one of the grownups, familiar but unattainable, her mother's other lover and, more likely than not, Julie's own first crush.

Oh, how she would have pined for him then, a hopeless, girlish yearning for something forever out of reach. Even now, she could hear its echo whispering in her mind, like a half-forgotten love song, a melody she couldn't quite place.

Yes, she wanted him now too, more than he knew, apparently. But the thought of what they would have been to one another, if things had been different-what they maybe should have been to one another-was never far away, always there in the back of her mind. How could she ever hope to make him understand how wrong that made her feel?

I think, for people like us-for vampires-it's more true to say, if you love something you must set it free, even when you know it will never come back to you. If you don't, all you'll get to keep forever are your regrets and your memories of having done the wrong thing...

Armand's words to her the other day repeated in her mind. She'd hardly needed him to tell her that, however. It was a truth she'd lived with for years, a lesson she'd learned, maybe not firsthand, but definitely the hard way.

Chapter Ten.

October, 1994 The sound of his front door opening had Conrad glancing up from the book he'd been reading. It was still early in the evening. He was surprised that any of his family would be home again so soon, and even more surprised when Damian sped past the living room without so much as a nod to acknowledge Conrad's presence. That was hardly his usual behavior.

"Is everything all right?" Conrad called, but Damian made no answer. Also not like him. A moment later, Conrad heard him in the kitchen, speaking into the phone. His tone sounded urgent. Conrad put his book aside and got to his feet.

"Yes, I'll hold," Damian was saying into the phone when Conrad entered the kitchen. The hand with which Damian clutched the receiver shook slightly. He had the cord wrapped around his other fist and he was pacing-again, not something he did normally. He appeared more distracted than Conrad could ever remember having seen him-at least in a very long time. In fact, he looked more than distracted. He looked positively distraught.

"Something's happened," Conrad said, stating the obvious. "What's wrong?"

Damian glanced furtively at him, then away again. "It's nothing that need concern you. I just... I may need to go away for a while. Just a short trip. I'm sure you can manage without me for a few days."

A trip? "What are you talking about?" A host of possibilities presented themselves to Conrad's mind, all of them unpleasant, but he refused to be distracted by useless speculation. "Where is it you want to go?"

"Conrad, please. I can't... I don't have time to explain right now."

Oh, no? Conrad's temper sparked. He'd see about that. "Then I suggest you make the time. Put the phone down."

"Not now, Conrad. Please!"

"Yes, now, Damian." Conrad planted his fists on the table and glared, letting all his power rise to the surface, making his words an order Damian could not resist. "Right now. Put down the phone."

Damian gazed beseechingly at Conrad, his expression agonized. He shuddered violently, as though struggling to resist the force of Conrad's will. Although why he still insisted on trying was anyone's guess. Would he never learn?

It was useless. They both knew it. Unless Conrad relented, there could be only one outcome. And, with no idea what was wrong, Conrad did not intend to yield. In less than a minute Damian had turned and replaced the receiver in its cradle.

He was breathing hard when he turned back around to face Conrad, his expression dark with resentment and barely suppressed anger. Conrad was angry himself. He did not like using force-not on one of his own-and he hated being put in the position where he felt he had no other choice.

He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. "Good. Now then, what is this all about? What's happening?"

"It's Paul," Damian said quietly. His voice, laced with pain, shook slightly. "My...my friend Paul. I don't know if you remember him. He-"

"Of course I remember him." Oh, yes. Very definitely Conrad remembered Paul. He ground his teeth, surprised that the mere mention of the young man's name still could evoke such a strong surge of jealousy. "What has your young man done now?"

Damian shook his head. "He's done nothing. It's just... I received a letter from him this evening. He's in the hospital. He-he's dying."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Conrad replied. "He's very young. What's happened to him? Has he had an accident of some sort?"

"No. He has AIDS."

"I see. Well, that is too bad. I am sorry, my dear." He was sorry-for Damian's sake-but he was also, if he were honest, the tiniest bit relieved. Until the rest of Damian's statement sank in. Conrad frowned. "But, what do you mean you had a letter from him? Where? Not here at the house?"

"No. I, uh..." Glancing away, Damian cleared his throat. "I've been keeping a post office box downtown, did I never mention it? I was sure I had. I thought it would be a good idea for us to have a way of receiving mail...elsewhere. In the event there were ever things we didn't want to have delivered here to the house."

"No, you did not mention it," Conrad snarled. "And what kinds of things would those be, I wonder? Other than these letters from people we should have cut our ties to years ago. But we'll discuss that in a minute. First, explain to me, please, how it is that this...this Paul knew to reach you there?"

Damian sighed. "I've kept in touch with him."

"All this time?" So Paul had known about this post office box, but Conrad had not? Splendid. The news tonight just kept getting better. "And did it never occur to you what a terrible risk you were taking with all our lives?"

"Actually, no. I thought we would all be safer that way. Paul had this...this silly idea. He believed I was being abused or coerced, or something. I was afraid he might try and find me again, to a.s.sure himself that I was not in any danger. I thought if he at least heard from me from time to time, it would be enough to...to ease his mind and keep him away."

"Did you really? My dear, you don't seriously expect me to believe that piece of fiction?"

"I don't know what you mean." Damian shrugged. "I a.s.sure you, it's a perfectly reasonable a.s.sumption. If you were to look at the situation from his perspective, you'd probably think the same thing."

"I'm not talking about his perceptions, I'm talking about yours. I've no doubt what you've just said is reasonable. Just as I've no doubt you thought it up exactly for just such an occasion as this. It may be the most perfectly reasonable excuse in the world-but it's an excuse all the same. Perhaps you forget to whom you are speaking, my friend? I've had some experience with how your mind works. If you did not wish to stay in touch with him all these years, you would not have done so."

Damian's shoulders sagged. "Have it your way then. The fault is mine. As usual. But surely you can understand why I did it? He was my friend, perhaps the only true friend I have ever had in all of my life. I couldn't just leave things as they were. I'd hurt him, Conrad. Just because I could never see him again, or even adequately explain to him why that was the case, does that mean I could never even write him a letter apologizing for all the pain I'd caused him?"

His only true friend? And what did that make Conrad then? Despite the denial that raged in his heart, Conrad managed a small smile. "Of course not. My dear, do you really think me such a monster? You cannot possibly believe I would ever deny you the chance to say good-bye to your friend in whatever way you deemed appropriate. Although I will point out it is still possible, even in this day and age, to send someone a letter without including a return address. Is that not so?"

Damian sighed. "Perhaps."

"You still haven't told me the rest. Where is it you think you're going? Can I at least a.s.sume you've not gotten it into your head to go and visit this...friend of yours?"

"Why, yes, of course I am," Damian answered, looking surprised. "Where else would I be going? That's why he wrote to me, Conrad, to ask me to come. It's his last request-how could I refuse? He said he merely wishes to see me one more time before he dies."

Conrad nodded. "I'm sure he does, and I certainly can't blame him for that, but, caro, think! How is this going to work? He has known you for...what is it now? Twenty years all together? Don't you think he might find it the slightest bit strange if you were to arrive at his bedside looking not a day older than you did the night you two met?"

"What difference does it make what he thinks? Who would he tell? And why would anyone believe him? Who would think it anything other than the mad ranting of a dying man?"

Fear clutched at Conrad's heart. "You can't predict how he might react-or how anyone else might react either. Have you forgotten, so soon, what it is to be hunted? It's entirely too big a risk to take. I can't believe you'd even consider anything so foolish."

"But, Conrad-"

"No! And look at what he's dying of-this disease that has appeared so suddenly and has killed so many and for which there's still no cure. Has it not occurred to you how similar this AIDS is to our own blood-plague? Do you not remember the devastation it caused among our kind? Or what I had to do to stop it? What if we are not as immune to this new scourge as we think we are? What if you catch it? What if you die? What if you bring it back and infect the twins?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Damian snapped. "Of course I'm not going to catch it! How would I do that? Merely from being in the same room as him? If it were that communicable, no one would be spared and we'd all have died by now-human and vampire alike."

"So you say now. But, all the same, I fear I must refuse. I'm sorry."

"Did you not just say you would not stop me from saying good-bye?"

"Under normal circ.u.mstances, yes. But I was talking about a letter. Or a phone call perhaps. This-what you're asking now-is far too great a risk. How can you expect me to stand by and watch as you endanger yourself in this fas.h.i.+on? I'm sorry, my dear, but you ask too much."

Damian's face went white. "Conrad...I'm not asking."

Conrad's breath caught. The s.p.a.ce between them seemed to expand outward until he felt as though he were looking at Damian from a very great distance, as though he were looking at a stranger-one whose heart was closed, walled off, one to whom Conrad's opinion no longer even mattered. "Damian..."

"Are you ordering me to stay away from him?"

"Must I make it an order? Is the fact that it's my expressed wish no longer enough for you?"

"I...Conrad, please. I would not have him go through this alone."

"I understand that, Damian, and I sympathize, believe me. I know how you're feeling, but the danger... Surely there must be someone else who might comfort him?"

"No. There isn't. He has no one else. All his friends are gone and his family wrote him off years ago. There's not another soul who dares to stand by his side and face death with him. Besides, even if there had been others, he asked for me." When he spoke again, Damian's voice was close to breaking. "Has it been so long, Conrad, that you have forgotten what it's like for a man to face death? Can you no longer even imagine all the fears and regrets that might prey upon his mind at such a time, the terrible loneliness he must be feeling? What could you possibly lose by letting me be with him for just a little while? It can cost you nothing. Nothing at all! And yet, for him-for me-it would mean everything. Are you really going to refuse me this? You can't be that cruel!"

Nothing? Conrad had to fight to maintain control. It was a struggle just to draw breath. If his fears about the danger involved were even partially justified, such a decision might cost him everything. It might cost him Damian. His heart raged against the possibility. "In what way am I being cruel? By being more concerned with your well being than you are? You pay far too little attention to the matter of your own safety-you always have!"

"Tell me, Conrad, does it ease your conscience to pretend that you're acting out of concern for my well being and not out of spite, not simply in order to punish me for staying in contact with him all these years?"

Conrad's hold on his temper started to slip once again. He snarled a warning, "Damian, that's enough! You go too far."

"Where was your concern for my well-being when the twins were born and you asked me to risk my life to help you raise them? How much thought did you give to my safety when you agreed to aid Georgia in her plans to take over her sire's nest, even though I begged you not to trust her?"

"Not another word. Or else!"

As the threat implicit in Conrad's words. .h.i.t home, Damian stiffened. For a moment, the air between them seemed on the verge of igniting. Conrad stared into Damian's eyes and saw all the fear he'd hoped to avoid reflected there. He saw anger as well, along with resentment and an unquenchable determination to have his own way. But layered beneath all of that, he saw something else; he saw love and concern and a desperate longing-but not for him. The knowledge that another had replaced him in Damian's heart probably shouldn't have hit him as hard as it did, but things had been so good between them of late. He'd believed they stood a chance of someday reconciling, of finding their way back to one another. Had he merely been fooling himself?

Damian's shoulders sagged. He broke off eye contact and looked away, but not before Conrad caught the sheen of tears as they filled his eyes. "Conrad, please." The grief in Damian's voice struck at Conrad's heart like daggers, but it was the hopelessness in his tone that twisted the blades until even the beast felt the pain. "I beg of you, don't do this to me. Not now. Oh, please not now! You can't... Surely you can't mean to keep me from him now? Not when now is all the time we have. You see that, don't you? This is the last chance there will ever be for me to see him, to speak with him, to look into his eyes-just one more time. If you've ever cared for me at all, don't take this from me."

Conrad bowed his head. The beast itself seemed to whimper in defeat. Yes, he did know the pain of which Damian spoke-the pain of losing that which you held most dear. He knew it well. In fact, he was feeling it again right now. His world had once more lost its focus. There was nothing he could do other than to let Damian go. But even that seemed beyond him. He shook his head, growling in frustration at his own helplessness. His jaws seemed fused, his mouth unable to even form the words he needed to say.

"Conrad..."

"Go then!" The despair in Damian's voice finally shook the words loose. Each one felt like a piece ripped out of Conrad's soul. He threw up his hands and forced the rest out as well. "If he's that important to you then go. Get out of here. Now."

Damian stared at him, his eyes wide, his expression terrified. It was as if he were afraid to believe what he'd heard. Afraid to take Conrad at his word.

The doubt in his former lover's gaze had Conrad scowling. He tried to stop it, but his efforts were useless. "Well? Was that not plain enough for you? Is that not what you wanted? What more are you waiting for?"

"N-nothing." Damian grabbed his car keys from the table and headed from the room, his phone call apparently forgotten. Perhaps he was afraid to wait and risk Conrad's changing his mind? Perhaps he was right to be afraid.

"Damian," Conrad called after him.

Damian shuddered to a stop. He paused in the doorway, his expression guarded. "Que?"

"Via con Dios, mi amor."

"Gracias." The barest whisper of a smile curved Damian's lips. "Tu tambien."

And then he was gone. And Conrad was once again alone.

Chapter Eleven.

Paul was asleep when Damian entered his hospital room. He crossed quietly to the bed then stood there for a moment, studying his friend while he slept. Paul had lost so much weight he appeared practically skeletal. Yet there was such a harsh, ethereal beauty to his face it all but stole Damian's breath. Paul's head had been shaved at some point recently. It was covered now with a downy layer of reddish-brown fuzz. It looked fragile and much too delicate, like an overripe peach. A single vein pulsed at Paul's temple, beating out such a rough, erratic tempo that Damian could only stare at it in fascination as fear and a desperate sort of hunger warred within him.

How little effort it would take to tear that vein open; the merest brush of one fang would do it. As it was, he half-expected to see it punch right through the thin skin all on its own. Or perhaps the bleed would be subcutaneous, and Paul's life would rush out in an unstoppable wave, blue blood spreading like a lake beneath the pale, translucent surface.

He couldn't bear the thought, couldn't stand to see Paul's lifeblood wasted like that. The end was drawing near; Damian could sense it. Paul's body was nearly worn out. Once the blood currently flowing in his veins was gone, there'd be no more to take its place.

It was all Damian could do to keep his fangs sheathed and not drain Paul dry, take his essence inside himself and preserve what he could of it. Perhaps that's what he'd really come here for. Perhaps it was what Paul would have wanted him to do...

But no, he'd given up his right to claim anything more of Paul the night he let him go.

"Oh, Pablito." It seemed ironic and unfair, counter to all the laws of nature that Paul, who was still so young, should look so old-especially when Damian considered his own appearance. But what about their situation had ever been fair? When had Fate, that cruel mistress in whom Paul had always put such child-like faith, ever not mocked them? For twenty years Fate had been leading them here-to this room, this moment, this final good-bye-along a road that they themselves had paved with foolish hopes and broken dreams.

Shaking a little with the effort to restrain himself, Damian bent and pressed a gentle kiss against that throbbing vein. Then he whispered in the young man's ear, "I'm here, chiquito. Wake up."

Paul stirred. His lips twitched slightly, but his eyes remained shut. Damian sighed. He straightened up and then stroked Paul's head. His hand still remembered the familiar contours-oh, so well! It was the stubbled surface, however, that caused Damian's heart to ache, reminding him of the night they'd met, of the way he'd run his finger along the young man's jaw, feeling soft skin and a hint of whiskers.

"Paul?" he tried again. "Can you not hear me, Pablito? Will you not wake for me?"

Finally, Paul's eyes fluttered open and focused, with difficulty, on Damian's face. "Damian? Is it really you? I thought... s.h.i.+t, I thought I was dreaming. It was such a nice dream though, I didn't wanna wake from it."

Damian glanced away, unable to meet the heartfelt welcome in Paul's eyes. The love, the yearning, the hope, it was all too much to bear. Just a single glimpse of that pure blue gaze, the shade far too vivid in that pale, gaunt face, the expression far too innocent, and Damian was carried back in time. Twenty years dissolved in an instant. Ignoring the ache in his heart, he spread his arms wide and smiled. "I a.s.sure you, nino, this is no dream." Paul struggled to sit up and Damian hurried forward to a.s.sist him. "Wait! Easy now, chiquito. Let me help you."

Paul sighed. "I'm so glad you're here. I wasn't... I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Que vergenza!" Damian scolded softly. He helped Paul find a more comfortable position on the narrow mattress and then eased in to sit beside him. "What a thing to say. Of course I'm here. Did you really think I would stay away? You should have written me sooner!"