Dark Vision (7 page)

And, I wondered as I drifted off into a fitful sleep, I wondered who the girl was. The one who’d died with them in the Volvo that day. There’d been a body, and it definitely hadn’t been mine. So who was this girl? The girl the world thought was me …

I was having a wonderful dream. A dream where silky fingers were stroking my face and shoulders, smoothing strands of hair away from my face. I sighed and rolled on to my back. The touch continued, drifting down along the side of my neck, round to the front of my throat, light and sensual and arousing in all kinds of ways. God, it felt good. Better than good. It felt sinful, and delicious, and … real.

I jerked awake, jumped up, scrambled to the other side of the bed. There was a man in there with me, and it wasn’t Gabriel.

‘Good evening, Lily,’ he said, smiling at my reaction. His eyes – a deep, chocolate brown – were sparkling with laughter. Dark-blond hair, tucked behind his ears. Olive skin, the kind that pegged him as Mediterranean. A body to kill for, draped along the edge of the bed. Where we’d obviously been having, well, some kind of cuddling session.

‘Who are you?’ I snapped, snatching the covers and pulling them in front of me, even though I was fully clothed. Something about his look, his predatory glance, made me feel vulnerable. And confused. And just a wee bit hot.

‘I’m Luca,’ he said. ‘You have nothing to fear from me, Lily.’

He smiled as he said it, but the glimpse of sharp, shining teeth did nothing to make me feel reassured.

‘Why were you touching me?’ I asked. That wasn’t really what I wanted to know – that went more along the lines of, ‘Why didn’t it plunge me into a nightmare world of visions?’ – but it would do for starters.

‘Because I wanted to,’ he said simply, stretching out on the bed like a panther, black T-shirt riding up from jeans and flashing a glimpse of smooth, taut stomach. ‘Because you looked so pretty, like Sleeping Beauty, your skin so white and smooth. I didn’t mean any harm. Anyway, you seemed to like it. You were purring, like a little cat.’

I blushed, suspecting he was right.

‘Please don’t do it again,’ I said. ‘I don’t like people touching me.’

‘Then we have nothing to worry about. I’m not “people”. I,’ he said, letting out a fake Gothic horror-movie laugh, ‘am Vampyr!’

He bared his fangs, and I all but fell off the bed in a tangle of clothes, sheets and panic. He carried on laughing, and my fear was replaced by an urge to hit him with something very, very hard. If this was an example of vampire humour, I wouldn’t be queuing up for the Undead Comedy Club any time soon.

On the other hand, I thought, remembering the way my skin had tingled under his touch, there could be other … advantages.

‘So, you’re dead,’ I said.

‘Technically,’ he replied. ‘But I still have the full complement of male urges, if you get what I mean?’

He winked, leaving me in no doubt at all as to what he meant. And interestingly, I wondered if his non-living status meant I could give in to a few urges of my own. Did normal rules not apply with vampires? Did touching the undead somehow chase away my propensity for mind-numbing visions? Did the fact that he had no human future mean I could get a pass on the brain-freeze? I supposed it made sense … It’s not like I’ve ever had a future-flash when stroking a dog, or anything. Non-human might mean non-invasive, which was damned fine news. I’ve lived with the burden for so long, the thought of losing it, even temporarily, made me giddy.

I looked him up and down, and my newly emerging inner slut gave him the thumbs up. Being dead looked good on him.

I crawled back over the bed, enjoying the flash of surprise on his face as I kneeled next to him. This had been a day for revelations. Painful revelations that were still tormenting my mind. Would it hurt to try for a few that might feel good instead? To find out something new about myself that would result in something other than a full-blown anxiety attack? Maybe I deserved a treat. Just for a minute or two.

I reached out, tentatively touched his arm. Oh. Cold, hard. Nice. I paused: no visions. Ran my hand down to his fingers, linked mine into his. Still no hint of what his future might hold: no tears, no heartbreak, no agonising pain. Nothing apart from the very delicious sensation of my flesh on his. He’d gone very still, and a small warning sign flashed in my brain: he was
absolutely
still, like a predator tricking his prey …

I ignored it, and touched his chest, feeling only one thudding heartbeat where there should have been more. Yep, definitely dead. He looked on in curiosity as I moved further down his body, slipping my hand beneath his T-shirt and up on to his torso. Yikes. That felt really, really good – lots of ridges, smooth skin over hard muscle. Still no visions, not even that tiny spider’s web of sensation that warns me one is on its way. Different sensations instead, as I traced the contours of his abs, then further up. Nipples, erect; a trail of silky hair. Wow. So this is what a man feels like. I suddenly understood why everyone is so obsessed with sex.

‘Might be an idea to stop that now, Sleeping Beauty,’ Luca said, his voice edgy and frightening, all playfulness gone. ‘I may be dead, but I’m not
that
dead. Get away from me for a moment, or I might hurt you.’

I snatched away my hand and flew to the other side of the bed, scrambling off it. I settled myself down in a chair under the window, and hoped that was far enough. Great. I find a man I can touch without fear of seeing the future, and replace it with one that wants to drink my blood. Could life get any more complicated?

Right at that moment, the door to the bedroom burst open, and Gabriel stomped in, puffed up so tall with High Kingly magic he had to stoop to fit under the frame. He was, literally, almost seven feet tall, and built to match. I really needed to add that to the barrage balloon full of questions that were piling up.

His fists were clenched, and he glared at Luca, who was grinning up at him smugly. He was apparently unimpressed by the Popeye routine.

‘Are you all right, Lily?’ said Gabriel. ‘I felt … something odd.’

Ah. Yes. That would be me experiencing full-on sexual arousal for the first time ever. There wasn’t really a polite way to phrase that, so I just nodded, let the blush have its wicked way with me, and stayed quiet.

‘She started it,’ said Luca, unfolding himself from the bed and shoving his way past a now-deflating Gabriel. ‘Quite the little minx, this Mother of the Mortals.’

He waved, leaving the room, and I found myself unable to meet Gabriel’s eyes. I knew they’d be flaming violet. And quite possibly a tiny bit angry.

‘I’m fine,’ I said at last, once I realised he wasn’t going to start the small talk. ‘Luca came to say hello, and, well … did you know that’s the first time I’ve ever touched a man’s chest?’ I blurted out. Dignified, as usual.

‘And that’s the way you chose to start?’ he asked. ‘With a vampire drummer?’

The drummer. Of course. They were always the ones to watch, quietly dangerous in the back. Explained the fabulous arms as well. I quickly shut down that train of thought, uncertain when Gabriel’s pesky telepathy would kick in.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mean to upset you. It was just … I needed it, I suppose. After everything that’s happened. To be able, finally, to touch someone. It’s been … for ever. I got carried away.’

I knew I had no need to apologise. Despite his belief that I was his mate, I still hadn’t consented to that and was, as far as I was concerned, a free agent. But he looked so hurt, so worried, that I wasn’t enough of a heartless bitch to remind him of that. That was probably something I needed to work on.

He nodded, and I could feel the effort it took for him to drop the subject.

‘I understand. Just be careful,’ he said. ‘With Luca. With all of them. They’re allies, but they’re animals. Their control can slip.’

Right. Another gem to add to the list: don’t poke the vampires.

‘Where’s Carmel?’ I asked, deciding to change the subject.

‘She’s gone home to call work – said she was “throwing a sickie”, whatever that means – and she’ll meet us later. She said she needed to feed the cat, but to be honest, I think she was drunk. I need to restock the vodka if she’s coming round again.’

‘And is she? Coming round again? You’re not going to do some, I don’t know, Jedi mind-control trick and erase it all from her memory?’

He sat down opposite me, eyes running over my face, lingering on my neck as though checking for potential vampire mayhem.

‘I could, if that’s what you want. I have the magic to do that. But apart from the alcoholism, she seemed to take it all in her stride. For a mortal. And she is tough, also for a mortal. It would help my mind rest easier if I knew she was with you, when I can’t be.’

I pondered the issue, not overly thrilled at the prospect of a new life where I seemed to be in need of a bodyguard twenty-four/seven. But I needed Carmel as well – not only for babysitting duties, but because she was mine. In this world of weirdness, she was my friend. I didn’t doubt Gabriel’s dedication to his duty, but to him, I was Mabe. Mother of the Mortals and potential consort. To Carmel, I was Lily McCain, retarded pop girl and late-night news desk buddy. And whatever else I got dragged into, she’d always see me as that.

‘Will she be safe?’ I asked, trying hard not to be selfish.

‘I can’t guarantee it one hundred per cent,’ he replied. ‘But we’ll do our best to guard her. It’s something we do well. I have no intention of letting anything happen to you, Lily, or to Carmel.’

‘And Coleen? Nan?’ She might be a grade-A battleaxe, but I was in no rush to sit by that hospital bed.

‘Don’t worry about her. She’s being watched.’

‘Right,’ I said, tucking my knees up to my chin. Ugh. My jeans were smelly. I still hadn’t had that shower. ‘Well, let’s ask Carmel. I’m fairly sure what the answer will be, but we’ll let her make an educated decision. What time is it anyway? I assume after dark, unless Luca’s the kind of vampire who takes sunshine risks?’

‘Luca takes no risks at all when it comes to his own well-being,’ said Gabriel, ‘so don’t worry on his account.’

There was an edge to his voice, a slightly bitter anger I’d not heard before.

‘Are you … jealous?’ I asked, unable to keep the grin off my face. ‘Are you, High King Cormac macConaire, feeling a touch of the green-eyed monster?’

He stood up. His usual height, which was quite tall enough. Looked at me with slight haughtiness, the kind of expression I supposed a High King would have been practising for years.

‘Of course I am,’ he replied. ‘I am consumed with it. I feel the need to run a stake through Luca’s heart, disembowel him and spread his entrails in the midday sun. He touched you in a way you won’t let me touch you. You touched him in return. I felt it all, every one of your breathless sighs, every one of your heartbeats. And I hate him for it. Does that answer your question,
a ghra
?’

Uh. Yeah. I suppose it did. Even if I didn’t know what that last bit meant.

Same time, same place, different world.

We were back at the Coconut Shy, and I was nursing another beer. This time, Gabriel was by my side, as my High King totty, and just a few hours earlier I’d been feeling up the band’s hunky dead drummer boy. And, last but not least, the fate of the whole world now rested upon my shoulders.

What a difference a day makes.

The band – The Cloaks of Darkness – were on stage, doing an ironic cover of The Smashing Pumpkins’ ‘Bullet with Butterfly Wings’. As Isabella, the singer, drawled that opening line about the world being a vampire, my heart constricted: even knowing what she was, I’d have happily walked over and opened a jugular for her.

I tore my eyes away, and instead looked at Gabriel.

‘Why are we here?’ I asked, accepting now that he’d hear me, despite the din.

‘You need to meet some of my people,’ he replied. ‘So you know who is on your side, and who to avoid.’

‘And your people – you – where do you fit in? You look mortal, and you say you’re a king, which
sounds
mortal. But then there’s the whole body-swelling-up thing, and the fact that you talked about humans as “them”. Sorry if it’s a drag but I need to know a few things.’

He nodded, still scanning the room for his killer leprechauns. Or whatever.

‘The High Kings were mortal once. They ruled in Tara, and the Otherworld was the realm of the Tuatha de Danaan – kings, gods, the dead, that kind of thing. And at the start of each High King’s reign, the sacred stone – the Lia Fail – would shout his name, and the new king would be ceremonially mated with Mabe, which would ensure well-being across the mortal lands.’

‘Mabe? That would be me, then?’ I asked, pretty sure I’d not done any ceremonial mating in recent times.

‘No, not then. Then it would be the priestess that represented Mabe in the mortal world. But over the millennia, the lines have become blurred. The lines of the High Kings … mingled, shall we say, with those of the Tuatha de Danaan. The blood mixed, and the race developed. I am the High King of the mortal realm, but I am also a descendant of gods.’

I took a sneaky look at him – the violet eyes and the master-race body – and decided I could believe that. He certainly looked like one, and he was definitely bossy enough to be both.

‘So where do you live, and, you know, hang out? When you’re being human?’

‘Dublin, mainly, sometimes New York. But I move around. I’m what you might call an older man, and too many questions would be asked if I stayed in one place for too long. My body clock doesn’t work in quite the same way as a mortal’s. I can pass as human, but I’m not. I can visit the Otherworld and pass as Tuatha, but I’m not. I’m both.’

‘So … what am I? I feel mortal. I get hangovers. My nails need cutting. I don’t see a goddess when I look in the mirror.’

He laughed and, before I could stop him, stroked my face, with the speed of light.

‘That’s in the eye of the beholder, Lily. But to answer your question, you are the spirit of Mabe, born into human flesh. Your sisters were, also. And I’ve been waiting a very long time for you.’