Edge of Twilight (28 page)

“There's Tam,” she said, waving as Tamara came out the front door, onto the curving, elegant front steps, framed by twin pillars. Amber hurried forward, hugged Tam hard. Tamara wore jeans and a lacy white blouse, her long black curls draping over her shoulders like a shawl. Amber sighed, glad to see her dear friend again.

“It's been so long, honey. How are you?”

“I'm good. I…there's a lot to talk about, Tam. So much.” She lowered her eyes briefly, then brought her head up again as she heard Edge's footsteps. She glanced his way. “Tamara, this is Edge.”

“I've heard a lot about you,” Tam said, reaching out a hand.

Edge took it briefly. “Not as flattering as the things I've heard about you, I'm sure. Hope you'll give me the benefit of the doubt, though.”

He smiled a little when he said it, but Amber picked up a little undercurrent. Was he really concerned what these people thought of him? That would be a switch.

“I heard you saved Amber's life—a couple of times now, according to my last talk with her mother. That's good enough for me.” She stepped aside. “Come on inside. Everyone's waiting.”

Edge walked beside Amber into the house. She glanced up at him, wondered if he were nervous, or if there was something else wrong with him. He seemed off, somehow.

Tam led them into an elegant sitting room, every piece of furniture an antique. Eric had always had a penchant for oversized, chunky wooden pieces from various ages and cultures, and it showed here. Four men sat waiting. Dante and Donovan, Roland and Eric. All four rose to
greet them. Of them all, Roland was the only one who was formally dressed. He wore a dark suit, crisp white shirt underneath with a tab collar.

Amber didn't sense any underlying animosity in any of them, and suspected her mother hadn't told them her little secret. Probably just as well.

She took the little vial from her shoulder bag, held it out to Eric. “This is a sample of the formula Stiles made from my blood the last time he held me. We sent an equal amount back to Salem, for Will. But…this is all there is.”

Eric took it, nodding. “I've been running tests on Stiles's blood since Roland, Donovan and Dante brought him here. But…”

“No luck?”

Eric shook his head. “Oh, there's been luck. All of it bad. The man's blood is deteriorating. Rather rapidly, I'm afraid. Whatever changes had occurred in him are reversing themselves. In other words, he's aging.”

Amber frowned. “He told me it would be several more weeks before that happened.”

“He likely thought that was true.”

“He told me he only needed the formula every six months or so,” Amber said.

“This time…something's different.”

Amber frowned. “What?”

Eric shook his head. “I don't know.” He held up the vial. “With this I may be able to duplicate the process he used, though.”

“And when you do, we'll create a fresh batch for Willem.”

He averted his eyes. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He glanced at Edge. “You're famished.”

“I'm way ahead of you, my friend,” Roland said.

He'd slipped away, Amber realized, and she'd been too caught up in her talk with Eric to have noticed. But he'd returned now with a cut crystal goblet on a silver tray. He offered it to Edge.

Frowning, Edge took the glass, sniffed at it, then drank the contents down. “Fancy,” he said, replacing the glass on the tray. “Thanks, I feel better already.” Then he turned to Eric. “Where are you keeping Stiles?”

“Edge…” Amber began.

He met her eyes. “I'm not going to kill him, Alby. Yet. I just want to see him.”

She held his gaze, trying to read him. Did she dare believe him? Donovan stepped between them. “I'll take you to him. He's in one of the bedrooms upstairs.”

“Has he given you any information about how all this works?”

“No, nothing,” Donovan said. “Come on, it's this way.” The two of them went up the stairs.

Sighing, Amber turned to Tam. “He's got a very old grudge against Stiles. He's been hunting him for more than forty years.”

“Do you know why?” she asked.

Amber nodded. “Edge was kind of…mentor and protector to a small group of fledglings. Street kids who'd been transformed young and abandoned by their sires.”

“Just as he was,” Tamara whispered. Then she met Amber's eyes and clarified. “Donovan explained the circumstances.”

“Edge loved those kids. He hasn't told me so, but I've felt it. Stiles butchered them. All of them.”

“Oh my God.” Tamara closed her eyes, shook her head. “Do you think Edge will try for Stiles again here?”

Amber swallowed hard. “I don't think he'd lie to me. But…just in case…”

“We'll keep an eye on Stiles, Amber. Don't worry,” Dante promised. “Go on. Go to the lab with Eric. You two have your work cut out for you.”

Sighing, Amber nodded and followed Eric through the depths of the house and into his lab. “Have a seat, Amber. I suppose the first thing I ought to do is take another small sample of your blood.”

She felt her lips thin, knowing that within a few moments Eric would likely know the secret she was keeping. Still, she took off her long sweater.

Then she went utterly still, staring down at herself, at her belly. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

Eric turned, stared at her with wide eyes, and blinked slowly. “Is there…something you forgot to tell me Amber?”

 

Edge walked into the bedroom with Donovan at his side and took a look around. Plush carpet, elegant queen-sized bed laden with plump, soft bedding and pillows, soft lighting, a crystal water pitcher and glass on an antique stand near the bedside.

“Who's idea was this?” Edge asked bitterly.

“Sorry?”

“Well, when he takes one of ours, they get a dungeon or a cage. Who decided to give him the presidential suite?”

Donovan sighed. “Vengeance isn't the Marquands' style, Edge. Besides, they don't have cages or dungeons here.”

“Aren't they worried he'll escape?”

“Go on. Go take a look at him.”

Edge rolled his eyes, but he moved forward to the bedside. He stopped when he could see the man's face. The
plump covers had blocked his view from the doorway, but now he saw it.

Stiles lay in the bed, his face pale, creased with lines that hadn't been there before. And his hair had gone utterly gray. He opened his eyes weakly, spotted Edge and didn't even look panicked. He muttered, “Good. I've been hoping you'd show up. Kill me and end this.”

Edge pursed his lips, ignoring Stiles as if he were a piece of the furniture. “He looks twenty years older. What the hell happened?”

“We don't know. It's more than the elixir wearing off, though, but I think Eric was trying not to send Amber into a panic. If the Ambrosia-Six had worn off, then, according to the notes we have, he would have begun aging again, but only up until he reached his true chronological age. That's not what's happening here. Within just a short time he's aged beyond that, and there's no end in sight.”

Edge tilted his head, probed into Stiles's mind. “He knows what caused this,” he said at length.

“Yes, we sensed the same. But he's not talking.”

“Oh, he'll talk.”

“Edge, I can't let you…”

Edge looked at the man in the bed again. “At this rate, he'll be dead in a few weeks anyway. Surely you don't intend to stand by and let him take his secrets with him.”

Donovan lowered his head. From behind them, Tamara's voice came softly. “No, Edge,” she said. “We don't intend that at all.”

Both men turned to face her.

“We only hope we can discover what we need to know without resorting to violence. Or torture.”

“And if you can't?” Edge asked.

Tamara lowered her eyes. “We still have time.”

Edge pursed his lips, turning to look at Stiles and addressing him for the first time. “Well, old man, it looks as if you have a bit longer to decide to tell us what you know. But not much longer. I don't have the qualms these people do.”

Turning, then, he strode out of the room, but he'd only gotten into the hallway when he felt the rush of pure panic hit him. Not his own…but Amber's.

“Alby?”

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He lunged down the hall to the staircase, down it and through the sprawling house, following his sense of her. He didn't slow down, even when he realized others were following. He didn't have to think, to look into empty rooms, to wonder which door would lead to her. He just knew, and then he found that door and flung it wide.

She turned slowly to face him, her lips forming soundless questions, her eyes wet and frightened…her belly swollen so much that the fabric of the loose fitting sundress was near to tearing.

“Oh my God,” Tamara whispered from behind him. “Amber…Amber, are you…pregnant?”

Amber held Edge's eyes, never looking away, and he held hers. “Yes,” she said. “I have been for almost a week now.”

“A week? But—” Tam didn't finish the sentence, ending instead with a little gasp.

“I thought I was just getting bloated. And maybe a little fat, since I've been eating nonstop…but this…”

“I don't understand,” Edge said softly.

Amber whispered, “Something's wrong, Edge. Something is terribly, terribly wrong.”

He shook his head in vehement denial and moved for
ward, pulling her into his arms and hoping to God she couldn't feel the paralyzing fear inside him, or the trembling that was starting down deep in his bones.

S
he let him hold her for the space of a heartbeat, but then suddenly she ripped herself away, turned and ran through the house. Edge took a single step, but the sprite-like Tamara stepped into his path and placed a soft hand on his chest. “She needs to cry it out, Edge. And she's not going to do it in front of you.”

“Why the hell not?”

She smiled softly, as if she knew things he didn't. Myriad things he didn't. “I'll go to her…for now. Maybe you can stay and figure out just what it is my husband thinks he's on to.”

Edge spun around to stare at Eric, who was hunched over a computer screen, hitting the scroll button rapidly. He wasn't idly browsing; he looked like a man in search of something specific.

“What? What is it?”

Eric shook his head. Tam was already gone, on her way up the stairs again. Donovan and Dante withdrew quietly, maybe to give him some space. But Roland came farther into the room, clapping a hand on Edge's shoulder. “Give Eric a moment. He'll tell us as soon as he's figured it out.
Meanwhile, my new friend, I suppose congratulations are in order. This is nothing short of a miracle.”

Edge shot him a glance. “Might be a bit premature for that, Roland.”

“Not if you've won Amber's heart, my boy.”

He glanced up at the man, about to say he hadn't even come close, but then decided that it wouldn't be exactly flattering to Amber to tell her family that she'd slept with a man she didn't love. “What the hell can be going on? How can she be that…that big this early?”

Roland shrugged. “Are you certain about the date you…er, that is, you and she…”

Edge nodded. “She was a—” He bit back the words, started over. “It was her first time. There can be no mistake. And it's not something I'm likely to forget.”

“Here it is—here. Right here.” Eric shot to his feet, reading aloud from the computer screen. “Alicia sent this e-mail while we rested. It's some of Stiles's most recent notes, taken from a disk she found at the Athena house. Listen to this. ‘Ambrosia-Seven is ready to be tested, and even though I shouldn't need another treatment for several weeks, what better test subject than myself? In truth, I've been convinced for some time that more frequent treatments might increase my physical strength and psychic powers. I only hesitated putting it to the test due to the limited supply of Ambrosia-Six. Now, with a source in hand and plans to…' Oh my God.”

“What?” Roland asked, alarmed.

Edge only stood still, his face grim, jaw tense.

Eric met his eyes briefly before reading the rest. “'Now, with a source in hand and plans to clone all the future sources I will ever need, there's no longer reason for delay. Tonight I begin the new treatment.'” Eric looked up from the computer screen and met Edge's eyes once
more. “This entry is dated the night you and the others rescued Amber from him.” He searched Edge's eyes. “Did Stiles do it? Did he inject himself?”

Edge shrugged. “How the hell would I know? What difference does it make, anyway? It has nothing to do with what's going on with Amber and my son.”

“It has everything to do with Amber and your…” Eric paused there. “Son? You…already know?”

Edge nodded, turned to pace away, pushing a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry I barked at you. I'm a little…”

“On edge?” Roland asked.

Edge grimaced but knew the lame attempt at humor was only an effort to lighten the mood. Sighing, he faced Eric again. “The man was in his bed, in his pajamas, when we kicked the doors in. Anything he had planned to do that evening, he would have already done. So chances are, if he didn't change his mind, he had already injected himself with this…Ambrosia-Seven.”

Eric nodded. “Makes perfect sense.”

“Not to me.”

“I'm afraid it's as lost on me, as well, Eric,” Roland said. “Explain, please.”

“Stiles is aging at an accelerated pace. The baby also seems to be developing at a faster than normal pace.” He shot Edge a look. “You're sure this is your child?”

Edge must have looked murderous, because Eric quickly held up a calming hand. “I mean, are you certain this pregnancy isn't the result of Stiles implanting her with a cloned embryo?”

Edge calmed himself, nodded. “I'm sure. She was pregnant before he took her.”

He met the man's eyes. “Don't bother asking how I know, just trust that I do.”

“All right.” Eric frowned hard, so hard that Edge thought his brain must be processing ideas and thoughts and information as fast as a computer.

“So something about Amber's blood speeds up the aging process?” Edge asked, eager to be clear on this.

“Yes, apparently, but that wasn't the case before. Her blood…it must be different now than it was before the pregnancy.”

“Could the pregnancy be to blame for that?” Roland asked, while Edge's mind reeled.

“Could be. I'd say it's the most likely bet.”

Edge shook his head, holding up his hands. “I was burned—badly burned—the other day. Alby cut herself. Figured she could revive me with a sip, you know? But a drop fell on my arm and…”

“And what? What happened?” Eric had come across the room, was leaning close to Edge, listening with every part of him.

“It healed. My skin tingled and burned and…healed. Just like that.”

“Amazing,” Roland whispered.

“Makes sense, though. Her blood is speeding up physical processes, cell regeneration, healing.”

Edge shook his head. “What does this mean? Will my child be born in a week, only to reach old age within a couple of years?” He shot Eric a look, fully expecting the man to say it didn't mean any such thing.

Instead Eric lowered his gaze. “I wish to God I knew.”

“Jesus, this can't be happening.” Edge tipped his head back, facing the ceiling and the grief raining down on him from Amber, somewhere above. “She can't go through this.”

“We'll get to the bottom of it. I just…I need more
time.” Eric held up a hand. “I know, I know. Time is the one thing we don't have.”

Edge licked his lips. “I have to go to her.”

“Go,” Roland said. “She has to know the situation, and it ought to come from you.” He glanced at Eric. “I'm going to call Jamey.”

He turned and left the room.

“Jamey?” Edge asked. He stood in the doorway, his back on one side of the frame, his hand braced on the other. He'd closed his mind to Amber's heartache, because it was damn close to crippling.

“No matter how old Jameson gets, nor how many grandchildren he acquires, Edge, he'll always be Jamey to Roland. He practically raised the boy, you know.”

“No. I didn't know that.” Edge straightened, turned to face the direction he had to go. “How the hell do I tell her this?”

“We don't know anything for sure, Edge. It might be better if you…wait until we do.”

“I don't know if it's possible to keep this from her. I don't know.” He started out of the room, heading toward the foyer and the stairs to the second floor.

“She'll be in her favorite guest room,” Eric called after him. “Fourth door on the left.”

Nodding, Edge went up the stairs.

But Amber wasn't behind the fourth door on the left. Edge opened it and stood there, looking inside at the rumpled covers of the bed, the box of tissues on the stand. The room was empty. Without forethought, he let the veil fall away, opened his mind to hers, and felt her. The grief washed over him again, but it was no longer crippling or paralyzing. It was active and angry. Lashing out.

Turning, he moved back up the hall, past the stairs. She drew him to her as surely and swiftly as a supermagnet
would draw a shard of steel. He opened the door of the bedroom he'd been in earlier, and took in the scene swiftly, in the space of a heartbeat.

The pretty porcelain table lamp, shattered on the floor. Its power cord had been wrenched from its base. One end was plugged into the outlet, and the other end, with two bare wires emerging like the forked tongue of a venomous viper, was in Amber's grip. She held it a hair's breadth from the quivering old man in the bed. Tears of pain streaked Stiles's scarred face.

“Tell me what's happening to me,” she said, her voice dangerous, low, trembling with passion and power. “Tell me, damn you.” She jabbed him quickly, briefly, with the wires, and his body jerked and spasmed in the bed. “Jesus, Alby!”

She straightened, turning to face him, even as Edge crossed the room and jerked the wire out of her hands. “Give me that before you fry yourself.” He yanked the cord from the wall to render it harmless, then turned to see Stiles shaking, weeping. A helpless old man. Shaking his head, Edge took Amber's arm. “Where the hell is Tamara? I thought she was watching over you.”

“I don't need watching over. I sent her downstairs to find me a cup of tea.” She nearly spat out the words. “As if tea could help anything.”

“I don't—”

“He knows something. Don't you see that? He knows, and he's going to die without telling us.”

“No, he's not. I'm not going to let that happen, Alby.” Sighing as he faced her down, Edge noted the lines of tension around her lips, the tight set of her jaw, the way she was holding herself so stiffly she was all but shaking.

Gently he touched her cheek. “This…this isn't you. Hell, woman, this is more my style than yours.”

“I can't…just let this happen. I can't let him die, Edge. I can't let our baby die.”

The stiffness of her body fled all at once. She collapsed like a flag when the wind goes still. He closed his arms around her, pulled her against him. He held her, and his gaze wandered to the eyes of the old man in the bed. He read them, knew and understood what Stiles wanted, and in that moment, his own need for vengeance melted away. He knew what he had to do. He nodded, the movement barely perceptible. But the old man saw it and acknowledged it with a nod of his own.

So be it, then,
Edge thought.
So be it.

Carefully, he scooped Amber up, turned and carried her back down the hall to the room Eric had described as her favorite. It was a modern room, painted a soft lilac hue. Its curtains and bedspread were white, patterned with purple pansies, and sheer violet scarfs draped lazily from the top of the curtain rod, and over the dresser and bedside stand.

He tugged the covers back with one hand, then lowered her into the bed. “Listen to me, Alby. You have to stop the hurricane of grief that's raging in your mind long enough to listen to me.”

She lifted her eyes to his, and he held them with everything he had. “I am going to take care of Stiles. And I promise you, I'll find out all he knows. Every morsel. I swear it. On the memory of my long dead family of fledglings, I swear it to you.”

She sniffled, nodded in jerky motions.

“And Eric will take care of the scientific end of this. He'll put all the information Stiles gives me to use. If there's a way to solve this, we will. We'll do it.”

“What if there's not?”

“But what if there
is?
What if there
is
a way, and we
find it? Alby, you have only one job here. And that's to take care of our son. Take care of yourself, so he has a warm, safe, nurturing place to grow. Banish the stress. Chase it away, because it's toxic. It's poison to him. Understand?”

“I don't…I don't know if I can.”

“You have to try. Try, Alby. You wouldn't smoke a pack of cigarettes or drink a quart of whiskey or inject yourself with heroin while you were carrying him inside you. This is just as bad. You've got to let it go.”

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over onto her beautiful cheeks. “Tell me how.”

“Put your trust in me,” he said. “I know I'm not what you probably thought of when you pictured the perfect man in your childhood dreams. I'm no one's knight in shining armor, Alby. God knows I'm aware of that. But I'm not going to let you down in this. I'm not going to let our baby down. I've got this. Let me deal with it. Trust that I can, and will, and just focus on doing what you have to do to keep little J.W. safe inside you.”

She blinked. “J.W.?”

He nodded. “That's what he goes by,” he said, smiling softly, stroking her hair in soothing, slow movements. “But he tells me his mother calls him Jimmy.”

“He…he told you his name?”

He nodded. “I thought the initials stood for Jameson Willem, at first, in honor of your father and Will, but it doesn't feel quite right.” He closed his eyes, put his palm on Amber's abdomen. “Shh, listen. Touch my mind and speak to your child, Alby.”

Amber lowered her trembling hands over his and closed her eyes.

And Edge heard the voice that had become familiar
now.
I'm all right. Stronger all the time. Why is my mother so sad?

Amber's eyes flew open, fresh tears pooling. “It's really him.”

“Yes. It's really him.”

She licked her lips, focusing, and then she whispered, “It's James William. That's his name, for my father and Will, but different enough to be his own.”

Edge let the slight smile pull at his mouth. “That's it. That feels right.”

“And he's okay. For now, right now at this moment, he's all right. Healthy and strong.”

“Yes. And that's what you have to focus on. If there's grieving to be done, Alby, then we'll do it when the time comes. Not before, not one damn minute before.”

She nodded, harder, firmer, this time.

“Trust me, Alby. I'm going to take care of everything. You. J.W. Everything.”

I trust you, Dad.

“I trust you, too,” Amber whispered.

She opened her eyes, and looked up into his, and Edge felt a white hot blade slide neatly between his ribs to pierce his heart. He lost his breath for just a moment. God, how could he ever live up to such a promise?