My Familiar Stranger (25 page)

“Um. No?”

“You do no’ sound sure.” His eyes were sparking with amusement.

She stared at the inviting curve of his lips turned into a half smile, lowered her voice two octaves, made her face very serious and said, “No,” again. Then burst into giggles.

Ram laughed softly. “I like it when you imbibe. Unfortunately, you’re counting on me to be a gentleman.” Under his breath he said, “And I never thought anyone would accuse me of that.” He pushed her door open for her. “I’ll leave my room unlocked just in case you get cold in the night. ‘Tis that one.” He pointed to the door across the hall.

When she woke during the night feeling a draft and reached to pull the down comforter up under her chin, she remembered Ram’s offer and smiled in the darkness thinking how shocked he would be if he woke to find her crawling between his covers. His words came back to her.
No’ that I mind wakin’ to find you bendin’ over my bed in the middle of the night.
She wondered how thick and soft those Black Tartan boxers would feel to her fingers as she slid them away from his beautiful body. Mulling over the possibility, she hiccupped once, and went back to sleep.

***

BLACK SWAN FIELD TRAINING MANUAL Chapter 25,#64

Instances have been reported of very old vampire regaining their humanity and, theoretically, an understanding of right and wrong. In such cases the vampire appear to be human in most respects, but must continue to be nourished by blood, real or synthetic, for the duration of their existence. They also retain exceptional strength and characteristic pallor of the iris.

Waking to shafts of light coming through an undraped, glass window that was wavy due to the shifting of sand over time, Elora realized that she was eager to get the meeting over with. The warmth of the red wine had gone cold in her system during the night and she knew she was going to need another hot soak in the oversized tub to get rid of the shivers. Glancing out the window on the way to the bath, she saw that there were snowflakes in the air being carried on a horizontal breeze so that they appeared to be flying by instead of falling.

Shifting from foot to foot, she stood by the tub hugging herself, waiting impatiently for the hot water to reach the spigot. It didn’t take long to warm up once she was immersed in the steamy tub. She thanked the gods for large hot water heaters.

She put on a pair of expensive, tan, sueded leggings that could be worn inside her boots leaving enough room for one stake in each, just as she and Ram had planned when they were putting her wardrobe together. Over that she wore the warmest thing she’d brought: a thick, ivory, Irish knit, zip front sweater that fell to mid thigh. When she arrived at breakfast Storm’s first impression was that she looked far too fetching for the occasion. The classic simplicity and elegance of her clothes only served to accentuate the marvel of her hair and eyes. This was a dangerous liaison. Not a date. At least she wasn’t wearing red which was known to attract vampire like fly paper.

Not especially hungry, she took cranberry juice, hot chocolate, and an orange scone from the sideboard. Ram noticed the hot chocolate wasn’t being enjoyed as much as usual and she picked at the scone. He leaned over until he was close enough to talk without being overheard by the others.

“Off your chocolate this morn?”

The minute her gaze met his he knew he’d guessed right. She was nervous.

Elora was thinking that he knew her well, perhaps better than anyone had ever known her. He also had a talent for instantly establishing intimacy between them, even in a crowded room; a feeling like it would be easy to forget they were not alone. She nodded and smiled a shy, little smile like she was embarrassed to be found out.

“You do no’ have to do this, Elora. I’ll pull the plug before you can say, ‘Baka, go fuck yourself ’.”

She so did not want to laugh at that. But she laughed at that. He even knew her well enough to know how to get rid of the nerves. “Thanks. I’m good.”

He pulled back to look at her face and try to judge for himself whether or not she was telling the truth. “No one would think less of you if you change your mind. I promise.”

She shook her head. “Let’s do it.”

“Have you a stake in each boot?”

“I do.”

“When you’re ready. No' before.”

Elora turned to ask the little group if there were any rules like, for instance, how long the ‘audience’ should last? They looked from one to another. It seemed no one had thought about it.

“Well, in that case, I propose twenty minutes. That seems fair to me. If I don’t like the way things are going, I’ll end it then. If I think something productive could be gained by staying longer, I will.”

Ram and Storm both argued for something concrete - a set twenty minutes and no longer, but Elora never backs down from a contest of wills.

They took an elevator up to the top of the tower. There was a small observation area with a large glass window through which Baka and his entire life were on display. It reminded her of the infirmary room where she had spent over three months of her life. On the observation side, the view was broken by a series of bars that had been sunk into the concrete structure. To the left of that was a round, bulkhead style vault door that provided walk through access.

To the right was a small, panel opening, used to accept and deliver laundry and other small items, the most important being sustenance. Monq developed the current version of synthetic blood in his labs a decade before.

Baka was standing near the back of the room, as still as a statue. He gave the impression of watching them through the glass even though Elora had been told it looked like an ordinary mirror on the other side. He was wearing an untucked, navy blue, silk shirt that bloused a little at the cuffs and faded jeans. She was thinking, "What did that commercial say? If we all want to wear blue jeans how different can we really be?"

The color of the shirt complimented the translucent, ice blue of his irises and gave them a penetrating look that was disconcerting. She remembered that he had arresting good looks, but hadn’t remembered thinking that he was stunning. As Storm went over safety precautions one more time, even though they had been rehearsed repeatedly, she was thinking that now might be a little late to wonder what she had gotten herself into.

Ram had promised himself that he would not let Elora guess he was apprehensive. He needed her to have confidence in her ability to face the most notorious vampire in the history of Black Swan, but his hands itched to pull her into the safety of his arms, tell her that she was absolutely forbidden to ever again engage in any activity with harmful potential and kiss the feminist nonsense right out of her.

The observation room attendants were a rotation of knights who took turns guarding Baka unless the door was to be opened, in which case, at least four had to be present. The men exchanged greetings. Some had met before and renewed acquaintance last night. Naturally, they were all curious about Elora and how she came to be part of this equation, but they kept their questions to themselves.

One of the attendants explained that they would be able to hear as well as see everything and that, when Elora was ready to leave, she need only raise her voice and say the word “open”.

She nodded that she understood.

Baka was instructed to step all the way to the back of the room and to remain still while his guest entered.

Suddenly Elora turned to the knight who was operating the security panel. “Has he ever attempted escape?”

The panel attendant seemed to think about it for a minute. The others assigned to guard Baka looked from one to another. Storm, Kay, and Ram shook their heads and shrugged at the same time indicating they didn’t have an answer either.

When no one spoke she said, “You don’t know?” The panel attendant said that, in fact, he did not know. “Please call Madame du Relacques and ask her.”

“Now?” asked the knight who stood over the security panel.

Elora took on her resolute I’m-not-fucking-around tone. “Yes! Now! I want the answer to that question before I go in there.”

Instead of doing as she asked, he looked at Storm, Kay, and Ram which infuriated Elora. B Team indicated with facial expression and gestures that it’s best to give her what she wants while she glared at the guy and considered treating him to the sort of somersault Ram got when his rib was broken.

Madame du Relacques was reached by phone within seconds and confirmed Elora’s suspicion, born purely of intuition, that Baka had never tried to escape. Elora indicated that she was ready to proceed.

While one knight operated the panel, the other three took up positions around the vault door. One of them spun the wheel and pulled it open while the others trained very large weapons on Baka.

Elora glanced at Ram, who gave her a nod and a wink even though his stomach was roiling, and she walked through the circular opening without showing any sign of trepidation. The airbot that had been matched to her biological signature was released to fly through the opening at the same time and begin recording. Elora thought that was redundant since everything in the room is recorded continually. She stood facing Baka on the other side of the threshold, not taking her eyes away from him while she listened to the vault door mechanisms being reset and secured behind her.

Once the last of the locks slid into place Baka said, “Lady Laiken,” with just a hint of a smile and a smaller inclination of his head. “I won’t bother to introduce myself because, well, because that would be silly. So I will just say welcome to my humble home.” He made a sweeping gesture in self-deprecating mocking of his one-room existence as if it was a vast expanse.

Baka’s native language had been Romanian. He spoke English very well, but with a slight trace of romance language accent. It was…nice.

“Thank you.” Elora continued to keep her gaze trained on him. “Had breakfast?”

Baka grinned, partly to let her know he appreciated her sense of humor, and partly to show her his fangs were retracted. “Would it make you more comfortable if I sit?”

“Somehow I don’t think the word ‘comfortable’ works for this situation. But, yes, I would like it if you sit.”

He moved slowly so as not to alarm and sat in one of two overstuffed chairs by a lively fire which was crackling, popping, and inviting.

“Join me.” He gestured to the other chair. “Would you like something to drink? Wine?”

Elora stared for a minute, then quickly glanced around the room and said, “Sparkling cider.”

In the observation room Ram leaned back so that he could catch Storm’s eye and mouthed, "Sparkling cider?"

With a blank expression, Storm just opened his hands in front of him, palms up, as if to say, “Not a clue.”

Surprise had flickered over Baka’s face before it broke into what appeared to be the real enjoyment of a genuine smile. He looked directly into the mirror and said, “Sir Ansel, a sparkling cider for my guest, if you please.”

Baka’s room was circular except for the wall adjacent to the observation room which cut off part of the arc. The rest was possibly twenty five feet in diameter. There was a window overlooking the sheer cliff face with the Arges River valley below. Like the room she slept in the night before, Baka’s prison cell retained the original character of the structure in the stone walls and floor, but that is where the similarity ended. The room was filled with shades of brown and deep reds, in various textures and fabrics. Masculine, but sensual and romantic.
Chocolate and blood.

“Who’s your decorator?”

He raised his hands, palms up, and tilted his head to indicate that he had done the interior himself.

“Hmmm,” she said.

“Is that ‘hmmm’ you like it or ‘hmmm’ you don’t?”

Looking directly at him for the first time she spoke distinctly. “Very. Nice.” She managed to leave the impression that the sentiment could be either sincere or sarcastic.

In addition to the two chairs by the fire, there was a writing desk by the window and an easel holding a pencil sketched canvas. Next to the easel were several canvases leaning against the wall, apparently finished paintings. The one visible was a scene of crucifixion, though the feeling was contemporary and the subject looked more like Baka than traditional images of the Jesus icon worshipped by so many in this world. She would have liked to be able to take her attention away from Baka long enough to stroll over and flip through the paintings.

Several high bookshelves, conforming to the circular shape of the room, took up about half the available wall space. Such displays were rare since the advent of downloadable technology. The rest of the wall space was divided between a collection of stringed instruments on one side and a corner dedicated to grooming on the other.

Underneath the display of stringed instruments, a studio size, polished ebony, Steinway grand sat regally near the fireplace. Last, on the opposite side was a large, ornately carved mahogany bed with a deep pocket mattress and piles of pillows.