Authors: Mary Ann Mitchell
He nodded.
"She had to have a baby. Wouldn't have felt
that she was a woman unless she gave birth. Me, I didn't care. I
had nothing special to leave my kin. We spent several weekends
fucking our brains out trying to get her to conceive. Finally, on a
rainy afternoon, she got the word from her doctor. She was tickled
pink, and I was happy for her. The child wasn't important to me.
She was."
"Did you ever love your son?"
"I love my son as a son. I didn't chose to
have him come into this world to murder his mother. But I guess the
boy didn't chose to commit his sin."
"I don't believe it was a sin. It was
unfortunate and hurt him as much as you."
"He never knew her. How can you miss someone
you don't know?"
"He knows he doesn't have a mother."
"She started taking up knitting and
crocheting. Was really bad at them. She'd lose stitches. Forget an
armhole. Emmeline was a petite woman, must have been no more than
four-eleven in bare feet. Slender hips, not meant for
birthing."
When he turned to look at Liliana, she saw
his eyes shine under the light of the quarter moon. He used the
shirt in his hand to mop his face.
"Why does your granny want my son so
bad?"
"My grandmother is friendly."
"No. Not even his body would satisfy her. The
woman wants his soul. She wants to reach in and tear it out."
Liliana's shoulders shuddered.
She wants
your son's blood, Mr. Bridgewater. She wants to own him. Live off
him.
"I was a bare minimum father. I took him to
the doctor when he was sick. I saw him off to school each morning.
Checked his homework at night. When there was a father-son
function, I was there. Called the police on him when I found
marijuana hidden under his mattress. I knew the sheriff would put a
scare into him. Knew he wouldn't put my son away for more than a
night."
"You sent your son to jail?"
"Spent only one night in juvenile detention.
Picked him up the next day, and he was as brazen as ever. I tried
to follow the rules and regulations of fatherhood, but I never
allowed my heart to interfere. Never exposed myself to anyone else
after Emmeline died."
He took a step closer to Liliana.
"But I don't want any harm to come to him. I
can't say I love him as a person. I do love him, though, because
he's my..." He glanced back at the tombstone. "Our flesh and blood.
He's a part of Emmeline I can't put behind me and forget. Memories
fade in and out. But when I see Wil and touch Wil and breathe his
scent I'm in Emmeline's presence again." He looked at Liliana.
"Please don't let your grandma hurt my son."
"Send your son away."
"He won't go. He thinks he's looking out for
me. Wants to prove he loves me. But he can't, you know, because I
didn't teach him how."
Something moved. She looked around to see
what it was.
"Scared? Don't have to be. It was probably
some animal scurrying across the cemetery. We probably invaded his
property. Or at least he thinks we did.
"When I was a boy I wouldn't go near
cemeteries. Dad used to tell fiendish tales about flesh-eating
ghouls and bloodsucking vampires. Where he came from, if they
thought someone was a vampire they would dig up the grave, cut the
head off, and put it at the feet of the body. Facing downward, just
in case the vampire was able to reach down and stick the head back
on his shoulders. That way the vampire couldn't see where he was
going. Guess they didn't think vampires were smart enough to twist
the head around.
"But ever since Emmeline died, I'm no longer
afraid of at least this cemetery. After she died I spent a lot of
time reading." He laughed. "Still do. One book talked about the
Aztecs and their belief in
cihuateteo."
"Female vampires that died in childbirth,"
Liliana mechanically said.
"Yeah." His voice displayed his surprise.
"Anyway, I used to come here and wait for her to rise. Hell, I
would have let her bite me if I could have spent eternity with
her."
Keith fell down on his knees before the
tombstone. He muffled his sobs with his shirt. Liliana went to him
and placed her hand on the back of his wrinkled neck. Her hand slid
down across the keratoses and moles, resting finally on the large
festering mole.
Chapter 21
Marie fingered the doily on the arm of the
settee. Wil had offered to retrieve a bottle of champagne from the
refrigerator.
Her eyes hurt. She stood and walked to the
other end of the room to dim the lights. Keith had insisted on
turning the lights on maximum.
Thank God he's gone.
She felt
guilt and relief that her granddaughter had left.
Liliana had certainly looked fragile tonight.
The diet she was keeping obviously sapped her strength. Her fingers
were long and thin, and Marie couldn't help but notice that the
skin withered under the girl's fingernails. Marie wondered what
Liliana's body looked like under the layers she wore. When Sade had
been forced to go on a bloodless diet in the Bastille, he had
become bloated. Her stupid daughter, Reneé-Pelagie had believed it
to be the rich food. Marie had known better. Once she had learned
of Sade's secret blood lust, she had never let the man walk free in
Paris until he shared the eternal gift with her.
Bloated on rich
food!
More likely his gaseous pomposity enlarged his corpse.
Vampires didn't absorb food the way the living did. They had no
need. Blood sated a vampire's hunger. Blood and sex, she thought as
Wil called from the kitchen.
"We'll have to open a fresh bottle of
Veuve Cliquot 'La Grande Dame.'"
"Go right ahead, my dear."
It couldn't hurt to have him a little--no,
completely drunk, she thought. As for herself, she missed the
elegant highs she had when living. Her serious highs now only
occurred when drinking blood. And she wasn't sure the dead blood
that her granddaughter consumed was absorbed.
How unnatural!
Perhaps for once she would join forces with Sade and attempt to
make Liliana behave as a true vampire. But Liliana couldn't have
Wil. That would be the only line Marie would draw in helping
her.
Marie had worn a revealing black dress,
hoping to emphasize her blood-hungry white skin. Alas, Liliana in a
heather gray turtleneck dress still seemed to outdo her. Somehow
Liliana had managed to shine like silver against the bland heather
hue
. How silly to envy one's own granddaughter,
she chided
herself.
"Where did you go?" asked Will staring at the
empty settee.
"I'm here," she said quietly and rapidly
moved herself directly behind her prey.
She smiled what she hoped was a pretty smile,
but she had become a vampire too late to retain the freshness and
youth that marked Liliana.
Marie walked around him and settled herself
once again on the settee, placing her hand on the cushion next to
her as an invitation. He handed her a fresh glass of champagne
before taking the seat immediately next to her.
"I must say that I'm impressed with the
quantity and quality of champagne you can afford."
"Why?"
"Your husband must have left you quite
well-off."
"Husband? What makes you think I depend on a
dead husband for financial support?"
In fact, initially the money had come from
her husband. However, she was proud that her crafty investments had
transformed the modest legacy into a fortune. The fees her clients
paid her were pin money, taken merely to assuage her clients'
guilt.
For the first time she noticed that Wil's
eyes had a touch of gold in them, a shine that appeared only when
he thought something amusing. She meant to prove that she was more
than just amusing.
"What did you want to talk to me about?"
asked Wil.
"Truth."
"How solemn."
"So many people waste their time in games. I
never waste a minute."
"Recently you seemed to have been biding your
time." That horrible shiny glow lit his eyes once again. But those
eyes could turn darker, she knew, and she would bring out the ebony
in them.
"There's a difference between biding one's
time and being... polite. And I think we know enough about each
other to drop the charade."
"You mean from now on you're going to be
impolite." The amusement in his eyes had begun to sting her.
Marie rose and began to disrobe--not with any
special speed. No, casually she discarded her dress and stood
before Will in a heavily laced black corset. She lifted the cushion
on which she had been seated and pulled out a flogger, one of her
fanciest with gold leaf on the handle and studded with emeralds.
She allowed the deerskin thongs to fall across her right thigh.
Wil leaned back on the settee and stretched
his legs, resting his feet on the coffee table. Whimsy didn't leave
his pupils as he sipped the champagne.
"What's your preference, flogging or
whipping?" she asked.
"The floggers I use are made of harness
leather, not deerskin."
"I have a selection."
Suddenly Wil leaned forward and made a grab
for the flogger. Her hand instantly tightened on the handle, and
she could feel the tension spread up her arm into her neck, tensing
her lips.
Wil simply turned his hand palm upward and
waited until she released the handle of the flogger into his
palm.
Placing his feet back on the floor, Wil moved
forward in his seat and began to brush the thongs against Marie's
shapely leg.
"Your body's in good shape."
"For an old bag."
"Better even than many young purses."
They both laughed. Wil put his glass on the
table and stood. He kept his long body straight as he removed his
jacket.
"And the shirt," she suggested.
He smiled. That damn shine of amusement never
seemed to leave his eyes. He switched the flogger to his left hand
and rubbed the back of his right hand across his lips. After taking
several steps backward, he practiced using the flogger in the
air.
"From the way your chest had looked the other
day I wouldn't have expected you to be able to use the flogger so
expertly."
"I switch."
The amusing shine in his eyes glowed.
"I don't."
"Shame. You can't be good at one without
being good at the other also."
"Bullshit." She smelled him now. Not just the
odor of his blood but the testosterone violence building in his
body's cells. Maybe that had been what she had sensed all along.
Not the weakness and submissiveness of this young man, but the
potential cruelty and power he could wield. He definitely needed to
be tamed.
His movements were fluid, confident, and
professional.
"Another way you earn a living?"
"And I now know how you can afford all that
expensive champagne."
"I don't do it for the money."
"And you don't do it for free."
"No, a good psychiatrist always makes sure
the bill is paid."
His eyes lit up like fire as he went into a
fit of laughter. He attempted to speak, but garbled his words.
Finally: "It's my turn to say bullshit."
"I do it for the blood." Her voice sounded
stern and level, filled with no humor.
"For the sight of blood?"
"For the feel of the thick juice rolling
across my tongue, settling into my pores. Keeping me alive."
"A wanna-be vampire. I don't give of my blood
until I've drawn my partner's."
Wil tossed the flogger onto the settee,
picked up his jacket, and walked to the front door.
"Will you be seeing me out as a lady
should?"
The sarcasm sparked the fire of her need. She
lifted the flogger and came at Wil.
Quickly he dodged her swing. She heard his
laughter through the door he had slammed behind him.
"One has no conception of what anguish is suffered by
the wretch who from hour to hour awaits his ordeal, from whom hope
has fled, and who knows not whether this breath he draws may not be
his last."
Justine,
by the
Marquis de Sade
Chapter 22
Garrett stood over the toilet retching. He
heard his son's loud music as a thumping through the wall that
separated him from his son's bedroom. After puking on and off for
several hours, Garrett now had the dry heaves and painful cramps.
His teenage daughter screamed at her brother so loudly that her
words sounded garbled.
He used a wet towel to wipe his face.
A gentle rap introduced his wife's voice.
"Honey, are you all right? I can call the
doctor's service, or perhaps I should drive you to the emergency
room."
"No! God, no! Just leave me alone."
"Whatever it is, I hope it's not catching."
She lowered her voice. "Remember the children are here."
The old family Saint Bernard barked wildly.
Garrett's son and daughter had most likely come to blows again. The
battles never amounted to much, but Garrett didn't like the idea of
his son hitting his sister. He didn't like the idea of any violence
within his household.
He rubbed another layer of Preparation H into
his crack. He had the shits all morning, and now the burning and
pain made it difficult for him to walk. Quickly he had disposed of
his silk boxer shorts lest his wife see the blood staining them.
Black and blue marks covered his ass. He checked his cock for any
blisters or sores. Too early, he supposed, but hell, he couldn't
believe the bastard didn't bother to use protection. He guessed his
real worry would be the cum that the guy had squirted up into his
asshole. His stomach roiled with the memory of having the fag's
dick shoved into his mouth. He remembered the hook-like shape that
seemed to force its way down his throat and the metal ball piercing
the tip that had slid against his tonsils.