The Gathering Dark (52 page)

Allison lifted up her left arm and glanced at the smooth, perfect flesh of her wrist. Not a trace of cut or scar. “I cut myself open and I bled onto him. Into his mouth and on the places where he was burned the worst.”

The news producer hissed air in through his teeth. “That reversed it? Your blood? It started the process going again in him?”

Allison nodded. “The blood of another vampire. He healed himself after that.”

For a long time the two of them just sat there. The shadows grew longer and the eastern sky began to darken. It would be dusk soon. All across the world, nightfall had abruptly taken on a menace far more profound than it had held in centuries.

“So where is he now?”

They had been talking about Kuromaku, but Allison knew that it was not the Japanese vampire that Carl was asking about. Most of the world believed the press—that the U.N. and the Church of the Resurrection had joined together to combat the evil that had infected the globe, losing some of their best and brightest along the way, yet triumphing in the end. But though the truth could not be confirmed, word had spread of the actions of Peter Octavian, Kuromaku, and Allison herself. It was Peter whom Carl was inquiring about.

Allison gave him an apologetic shrug. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“I know. But I have to ask. It’s in my nature.”

“And it’s your job.”

Carl’s expression changed, a kind of cloud passing over his features. “I’m not going to run with any of this, you know,” he told her. “You owed me the truth, Allison, but I can keep it to myself. I’ve done it plenty of times before, believe it or not. You might be surprised by the things I know.”

She gazed at him a long moment before nodding. “I might. But then again, I might not.”

Allison stood and brushed the grass from the seat of her blue jeans. “Go ahead and tell the story. As much as you want to. It isn’t just your nature, Carl. It’s in your blood. Don’t forget, once upon a time it was in mine, too. Until something else got in there that I can’t get out.”

Huffing, out of shape, Carl also rose. Allison embraced him briefly and then stepped back, toward the river. Past him she could see the Range Rover he had rented at the airport. He had come all this way just to see her, had not even asked her what inspired her to meet with him in North Platte, Nebraska, what the hell she wanted to visit this place for at all. It occurred to her that he was a veteran newsman, and that he likely knew exactly what had drawn her here, knew not only that it had once been home to a man she loved, now long dead, but that this was the last place they had been happy.

The last place she had ever been happy.

“What will you do now?” he asked.

Allison slid her arms around herself and shivered, wondering if the onset of dusk was making it colder, or if it was just her.

“There’s still work to do. There are so few vampires left they barely seem worth tracking, but if Octavian’s right, all the recent breaches into our world set loose things a lot worse than a couple of ancient vampires hiding out in a cave.”

Carl cleared his throat again. When Allison glanced over, this time it was he who would not meet her gaze.

“What?” she asked.

Her old friend looked up. “While they were busy retreating, running for their lives, some of the guys from Task Force Victor saw you kill Commander Henning. They’ll be hunting you.”

Allison nodded. “It was only a matter of time. If it wasn’t this, it would’ve been something else.”

With that she
changed
. Red hair became brown, thick and curly. Hazel eyes turned truly green. Her nose was thinner and there was a splash of freckles across her cheeks.

“Oh, shit,” Carl Melnick gasped, eyes wide. It was the only time Allison had ever seen him truly astonished. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Use your head,” Allison chided him. “Haven’t you ever wondered? We hang on to our old faces the way we hang on to everything else we cherish from the past. It helps us remember who we are. But that doesn’t mean we can’t let go when the time comes. We can be anything we want to be.”

Carl was still staring as she changed once more, her body shifting shape completely, becoming the falcon, a form that had become almost more comfortable for her than her human one. Allison spread her wings and with a cry she flew away from the grassy bank, high above the water.

Flying.

It felt extraordinary to her still.

Allison flew toward the setting sun, chasing the day.

It was early in the morning on the first of June when Keomany at last turned along Orchard Hill Road and started on the final leg of her journey. She had told Cat and Tori to expect her the night before, but had ended up spending the night in Montpelier instead. She had had some paperwork to clear up regarding her parents’ estate, but she had put it behind her now.

As she drove up the hill among the corn stalks and at last came in sight of Summerfields Orchard, she was overwhelmed with emotion. Here, somehow, was the homecoming she had expected to feel in her brief return to the ravaged remains of Wickham, but had not. The moment she saw the apple trees and the big barn and the sign for Summerfields, a burden was lifted from her that she had not even realized she was still carrying.

Suddenly the music on the radio sounded sharper. The light coming through her windshield was brighter. When she breathed in the fresh air that streamed through her open window, she felt her eyes brimming with tears but could not discern within her own heart if they were born of grief or joy.

Keomany parked in the lot outside the barn. Summerfields was open for business, she was happy to see. There were five other cars in the lot—not a huge number, but far better than she had expected after the changes the world had undergone in the past weeks. Before she got out of the car, she wiped at the moist corners of her eyes and caught sight of her face in the rearview mirror. For just a moment she was certain that she saw a golden glint of light there, and then she blinked and it was gone.

The power that Gaea had lent her was gone, but Keomany still felt that connection to the goddess, to the earth. It was a connection that she knew Peter and the others wanted her to use to aid them in their work, and Keomany was willing, but not just yet.

Not yet.

First she needed to rest, to find herself in the embrace of friends, to share with people who loved her all that had happened, all she had felt. She had to know if there was a home for her, somewhere.

When she stepped out of the car, she heard a cry of joy. Keomany glanced up and saw Tori Osborne rushing down from the open door of the barn, the beads in her tightly braided hair clacking together. Behind her, more slowly but with the same grin spread across her face, came the Amazonian Cat Hein.

Keomany laughed. It felt extraordinary. It felt like a blessing.

It would be complicated for her to stay here, given what she had once felt for Tori and that the two women were a couple; married, even, thanks to Vermont law. But they had asked, and Keomany hadn’t had the strength to say no. She was so happy now that she had not. And who knew? At the Bealtienne festival she’d spent a giddy, athletic night with No Last Name Zach. He was obviously a friend of theirs, another earthwitch. Maybe Keomany would meet him again; maybe this time she’d find out his last name.

Tori threw her arms around Keomany and spun her around. By the time Tori released her, Cat had joined them and she embraced Keomany as well, lifting her off the ground in her strong arms. She was a different woman from the one whose body had been ravaged by her bond with Gaea.

“Welcome back to the fold, little sister,” Cat said. Then she kissed Keomany on the forehead. “Welcome home.”

Keomany wanted to believe that so very badly. Other members of the coven had lived here in the past, off and on. There was certainly room. But still she was uncertain.

“Are you guys sure this is going to be all right?”

Tori gave her a dirty look. “Come with me,” she demanded, and then she hurried off, pausing only to beckon to Keomany as she raced up toward the barn.

Keomany glanced at Cat.

“I’d do what she says if I were you. We all do, around here. It’s just better that way.”

The tall, blond woman smiled so sweetly that Keomany could do nothing save comply. Together they followed Tori back up to the barn. By the time they got there, Cat’s wife had emerged once again, this time with a wooden board in her hands. With the way the light hit it, a moment went by before Keomany registered what the board was.

A sign.

It was a beautiful, engraved and hand-painted wooden sign upon which had been etched the words
Sweet Somethings
in large letters, and then, printed neatly beneath them,
Confections by Keomany Shaw.

“We’ve already cleared a corner in the shop for you. Danny’s in there building new counter space and display cases,” Cat said.

Keomany could not breathe. She bit her lip, gaze ticking back and forth between the two women. Shaking, she reached out and grabbed each of them by a hand.

Only when she tasted the salt of her tears did she realize she was crying.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Peter did not turn around as Nikki came up behind him, but he held his hand out and felt her fingers twine with his. When she moved next to him, he released her hand and slid an arm around her, holding her close. She lay her head against him and for several moments he simply relished the feel of her there, the light rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed in the sweet, pungent air of Kuromaku’s vineyard estate.

At last he pulled his gaze away from the spot in the midst of the vineyards where they had buried Jack Devlin’s remains. He turned to Nikki, and when she glanced up at him, Peter kissed her, first on the nose, and then on her mouth, his lips just grazing hers, almost as though the kiss were an accident. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

“What’s the news from home?”

Nikki trembled slightly. “Weird. I can’t think of L.A. as home.”

“Where is home, then?”

She hesitated as though she were afraid of her own answer. Her gaze wavered but at length resolved itself and she stared into his eyes.

“That’s up to you.”

Peter took a deep breath and let it out, unable to hide the lopsided grin that teased the corners of his mouth. Where
was
home? He had lived so many places over the centuries. According to his agent, Carter Strom, his apartment in Manhattan had been destroyed, the Balents were dead . . . the only good news was that The Voodoo Lounge had escaped the horror unscathed, save for a few minor injuries the bouncer, Agamemnon, had sustained in its defense.

Home.
Nikki was going to leave it to him to decide how to define the word. At length, he nodded. It was going to take some thought. “All right. So . . . what’s the news from L.A.?”

Nikki nuzzled against him, there in the midst of the vineyards, perhaps fifty yards from the sprawling estate Kuromaku called home.

“‘Shock My World’ went to number eleven. Not top ten, but . . . well, eleven doesn’t suck. And with everything that’s happened, the tour’s on hold until fall, at least. But the label’s willing to be patient. Things are still up in the air, but my manager says it looks like they want to launch all over again in October.”

Peter brushed blond tresses away from her face. “That’s amazing. That’s wonderful, Nik. It gives me hope.”

She frowned. “How’s that?”

Peter smiled. “With all that’s happened . . . somebody still believes there’s going to be a working economy. That there’ll be people willing to part with their money. Somebody still believes there’s a place in this world for music.”

“There’s always a place for music.”

He thought about that for a while, just holding her against him, feeling her heartbeat matching rhythm with his own.

“Sophie’s going to stay,” he said.

Nikki chuckled. “That’s not really a surprise, is it? After what she’s been through, nothing else will seem the same. I . . . I remember. What it’s like the first time.”

For several minutes they merely stood there in silence. Peter felt as though he never wanted to let her go. In his mind’s eye were scarred the images of those last moments in Ronda, when he was certain that the Tatterdemalion would kill her. Nikki still had stitches on the worst of the wounds she had received, and the gashes on her face were going to require plastic surgery before she could perform in public again.

“So,” Nikki began again, hesitant. “Sophie and Kuromaku are staying here for now. I have to get back to L.A. soon. What . . . what are your plans?”

Peter was surprised at the question. He had not spelled out his feelings or his future plans to her, but he had felt certain she could read his heart in his eyes every time he looked at her. Perhaps she had, but did not want to trust her own intuition.

He released her and stepped back. For a moment he looked up at the house, at the breathtaking array of flowers that grew all around it. Keomany had had a hand in that. He knew that, inside, Kuromaku and Sophie were preparing an elaborate dinner. It was something they had found they loved to do together.

Peter returned his gaze to Nikki.

“Ever since my heart started to beat again, I’ve been trying to figure out what it means to be . . . human. To know that my days are numbered. It made me sink into myself in a way I never want to do again. I didn’t want the magick that I have, didn’t want to be a sorcerer at all. There’s a weight that comes with it, a responsibility that I thought was too much for an ordinary man.”

“You’re far from ordinary,” Nikki admonished him.

Peter nodded. There was no arrogance in it, merely truth. Though their defeat of the Tatterdemalion had drained him, exhausted much of the power in him, possibly forever, he still had enough skill with and knowledge of magick to make him far more than ordinary.

“But I
wanted
to be,” he confessed. “I just wanted to live. I couldn’t figure out how to do even that right, because when I realized how much I wanted to live, I realized something else, too. I didn’t want to die. And I didn’t want to watch any more of the people I love die either. I thought it might be better to be alone.”