The Black Rose Chronicles Read online

  The elder vampire sighed and slipped into a light, fitful slumber. His skin, which had looked as fragile as ancient parchment before, took on the faintest tinge of color, and his frame seemed to fill out slightly, having fewer hollows and sharp angles.

  Now that the crisis had passed, whatever it had been, Aidan was wild with impatience. He paced at the foot of Valerian’s slab, feeling confined and restless to the very core of his soul. The mere memory of his strange communion with the other vampire sickened him, and yet he could not deny, even to himself, that there had been some sort of fusion of their two spirits.

  After a while Valerian stirred and opened his eyes. He seemed stronger, but his whisper was labored and raw. “Leave me, Aidan. I must rest.”

  It was all Aidan could do not to grasp his companion’s lapels and wrench him upright, so desperate was his need. “You promised to tell me what you learned!” he blurted. “You promised!”

  “And I will keep my vow,” Valerian answered, grating out each word. “I cannot—speak of it now. Have pity, Aidan.”

  “Just tell me this,” Aidan pressed, moving to Valerian’s side, clasping his cold hand. “Is there hope? Can I be unmade, become a man again?”

  The answer gurgled on Valerian’s tongue, as though he were choking on the blood Aidan had given him. “It is too—dangerous,” he gasped. With that he lost consciousness again.

  Aidan was tom between a desire to stay and look after a fallen comrade and an almost uncontrollable urge to flee, to be as far from this place and this horror as possible.

  He wanted Neely, wanted her to comfort him, to hold him tightly in her arms. He craved her humanity and her warmth, her very womanhood, but it was just that yearning that forestalled him.

  Yes, he loved her, he knew that now, had begun to accept the realization. But he could not allow himself to forget that he was a beast, at least in part, and his need for blood was as great as that of any other vampire. He couldn’t be certain, for all that his soul had already joined itself to hers, that his terrible thirst would not cause him to fling himself on her in a fit of passion.

  The prospect of awakening from a frenzy, of finding Neely limp and lifeless in his arms, was worse than any punishment a demon could devise.

  Frantically Aidan formed Maeve’s image in his mind.

  Neely had just finished the breakfast shift at the café when an ancient station wagon rattled into the parking lot, came to a shrill, steamy stop by the front window, and emitted a tall, gum-chewing blonde. The woman was wearing frayed jeans, an equally worn denim jacket, a tank top with a picture of a motorcycle on the front, and the kind of open, friendly smile that turns strangers into friends.

  “Hi,” she said, taking a seat at the counter and reaching out to pluck a menu from behind a chrome napkin holder. “My name’s Doris Craig. I’m flitter-flat, down-and-out busted, and that old car of mine isn’t gonna go much farther. You the manager here?”

  Neely untied her apron, glancing past Doris’s right shoulder, which bore a tiny tattoo of a bumblebee, to the loaded down beater parked out front. But for its relatively modern vintage, the vehicle might have belonged to the Jode family of Grapes of Wrath fame, there was so much stuff tied on top and stuffed inside.

  “No,” she answered. “My brother manages the whole place. I just work here.”

  Doris closed the menu resolutely and gave Neely another of her guileless, openhearted smiles. “You aren’t thinkin’ of quittin’ or anything, are you? If you are, I’d sure like to have your job.”

  Ben hadn’t said he was looking for more help, but he hadn’t said he wasn’t, either. Neely poured a cup of hot, fresh coffee and set it down in front of Doris. “I think of quitting for the last three hours of every shift,” she confessed with a grin, tapping her name tag with one finger. “I’m Neely Wallace. Glad to meet you.”

  Doris nodded cordially. “If you’re not plannin’ to quit,” she said, blue eyes twinkling, “is there any chance of your gettin’ fired?”

  Neely laughed. “Sorry—like I said, the boss is my brother, and he’s pretty well stuck with me. I’ll be happy to send him over to talk to you, though. In the meantime, what’ll you have?”

  Doris pried two crumpled dollar bills from the pocket of her jeans and smoothed them out on the counter. “Soup and milk, if this will cover it,” she said. While her circumstances were obviously desperate, there wasn’t a trace of self-pity in either her voice or her manner, and Neely couldn’t help being struck by such uncommon courage.

  She nodded and went back to the kitchen, passing the teenager who was taking over for the afternoon and early evening shift. Heather was no unchained melody of ambition, but she showed up on time and did her job well enough, which meant she probably wouldn’t be creating a vacancy anytime soon.

  In the back Neely dished up a bowlful of vegetable-beef soup and grabbed a basket of soda crackers in individual wrappers. She set the food down in front of Doris, along with a spoon, and proceeded to the milk machine.

  She was just putting the glass on the counter when the little bell over the door jingled and Ben came in. He’d been shoveling snow from the walk over at the motel, and his cheeks were red from the cold.

  It seemed providential to Neely, his showing up at the perfect moment like that. “Ben, this is Doris Craig,” she said. “Doris, my brother, Ben Wallace. Doris is looking for work.”

  Ben’s ever-ready smile flashed instantly; he took off his plaid coat and came over to greet Doris, one hand extended. Neely poured him a cup of coffee, then grabbed her purse, said good-bye to Heather, and hurried out.

  As far as she could tell, glancing back through the frosty café window, Ben hadn’t even noticed that she was gone.

  Neely was deep in thought as she crossed the parking lot. Maybe the fates were trying to tell her something, sending Doris along when they had. Perhaps it was time she got on with her life; she was only marking time in Bright River, and she could no longer overlook the fact that she represented a very real danger to her brother and nephew.

  Because of her distraction, Neely all but collided with the dun-colored rental car that was parked just on the other side of the hedge, motor running. There was a whirring sound, and the window on the passenger side disappeared into the door. Senator Dallas Hargrove himself leaned across the front seat and said, “Get in, Neely.”

  In spite of all the senator had been a party to, and all she had done to ensure his intense dislike for all eternity, Neely still couldn’t believe he would actually hurt her. She’d seen him with his wife, Elaine, who suffered from a degenerative muscular disease, and knew there was no violence in him. She drew a deep breath, let it out in a rush, and got into the car.

  The senator was handsome, with well-cut blond hair and a square jaw, but there had never been an attraction between them. “That was pretty stupid,” he said, steering the car onto Route 7 and away from Bright River. “For all you know, I might be planning to knock you over the head and dump you in some lake.”

  Neely relaxed against the seat and closed her eyes for a moment. She was so tired all of a sudden, so full of a longing she couldn’t begin to understand. “You’ve made some terrific mistakes in your life, Senator,” she said, “but you’re not a murderer. Not a direct one, at least.”

  She could feel his tension; he was like tightly coiled wire, ready to come unwound. Still, she wasn’t afraid.

  “What do you mean, ‘not a direct one’?” he demanded. “We both know you’ve fixed it so that certain drug dealers can bring their wares into the country without the usual inconveniences,” Neely answered with a sigh. “What do you think is happening to that garbage after it hits the streets? Real people are using it—kids, pregnant mothers, people who get behind the wheels of semi-trucks and school buses.”

  “If I didn’t cooperate, someone else would.” Hargrove’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, relaxed again.

  Neely reflected that her decision to get into the car with th
e senator might have been a bit rash after all. “That’s a load of horse crap,” she replied calmly. “Let’s not waste our time debating the subject, since we’ll never agree. What are you doing in Bright River? You can’t be stumping for votes, since this isn’t your district.”

  He turned the car off the highway onto a bumpy, unplowed road that snaked in behind a large Christmas tree farm. He stopped the car beside a weathered old mill spanning a narrow, silvery brook. His blue eyes were tormented as he looked at Neely. “Look, I came here to warn you. The people I deal with know you tried to bring the FBI down on their operation, and they want you dead. You’ve got to get out of here as fast as you can.”

  Neely regarded him in pensive silence for a time, her arms folded. “There’s something I don’t understand,” she finally said. “I gave the government hard evidence of your involvement in a major crime syndicate. If your man on the inside hadn’t managed to turn the tide—at least, that’s what I think must have happened—you would have lost everything and gone to prison, maybe for the rest of your life. Why are you trying so hard to save me? How come you don’t hate me and want me dead, like those hoods you’ve been hanging around with?”

  Hargrove gave a despairing rush of a sigh and leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against the steering wheel. “I’m not a killer, Neely—I never meant for things to turn out this way. I needed money—there were so many debts—and then I was in too deep to get out.”

  “Debts? For Elaine’s medical care, you mean? Come on. Thanks to the long-suffering taxpayer, you have a more than respectable salary and excellent health insurance.”

  The senator sat up straight, gazing out at the snow-laced mill wheel. The weathered building supporting it seemed about to cave in on itself. “There were all those special treatments, in Europe and Mexico,” he said. “None of them worked, of course.”

  Impulsively Neely reached across the seat to touch his arm. She liked Elaine Hargrove, a brave and smiling person, liked the man the senator became whenever he was in his wife’s presence.

  “It wasn’t just the treatments, though,” Hargrove confessed wearily. “When Elaine was first diagnosed, I went a little crazy. I don’t know what it was—the fear, the stress—I can’t say. In any case, I was involved with a woman for a while, and then there were some gambling debts….” Neely had known about the woman, but the gambling was a new element. She closed her eyes for a few moments while she assimilated everything. “And I thought I was in trouble,” she said.

  “We’re both in trouble,” Hargrove replied. “Don’t forget that for a moment, Neely. Get your things together and get out of here before they come after you!”

  She nodded slowly. Although Neely wanted fiercely to live, just as she always had, it wasn’t self-preservation that pushed her over the line, causing her to make the decision she’d been putting off. It was the knowledge that Ben and Danny would be in terrible danger as long as she stuck around.

  From out of nowhere, like a careening vehicle, came the thought that she might never see Aidan Tremayne again. She tried to sidestep the realization, but it crashed into her full force, and she gave a soft cry of despair on impact.

  Hargrove had turned the car around and was on the way back to the highway again before she could speak.

  “You’ve got to turn yourself in,” she said. “Sure, the sky will fall in, and there will be hell to pay, but at least you’ll be alive—and free of those awful people.”

  The senator was shaking his head even before she’d finished the sentence. “No,” he told her. “The publicity, the scandal, would be torture for Elaine. She’d never survive it!”

  Sadly Neely thought of the once-vibrant Elaine Hargrove. She’d been a famous television journalist, still active and vocal about her opinions even after her sudden immersion into political life. Then, just two years before, she’d started feeling tired and having episodes of unusual awkwardness. The diagnosis was grim, the prognosis, terrible. Elaine had been going downhill, physically at least, from the very first. Neely looked out the window for a few seconds, struggling with emotions of her own—horror, pity, and, yes, God forgive her, a certain savage gratitude that she hadn’t been the one to be struck down that way.

  “I think your wife is a whole lot stronger than you give her credit for,” she said.

  “She’s had to endure enough suffering as it is,” Hargrove said. “Once it’s all over, and she’s—she’s at peace, then I’ll go to the authorities with the truth.” The rental car bumped onto the highway and fishtailed slightly on the ice-coated asphalt. The senator’s attention was fixed on Neely. “I’ll do anything to protect Elaine,” he told her. “Anything.”

  Neely understood. “You’ve done your duty by warning me,” she replied, “and now I’m on my own. Does that about cover it?”

  Hargrove nodded. They rounded a bend, and the café sign came into view, a symbol of everything ordinary. Just then Neely would have paid practically any price to have a mundane life again, uncomplicated by desperate politicians, vengeful drug dealers, and her unremitting fascination with Aidan Tremayne.

  They came to a stop in front of Neely’s trailer, and Hargrove looked around nervously. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out an envelope. “Here—take this cash and get as far away as you can, as quickly as possible.”

  Neely didn’t want to accept the money, knowing only too well where it had come from, but her choices were limited. She’d put aside a little over the past few years, but it was mostly in long-term CDs, and she wouldn’t be able to get to it without drawing unwanted attention to herself.

  “Thanks,” she said without checking the contents of the envelope or looking directly at the senator. She opened the car door and got out, and even before the sound of the engine had died away, Neely was packing a suitcase.

  When that was done, she borrowed Ben’s truck and went to town to pick Danny up in front of the school. He beamed when he saw her and broke away from his friends, who were boarding a bus.

  “Hi,” he said, flinging himself onto the springy leather seat beside her. “What’s the deal?” Danny paused and frowned. “I don’t have to go to the dentist again, do I?”

  Neely shook her head and smiled, but at the same time she fought back tears. “No, you’re done with dentistry for a while, kid. I do have news, though, and frankly I’m a little worried about how you’re going to take it.”

  Danny’s freckles stood out against his pale skin. “Those bad dudes are after you, aren’t they?”

  Neely drove down Main Street, past the drugstore, the Sweetie-Freeze drive-in, the library, and the bank. She was going to miss this town, but not as much as she’d miss Danny and Ben. She frowned. “What do you know about anybody being after me?”

  “I heard you and Dad talking once.”

  Neely eyed the sheriff’s office as they passed and wished she could solve the problem by stopping in and reporting the situation, but she knew that wouldn’t work. If the FBI hadn’t come through for her, she could hardly expect protection from an aging, overweight sheriff with one part-time deputy. No, her only real hope was to get her copies of the evidence against Dallas Hargrove and the others and turn it over to the media. The trick would be in staying alive long enough to pull it off.

  She reached across the seat and ruffled Danny’s soft brown hair. “I should have known I couldn’t keep something like this from a super-detective like you.”

  There were tears in Danny’s eyes. “You’ll come back sometime, won’t you?”

  Neely was possessed of a sudden and rather ill-advised fit of optimism. Incredible as the prospect seemed, she had to make herself believe she was going to survive this mess—if she didn’t, the terror of it all would immobilize her. “You bet,” she sniffled. “Once the good guys get their licks in, everything will be okay again. In the meantime, I want you to promise me two things—that you’ll say a prayer for me every single night, and that you’ll look after your dad.�
� Danny offered a high five, and Neely completed the gesture. Now all she had to do was tell Ben good-bye, grab her suitcase, and hit the road. She wished she could see Aidan once more as well, but time was short. Besides, she hardly knew the man.

  Five hours later Neely was headed north in the car she’d bought from Doris Craig. Saying good-bye to Ben hadn’t been easy, but he’d urged her to disappear as quickly as possible, pressing all the money from the restaurant till into the pocket of her peacoat.

  She’d turned her trailer and her job over to Doris and set out in Doris’s old clunker of a car, making only one brief stop before leaving Bright River to ring Aidan Tremayne’s doorbell. She’d hoped to bid him farewell, but he evidently wasn’t at home.

  Neely scribbled a note on the back of an expired registration found in the glove box of Doris’s car, stuck the paper in the frame of Aidan’s front door, and fled.

  Twilight was gathering by the time the town of Bright River fell away behind her.

  Maeve was visiting the Havermails at their estate in the English countryside, circa 1895. She was embroiled in a game of croquet, played by the light of thousands of colorful paper lanterns, when Aidan materialized at her elbow.

  With a little cry Maeve started and accidentally tapped the croquet ball wide of the wire hoop she’d been aiming for. “Great Scot, Aidan,” she hissed, “I hate it when you do that!”

  He clasped her arm, heedless of the staring guests, and yanked her toward the shrubbery. “It’s Valerian—he’s found some way to change a vampire into a man,” he told her.

  Maeve stared at him, letting her wooden mallet topple forgotten onto the grass. “What?”

  Aidan began to pace, unable to stand still because of the torturous agitation the knowledge had roused in him. “He’s ill—I gave him blood—he sent me away without telling me—”

  “Aidan, stop,” Maeve pleaded, reaching out and clasping his shoulders in her extraordinarily white and graceful hands. “What in the world are you talking about? There is no way to change a vampire into a man—is there?”