Animal Attraction (7 page)

Maybe I looked as scared as I felt. Or maybe,
just maybe, Tristan’s regret was an honest thing. At any rate, his
set expression softened to one that I don’t think I’ve ever seen on
a vampire’s face, especially one as strong as Tristan. That
compelling but cold visage took on the mood of a man who felt lost.
Pained yearning creased the area between his eyebrows. He wore the
look of a man who had held all he’d ever wanted for a brief moment
only to see it shatter in his hands.

His usually smooth and unruffled voice
sounded husky. “I’ve not handled us well.”

For a wonder I didn’t sound hurt, just
accepting. “No. But I suppose no one should expect you to. Patricia
meant more to you than anyone else, didn’t she? Even me.”

I saw an apology in the slight smile that
twitched the corners of his lips. “I was her older brother. I took
care of her because she was so sickly in life. Then I became a
father of sorts since I brought her over. As a vampire, her body
was at last as strong as her will and her vision for what we could
accomplish.” He laughed a little, a tight sound. “My sister, my
child, my equal. How can that be replaced?”

“It can’t.” That was the truth of it. I was a
poor copy, a meaningless substitute. I knew it and accepted it.
With all that had been between them, no love Tristan had ever
entertained for me could have held a candle to Patricia.

Can a broken heart keep shattering? It must
be possible, because I know I heard Tristan’s doing so all over
again.

He said, “There is such a hole in my life
now. The lamia didn’t take only Patricia’s soul – it took half of
mine as well.”

I would have traded places with his sister in
an instant to erase that devastated look from his pale face. “I’m
sorry, Tristan. I could have saved her if I hadn’t panicked.”

He shook his head. “And then so many more
would have died. No, Patricia would have been fine sacrificing
herself so that others could be saved. She was that kind of
person.”

As if he’d talked himself out of mourning,
Tristan straightened. He pulled his shoulders back manfully, as a
gentleman from his time would have been taught to do. My brief
access to his grief ended. Now I got to see him pull himself up by
his own bootstraps. It was so very Tristan of him.

His voice steady again, Tristan spoke with
force. “You have nothing to apologize for, Brandilynn. Not one
damned thing. You’ve handled what happened with grace while I’ve
left you out in the cold. It stops now.”

Yeah right. He’d made that false start once
before. I hated to be cynical, especially given who Tristan had
lost, but I wasn’t setting myself up to be hurt all over again.
“You can’t pretend the sight of me in this body doesn’t tear your
heart apart.”

He was adamant. “If I go to Atlanta, that
will solve us trying to get around the awkwardness once and for
all. But whether I win the election or not, I have no excuse for
leaving you to figure out your new existence with only a shifter to
help you.”

“Gerald has done terrific given he’s not a
vampire.” I insisted on giving credit where it was due.

“I’m sure he has, but it’s not his problem to
deal with.”

Great. I was still a problem.

Tristan knew what the look on my face meant.
Even in Patricia’s body, he read me like a book. He snickered a
little. “No, you yourself are not a problem. Getting you squared
away as a new vampire is.”

I wanted to protest that I was not a vampire,
but he was on a roll. I feared interrupting him now that he spoke
to me.

Tristan wore his ‘lord and master’ look, the
one that brooked no argument. “I will talk to the clutch. They are
not to ostracize you because you make them uncomfortable. If you
need help, they will step forward without hesitation.”

I crooked a brow at him, though a smile
teased my lips. It was good to see the old Tristan again. “That
doesn’t mean they’ll accept me.”

He returned the smile. “I can’t make them do
that, sweetheart. But I can insist they not treat you as a pariah.
This happened through no fault of your own, a one in a million
fluke. They’ll accept that, or they can get the hell out of my
clutch.”

It was almost like the old days. I restrained
myself from straightening his collar and brushing back his hair. I
settled for teasing him as I used to. “Not very diplomatic of you,
future senator.”

Tristan winked at me. “I know when to throw
my weight around and with who. My clutch knows I’m in charge.
Enough of that, though. While we’re talking, I have a request to
make.”

I folded my arms over my chest and gave him a
suspicious look. “Oh, so this is the real reason you’re making
nice.”

That made him look sad again, and I regretted
my words. His voice tender, Tristan said, “I hope you don’t believe
that. You’re free to refuse me.”

I jabbed his ribs to let him know I’d only
been joking. “Since when?”

We laughed weakly over that as I reminded
myself to tread more carefully. We were building a new foundation
to deal with one another, and it was shaky as heck. It wouldn’t
take much for it to crumble beneath our feet.

Tristan said, “I need you to join me at the
county commission meeting tomorrow night at eight.”

“As Patricia.”

Tristan nodded. The rumors must have been
flying since his sister hadn’t attended the last two commission
meetings. As far as I knew, no explanation had been given. The less
the norms knew about para affairs, the better.

I wasn’t a politician and I wasn’t Patricia.
She’d been at most meetings in the past simply to keep an eye on
things and report her observations to Tristan. I had a pretty good
idea of how little I would contribute to the actual meeting. “I
know I will be keeping my mouth shut, but do I get to glare at the
other commissioners?”

Tristan’s grin seemed wholehearted. “That
would be in keeping with how Patricia behaved. Few words and a bald
stare have shut many a mouth in the past.”

I could handle that. “Sounds like fun. I’m
in.”

I went still as Tristan stepped close to me,
close enough to kiss. With him standing so near, it was all too
easy to remember the love we had once shared. In that moment, I
wanted to turn back the clock so bad it hurt. It took monumental
effort to control the pain, to keep it from turning into anger.
That would have taken away the glamour that made me almost human in
appearance.

Tristan dropped a chaste brotherly kiss on my
forehead. It was more than what he’d offered these last few weeks,
but it was so much less than what we’d had before.

“Thank you, Brandilynn,” he murmured.
“Someday maybe I can find a way to make it all up to you.”

He turned and left with an abruptness that
told me he felt way more than he was comfortable with too. There
was no sign of Dan or Gerald outside the door.

I stood alone in the conference room. I took
my time gathering myself, talking myself into the belief that
everything didn’t hurt all over again. Yes, an already shattered
heart can keep breaking.

When I thought my glamour was in no danger of
disappearing, I headed for my office and its cabinet full of BP9. I
thought a case might be enough to settle my nerves.

I got through the rest of the night by
avoiding everyone else. Dan sent word that he was checking on a few
things. Gerald showed his face after I had my private word with
Tristan. At my assurance everything was okay, he left me to my own
devices.

It occurred to me that I must not be doing so
bad these days if I’m not requiring a babysitter every second. That
should have cheered me up. Instead it got me thinking I was
learning to be a good little vampire. Eek.

I made myself scarce by hiding out in my
office and shopping online. Like so many others, I’m paid by
Tristan as a member of his staff. I guess I make what he used to
pay Patricia, because my bank account is the stuff gals with a love
for designer clothes dream of.

Two pairs of Jimmy Choos, a Versace dress,
and five (!) new Roberto Cavalli pieces later, it was finally time
for Gerald to drive me out to Patricia’s casket. I was quiet as he
navigated from downtown to Fulton Falls Cemetery. It was a really
big graveyard that’s been in use almost as long as the town has
existed. Most of the plots are kept neat. The stones range from
small and simple to grand pieces.

I had two berths. One was my own, where my
remains lay beneath a heart-shaped stone paid for by Tristan. My
own family refused to have anything to do with seeing to my eternal
rest (ha-ha, some rest). Tristan had stepped in with Patricia’s
help to make sure I had a decent service and burial.

The other grave was Patricia’s, and it was
unmarked. Vampires kept their daytime places secret since too many
norms liked to expose them to the sun, chop off their heads,
etcetera. Only Dan, Gerald, and Tristan knew where I left this body
when the night ended.

I’ve often wondered what would happen if
anyone found Patricia’s casket and exposed her body to the sun.
Vampires who are sent to their final deaths never return as ghosts.
My case was weird in that no spirit had ever inhabited a vampire
body belonging to someone else. If Patricia was staked, beheaded,
and burned, would I disappear like other vampires? Or would I go
back to being a full time ghost as I was before? It was a mystery,
one I wasn’t brave enough to solve. I hated being a bloodsucker,
but the alternative was too scary to contemplate.

Gerald dropped me off with the morning
newspaper and a bottle of BP9. I sat on a nice little cement bench
a few feet away from the mound that concealed Patricia’s casket.
The area was pretty private. A nice hedge blocked the view from
most traffic.

Next to my seat stood a pecan tree, currently
bare of leaves. Branches clicked together in the breeze that shook
them. If not for the rotten egg smell coming from the pulp mill
that belched rancidness five miles away, it would have been the
site of perfect tranquility. Fortunately I had no need to breathe,
so I was able to ignore the mill. I had a seat, opened my drink,
and checked out the paper.

The latest crisis in the Middle East was the
usual headline. However Tattingail’s exit from the state senate
election and his bid for Tristan’s spot on the county commission
was also on the front page, at the bottom. I scanned the story
quickly. As usual, Tattingail talked about curbing the ‘hellish’
influence of bloodsuckers and curs (his word for shifters) on Ford
County. His brand of vitriolic hatred for paras ran to the extreme,
the reason he’d never won any election against Tristan. We liked
our bigotry calm and polite and behind paras’ backs in this area,
thank you. Small town America was progressive that way.

I scanned the rest of the paper, looking for
any mention of the missing shifters. Nothing. Unless paras
committed nefarious deeds, they got no print or airtime.

I realized I’d begun to squint at the
newsprint before my eyes. Things were turning brighter. I looked to
the sky. Sure enough, the horizon had turned a peachy-lavender.
Dawn was on its way.

I gathered my paper and bottle and put them
in the discreet container nearby. Then I stood at the foot of the
grave, feeling a sense of relief. Another night had ended. It was
time to be me, all me, again.

I knelt and placed my hand on the slight hill
before me. Cold as ice, my palm did not melt any of the frost that
had formed on the stiff, brittle grass.

Like magic, a fissure opened in a straight
line from where my hand lay to the head of the grave. The ground
bulged and spit out an ivory white casket so that it sat on the
churned soil.

I stood and went to the catch, opening the
casket to display the sky-blue satin interior. “Home sweet home,” I
sighed. I climbed in and laid down.

It looked pillowy soft, but that was only
surface dressing. The hard bottom of the thing was like resting on
a plank. No matter; I wasn’t going to be in it for long anyway. I
reached up for the lid and slammed it down, plunging myself into
darkness.

The casket bucked, like a bull trying to
throw a rodeo cowboy. With me safely stowed within, it burrowed its
way back into the dirt, pulling me below the earth where Patricia’s
body would be safe from the sun.

Then all went still. I waited for the worst
thing I’d ever known and the sweetest. They always happened one
behind the other. In the minutes before the sun rose, I lay in the
second greatest stillness of my existence. The dark and quiet were
absolute, especially since I had no need of breath or pulse. I
found it claustrophobic even after almost three months of doing
this. I wondered if a few hundred years would cure me of wanting to
weep in the dark.

Then a greater darkness crept in. Dawn had
arrived. Afterlife’s most awful terror came for me.

I felt as if I fell in some nightmare. It was
a slow motion sensation, and I sensed some endless pit opening
beneath me, sucking me into its infinite depths. I squeezed my eyes
shut and tried to remind myself that it was only temporary, that
the Good Thing would come next, that it would all be okay.

I fell out of Patricia’s body into nothing.
For an instant I almost became one with that void, as close to
nothing as one can be without ceasing to exist. I had no voice to
scream. There was no sensation whatsoever save that of my fading
thought of no. Even my consciousness dwindled, becoming the tiniest
mote of personality struggling for survival.

Then, far in the distance, came the Sound.
Not just a sound, but an all capital letters SOUND. It was music,
but it wasn’t. It was a tone, but it wasn’t. It was every voice
that had ever lifted in song ... but it wasn’t.

How can I describe the indescribable? It was
everything beautiful, everything wondrous, everything miraculous.
It lasted for only the briefest of moments, but in that moment I
heard Heaven. My soul strained towards it, as if I would fly to
some place I knew and yearned for with every mote of my being.