Breathless (22 page)

Leesa thought of all her mom’s strange behaviors. “Strangely how?”

“The biggest thing was that whenever she killed a chicken to cook for dinner, she drank its blood.”

Leesa cringed at the image—thank god her mom had settled for tomato juice. “What does that have to do with my mom?”

The professor looked up from the manuscript and smiled. “It’s the next part I think you’ll find interesting.” He ran his finger across the page, finding the lines he wanted. “The farmer tried getting help from the local shaman and even from the church, but nothing helped. Then a few years later, he and his wife came across the man she said had bitten her. The farmer killed him with a machete, and then watched in horror as she threw herself upon the body and began drinking his blood. The farmer pulled her off as quickly as he could and took her home.” Professor Clerval looked up and met Leesa’s eyes. “She never drank blood again.”

Leesa took a moment to digest what the professor had just said. “You mean…?”

Professor Clerval smiled. “Yes. Apparently, the woman became her old self again. There’s a similar account from Eastern Europe in here as well. If these accounts are true—and the fact that they’re from two places so far apart makes it more likely they are—we may have found a way to cure your mother.”

“Cure her?”

“According to this, reverse all the effects of the original bite.”

Leesa’s head was spinning. The professor was saying there was a chance she could have a normal mom, after all these years. She could scarcely imagine what that would be like. It was almost too much to believe or to comprehend. But
drinking
blood? She grimaced at the thought, but then remembered her mom’s appetite for tomato juice. Maybe blood wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for her.

Reading her expression, the professor responded to her unspoken concern. “It’s an old book. I think we can probably get away with injecting the blood.”

Leesa smiled. “Whew. I’m glad to hear that.”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up too much,” Professor Clerval said. “First, we’d have to find the
grafhym
that bit her. If we’re lucky and it’s still in Sleeping Giant Park, we’d still have to catch it somehow. And the blood could be dangerous. Like I said, it’s an old book—we don’t really know what effect the blood might have on your mother. But this book has proven correct on a number of other issues, so I have no reason to doubt it.” He lifted his pipe from the ashtray and took a puff. “So if by some miracle we did catch the
grafhym
, and if what the book says is true, the creature’s blood should make your mother’s symptoms disappear. There’s one catch, though—the blood must be fresh, which means you have to get your mother to Connecticut.”

Leesa focused on the word “dangerous.” Why was everything in her life so dangerous all of a sudden? Did she have the right to ask her mom to try such a thing, when she couldn’t even figure out what to do about her own situation with Rave? Was she being selfish, by even thinking of trying something so risky just for the chance to have a normal mother? She pictured her mom’s habitually unhappy face. Perhaps her mom would welcome the chance. She had to at least ask.

Her thoughts turned to Rave, who’d spent the last two days at Sleeping Giant searching for the
grafhym
. She hadn’t heard anything from him, but knew he was still looking. If he did locate it, she had little doubt he’d be able catch the
grafhym
when she told him about this. Indeed, that would probably be the easy part. Getting her mom to Connecticut might prove far more difficult.

“I already have someone looking for the
grafhym
,” she said. “After our last talk, I wanted at least to find out if there really was a one-fanged vampire there.”

Professor Clerval closed the book, surprised but pleased. “Really? Who? Some kind of detective or something?”

Leesa smiled, picturing the silent way Rave moved and how quickly he covered ground. She imagined what he would be like in the forest. If the
grafhym
was there, Rave would find it. “Not exactly,” she said. “More like a hunter. A very skilled hunter.”

Twenty miles to the south and east, on the outskirts of the coastal town of Old Saybrook, three other hunters waited in plain sight. Vampires—two male, one female—hanging out in a small park next to a mini-mart grocery store. The park was dimly lit by pale yellow illumination from the store’s parking lot lights, and the trio appeared natural and unthreatening, just some friends talking in a neighborhood park. They’d been there for about twenty minutes, sitting at a wooden picnic table and seemingly paying no attention to their surroundings. A few cars had come and gone from the lot while they watched, but none had carried what they were seeking—a lone woman. They were in no hurry. The night was dark and chill, exactly the way they liked it.

They’d been sent out by the Council to find a feeder for the youngest of the three, a short, stocky male whose bald head was covered by the hood of his dark sweatshirt. His name was Paul, and he’d been a vampire for little more than a century. The growing hunger gnawing at him was becoming increasingly difficult to control. Having already lost two of their coven, the Council decided he needed a feeder to slake his thirst and prevent him from going rogue. They sent him out with two of his elders to keep him out of trouble. The female was Tess, a petite blonde who had been a vampire for almost five centuries, and whose power had earned her a seat on the Council. Now that Robert had vanished and was presumed destroyed, Tess was the most harmless looking member of the coven. In her jeans and bright blue coat, she looked like a young mother, which was why she’d been chosen for this hunt. The second male was Rafael, tall and white-haired, dressed in a long brown coat. Rafael looked like he could be Tess’s father, or even her grandfather. But he was younger than Tess, by more than a hundred years.

Gail Bettancourt was tired. She’d been on her feet for most of the last ten hours, working the register. One hundred seventy pounds was a lot of weight for her poor feet. But finally, her shift was over. All she wanted to do now was go home, give her babies a hug and a kiss and put them to bed, then soak in a long, hot bath. Maybe have a glass of wine and some cheese while she soaked. She smiled as she pulled the elastic scrunchy from her black hair and let it fall loose over her shoulders. That picture was sounding better and better.

She said goodnight to Henry, who would man the store alone until its midnight closing, and headed out the door toward her old Tercel, parked in the corner of the lot. The night was cold, so she grabbed the sides of her jacket together in front of her. No need to waste the energy to zip it closed—she’d be inside her car in a moment.

As she bent to put the key into the lock, she sensed someone approaching. Her muscles tensed in alarm, but she relaxed when she saw the slight blonde drawing near.

“May I ask you a question, please?” the woman asked.

Gail straightened and turned toward the woman. “Sure. What do you need?”

The woman smiled. “I was wondering…”

Gail never heard the rest of the question. Somehow, impossibly, there was now a man standing beside her. Where had he come from? And how had he gotten there so quickly? Before she could even begin to formulate an answer, a pair of fangs sank into her throat and she collapsed into his arms.

24.  DISCOVERIES

A
column of smoke rose straight and thin from the short stone chimney atop the old log cabin—Leesa wished the thoughts in her head could be so simple. No chance of that, though, not with all she’d learned in the past few days and all she now had to figure out and make decisions about. And that didn’t even count the amazing trip that had carried her here. “Carried” was exactly the word, too.

Rave set her down gently on the narrow dirt road in front of the old cabin, more a wide path than a road, really. She still didn’t quite believe the trip she’d just experienced—maybe she was dreaming. If it was a dream, it was one of the best she’d ever had, Rave effortlessly carrying her cradled in his arms from Weston to Moodus, moving easily through the trees, following old game paths where he could, at speeds that should have been impossible. The fifteen-mile jaunt had taken little more than an hour—a wondrous hour Leesa spent pressed against his chest, soaking in his delicious heat as he raced through the woods. All her worries about the dangers of being with him were forgotten, lost in the pleasures of the journey. She looked over at him, marveling as always at how gorgeous he was. This had to be a dream—he wasn’t even breathing hard. But if it was a dream, she didn’t ever want to wake up.

One of the things churning in her mind was the news he’d shared when he unexpectedly showed up at her dorm this morning. He’d found the
grafhym
, in an isolated section of Sleeping Giant Park, and when she told him about Professor Clerval’s discovery, Rave assured her he could find and capture the
grafhym
whenever necessary. Now all she needed to do was decide whether she could ask her mom to risk taking the blood, and then figure out how to get her to Connecticut. That was going to be difficult at best, but the only alternative seemed even more unlikely—getting the
grafhym
to San Diego.

She returned her attention to the cabin. She could tell it was old—the rough-hewn logs were cracked and weathered, the mud between them black with age. Tall oak trees surrounded the dwelling, their thick limbs overhanging the roof to form a natural canopy. The trees looked as though they’d grown up around the structure, which meant it had been built a very long time ago, when the trees were young. To the left of the cabin she saw a small cleared field, bare and fallow this time of year, but she could imagine it brimming with herbs and vegetables in spring and summer. The place was wonderfully quiet, with only the gay whistling of unseen birds breaking the silence.

Farther up the road, before it curved into the woods, she spied another cabin and a couple of crude wooden houses, more of the isolated Maston settlement. Each home had a small field cleared beside it. On the opposite side of the road, an apple orchard covered a low hillside, the familiar short, gnarled trees growing in long orderly lines. Even from where she stood, Leesa could see plump red fruit hanging from the branches. The Mastons were clearly very self-sufficient.

She brought her gaze back to the cabin in front of her, which belonged to Rave’s friend and mentor Balin. This was another topic whirling in her brain: Rave said Balin wanted to meet her, that he had come across some information important to her and Rave. Balin had apparently hinted that it concerned kissing, but he had revealed no more. She hoped it would be good news.

“I see now why you Mastons don’t need cars,” Leesa said. She fluffed her windblown hair with her fingers. “That was quite a ride. I don’t think we could have made it much faster by car. And you don’t look the least bit tired.”

Rave smiled. “I’ve been making that trip quite a bit recently, so I’m in pretty good shape.” He winked. “First time I’ve done it with a passenger, though.”

“Well, this passenger is very impressed, let me tell you. Next time I need a taxi, I’ll call you instead—the ride’s a whole lot more fun.” It took a moment before Leesa realized what she’d said. “Scratch that ‘call you’ idea. I’ll send up smoke signals instead.”

Rave laughed. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on the sky, then.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s see what Balin has to say.”

He led her up to the cabin and knocked on the door. When the door swung open, Leesa found herself looking at a tall thin man dressed in a worn buckskin shirt and breeches identical to the ones Rave had worn to the Halloween party. His dark gray hair was longer than Rave’s and fell loosely down his back. A few narrow streaks of copper brightened the gray. His lined face bore a broad grin.

“Young Rave,” he said, before his eyes moved to Leesa. “And you would be Leesa.” He studied her for a moment, nodding approvingly. “Now I see the reason for young Rave’s dilemma.” He stepped back from the doorway and waved them in. “Welcome to my humble home. I’m Balin. Come in, please.”

Once inside, Leesa felt as if she had stepped back in time. The place was one big room, illuminated by a couple of candles and a small fire in a stone fireplace. The furniture was simple and well crafted, obviously handmade. A buckskin sleeping mat stuffed with straw lay upon the plank floor at one end of the room, while a dark brown bearskin rug covered the center section. She was pretty sure the rug was the real thing, and she wondered if Balin had killed the bear himself. In places, the fur had worn away down to the skin, attesting to the rug’s age. Near the other end of the room, a pair of shelves held six large bottles filled with golden liquid. Their irregular shape and the tiny bubbles visible within the glass told her the bottles, like the furniture, were almost certainly handmade. Naturally, there was no television, radio, or refrigerator.

“Please, have a seat,” Balin said, waving his hand toward four wooden chairs in front of the fire. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I know you’re not much of a drinker,” Rave said, “but you’ve got to try Balin’s mead. He’s famous for it.”

Leesa settled into one of the middle chairs, stretching her feet out in front of the fire. She didn’t have a clue what this mead stuff was, but if Rave said she should try it, then try it she would. “I’ll have a small glass, please.”