SCROLLS OF THE DEAD-3 Complete Vampire Novels-A Trilogy (27 page)

For many long minutes confusion reigned. Her mind skipped about like a child on holiday. She continued to pray. She lit incense and breathed deeply, letting the scent of sandalwood help concentrate her mental processes.

I am strong, she told herself. I am a child of heaven. I will recall myself and who and what I am. I will overcome this violation and set my house in order.

After a time her mind did settle, and she was sure the master vampire had come to her home and done something with her memory. There were holes and gaps, leaving her with black images, like overdeveloped photographs. The more she tried to plumb the missing part of her mind, the more panicky she felt until she had a breakthrough and finally, finally, she saw in her mind's eye what she was not supposed to ever recall.

Vampire!

The old man. He had told her he must do it to save her life. She cursed him for the lie. For if she died, she would die knowing all, being queen of her own spirit and soul. She would not live with holes in her mind, vast black holes hiding secrets.

She began to pray to know the master vampire's name. If she could find his name, she could call to him and make him hear her. No one knew Bette had these abilities and sometimes she doubted them herself, but in any dire need she knew she could call upon an innate strength and belief that the world was knowable. In all its permutations. In all its vast multitude of dimensions. She had only to open herself and call out for the world to respond with the answers she needed.

When the vampire had first showed himself to her in the kitchen, she had been aware in a psychic way that he was not human and the visitation was supernatural. Now she went in search of the supernatural, embracing the part of her soul that understood the shadow world beneath the real world.

She first found the vampire, moving more rapidly than the wind to the south. Two hundred miles in the distance. She found him and opened her soul and sent out the distress signal that bore his name. Mentor. She had to make him understand he was not the only one who could enter and ransack another's private memory banks. She had found his name within his own being. It was how he described himself. How he had been known, she finally understood, for hundreds of years—or longer. Mentor.

While she waited for him to appear, she rose from her knees, giving thanks to Buddha for his grace, and went down the stairs slowly to her kitchen. She had not washed the dishes. They lay in jumbled disarray on the countertop—cups, saucers, plates, silverware. She ran a sinkful of hot water until steam came up to meet her nostrils. She plunged her hands in, scrubbing hard at the dishes while focusing on the real world of hot water, soap suds, the solid feel of glassware.

When she felt the old vampire at her back, she turned to face him, unafraid. If he killed her, then so be it. She'd made up her mind she must try to stop the violation he intended to do to the man she loved.

He said, "You called for me. I would like to know how you accomplished such a feat."

She said, "You are not the only creature with powers. I called because you must not do to Alan what you tried to do to me. It's evil. And I don't sense that you are as evil as you would like to appear."

"Am I not?" He waited and when she did not reply, he said, "How is it you can reach me when you're not like me? Where does your power come from?"

"Not a vampire, you mean? My power comes from the universe. I depend on my god."

"Would you call yourself an angel?"

She almost laughed. The smile played around her lips as she suppressed the laughter. "No, I'm no angel, Mentor. I'm not supernatural. I'm simply a devoted woman with my own small skills. I have found the pockets of memories you tried to eradicate. I remember the story Alan told me of the vampire who murdered two women. And I remember the problem with the blood bank—that surely has something to do with you. It's why you came in the first place."

"I don't know how you reversed my work," he said, "but this puts you into grave danger. I did what I did only to save you from a horrible fate."

"You must not interfere in my life," she said stubbornly.

"Then I'll have to watch your life taken. I wanted to avoid that."

She turned her head to the side, scrutinizing him. "Why do you want to save me? What am I to you?"

His lips lowered over the teeth, and now he did not look so much fierce as defeated. "Never mind my motives. What do you think you can accomplish by overriding my work and by insisting I come to you? Aren't you afraid at all?"

"I'm not afraid," she said honestly. "I believe we have some kind of connection, you and I. Now we must have an understanding. I've called you here to make a promise. I'll stand by that promise, knowing I forfeit my life if I break it."

"Yes?"

"I won't pursue the discrepancy with the Strand Catel Blood Bank. I won't speak of the murders Alan witnessed. I won't bother you the rest of my life. But you must promise never to come to me again to tamper with my mind. You must leave me alone, forever."

"That's an admirable trio of promises, Bette, but what about Alan Star? He's not like you, is he? Not as . . . gifted."

"No, he's not. But I'll prevent him from pursuing you and your friends. He loves me."

The old man glanced aside as if unable to meet her eyes. "I know," he said softly.

"Then is it a deal? I know that if you want to, you can take my whole mind, all of it, and turn it in such a way I'll never be myself again. I know you can kill me as easily as snapping the neck of a little wounded bird. I know your power, Mentor. But if you'll go away and stay away, we will—Alan and I—stay out of your business."

He seemed to think it over. His eyes still would not meet hers. He looked everywhere in the little kitchen except into her face. She felt an overpowering urge to step forward and take him into her arms, to hug him close to assure him all would be all right. It was not the proper urge for one she thought of as an abomination, an enemy, but there it was anyway. The feeling confused her so much she shook her head a little and glanced down at her hands as if seeing them for the very first time. The small, delicate lingers, the little square white nails. She wanted to put those hands on the old man's face and stroke his cheeks in a loving way.

She suddenly turned her back on him in order not to act on the strange urges rushing through her body. She knew he was not causing her to feel this way. It did not come from outside herself, but from inside, in the core of her, and it left her baffled, and a bit afraid.

"You must keep your promises," he said.

She nodded her head, not trusting her voice.

"If you break your vows, the next one who comes to you will not be me, Bette. It will be one who will suck your very soul from your body and leave you separated from your god. Do you understand me?"

Again she nodded, holding fast to the sink edge with both white-knuckled hands.

"Speak it," he commanded.

"Yes! I understand you. Yes!"

In just seconds she sensed he was gone. She turned, sighing in resignation at the pact she'd made. She clamped her trembling hands together. For now she had saved both herself and Alan.

All she had to do was to convince him he must forget what he'd seen. She hoped he had not yet told Charles Upton. If he had, then her promise was already broken and they were all doomed.

Chapter 21

Dell walked alongside Ryan through the mall, hoping he would take her hand. Wishful thinking, she told herself, but it would be nice if he did.

They stopped at a booth in the center aisle of the mall and looked at gold jewelry. Ryan picked up a gold heart with scrolled edges, but put it down again quickly. "That's pretty," she said, smiling.

He looked at her. "Yeah, it's nice."

They moved on, mingling with crowds, passing other young couples and groups of kids from their school. "You want something to eat before the movie starts?" he asked.

She glanced over to the food shops and shook her head. Lately, just the smell of real food put her off. She did not want to go near those places, but would suffer it if he was hungry. "No, thanks, but you eat something if you want."

"I'm all right."

They browsed in a bookstore, and he bought her a bookmark imprinted with angels. "Here, to mark your place," he said, handing it to her once they were out of the store.

"Thanks!" She slipped it into her purse, secretly happy that she would possess something he'd given her, a talisman.

As they strolled the mall some more, window shopping, commenting on clothing, she asked if he were going to college.

"A and M," he said.

"Aggie bound!" She grinned at him. She had thought that was where she would go, too. She had applied long before the change. If she were going to live for more than one lifetime, she would need education. A lot of it. Perhaps she would be a perpetual student, come right down to it. It might be the only way she would stay current during all the decades of whatever society she inhabited. "I'm going there, too," she said. "I was admitted just last week.'

"What major?" he asked.

"English literature, at least to begin with. I guess I'll just go for a liberal arts program. I really love libraries, you know? Quiet, clean, so peaceful."

"Good choice. I'll be in veterinary medicine."

"Wow. I hear you have to be on a list for years to get into that. The waiting list is supposed to be impossible."

"I think my parents signed me up when I was in diapers."

She laughed. "So you like animals a lot, huh?"

"Better than people, sometimes. They don't talk back, they don't get jealous, and they don't drive sport utility vehicles."

"What's wrong with sport utility vehicles?"

"They can't do what a pickup truck can in an open field. They're really for looks, most of them."

"I guess that means you like trucks. That's kind of typical Texan, isn't it?" she asked, teasing him.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I guess, as long as the truck has a sticker on the bumper that says you're an NRA member."

"Aw, c'mon." He smiled. "I'm refinishing an old truck I keep on my grandfather's ranch. It's a 1952 Ford and ugly as sin, but when I get through, it'll take you wherever you want to go.'

"What color will you paint it?"

"I don't know yet. Right now it's gray and rust. Maybe you can help me out with the color when I get ready to paint it."

"Fuchsia's nice."

"Oh, man."

She laughed happily. "Lime, then. Lime's good."

They talked about college and how they were both happy about going off to school, what they wanted to do when they had degrees, where they might want to live one day. The whole time Dell found herself full of excitement to think they'd be on the same campus.

At show time, they entered the mall theater lobby and he stood in line to buy them popcorn and cold drinks. She just couldn't tell him she wanted nothing without arousing his suspicion. She was learning quickly how to fake the eating of food and drinking of liquids. Sometimes she disposed of things when no one was looking by using her burgeoning skill at sleight of hand. Sometimes she just pretended to sip on a straw until she could set aside the drink. No one ever really watched another person consuming food or drink. It wasn't very difficult to trick the limited vision of a mortal.

He was so sweet to her, she thought, watching him as he paid for the goodies. Not anything like some of the other boys in her school. He wasn't full of ego, wasn't acting like a Romeo out to get whatever he could. He was polite to her, and so honest, his face showing every emotion that crossed his mind.

In the darkened theater seats, she placed her drink in a cup holder and let it sweat. Once in a while she took a handful of popcorn, bringing it to her mouth, then carefully dropping it to the floor. She smiled into the darkness when he slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her a little closer to him.

She knew it was crazy, but she really wanted to go a little nuts and kiss him full on the mouth when he wasn't expecting it. She stopped herself, knowing it might throw him a little. She would let him make his own moves, in his own time, but she wished that he would hurry. She could hardly concentrate on the movie for thinking of how good his arm felt around her shoulder, how great it was to have his hand brush the edge of her arm.

Her mother had told her just the night before how her emotions would be larger than before, her appetites greater. They had been discussing the night she left the house and rode Lightning too hard. They advanced from horse riding to the discussion of relationships. She was warned about feeling rage she would have to control, anger that might spiral out of hand, and all sorts of overwhelming desires she would have to contend with.

"It's as if you've matured by fifteen or twenty years," her mother said. "You'll want to do things . . . well, things you haven't done yet."

If she could have, Dell would have blushed. Her mother had never openly talked about sexual things before. She knew she was talking about virginity and having sex, and she had assumed, correctly, that her daughter had not yet had intercourse. Assumed, or she'd read her mind.

"I have to ask something, Mom."

"Anything, sweetheart."

"Can I become pregnant? I guess I can, since you did even before you changed, but I need to know these things and how they work. How they'll work for me."

"Yes, you can have a baby. Your body works just as it did before. If you feed, you'll remain healthy. So you can conceive and have children, but . . ."

"But I shouldn't mess around with mortals, I know, Mentor told me."

"It's just that . . ." Her mother seemed at a loss for words. She finally said, "It's just that if you conceive with a human male, the child will be . . . different."

"Will it live?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely it will live. The fetus of a vampire mother is always strong and vigorous. But if the father is a mortal, it won't be vampire. But . . . it won't be human either."