Silence and the Word (25 page)

He lowered his head, to lick circles around
her belly and up to her breasts, her top now pushed high to bare
their small firmness. He sucked each nipple gently, then firmly;
then, as her nails sank into his back, perhaps drawing the first
blood, he bit down, his own fingers digging into her soft skin, his
crotch pressed hard against her thighs. Down again, and this time
only a little teasing, a light dip and taste before he dove, tongue
searching and prodding, and she tasted like flowers and soil and
moonlight wrapped together. Though she moaned and shivered beneath
him, no fluids appeared to coat her passageway, and so he licked
long and hard, finally licking a finger and thrusting it deep
inside her. She screamed then, and Peter thought he’d hurt her
until he looked up to see the smile on her face, the fierce
possessive smile that said yes.

And the urgency was strong in him now. He
unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down, releasing his cock into
the chill night air for a moment before he slid inside her. At
least by contrast she was warm and wet. He pushed up and in, and
then pulled back, and this motion at least was familiar, so
familiar that only a few strokes later he came, shuddering deep
inside her, legs pressed hard against hers and his hands clenched
deep in the soil. He collapsed on top of her, mindless for a
moment. She let him rest there, silently, and it was not until he
raised his head to look at her, a question in his eyes, that she
smiled at him and asked, “Again?”

‘…
for they are creatures of insatiable
appetites…’

They lay nestled on their sides in the shadow
of a stone, her hips against his, her small left breast cradled in
his long-fingered hand. He was asleep, and the small puncture
wounds in his neck were barely visible in the fading moonlight. Her
green eyes were opened wide, and her fingers curled around his
hand, tracing lines in the skin. They lay that way an endless time,
until the light of day began to creep over the eastern hills.

“Peter… .” Her voice was surprisingly soft,
and he did not answer. “Peter, it’s time to go.” She turned in his
arms, but he only groaned. A smile stretched across her face,
although something lurked beneath it. She raised a hand and raked a
nail across his chest. Peter’s eyes flew open, a question burning
in them. Before he could ask it, she stopped his mouth with a kiss,
long and sweet and sad with might-have-beens. Then she was pulling
away and dressing quickly in the breaking light. “I’ll come to you
tomorrow night,” she murmured. “Be sure that he’s asleep. Drug him
if you must. I make no promises—none of my kind has attempted
this.”

“And the price?” Peter asked. “What do you
want from me in exchange?”

She pulled her top over her head and shook
her hair free before turning to smile at him. “The price is paid.
If it works, the two of you can buy me dinner in a century or
two…and perhaps we’ll share something more than dinner?” A sad
question lingered in her eyes, but before Peter could ask her what
was wrong, he blinked, and she was gone.

‘…
and remember, the grave is a cold place;
the coldness of the soil they sleep in will creep into the
monster’s skin and remain there, despite all they do to warm
themselves…’

Ian hadn’t wanted to take anything to help
him sleep. Peter had had to borrow their landlord’s cat, bring it
quietly inside and let it walk around the bathroom for a bit. When
Ian used the bathroom later, the hair set off his allergies and he
started coughing, shuddering. Peter’s throat tightened, but it did
mean that Ian was willing to take some antihistamines…and within
half an hour, Ian was out cold. Peter opened the window, and she
flowed into the room, naked and lovely. He didn’t even ask her how
she’d managed that, considering they were two stories up. He didn’t
want to know.

They stood facing each other over Ian’s bed,
where he lay, curled and trusting as a child.

“Pull back the sheets,” she said.

Peter hesitated—but Ian had pulled them up so
tight that only his face was visible. Peter gently pulled the
sheets from Ian’s fingers and drew them down. She dragged in her
breath and bit her lip.

“He’s so ugly!”

White-hot words rose to Peter’s lips and died
there. To a creature made perfect in form, any human might well be
ugly…and Ian’s body was a cruel parody of what it once had been.
Peter could still see the perfection of line in Ian’s curving back,
the hidden strength of his hands. He didn’t need to show her,
though.

She glanced back and forth between them. Her
hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. She took a step
forwards, and reached down to touch Ian’s chest.

“You won’t… .” Peter didn’t know what he
could say—everything was in her hands now, and she could do
whatever she wanted, but still… .

She shook her head. “I have no desire for
your lover. I will not touch him beyond what is needful. But there
is a problem.”

“What?” Peter’s voice broke on that one word,
but he didn’t care. It was too late for caring about such
things.

“I cannot do this without desire. The blood
will be foul; I need heat burning through me to clean it. Lie you
down beside your lover. Touch me as I taste him. Keep me burning,
or we will have no chance of cleansing him.”

Peter nodded, and slowly stripped. He lay
down on the bed and she lay down atop him, her mouth near Ian’s
throat. Peter’s pulse quickened at the feel of her flesh on his
chest, the feel of Ian’s thigh against his—still, despite
everything. She kissed him, and he caressed her breast, feeling the
fire start to burn. Then she lifted her head.

“One more thing… .” she said.

“Anything.” What could he deny her now?

“I am Katya.” She smiled, with some effort.
“I thought we should be properly introduced.”

Peter wondered how much danger was in this
for her, after all. He wanted to ask—but she didn’t want to say,
and perhaps it was better that way.

“Sounds Transylvanian,” he said instead.

“Ukrainian, actually.” Katya smiled more
genuinely then, and bent down to Ian’s throat. Peter slid a hand
between her thighs and began to caress her as her teeth sunk into
his lover’s skin and the bright blood flowed.

‘…
it is their power that is so beautiful,
so sexual and irresistible to the poor mortal…’

The effects hadn’t been immediate.

Katya had left just before dawn, and Peter
had gotten up, pulled the shade closed, and then climbed back into
bed. He was asleep within minutes, and had slept until nightfall.
When he woke, Ian had still been asleep, and Peter had pulled back
the sheet carefully. His eyes had filled with tears when he saw no
change in his lover’s body—he almost woke Ian then and confessed
everything.

Katya had said it might take more time than
usual. He had promised her he would be patient.

Now his patience was rewarded. Three weeks
gone, and Ian was looking better. The difference was slight, but
there was visibly more flesh on his bones. He was eating more, and
keeping it down. His interest in sex had rekindled, and though
Peter still refused to let Ian carry his full weight, he could feel
the returning strength in Ian’s body.

They made love slowly at night, and Peter
kept his mouth busy all over Ian’s body, along back and thighs and
calves—anywhere but on Ian’s own mouth. Katya had warned him that
if they kissed, the fangs might extend involuntarily, and Peter
wasn’t ready to tell Ian what he had done—not until he was
absolutely sure of the cure’s potency. So Peter’s mouth was most
often on his lover’s cock, his hands feeling the returning muscle
of Ian’s thighs. When Ian moaned his pleasure, his hands clenched
in Peter’s hair, Peter thought of Katya and prayed.

‘…
as we remarked earlier, their unholy
vitality can only be explained by a pact with Lucifer. Yet it is
easy to see why a man might be tempted by eternal youth, health and
life, though it be at the cost of his soul…’

Peter sat cross-legged on the wide bed,
watching the snow fall outside their window and carefully avoiding
sight of Ian’s heavy gold crucifix on the west wall. Peter still
dreamed of her occasionally, though it had been several months
since they’d met, and he had to resist the impulse to visit the
cemetery again. He had found other streets for his nocturnal
ramblings; the city was large enough that it would be months before
he learned all its nighttime moods and places. Of course, he had
nothing but time.

Ian stirred in the blankets, flinging one
pale arm out from under the covers and across Peter’s thighs. The
impact woke him, and he blinked sleepily at Peter. “It’s almost
morning, dear. Been up all night again?”

“Mmhmmm… .” Peter reached out to draw down
the shade, as he had every dawn since that night in the cemetery.
The light hurt Ian’s eyes. “How are you feeling today?”

“Actually, I’m feeling wonderful.” Ian spoke
slowly, considering his words. “I didn’t expect another remission—I
didn’t even expect to see Christmas this year, you know. But I feel
almost
healthy
today. Perhaps we could go for a walk later?
It’s been so long since I’ve been out in the light… .”

Ian smiled up at Peter hopefully, and Peter’s
heart twisted once again as he reached to pull Ian into his arms.
“Of course we can go for a walk, love. I’m so glad that you’re
feeling better. But perhaps we should have a talk first. There’s
something I need to tell you…” ‘…and I pray that you can forgive
me,’ he finished silently.

The Saturday after her mother left, Manda
found the bear. That Saturday was her eleventh birthday. Eleven
wasn’t a very exciting birthday; when she turned thirteen, she’d
get to go outside the domes in her own moonsuit, and when she
turned fifteen, she’d get to use the low-grav fliers, but eleven
was just another birthday. Manda’s dad had lifted his head long
enough to tell her, “Your mother bought you a present before she
went away. I think she left it in the closet.” Then he went back to
staring at his shoes.

Manda had gone down the long, curved hall to
her mom’s room with its cramped closets, where abandoned boxes and
bags sat under hanging racks of clothes. When her mom had left, she
had left them only a tear-marked note on her bed, smeared with a
bright lipstick kiss. Manda hadn’t been able to read her mom’s
messy writing, but when her dad had taken the note out of Manda’s
hand and read it, his face had crumpled like a real Earth-fabric
shirt, full of little lines. Some of the lines had gone away in the
last week, but others had just gotten darker and deeper, and Manda
thought they were probably there for good.

Manda’s mom had taken nothing, not even a
purse. For a while, Manda had hoped her mom would at least come
back for her stuff…but she hadn’t. Manda guessed her mom’s new
friend would be buying her lots of new stuff to replace the old
things she’d left behind. One small bag perched on a shoe box held
make-up and a mini make-up computer. Manda remembered playing with
that once, years ago, letting the machine sample her skin and
decide what color blush was best for her. She had covered her face
in make-up, then gone to show her mom, who had just smiled and kept
talking to one of her friends on the net. Her dad had sighed and
then made Manda wash it all off. Another bag was stuffed with night
things—pretty things in blues and purples. Manda’s mom hadn’t worn
those in a long time. In the third bag was the bear.

At first, Manda was annoyed with her mom for
choosing a teddy bear. She was eleven years old today—she wasn’t a
little kid any longer. But the more she looked at the bear, the
more she liked it. It was far nicer than her battered teddy
bear—this one had fur soft as a kitten’s and was just the color of
melted chocolate. It was big, too—almost as tall as she was, and
when she said hello, it answered quickly, in a warm, furry voice.
It was much smarter than her old Teddy350.

“Hello, teddy bear.”

“Hello. What is your name?”

The teddy spoke so politely, that Manda felt
she should be polite too, and answered with her whole name. “My
name is Amanda Morley.”

“It is good to see you again, Amanda. You
have changed.”

The teddy must have had some bugs in it,
because Manda had never seen it before, but when it walked forward
and gave her a big hug, she decided not to worry about the bugs.
The hug was soft and enveloping. The teddy smelled like pine trees
and sunlight. Manda took Teddy’s paw, and led him to her room. Then
her dad called her for dinner, and she left Teddy standing there,
looking a little lost. She promised to play with him later, and
Teddy nodded solemnly.

That night, after macaroni and cheese, her
dad settled down in his chair, heavy glass in hand. Manda asked him
to play a game with her, but he said he was busy with work. She
understood; he’d been working a lot lately. She’d manage on her
own—she wasn’t a little kid anymore. When she got to her room,
Teddy was standing where she had left him.

“What do you want to play, Teddy?”

“Would you like to play ‘Catch Amanda?’“

“Sure, I guess.”

She wasn’t sure what the rules of the game
were, but when Teddy started toddling towards her on his stumpy
legs, she quickly stepped away. Her room wasn’t huge, but there was
enough room for her to run around, jumping up onto the bed and down
again, up onto her desk and down again, sliding to hide underneath
the bed once, where Teddy couldn’t fit, running faster and faster
with Teddy toddling behind until she ran out of energy and
collapsed, laughing. Teddy pounced.

“Gotcha!” His big furry body fell on top of
hers, careful not to actually squish her.