Текст книги "The Becoming"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Chapter Seven

He pushes off from the gate when he sees me and joins me at the boardwalk. “I love your place,” he says enthusiastically.

He's grinning and looking around, which gives me a chance to give him the once over. The last time I saw him he was in doctor garb, covered from head to toe. Now, however, in this outfit, I'm treated to a display of muscular arms, powerful shoulders, and long, sturdy legs all tanned bronze. It takes me a minute to work my gaze from this tall, unexpectedly athletic form back up to his face. He's wearing black aviator Ray Bans which shield his eyes, but his mouth reflects unabashed humor as he watches me check him out.

I keep my expression studiously neutral as I meet his gaze. “Did you come for the scrubs?” I ask. “I would have returned them to you, you know. You didn't have to make the trip."

"Nope, not the scrubs.” He grins a little wider and dangles a set of car keys in front of my face.

Car keys that look very familiar. “Are those mine?"

"Yep. Thought you might need your car. I made arrangements to get it back for you.” A brief pause. “I also took the liberty of having it detailed. It was, well, a little messy inside."

I take the keys from his outstretched hand and look at him with upturned eyebrows. “How did you manage to get my car? I can't imagine the police would just release it to you."

He shrugs. “I have friends in high places.” He looks over my shoulder. “Speaking of which, where's your friend Michael? I thought he was bringing you home."

I hesitate. What explanation can I give for being alone?

But he doesn't give me the chance to come up with anything. He jumps right in, giving me a conspiratorial wink. “I suspected you hadn't called him."

His smugness is annoying.

"Oh? How do you know I didn't call him? He could be inside, right now, fixing me lunch."

Those feather-like laugh lines I noticed in the hospital crinkle around the Ray Bans. “Is he?"

Well, no. But I'm not telling Dr. Avery that. And how the hell does he know I didn't call Michael, anyway?

"I didn't think so,” he responds. “Calling that cab to pick you up gave it away."

My jaw sags a little. Had I spoken out loud?

"No,” he answers.

That's it. This is getting creepy. “Okay.” I put steel in my voice. “Are you psychic? Is this some kind of trick?"

He puts a hand on my elbow and steers me toward my gate. “Invite me inside,” he says. “And I'll answer all your questions."

I pull away. “I don't think so.” I don't invite strange men into my home, and this guy is even stranger than most. I have no intention of being alone with him, doctor or no.

Dr. Avery removes his sunglasses. His eyes lock me in their gaze. “I won't hurt you, Anna,” he says softly. “In fact, I can help you.

You have a lot of questions about what happened to you with Donaldson. I have the answers."

His voice, velvet-edged and insistent, sends a ripple of tranquil acceptance through me. I know with absolute certainty that he won't hurt me. Unhesitatingly, I lead the way to the door and unlock it, holding it open for him to pass through. “Welcome to my home."

As Dr. Avery takes a seat on the couch, he grins up at me and says again, “I really do love your home. I mean it, this is a great place."

But I'm not going to be sidetracked. Now that we're inside, that unshakable confidence I felt just a moment before melts away. I perch myself on the edge of an overstuffed chair facing him. “Now what do you have to tell me about Donaldson?"

As soon as I say it, a primitive warning resonates in my brain. What could he possibly know about Donaldson? Unless he's gotten more of those tests back and—

"No, no, it's nothing medical."

He's done it again. I launch myself up and at him, seething with mounting rage. “Okay, that's it. How are you doing that? It's not funny, it's not clever, and it's really pissing me off."

My outburst doesn't faze him. He crosses one tanned leg over the other and looks right at me.

Try it yourself.

The voice comes out of nowhere. Or rather, it comes from insidemy head.

See?The voice continues. Now try saying something to me.

"What the hell do you mean?"

No.Dr. Avery's brow wrinkles slightly, as though he's concentrating harder. Don't answer with your voice. Use your mind.

Are you nuts?

He beams. Now that wasn't hard, was it?

I sink back into the armchair, suddenly woozy with surprise and dread. Did I really do that? Project my thoughts to him?

Of course you did, Dr. Avery responds, his face lit up like a child's at Christmas. There's pride and delight and wonder all mingled together. You are a quick study. I knew it the moment I saw you at the hospital.

Saw what at the hospital?

I catch him before he can respond in that eerie telepathic way. I hold up a hand and insist grimly, “No. Talk to me. The normal way. This is creeping me out."

A shadow of disappointment replaces the glow on his face. “I thought you'd be at least a little pleased to know how well you're progressing. Most don't come this far this fast."

"Most what?"

He gives me a sideways glance. “Come on. You must know what you're becoming."

The hair on the back of my neck is rising, along with goose bumps the size of marshmallows on my arms. “What I'm becoming?"

He thinks, You're beginning to sound like a parrot.

My God, how do I know that?

Out loud, he's saying, “I knew you'd have questions about Donaldson, but I thought they'd be along the ‘what can I expect and how do I handle it’ line."

"Handle what?"

It seems to finally dawn on Avery that we're not on the same page. Maybe he's not as good at the mind reading thing as he thinks.

Oh, but I am usually, comes the immediate reply. I don't understand.

Hedoesn't understand?

I'm on my feet again, pacing in front of him like a mad woman. “Stop doing that. Don't insinuate yourself into my head. Listen to me. What are you? What am I ‘becoming?’ What does this have to do with Donaldson? God, I feel like I'm going crazy here."

He hesitates just a second, pursing his lips at me. Then he's on his feet, too. He takes my hand and leads me over to a mirror on the wall beside the door. “Look at me, Anna."

Half afraid, I nevertheless raise my eyes to the glass. I'm aware of the touch of his hand, feel the nearness of his body next to mine.

But he casts no reflection. None. And my own image is hazy and indistinct, fading more even as I watch.

I jump back, heart pounding so hard in my chest, I'm afraid it will burst. “This can't be happening."

Why do you doubt it?

"Stop it.” Shock quickly gives way to rage. I fling open the front door. “Get out. I don't want you in my house any longer."

But he doesn't move. He looks at me with sad, compassion filled eyes. “I can't do that, Anna. You need me. And truth be told, I need you, too. There's something you must do before you join the family."

Family? I'm afraid to think what family that would be.

"The only family you have,” Avery answers without prompting. “Now that you are Vampire."

Chapter Eight

Vampire?

The word hangs in the air between us, black and ominous as a storm cloud. We stare at each other, not moving. I can scarcely breathe. Avery reaches past me and closes the front door. The simple action breaks the impasse and snaps me back. But the rage is gone.

"What are you talking about?"

He gestures to the living room. “Do you want to sit down?"

At least he's talking and not performing that stupid mind trick. I nod and follow him to the couch. We take seats at opposite ends, putting as much distance as possible between us. I push myself to the edge, the urge to flee strong. “Tell me."

"Where do you want me to start?"

I press my hands to my head. “At the beginning, I guess. With Donaldson."

"Do you remember any of it?” But he scans my face and answers on his own. “You do. The images are coming back. The feelings.

It's frightening you because you realize you were a participant, not a victim. That's all right. It's natural."

"Natural?” The word explodes out of me. “There is nothing natural about this. I was fighting Donaldson and suddenly I wasn't.

God, I actually responded to him—or rather my body did. I had no control. I tasted his blood and—"

The mental picture of Donaldson on top of me, the memory of the taste of his blood in my mouth, of the way I lapped at it and craved it and couldn't get enough, puts a stop to my diatribe. “That's it, isn't it?” I seek affirmation in Dr. Avery's face and find it. “I drank his blood, and he drank mine. God, I thought that was an old wive's tale."

The absurdity of what I just said stops me. I actually laugh, hysteria so close I taste it like something bitter in the back of my throat.

“Did you hear that? I'm telling you that I believe I am becoming a vampire because I drank Donaldson's blood. And you, a medical doctor, are sitting here listening to this as if you believe it, too. We must both be crazy. There are no vampires. There are no ghosts, or witches, or fairies, or werewolves. I'm having a really strange dream, and I'm going to wake up now and be normal and none of this will have happened, and you are going to be gone."

The mounting delirium in my voice makes Dr. Avery move a little closer to me on the couch. He doesn't touch me, or reach out, he just sits quietly and waits for me to run out of breath and energy before he says, “It's a lot to accept, I know. But you should consider yourself lucky. Donaldson didn't set out to turn you. He meant to kill you, just the way he did that unfortunate woman who took him in. But two things happened that prevented it. He was interrupted by the men in the bar before he could drain you, and you drank of his blood. There is nothing you could have done to prevent what happened, just as there is nothing you can do to change it. You must accept what you are becoming. I am here to help you."

Whether it's another mind trick or just good bedside manner, the resonance and timbre of his voice calms me. “You are here to help me? And how will you do that? Are you a vampire, too? Is there a handbook I have to study? A class in bloodsucking I'm required to attend?"

He smiles and shakes his head. “Let's see, to answer your questions in order. Yes, I'm here to help. I'll do whatever I can to ease your transition. Yes, I'm a vampire, too. And no, there is no handbook and no class. It's strictly on the job training, so to speak."

"You can make jokes? What the hell are you?"

"Technically, I'm a Night Watcher."

"A what?"

"A Night Watcher.” Avery pushes himself off the couch. “Would you like some water?"

My head is spinning. “No, I don't want any water.” I nod as he gestures toward the kitchen. “Yeah, sure. Go for it. There's bottled water in the fridge. No, wait. I thought vampires only drank blood. You drink water?"

"That's good,” he says, moving toward the kitchen. “You are starting to ask the right questions."

The right questions? There's nothing right about this whole situation.

I wait for Avery to chime in. The voice doesn't come. Maybe he's finally conceding to my wish to stay the hell out of my head.

"I'll do whatever it takes to make you comfortable."

Or not.

He's back in the living room, water bottle in hand. “Now, what were we talking about?"

I give up. But I won't play his game. “You were about to tell me what this ‘night watching’ thing is all about,” I say in a loud, clear voice.

He draws on the bottle and sits back down on the couch facing me. “A long time ago, before there were policeman or armies to defend a town, guardians would walk the streets at night with swords and lanterns. They would call out the passing hours and the

‘all is well’ signal. They were called Night Watchers."

"So this is what you do? Walk the street at night calling ‘all is well?’ And if that is your job, where the hell were you when Donaldson was attacking me? All was certainly not well then, was it?"

He shakes his head, irritation twisting the corners of his mouth. “I don't mean to say that I literally walk the streets at night. I was trying to give you a point of reference."

I'm glad he's getting pissed off, since he's certainly having that effect on me. “Okay, I get your point of reference. But since we happen to be living in the twenty-first century, it means nothing to me. You want to explain in normal terms exactly what you do?"

The cloud passes from his face. “I am one of a contingent of vampires who watches for signs of activity in a community and intervenes when necessary to preserve the balance between the living and the undead."

The undead? That one phrase makes the rest of his pedantic recitation fade from my mind quicker than a bunny gets fucked. “The undead?” I hear myself screeching. “That's what I am? Undead?"

"Well, technically, yes."

Oh my God. I'm on my feet again, unable to control the violent tremors that pass through my body. My heart is beating like a drum—wait a minute.

My heart.

I press a hand to my chest. Yes, it's beating. Faster than it should, but it's beating. I look up to find Avery watching with an amused grin on his face.

"Yes,” he says. “You have a heartbeat. And you will continue to do so unless you give yourself a heart attack with these violent outbursts."

I sink back down on the couch. “I don't understand any of this. How can I be ‘undead’ and have a heartbeat?"

"There's a long, dry, technical explanation for that,” Avery says with a sigh. “Has to do with something called etheric revenantor the way a dead human body is stabilized. I can recommend a book for you by John Michael Greer if you want technical information, though he gave the book the unfortunate title, Monsters."

Unfortunate?

He waves a hand. “The important thing for you to know is that you must care for your physical body as you always have. You work it out, you nourish it. It's just the type of nourishment that will change."

Here it comes. “You mean I have to drink blood."

"You need fresh etheric energy, yes."

"I don't think I can accept that. I'm not about to turn into someone like Donaldson. You may as well pound a stake through my chest right now or burn me at a stake—” Is that it? I can't think of any other ways I've read to kill vampires except—sunlight. I peer hard at Avery, a very tanned Avery who stood outside my gate in the full sun and seems not to have suffered any ill effect.

"Adaptation,” he says.

"What?"

"It took hundreds of years, but we've adapted to sunlight. We can walk about in daylight just like anybody else, now."

My God. All the time I spent reading Anne Rice, I thought I was reading fiction.

Avery holds up a hand. “You were reading fiction,” he says. “For the most part. And a stake through the heart or burning are ways we can be killed. There is also beheading, but that doesn't happen too much anymore. Mostly, if we're careful, we live long, productive lives and no one is the wiser."

"By long, you mean?"

He nods. “Immortality is part of the gift."

"But the blood thing—"

"I'm getting to that. The sources of energy used by living people—mostly connected to oxygen and food—are closed off to us once the first stage of death begins. To replace what is used or lost in the course of our day is a regular source of fresh, arterial blood."

"I just said I can't do that."

"You said you wouldn't turn into someone like Donaldson,” he reminds me gently. “And you won't have to. I will teach you how to feed without killing. In fact, I will teach you how to feed in a way that will literally leave your hosts begging you not to stop."

"My host?"

He nods. “The living organism you draw from."

Great. I've turned into a parasite. “And I'm supposed to believe this host will enjoy the experience so much, he'll beg for more?"

Avery smiles. “Oh yes,” he says. “Because while you're feeding, he'll be experiencing the very best sex he's ever had in his entire life."

Chapter Nine

It just gets better and better. Now I'm a parasite with nymphomaniacal tendencies. “And where do I find these willing sex partners?” I ask, though it's not really a question I want answered. I get a flash that I'll be working the homeless population or frequenting bars down in Tijuana.

"Would you seek sex partners in those places under normal circumstances?” he asks.

His voice contains a strong suggestion of reproach. I lace my own with heavy sarcasm. “No. But I doubt my boyfriend will take kindly to being drained of his lifeblood on a daily basis."

"So you have sex daily?"

He's got a mocking grin on his face that I feel an irresistible urge to smack right off.

Some of that feeling must convey itself to him because he leans back out of reach. “Sorry,” he says. “I don't mean to be impertinent. But you don't need to feed every day any more than you need to have sex every day. It's a matter of personal choice.

Actually, in a short while you will need very little blood to sustain your new life force. A pint or so once a month will do it."

"You mean like the amount you donate at a blood bank?"

He understands the implication of what I'm asking and shakes his head. “Unfortunately, that blood is drawn from the veins and refrigerated. What you need to sustain life is fresh, arterial blood. You must drink directly from an artery in the neck or thigh."

I run my tongue over my teeth. With these? They feel the same. I remember Donaldson worrying at my neck until ... the intense, breathtaking, wondrous pleasure of the experience floods back. My body tingles with the memory even now.

Stop it. I give myself a mental thump on the head. You can't do this.

Of course you can, Avery counters . You just remembered how it was. And that was with a man who wasn't even trying to make it good for you. Think of what you do with your hands and body to give pleasure to your boyfriend. Then increase it by one thousand per cent and you have an idea what magic you can work.

But how do I hide the fact that I'mbiting him? How do I know when to stop? What do I say when he notices the world's weirdest hickey on his neck?

God, I've just replied in kind without even thinking about it. I shake my head in dismay.

Avery waves a dismissive hand. You'll get used to this. And your boyfriend won't notice anything other than a profoundly pleasurable sexual experience. You'll know when to stop because your body will tell you when it's had enough. As for the wound, it will disappear in a matter of minutes. All you have to do is lick it. Your saliva contains an alkaloid that will seal and heal the puncture, it's part of your physiology now.

My hand goes to my neck. Then why didn't my wound heal right away?

Avery pushes himself off the couch. For the first time since I met him, he looks disturbed.

Donaldson didn't care if you found the wound or not. He intended that you die.

Like the woman he was living with.

Yes.

Avery drains the last of the water in the bottle and returns it to the kitchen.

I watch his departing back. There's something more he's waiting to tell me. I can't imagine how it can be worse than anything I've learned so far, but his reluctance to broach the subject makes me wonder.

He's back in living room now, and his face is drawn and anxious. “I have more to tell you,” he says.

"I figured as much,” I reply dryly. “And it must be pretty bad if you're using your voice instead of ... you know.” I circle a finger at my head.

"It is.” He doesn't sit down, but starts pacing up and down in front of me. “Remember when I said I was a Night Watcher?"

I nod.

"And I told you I was one of a contingent of vampires who—"

"Monitors activity in a community, blah, blah, blah. Yeah. I remember. What does that have to do with me?"

"One of the things we watch for is renegade activity. A vampire like Donaldson, for instance, who attacks and kills without remorse and doesn't try to cover his crime. Sooner or later, the connection will be made between what he does and what he is. That makes him a threat to all of us."

"What do you a mean ‘a threat?’”

"I mean, just as I am a watcher to protect our kind, there are others who seek to destroy us. They watch, too, for attacks that leave a victim bloodless. They have connections at police departments and hospitals, just as we have. And they pay a bounty for information leading to the identification of a vampire."

"You think they might be on to Donaldson?"

"Most definitely. But there's another consideration."

Avery pauses and the way he looks at me makes my skin crawl. “What?"

"If they know about Donaldson, they may know about you, too."

"Me?"

"Yes. You were attacked by Donaldson and lived. They will want to check you out, at the very least."

"And how will they do that?"

Avery shrugs. “It's hard to say. But you must be very careful in how you conduct yourself. You will soon lose your hunger for regular food, but you must continue to shop as if you haven't. You must continue your normal routine. Be wary of strangers approaching you, and don't do anything to attract attention to yourself. If you feel the need to feed before your boyfriend returns, let me know. I'll help you find someone safe. In fact, it may be prudent to let me be there the first time you feed. You are at your most vulnerable then."

That picture—of Avery standing over me while I have sex—sends me into a paroxysm of laughter. The hysteria is back. “You are kidding,” I sputter when I can finally calm myself. “You want to be there while I perform this unholy sex act on some poor, unsuspecting schmuck? Is that how you get your jollies? Are you some kind of sadistic voyeur? Is this really what this ‘watcher’

thing is all about?"

Once more, aggravation tightens Avery's mouth and darkens his eyes. “You should take this more seriously,” he says, his voice hoarse with frustration. “I wasn't suggesting you feed for the first time while having sex. There are other alternatives. I just thought since you had a boyfriend, you would be relieved to know that you can maintain a monogamous relationship and safely satisfy your hunger, too."

Oh, yes. That's an immense relief. The ultimate safe sex. Max will be so pleased.

He can be.

God.

Avery is in my head again. I'm too tired to fight it, but something else he said about feeding sifts through.

"What do you mean I'm the most vulnerable when I feed?"

Avery comes back to the couch and reclaims his seat at the end of it. “In the beginning,” he says. “You may be so swept up in the excitement—"

Excitement?

Yes. You don't understand now. But you will. Anyway, there have been cases where our enemies have pretended to be seduced by a new vampire, only to stake him or her during the act. As you gain experience, you learn to sense the danger.

More animal instincts to be developed. Great.

I look over at Avery. I think you should go now.

Avery watches me for a long minute. I don't even try to read his thoughts. I just want to be alone with mine.

He pushes himself to his feet. “I'm sorry this is so hard on you,” he says.

"And you thought it wouldn't be?"

He rolls his shoulders. “Most people choose to become,” he says. “It's the only safe way. Occasionally, someone like you has it forced on them. I don't know how to make it better except to assure you that there are others like myself to help you through the transition."

"Wonderful. A fanged support group. Just what I've always wanted."

"Give it a few days,” he says, ignoring the sarcasm. “You will start to feel the change. And you will realize there are some good things—some very good things—that come with the gift."

"Gift? That's how you see it?"

He smiles, a soft, sweet smile. “It's how you will see it, too, eventually. You must, really, if you are to go on."

Go on? Ah, that's the rub, isn't it? Will I choose to go on?

* * *

I stay on the couch after Avery leaves. He seemed reluctant to go, after catching my last thought, but finally he did. Now I'm stretched out, watching rays of a dying sun filter through the window and thinking of a hundred other questions I should have asked him. My knowledge of vampire lore comes from books. Works of fiction, or so I thought. Now I realize that, as in most folk tales, there is always a grain of truth. I wonder how many of those books were actually written by vampires? How many vampire cousins do I have? Are there enclaves of vampires in various communities? Is there a secret handshake or sign to identify one vampire to the other?

Vampire.

I'm rolling the word around my tongue and around my brain, trying to make sense of what Avery says is now my reality. I have been given the “gift” of immortality with just one small drawback. I have to drink the blood of unsuspecting humans to sustain that life. Even though Avery painted a titillating picture of wild sexual gratification bestowed on willing victims, they are victims nonetheless. I can't imagine subjecting Max to that. I won't.

So, what to do now?

I close my eyes and put a cushion over my face.

But the darkness isn't quite dark enough.

I get a picture of Avery, tan and good-looking. Normal-looking even. So much for the pale, delicate-skinned vampire who doesn't venture out into the sunlight. Obviously, that's one of the myths perpetuated by books and movies. How did all that get started?

And why hasn't the truth come out before now? And then there's that aversion to garlic—

Oh boy.

The lasagna.

Well, I won't make that mistake again. Obviously, some of those folk tales have basis in fact. That's going to be a hard one, though, giving up Italian food. Especially Luigi's, where the motto is if you don't like garlic, stay home.

But soon I'll be giving up all food, right? Isn't that what Avery said?

The ringing of a telephone interrupts my chain of thought. With a weary sigh, I hoist myself off the couch and trudge over to answer it.

"Well,” a familiar voice tinged with irritation starts right in. “Who the hell is he, Anna? Who's the guy I just saw leave your house?"

"Max?"

"You haven't answered my question."

I cross to the window and look toward the street. “Where are you?"

A figure steps out from the driver's side of a parked car with dark-tinted windows. “Here. See me?"

I nod before I realize he can't see me. “What are you doing out there? Come in."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. I'm alone. You can relax those secret agent muscles. Now, will you get your ass in here, or do I come out and get you?"

The handsome face splits into a wide grin I can see even from here.

"I was hoping you'd say that. I'm on my way."