Crimson Night Part 34

"What's it say?" Maggie's father asked, squinting at the sign going up on the Scoreboard. "I left my gla.s.ses back at home."

Maggie put her hand up to s.h.i.+eld her eyes from the flat glare of the afternoon sun, praying this was the news she and all the other Dodgers fans were hoping for. The Dodgers had this game well in hand, shutting the Braves out 6 0. If they won today and the St. Louis Cardinals lost, the Dodgers would clinch the National League Pennant and go to the World Series. "It's the final score for Cards game. Three to one oh, my G.o.d three to one! The Cardinals lost, they're out of the race!"

"The Cardinals lost we're gonna win the pennant, we're gonna win the pennant!" Bridie, Maggie's best friend, screamed and linked her hands with Maggie's while they jumped up and down.

"Isn't this the greatest?" Maggie shouted, and Bridie started to nod her head in enthusiastic agreement but Maggie yanked her hands away, staring at her best friend with large, frightened eyes.

"Maggie?"

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to see the wizened scarecrow that had taken Bridie's place, her face a sad network of wrinkles and liver spots with a brow permanently creased in pain. The crone clung to Maggie's hand and asked her why she'd disappeared so long ago, why she'd run off with "Maggie, come on," she heard Bridie implore. "What the heck is wrong with you ? You look like you just saw a ghost."

Maggie opened her eyes a cautious slit and then uttered a short, nervous laugh of relief. Her mind was playing tricks on her there was nothing wrong with Bridie. There was no strange old woman, just her pretty blond friend wearing a pink sundress.

"I just felt funny for a second," Maggie said and sank back into her seat.

"It's no wonder you feel funny," her father grumbled at her. "It's not bad enough you forgot to put on your hat this morning so you picked up the sunburn of your life then you have two beers on top of it at the game. You're probably dehydrated. Go get yourself a drink of water and splash your face before I have to carry you out of here."

"But, Daddy," Maggie argued, "I wanna see Wyatt finish the inning and clinch the pennant ."

"There's only one out so far. Now go find a water fountain and don't argue with your father if you know what's good for you, Meghann Katherine."

Don't argue with me, Meghann. Maggie frowned, pus.h.i.+ng her way past some spectators as she searched for a ladies' room. It seemed she could remember someone besides her father calling her by her hated full name. Some man with a fancy, know-it-all way of talking and a deep, whispery voice she didn't dare disobey "No!" Maggie said out loud, startling the only other woman in the rest room.

Maggie simply shrugged at the woman's inquisitive look and splashed her face with the icy water from the sink, scowling at the bedraggled girl that stared back at her in the mirror.

What difference did it make who called her Meghann? That didn't matter what mattered was that Maggie was an absolute mess. Her wispy red hair had escaped the black net snood at the nape of her neck and now flew around in every direction, making her look as if she'd just been in the electric chair. Worse, her face was a freckled, sunburned horror she looked like a rotting tomato!

Maggie wet her hands and slicked her hair down, forcing the errant strands back into the snood. There wasn't much she could do for her face except dab a little powder on to conceal the worst of the damage. Maggie took out her compact and pressed the puff down into powder before bringing it up to her face but what she saw when she looked in the mirror again made her pull back with a shriek of horror.

Her reflection was gone in its place was a freakish half -there image of a woman with waist-length red hair and sad, sad green eyes.

Why can't I see my reflection anymore, Simon?

Don't let it cause you sadness. What you see in the mirror is undeniable proof that you are a supernatural creature with unquestioned dominion over the night, freedom from death and disease.

"No!" Maggie howled and ran blindly from the room. She had to get back to the stands, to Bridie and her father. This horrible, unspeakable thing wouldn't be true if she could just get back where she belonged "No!" she screamed again at the plainly dressed balding man who leaned against a cement post, his kind brown eyes filled with pity as he met her defiant gaze.

"You're not real!" she yelled at him, tears streaming down her face. "You're not, you're not! You're a dream an awful, nasty dream, and I want to wake up now! I want to be Maggie again."

"Banrion," Alcuin whispered sadly and engulfed her in his arms while she wept. "I've never known anyone as hurt by immortality as my lost young queen.

I'd do anything to turn the clock and bring you back to this safe, good world of yours."

"This really happened," she sniffled. "My father he took all of us kids out of school, even let my friend Bridie come along, so we could watch the Dodgers win the pennant. It was just like I remembered except I didn't see anything out of the ordinary when I looked at Bridie. How could I I had no idea one night I'd stand over her deathbed and use my vampiric power to end her suffering."

Even with Alcuin holding her, that didn't seem real at all. Maggie O'Neill a vampire, consort to a strange, brutal creature that made her call him master?

No, how could that have happened when she stood here in Braves Field, hearing the exultant shouts of Dodger fans as their beloved team came one out closer to the pennant? It was much more likely this bishop turned vampire would vanish and then Maggie and her family would take the train back to New York, chattering the entire way about the Dodgers' chances against the formidable Yankees. Then, privately, she and Bridie would discuss an issue of even more importance whether Maggie's cousin Mickey would make good on his promise and call Bridie for a date over the Thanksgiving vacation.

"This all feels so real," she said wistfully. This wasn't at all like a dream, where the world was all shadows with no true substance. Couldn't she feel the firmness of the cement beneath her feet, the sunburn stinging her cheeks? She'd never had a dream like this.

"It isn't precisely a dream, Banrion."

"Then what is it? Am I dead?"

"Not quite," Alcuin answered. "But you are gravely ill. I've come to tell you that you may stay here if that is your desire and no one will disturb you not even Simon Baldevar."

"Simon." Meghann (she knew she had to acknowledge that she hadn't been that innocent young girl Maggie for a very long time) sighed and her eyes darkened. Impulsively, she clutched at Alcuin's hands, searching his eyes for the reproach and hurt she was sure would be there they'd parted so horribly the last time. "Please don't hate me for what I said. I'm so sorry "

"Banrion," Alcuin interrupted, raising one hand to still her speech. 'Don't apologize. If anything, I must beg your pardon. My behavior was reprehensible advocating bloodshed instead of peace. It took that rage and hurt in your eyes for me to see what my battle with Simon has turned me into. To think that I'd be willing to forsake the love of a girl I consider my daughter rather than cease my war with him. For four hundred years, I've been consumed with hatred not just because of what my nephew does to mortals but I've also wanted revenge ever since I saw what he did to Isabelle."

"Simon thinks you were in love with Isabelle."

"Perhaps I was. Even lying on her deathbed, with her body rotting away and her mind deteriorating, Isabelle Baldevar was possessed of a quiet grace and brave dignity I've never encountered in another being. When I saw that sweet young woman dying and I thought of all Simon took from her "

"Simon didn't take anything from her!" Meghann interrupted hotly. "It was he who had everything taken from him by that rotten family of his. They treated him like dirt, gave him nothing, but he still managed to build up his own fortune and then that greedy Roger tried to take that away too. It's his own fault Simon killed him and married Isabelle. Simon was just protecting what he'd worked so hard to build. If Isabelle hadn't been so stupid and superst.i.tious, she wouldn't have lost her son. When Michael got sick, she should have let Simon's doctor look after him "

Alcuin seemed bemused by Meghann's impa.s.sioned speech and she broke off abruptly, thinking she was probably the first person in four hundred years to defend Simon Baldevar's character. Even here, where she could see and feel the sunlight Simon had taken from her with his poisoned blood and talk to the family he'd insisted she break off contact with even here she loved him enough to champion him.

"Banrion," Alcuin was saying, and she looked up, concentrating on his words. "Only Simon and Isabelle will ever know the full truth of what happened during their marriage. I am still amazed that my nephew confided in you, felt the need to justify his life to anyone. He must love you deeply."

"Didn't you say Simon is incapable of love?"

"He was," Alcuin said with a sad smile. 'For four hundred years, he reveled in the blood l.u.s.t and thrived on causing pain. He still does, I fear, but now there's another side to Lord Baldevar the soft, tender facet of his personality he displays when he's with you. It doesn't surprise me that you love him he's worked very hard to win your heart.

"Banrion, I know you're confused and I wish I had time to talk to you but the longer you remain here, the harder it will be to go back if that's your desire."

"Of course I want to go back I have to, my children need me. They did survive, didn't they? Alcuin, tell me they're all right!"

Alcuin just smiled and placed a s.h.i.+ny, intricately carved silver cross around her neck. "I gave this to my sister the day I performed her marriage ceremony, some seven centuries ago. Please pa.s.s it on to your daughter yes, Banrion, you have a little girl. I already sense in her that bright-eyed exuberance I prayed the burdens of immortality wouldn't steal from you. Strange how I always thought Simon wanted to twist that unique fire in your soul break you like he did Isabelle. Now I find it's why he made you his soror mystica; the only woman he considered fit to bear his child. Perhaps there is some small spark of goodness within Lord Baldevar if he has the sense to love you."

"Alcuin, I know I told you I love him. But I love you too and I believe in what you taught me, how you think a vampire should live. I may love him but I don't want to be like Simon, I don't."

"Banrion, "Alcuin said firmly, putting his hands on both sides of her face.

"You could never be like Simon Baldevar. I wish I could soothe you and say your love will triumph over the darkness in Lord Baldevar's soul but it takes a great deal of time for water to wear away stone. I am not sure you want to take on such an enormous and possibly futile task but perhaps you must for your children's sake. Now, much as I enjoy seeing you, it's time to go, Banrion."

Meghann nodded, standing on tiptoe to kiss Alcuin's cheek in farewell.

"I love you, Father," she said, knowing Alcuin was as much a parent to her as Jack O'Neill had been. What would have become of her without this kindly creature to guide her through immortality?

"I love you too, Banrion you and Charles, for carrying on my creed after my death while the others succ.u.mbed to their need for power. Tell him how very proud I am of you both and tell Simon Baldevar I only hope he realizes what he has in you. Now just listen, Banrion listen."

Listen ? Meghann frowned what was she supposed to listen to? She heard nothing now, not the remembered cheers at Braves Field or Alcuin's quiet, diffident tones. She heard nothing and then there was something very faint. Yes, there was something in the fog around her, a desperate mewling sound. Why, that must be

"A baby crying!" Meghann exclaimed and found herself on a queen-size bed with crisp lilac sheets and a violet quilt. Looking around the plainly furnished room with cream stucco walls, she realized this was one of the many unused rooms in the Southampton house. She must have been brought in here to recover from the birth. Yes, she'd definitely given birth, Meghann thought, running her hands over her now flat abdomen. But what had happened to the twins?

Meghann became aware of an uncomfortable twinge in her nose and brought her hand up, feeling the stomach tube. She ripped the thing out, wondering how long she'd lain unconscious and needed to be fed that way. And if she was so sick she had to drink blood through a tube, why wasn't someone watching over her Charles or Lee? The last thing Meghann expected was that she'd wake up alone, in an unfamiliar room. Why wasn't someone here to tell her what had happened to her children?

Her children Meghann strained her ears, praying to hear that soft cry that woke her up. But the house around her was utterly still; she was beginning to wonder if there was anyone in the house at all when a raspy, muted sound disturbed the thick silence around her.

It was the sound of someone crying not a baby but a man. A man who'd lost all hope and wept in despair but m.u.f.fled the noise so no one would hear him.

Meghann jumped out of bed, grabbing the walnut bedpost when the world spun around briefly. Apparently she wasn't fully recovered yet. But she couldn't get back into bed; she had to hurry toward that terrible sobbing, find out what was causing it.

The weeping led her to the large, cheerful room on the third floor she and Simon had chosen for the twins' nursery. Meghann hesitated before the closed door, afraid to take the final step and find out if her babies had survived that h.e.l.lish delivery. As she faltered, the masculine sobs grew stronger and Meghann forced herself to open the door.

The sight that greeted her was one she could never have prepared herself for.

In place of Charles or Lee, it was Simon hunched over a cradle while his shoulders shook from the force of his tears. Meghann felt shaken to her core, stunned and embarra.s.sed for Simon; she knew he wouldn't want anyone to see him like this.

She should say something, let him know she was in the room, but she could push nothing past her own grief at seeing that solitary cradle decorated in the bright rose bunting she'd bought months before. Where was the other cradle, the one draped in Victorian lace? The other baby must have died and now this child was dying too what else could make Simon Baldevar cry but the death of the child he'd wanted for so long?

"I'm so very sorry," she heard him whisper and she sobbed out loud, hating herself for the accident that had led to this catastrophe. If only she hadn't placed herself in the middle of that awful fight, her children wouldn't be dead before they'd even had a chance to live. This was all her fault Simon straightened and spun around, his amber eyes first betraying shock, then filling with a hope that stunned her almost as much as his appearance.

"Meghann?" he said and sounded almost as surprised as she felt.

She could only nod; she'd never seen Simon look like this. His eyes were sunken beneath deep purple hollows and his skin had the sickly cast of a blood- starved vampire. "Meghann," he said again and the savage joy in his eyes dimmed when he saw the tears coursing down her face. "Sweetheart, why on earth are you crying?"

"The baby," she choked out and pointed a shaking finger at the silent bundle he clutched to his chest. "The baby is dying "

"No, Meghann," Simon said and his calm a.s.surance cut through her grief.

"Where would you get such a notion? There's nothing wrong with our daughter."

"Daughter?" Meghann gasped, her entire being focused on the bundle Simon held out to her.

"Would you like to hold Elizabeth?" Simon asked with a broad grin, and Meghann felt an answering grin form on her lips.

"G.o.d, yes," Meghann said and rushed forward, stumbling when dizziness claimed her again.

"Easy," Simon told her and put one hand under her elbow while he tucked the infant against him with his other hand.

"You've had a trying ordeal," Simon said and guided her to the padded rocking chair by the bay window.

Meghann eased into the chair and Simon's grin deepened at her outstretched hands and eager expression. Gingerly, he gave the child to Meghann and she wrapped her arms around her daughter. Startled by the transfer from her father's familiar embrace to strange hands, the baby opened her eyes to gaze at her mother. Meghann had only a second to admire her daughter's spring-green eyes before the child let out a fretful wail.

"Don't look so stricken," Simon whispered at Meghann's wounded expression.

"Elizabeth is only telling you that she's hungry."

"Hungry?" Meghann frowned and then felt a warm, moist gush against her nightgown. "Why that's my milk! Can I feed her?"

"Who else do you think has fed her these past six weeks?"

"I've been unconscious for six weeks?" Meghann asked disbelievingly as her daughter's cries escalated into outraged howls. She seemed to be saying, could Meghann please hold off on her questions until one very hungry baby had been fed?

"I Simon, I'm not sure of how to do this."

"Don't worry," he said and pulled on the laces of her nightgown. "Elizabeth knows what to do."

Simon was right. No sooner did Meghann guide the small head toward her breast than the baby honed in on the familiar nipple and began to suck vigorously.

"Oh," Meghann breathed at the pulling sensation on her nipple as the baby nursed. In a way, feeding the baby was a bit like being bled, but having Simon sink his fangs into her and drink her blood never made her feel this good. This was good and right in a way that bloodletting would never be. It didn't feel draining at all to feed Elizabeth; instead, feeding the baby made the hot, heavy ache in her b.r.e.a.s.t.s fade as her daughter ate greedily.

Meghann put her hand on the child's head, stroking the silky cap of bright chestnut curls while she transferred the baby to her other breast. The baby didn't even look up, so intent was she on feeding.

Meghann felt tears p.r.i.c.k her eyelids again when she noticed one tiny, perfect hand perched on her chest. She'd never seen anything as beautiful as that little fist, the delicate ivory whiteness of her skin, the pearly miniature fingernails, and the surprising strength in the infant's grip when Meghann slipped her thumb into her daughter's hand.

"I love you," Meghann whispered and the baby merely looked at her before letting out a loud, watery belch. Meghann laughed and settled back in the rocking chair, undoing the blanket so she could inspect her daughter.

Meghann had heard that infants usually went to sleep after eating but Elizabeth remained awake, returning her mother's curious gaze with one of her own. She lay docile and quiet while Meghann examined the plump little body and then focused her attention on her daughter's face, finding herself and Simon in the little girl's features.

She has my eyes, Meghann thought, smiling at the bright green, almond-shaped eyes with their fringe of long brown lashes. But she has her father's hair that bright shade of chestnut with hints of red, thick and wavy like his instead of straight like mine. And his nose is straight and narrow like that. But those are my lips and look at that; she's going to have Simon's cheekbones high and elegant.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Meghann whispered but there was no response. She frowned and looked up only to see that she and Elizabeth were alone in the room.

She'd been so engrossed in Elizabeth she never heard Simon leave.

Meghann started rocking back and forth in the chair, bringing a little smile to Elizabeth's face. Her breath caught at the slanting grin so like Simon's and she covered the little face in kisses. Her own child smiling at her, her and Simon Baldevar's child.

Meghann cuddled the sleeping baby closer and continued to rock. In that dream or wherever her soul had gone, Meghann had felt such regret for what she lost when she became a vampire. Now, looking down at her daughter's face, she knew she'd do it all over again do anything for the end result of holding this wonderful child.

Where had Simon vanished to? Meghann wanted him to come back; she wanted to share their daughter with him and tell him Tell him what? Meghann sighed, making Elizabeth whimper softly in her sleep.

Tell him she wasn't angry; all was forgiven? Should she forgive Simon again?

How could she overlook what he'd done to Jimmy Delacroix, when his actions so clearly showed his astonis.h.i.+ng capacity for ruthlessness? Meghann s.h.i.+vered, her mind presenting her with the image of Simon leaning over Jimmy, his features twisted into an evil mask of malice and hate that made her heart tighten with fear.

How could she expose Elizabeth to a creature like that?

"He'd never be like that with her," Meghann said aloud and knew that was the truth. Elizabeth would never see her father's worst side. The proof of his intentions toward his daughter was all around her from her daughter's well -cared-for, clean little body to the fantasy of a room he'd created for her.

The pinched, anxious look left her eyes as she took in the nursery. Meghann might have picked out the furniture but it was Simon's talent and imagination that had transformed the room into a perfect place for a child to grow up with the murals he'd painted on the walls and ceiling.

They were whimsical, painstakingly drawn scenes of fairy tales. The handsome prince placing the gla.s.s slipper on Cinderella's foot, the pig gazing up adoringly at the wonderfully drawn spider with the grouchy rat Wilbur looking on that was from Charlotte's Web, one of Meghann's favorite stories. All of the murals were so carefully drawn, meticulous attention paid to the smallest detail the lacy design of the spiderweb, the sunlight flittering through the slats in the barn, the s.h.i.+mmering, translucent gla.s.s of Cinderella's slipper.

It was impossible to hate Simon in this beautiful room he'd created for their child, hard to despise him when she looked down at the little girl that was the result of their reunion. Meghann closed her eyes and rocked, lulled into a semihypnotic state by the creak of the rocking chair and her daughter's perfect, even breathing.

Startled by the sudden odor of blood in the air, Meghann opened her eyes and saw Simon at her side, holding out a silver goblet and cask. She reached up for the blood, nearly doubled over with hunger and need.

"I'll take the baby while you feed."

With some regret, Meghann allowed Simon to take the baby and watched him stretch out against the green-and-white-striped window seat, holding Elizabeth up so she could see the ocean.