Midnight's Daughter(62)
I was back, I realized. Shocked to the core, but back. “Never better.” My laugh sounded thin and ragged even to me. I let it peter out.
My eyes focused enough to see Louis-Cesare staring down at me. He didn’t look much more composed than I felt. Panic had washed the color from his face, leaving his eyes insanely blue. “You are not all right.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” I said, still half-confused about where we were. My eyes saw grass and stars and fireflies, but my brain kept telling them they were wrong. Only the lighting was right: the dim glow from the house approximating candle flame. “He wanted to be sure I lasted long enough to deliver the message….”
Louis-Cesare said something extremely rude in French. I blinked at him. It took me a moment to realize that he was talking about Drac. But how did he know…? “You saw.”
He nodded grimly. I felt the flex of strong biceps under my palms as his grip tightened. “As if the memories were my own.”
I peeled a wet strand of grass off my cheek. It felt clammy, like the touch of Jack’s hands. “Sorry about that.” It seemed pretty inadequate, but it was the best I could do at the moment.
I managed to sit up. The hands gripping my shoulders dropped away, but the fingers dragged almost reluctantly down my arms. It was a tiny thing, lasting the space of a heartbeat, but it sent something weightless coiling through my stomach.
I leaned against the water-slick side of the fountain for support, but it wasn’t enough. The scene around me telescoped without warning and I sagged face-first into more wet grass. Louis-Cesare pulled me back into his arms. I should have protested, but the heat of his chest at my back was soothing. I’d get up and face whatever had just happened; I’d force my body to a strength I didn’t feel, in a minute.…
We sat there not saying anything. I was too confused to speak. I hurt, but not in the right places. I wanted to clutch my stomach, even though it was one of the few parts of my body that didn’t ache. But it felt like it should, like those stitches were still being punched through my flesh. Like it had really all just happened again. And then there was the feeling of Louis-Cesare’s heart beating against my back, his legs solid on either side of mine. He had dropped his head to my shoulder, and the sound of his breathing in my ear was steady and sweet. “I’m sorry, too,” he whispered, and I found I couldn’t talk at all.
His thumbs began digging into the knotted muscles of my shoulders, kneading the tension expertly away. After traveling from my neck to the small of my back, they worked their way up again, wringing the aches from my body. I closed my eyes, feeling my muscles relax one by one, and my head dropped forward. I heard my own murmur of contentment, but it sounded impossibly far away, lost in the hypnotic stroking of Louis-Cesare’s hands.
There was a sharp callus along the side of his index finger. He flinched a little when I reached out and captured that hand, held very still while I stroked lightly over it. The skin was uneven, just a little rough, and the flesh beneath was hard. He was watching me touch him, and I could hear his breath halt in his throat.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat like this with anyone. Kindness after cruelty, warmth in a cold place, tenderness instead of suspicion: none of it was supposed to come to me, and certainly not from a vampire. Uncertainty fluttered through my stomach. What was I doing? I dropped his hand and started to move, to pull away, when his voice stopped me. “Why did Dracula torture you?” he asked softly.
“What did Jonathan do to you?” I shot back, expecting that to end the conversation.
He surprised me. “Something similar. Someone important to me… a witch… was taken by the Black Circle. They intended… you know they steal power, from whomever they can?” I nodded slowly, barely moving my head. I didn’t say anything, afraid to break the mood, afraid that he would disappear back inside that shell of his and I’d never find out what was going on. “What you may not know is that, taken to extremes, it kills their victim.”
Actually, I did know that. A normal human isn’t simply someone with no magic; he is a completely different species. If magical creatures lose all their magic, that doesn’t somehow transform them into norms. It kills them, by draining away something they need to exist as much as humans need blood.
“What happened?” I asked cautiously.
Louis-Cesare shrugged, and I could feel the movement along my back. “I offered myself in exchange.”
“You did what?” I was sure I’d heard wrong.
“Jonathan is addicted to magic the way some humans are to drugs. But, as with drug addicts, he has difficulty finding a steady supply. Powerful magic users—the only kind that can appease his hunger—are not easy to catch. And even when he is successful, the sacrifice can only provide one ‘hit.’ Then the subject dies, and another must be obtained.”
“I don’t understand.” So why did I suddenly feel chilled?
“A master vampire can heal almost any injury, even a total loss of magic. He can be drained every night, yet still rise the next, as long as his head and heart are intact. He is the perfect, unending sacrifice.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe; the chill had expanded and everything was frozen, including my brain. I didn’t ask for details. I didn’t want details. I was suddenly hugely grateful that if we’d had to share a memory, it had been mine.