Vampire - The Awakening Part 18

"Wait, I've got the perfect outfit for you, Finn. Bought it for myself, actually, for fun. May not fit, you've got some broad shoulders on you, but... we'll give it a go." He opened the door to the shop, calling for Sara to come out and change places with him.

Sara came. She greeted both Megan and Finn, but stared at Finn. Hard. She tried to smile, and looked a little sick-as if she didn't want to be anywhere near him.

Ditto, you b.i.t.c.h! he thought.

She stepped back, almost as if he had spoken the words aloud.

"Come on in, I guess we need to hurry," Joseph said.

They followed him into the store. Sara gave Finn a wide berth, stepping out of the way of the door.

Megan didn't seem to notice.

Joseph didn't intend to give Finn just a cape, he really had an entire outfit. Sleek black pants, ruffled black shirt with a medieval look, and a huge, sweeping black velvet cloak. When he was dressed and came out of the small, curtained, changing room, Morwenna let out a whistle and Megan's raised brow and pursed smile a.s.sured him that he wore the costume well.

"You are absolutely gorgeous. In the studliest way possible, of course," Morwenna a.s.sured him.

He looked to his wife. "I have to agree."

A teenager-probably a visitor, since she wasn't dressed in black-gave out a little wolf whistle and set down the incense burner she had been studying.

"That's it, for sure," Morwenna said.

"I don't like to take something that Joseph ordered for himself," he said, wondering why he wanted to protest the outfit.

"It's perfect, and he doesn't care in the least," Morwenna said. "If he did, he wouldn't have offered. Now, Megan... as to you...

hm. Follow me," she commanded.

Megan shrugged and followed her, leaving Finn standing by the changing room.

As he stood, waiting, watching the customers jostle around in the outer room, an uneasy feeling swept over him. He was being watched.

Sara had come into the room.

"Well, the outfit is quite... fitting," she murmured.

He didn't reply. He felt as if a strange animosity created a static in the air between them.But Sara kept talking.

"You're beginning to look the part."

She took a number of steps toward him. A pounding began in his ears. His heartbeat, he thought. The closer she came, the worse the pounding. Harder, faster. He felt it pulse through his limbs, down through his extremities. She was a little bit of a thing. But she kept coming, as if she dared him, as if there were some confidence within her that allowed her to taunt him, as if she pulled a tiger's tail, knowing that she could whip out a .38 Special at any moment.

Small... but powerful. The pounding continued. It created a whirl of thoughts in his mind.

Pounce.

Break her neck.

But first...

Grab her, threaten her, touch her. She wore her customary black, but not in any conservative style. Her black silk shirt was unb.u.t.toned way down, so far down that her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s were nearly fully visible. She moved with a sway of her hips that was purposely provocative. He narrowed his eyes, realizing, dimly, beneath the sound that roared in his ears, that she was coming on to him. She emitted hostility as if it were tangible, but she was coming on to him as well.

To his amazement, he felt the pounding surge into his groin.

And his feelings of violence... and more... skyrocketed. His fingers were twitching. He was ready to reach out, draw her against him with fury and force, use her, degrade her, touch her with every depravity known to man, and then... wind his fingers around her throat.

And she came closer still. Her eyes were on his. Dark, taunting, full of some kind of strange knowledge, urging him to reach out to touch her.

The pounding was a ragged pain. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to move, to step around her. He couldn't move. He managed to keep himself from reaching out, but he couldn't force his feet to action, to step around her. A warning sounded from deep within his mind. She wanted him to lose control, to give in to l.u.s.t, violence, and insanity. She wanted to scream then, and have everyone in the store see him for the monster that he was, beneath.

"Finn, what do you think?" Morwenna called, with a note of pure pride and pleasure in her voice.

He felt as if he literally ripped his eyes from their absurd lock with Sara's.

The pounding ceased, instantly.

Blood seemed to drain from his temples, back into his veins, where it belonged.

Morwenna was sweeping into the area between the fitting rooms and the worktables and desks. She had an arm linked with Megan's.

His wife was more than beautiful, and far beyond s.e.xy. Black lace hugged her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The long sleeves of the garment were belled toward the wrists. The bodice hugged her waist, and silk, velvet, and lace combined in the long skirt that swept around her limbs with an exotic appeal. Her hair, so long and light, created a stunning contrast against the ebony of the costume, like her eyes, which seemed to glimmer with a gemlike quality deeper than sapphire.

"Whoa!" he applauded softly.And he could walk. He swept past Sara, as if she weren't there at all, and even brushing her person as he moved meant nothing. In fact, he might have imagined the entire interlude.

Megan looked up, delighted by his approval. Morwenna seemed as proud as a peahen.

"Perfect, right?"

"I can't find the words," Finn said.

"Well, you don't need words right now. You need music. It's after eight. Get going. We'll see you there later. We will be late, though. We're keeping the shop open until ten, and I still have all kinds of preparations to make for the actual holy day. Get going!"

He was startled to find himself planting a quick kiss on Morwenna's cheek, and thanking her. He still wasn't looking at her. He and Megan gazed at one another with both amus.e.m.e.nt and appreciation, and they were still doing so as they left the shop, walking through admiring customers, and at the end, thanking Joseph, giving him a wave, and then continuing on.

There were demons everywhere.

As Megan looked out on the crowd that night, she thought that whole city had gone movie crazy. Someone had come as the monster from Pumpkinhead. There were at least five "Pinheads" from Clive Barker novels, three or four "Freddies" from the Nightmare on Elm Street films, and several "Jasons" from the Friday the 13th series of flicks. A few Frankenstein monsters were roaming around, along with several incredibly well done mummies. Some people were more inventive, creating their own form of monsters, such as stone creatures, tree creatures, goblins, ogres, and more. For certain, with the bizarre lighting, the ever rolling fog machine, and the room's decor-silly and obvious by day-this night in the ballroom was creepy.

They were doing incredibly well. The hotel's entertainment manager had told them that when word had gotten around about their success of the previous evening, they had been inundated with calls. They were having to turn people away at the door. The clerk had sold more than two hundred of their CDs, and people had already been asking to make sure that they could be purchased again that night.

It was more than they could have imagined.

They had been highlighted on a newscast from Boston. A review had been picked up on syndication that had aired across the country. They couldn't be flying higher.

And amazingly, she was almost sorry.

Though they'd had a good day, basically, she was still disturbed by her encounter with Andy Markham. And then the black cat.

Silly. But she was almost wishing that they could just drop everything, leave, and go back to New Orleans. A normal place- despite its reputation for zombies, voodoo, and vampires.

A round of applause and catcalls sounded as Finn finished the last chords of one of his own pieces on his acoustic guitar. He announced their next number, his voice deep, husky, and casual. She turned her gaze from the audience to her husband. It was true that the black fit him well. The pants hugged his hips, the silk emphasized the muscle structure of his shoulders and chest. More.

The Gothic appearance of the clothing, combined with his chiseled facial bone structure, added an element of danger and mystique to his appearance. Highly sensual. She wasn't the only one who had noted it; some of the surely younger, college-age girls-when close to the stage-had voiced some almost obscene approval. He'd had one invitation to crawl through a dorm window and pounce, and another to meet a young woman in a dark alley. He had the look of a fantasy creature that might be purely evil, might suck out your blood and your life, but be so erotic in the process it wouldn't matter.

She'd felt a few little twinges of jealousy, but then he'd met her eyes each time, rolling his own with impatience. Maybe part of his charm was a certain easy confidence in knowing that he'd go where he wanted to, but being immune, or even unaware, of the extent of his magnetism.He was staring at her then, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. She realized that he'd strummed a few chords: her opening. She was supposed to be singing.

She turned back to the audience and began the number by rote.

They played through the set, and Finn announced their break. She didn't wait for him to tell her that she had missed a cue. She hurried from the stage, and headed for the bar, suddenly determined that she needed a drink to get through the night.

At the bar, a kid in a skeleton outfit hit on her. She could have managed by herself, and was startled when the boy whipped around because a hand had fallen on his shoulder.

Finn. He towered over the kid. In the black, he seemed a real menace.

She opened her mouth to protest; she moved to set a hand on her husband's chest, to rea.s.sure him that she could take care of the boy. There seemed to be such a leashed violence about her husband lately, she realized that she felt like she was walking on eggsh.e.l.ls, worried that he would explode.

"Finn-"

"Hey, friend. The lady is my wife."

Finn spoke softly.

The kid backed off. "Hey, sorry, should have realized... I'm outta here!"

As good as his words, he spun around and disappeared into the crowd. "You know, I was okay, I could have handled him."

Finn leaned against the bar, looking out over the crowd. "Who can tell in this group?" The words should have been light, offhand.

There was an underlying grate and menace. He seemed fierce, larger than life, with that same, strange, dangerous appeal.

Yes, go for it, rage, take that prowess and tear them apart...

The thought was shocking to Megan. She took a huge swallow of her beer.

He turned dangerous eyes on her. She felt something like an absurd jungle pleasure. Yes, the beast was hers. A beast indeed, but that was okay, as long as he was her beast.

"Did you order me one?"

"One what?"

"A beer?"

"No, here, take this, I'll get another."

"Thanks, there's something off on one of the speakers. Hey, Joseph and Morwenna are here. They've ordered food again for after our next set."

"Great!"

He disappeared. She ordered another beer. She felt as if she were being watched.

She was.

The man in costume who had helped her detangle her hair from the prop monster the night before was at the end of the bar. He lifted a gla.s.s to her. She smiled uneasily, lifted the bottle of beer she had just received, and slipped from her bar stool.

People stopped her-none she'd ever recognize again-as she headed back to the stage. She chatted, thanked them, acknowledged their compliments, and hurried back to Finn.

Later, they ate with Morwenna and Joseph. Conversation was casual.

The night came to an end.

They didn't linger. Finn was in a hurry to get back to Huntington House. They found a parking spot with near miraculous ease. She lay down while he hit the shower. She'd meant to take one herself when he came out.

She fell fast asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

It began with the darkness, and the strange blue light that began to penetrate through it. There was fog and for a moment, she thought she'd had a blackout, and that she was still on the stage. It was cold, icy cold, but she shouldn't have felt the chill so deeply, not when she was wearing one of the black capes over the gown with its draping sleeves. But, she realized, she had shed the gown, and that was why she was so cold, the breeze and the blue fog were slipping between the fold, wrapping around her.

She was embarra.s.sed, as if she had walked into one of her own worst nightmares. The fear of the performer, being on stage, and realizing that she had forgotten her clothing. But it was all right. She wondered if they had agreed that night to perform for a nudist colony, because she could vaguely see the audience. They were hazy forms, indistinguishable in the blue fog, faceless, with only bits and pieces of their visages visible. Now and then, she could see floating toothy, blood red smiles; she could see eyes here and there, staring at her. They all seemed to be red as well, rimmed with fire, and yet, of course, they couldn't be. Eyes were blue, or brown, green, even hazel. Sometimes they had exceptional color, and could even be described as azure, turquoise, or gold. But they never really burned, as if they were red...

What she could see was that they were all wearing cloaks or capes as well. All were cowled, but the breeze would come now and then, lifting a hem, shifting an opening, and she could see the flesh. So, of course, it was all right, because they were all the same.

She struggled, thinking she must be dreaming because it wasn't all right at all; she would never appear anywhere without being fully clothed. They didn't even dress suggestively.

She thought she was supposed to be singing; she could vaguely hear music, but it didn't sound like anything Finn had written, nor any of the cover songs that they did. He would be angry, looking at her the way that he had earlier, but she still stood there in silence, because no matter how she tried, she couldn't recognize the music. Someone was singing for her, she thought, because it was as if she could vaguely hear words.

Maybe it was the crowd, trying to get her started; they seemed to be pushing closer and closer to the stage. There was something law-lying and ominous in the music; she didn't like it, didn't like the feeling of discomfort... unease... and then the fear that it began to create within her. Nothing sudden, just a feeling that seemed to sweep through her limbs. The crowd was pushing too close. They weren't singing; they were chanting. Something like a church song, only it wasn't really church music at all, not with the haunting menace that seemed to be at its base...

She started to back away. She would knock into the equipment, she thought. Finn would think she was mad, having stage fright at this point. He would have to understand.

He hadn't understood about the nightmare. He had pretended to, but...

She turned, desperate to reach him, to get behind him, because the black-cowled spectators were coming too close, they were grasping at her, trying to touch her... She screamed as fingers reached out, wrenching away her cloak.

"Perfect," someone said, not a compliment, but a cool, disaffected a.s.sessment.

"A few bruises," came another intonation.

"Chant!" came a firm voice.

The noise level grew. How she could have ever thought that it was music was beyond her then. The words were rising in a singsong but there was a harshness to them. She couldn't recognize any of the sounds.

"The time is coming..."

"Now!"