A Vampire's Christmas Carol (3 page)

“I’ll leave it to you to decide what to do
with this when I’m gone. Perhaps you’ll want to burn it. I doubt
anyone will believe it in any case.”

“They might not believe, but won’t Antoine or
someone like him want to stop me from publishing it, or whatever I
decide to do?”

He leaned back in the chair. “Though I doubt
it would concern them—they’re an arrogant lot—it would be best if
you told no one about this until after you’ve done whatever you
decide to do.”

“I’m betting he knows about it.”

Michael shrugged. “If it becomes an issue,
destroy it. It’s not worth anyone’s life. But I hope you won’t have
to.”

He drew a deep breath. His fingers curled on
the arms of the chair, the tips making indents in the leather
upholstery. “It begins one hundred years ago. Exactly one hundred
years ago this night. I was twenty-nine years old at the time. My
family owned a place not far from here, but I lived in Atlanta
where I practiced law. I was seeing a wonderful, very attractive
young lady named Lucy. Had been seeing her for almost a year. You
remind me a little of her. In looks, but also in manner. She had a
gentle way about her, but she could be strong and firm when
needed.

“On that Christmas Eve, I was walking to her
family’s home for dinner. I had a ring with me and intended to ask
her to be my wife. As I passed a dark alley between two buildings,
I heard a scream. I ran toward it. The light was faint, but I could
just discern two forms, a man holding a struggling woman. She
yelled again, sounding desperate, despairing…

* * * * *

The woman’s last scream faded into a gurgle
and moan. When Michael reached them, he yanked the man back from
the woman. Faster than should be humanly possible, the attacker
whirled to face him. In the faint gleam of moonlight, Michael made
out a narrow face atop a long, lean body. His opponent had several
inches of height and some forty pounds of weight on him. But more
terrifying than his opponent’s greater size were the feral red eyes
that shone in his face. This creature was something other than
human.

Michael dragged in a ragged breath when the
figure’s mouth opened to reveal a flash of fang glinting in the
moonlight. He backed up a couple of steps until a wall behind
stopped his retreat.

“Who are you to interfere with my meal?” The
creature had a deep, growly voice that contrasted oddly with a
slight fang-induced lisp.

Terror froze Michael and kept him from
responding. A frantic look around showed no other exit from the
alley. The only way to escape was back the way he’d come in. The
creature moved so fast he’d have no chance. He had no chance
anyway. But he wasn’t going to stand around and wait to be this
monster’s dinner. He saw no sign of the woman who’d screamed
earlier as he darted around to the side and headed for the end of
the alley.

Fingers—or were they claws?—dug into his
shoulders and yanked him back against the predator he’d
interrupted. He writhed and twisted, struggling to get out of the
creature’s hold. But the claws held him firmly, and then he felt
the hot breath on his throat just before fangs sank in. Michael
fell into darkness.

He woke slowly. Sounds penetrated his
awareness first, an occasional clatter that sounded like boots on
stone and the low murmur of voices. Touch and feel came next. He
lay on something yielding and cloth-covered, but not particularly
soft. A sense of something different about the way his body felt
grew. All his parts seemed to be present… He wiggled his toes and
clenched his fingers into fists. Everything responded. The speed
and strength of the response startled him. It felt much faster and
more powerful than he was used to.

Michael opened his eyes and levered himself
up on his elbows to look around. He lay in a room just large enough
to hold three cots, including the one he occupied. Stone walls,
stone floors and timbers above suggested a basement. No windows let
in any light. In fact, there were no lamps or fire anywhere. So how
could he see so clearly? And where the devil was this?

A door at the far end of the room creaked
open and a man entered. He wore a white tunic, but any resemblance
to a doctor ended there. Long, dark hair hung down past his
shoulders and a scruffy beard hid his chin.

His smile as he approached flashed a set of
sharp canines. “You’ve decided to wake at last?” he said.

“I was…asleep?” He searched his memory for a
reason why he’d gone to bed in this place, but came up with
nothing. “The last thing I remember…being attacked. The monster bit
me. Then it went dark.”

“Monster? You’ll have to revise your
thinking. You’re one of us now.”

“Us?”

“The Risen. Humans sometimes call us
‘vampires’.”

“The blood-suckers.”

The other man shrugged. “It’s true, if not
too polite.”

“I’m one of you? Hellfire. I don’t—“ But he
did believe it. He remembered the fangs sinking into his shoulder,
the unexpectedly powerful reactions of his body when he woke.
“Damnation. I’m a monster myself? How did that happen?”

“You struggled with Antoine when he caught
you. You scratched him. At the same time he drained you, some of
his blood seeped into you. Hence you are here. He turned you,
though not by his own choice. Still, you are his get.”

Michael heard the words, but his brain
refused to dwell on the implications. “Where is here?” he asked
instead.

“You are in a secure place. A place where we
can be assured no sunlight will reach you, nor hostiles approach,
until you are prepared to go out in the world again.” He shrugged.
“Now, come. Let’s see if you’re ready to stand. Most are somewhat
unsteady for a bit after the long sleep.”

“How long have I been asleep?” He tried to
lever himself upright, but fell back when the world spun around
him.

“Gently. Let’s do this slowly so your body
has time to adjust.”

“How long?”

The man drew a long, loud breath. “This
always comes as a shock, so prepare yourself. You’ve slept for ten
years. Give or take a few months.”

“Ten years! Impossible.”

“It takes a while to recover from death.”

“But… My family, Lucy… What of them?”

He shrugged. “No doubt they’ve moved on with
their lives. As far as they know, you’ve disappeared. I should
imagine they acknowledged you dead years ago. In truth, you
are.”

“But I’m not.”

“You’re undead now.”

“What does that mean?”

The man helped him rise, more slowly this
time, and he found the world remained stable this time as he
gradually got himself upright. “You’ll learn. Since you’re his get,
Antoine will be responsible for training you.”

“Training?”

“You do ask many questions.”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“That explains it then.” He drew in a breath
and expelled it on a sigh. “Antoine may have less patience. So let
me give you a quick view. When you fought Antoine, you died. He
drained you of blood, but some of his own blood slipped into you at
the same time. That allowed you to become one of us. You slept for
ten years while your body began the transition. The entire process
takes precisely one hundred years, so you have ninety remaining.
The blood hunger won’t rise for a while, probably forty or fifty
years, so you have time to get used to the idea.”

“Blood hunger?”

“We survive by drinking blood. It’s the only
thing can sustain us. But you needn’t do so for a while after the
transition. In fact, you have the entire time of the transition.
But you must drink from another living human at least once before
the hundred years expires or the transition fails and you truly
die.”

Footsteps sounded down the hall, the heavy
clunking of boots on stone. The other man looked uneasy. “Antoine
is coming for you and there’s more to tell you. Come to me when you
can. I’m Kurt Severin. Don’t believe everything he tells you is
true.”

The footsteps stopped at the door. A tall,
thin figure stood there—the one he’d fought in the dark alley. He
didn’t look quite as large in this space, this odd un-light, but
just as monstrous, though his face was that of a man. An evil man.
The smile he sent Michael’s way made him shiver, though he wasn’t
chilly. In face, he hadn’t been aware of being either hot or cold
since he woke.

“My child,” Antoine said, the words tinged
with wry, cruel satisfaction and no affection.

“Hardly that.”

His lip curled in a sneer. “I made you.
You’re mine.”

“I belong to no one but myself,” Michael
returned. “I understand it’s your responsibility to train me, but
your obligation and your rights end with that.”

Antoine gave a disdainful shake of his head.
“Perhaps I’ll leave you your illusions for now. It will be more
satisfying to watch them die slowly.”

* * * * *

Michael paused after repeating Antoine’s
words, and Carol let the pen rest. When she looked up, his fingers
curled tensely around the arms of his chair. He stared at her with
a fixed, hard look, and she again saw the flash of red in the
depths of his eyes.

A frisson of fear shivered down her spine as
he remained quiet and staring while his body grew tenser. He
shifted forward in the chair as though poised to launch himself out
of it. Breath heaved in and out, the inhalations getting shorter,
while his steady gaze made her feel like a squirrel staring down
the wrong end of a hunter’s rifle.

Carol shifted also, gathering herself to run
if he made any more threatening move.

The fire crackled and snapped. Wood creaked
as it settled somewhere in the old house.

The red glow in his eyes grew stronger. He
opened his mouth, and firelight glittered off elongating fangs.

Chapter
3

She might really be safer outside, even if it
was snowing harder than ever. She turned to look at a window, to
see if she could tell, but saw only the reflection of the room and
the people in it. Wasn’t there some old myth about vampires not
having a reflection in mirrors? Either that didn’t apply to window
glass or it was indeed just a myth. She saw his reflection clearly
enough.

An odd noise, half moan and half curse, came
from him right before he threw himself back in the chair, eyes
closed, head smacking against the back.

She turned toward him. When he opened his
eyes again, they were just deep blue, with no red showing. His
breath changed to a series of elongating pants, like someone who’d
just done wind-sprints. His teeth looked normal again.

The fire popped and snapped as a burnt log
collapsed, triggering a shower of sparks. He let out a long breath
that carried an almost painful edge of despair. His face looked
drawn, etched with suffering. “That was bad.” He brushed a hand
across his eyes. “Did I scare you half to death? I’m sorry. It took
me by surprise and it was stronger than I expected.”

“Because I’m here?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. Maybe just because
time’s so short. It’s been getting stronger when it hits for the
last few days. With time winding down, it will get worse, quickly.
You might be safer outside, even with the weather.”

“I thought about it,” she admitted. “Do you
want me to go?”

He looked surprised. “You would?”

“It’s not my first choice. But I hate that I
might be making this harder for you.”

He stared at her for a moment before his
mouth crooked into a wry grin. “Harder in one way, but… I don’t
know. I’ve been alone so long, I’d forgotten that there’s comfort
in company. Especially attractive and sympathetic company. But I
don’t know if I can hold out at the end, when the blood-lust and
the instinct for self-preservation meet and combine. I’m not a
strong man. That’s why I’ve hidden myself here where no temptation
could reach me.”

“Until I knocked on your door.”

“The very night I’d have the hardest time
resisting. I don’t know how Antoine managed it, but I can’t think
that’s entirely coincidence.”

“I don’t know how he managed it either.
Unless he played tricks with my brain to induce me to make wrong
turns?”

“Or played tricks with signs?”

Carol considered. “I suppose it’s
possible.”

“In any case, I’m very sorry he involved you,
that he’s using you as bait in a trap set for me. If there were
something I could do to protect you…” He stood and went to the desk
again, moving so fast she could barely see him. He got something
from a drawer, returned and handed the object to her. It took her a
moment to realize what she held.

“A wooden stake? That’s true?” The stake was
about a foot long, an inch in diameter and sharpened to a wicked
point at one end.

“It’s true. The trick is getting it into the
vampire before he’s torn out your throat. You saw how fast I can
move. Two suggestions. Keep the stake in your hand at all times.
And don’t turn your back on me. Even for a second. Also, when you
see red in my eyes, look down at my hands, don’t look at my
face.”

She nodded, watching him. The combination of
his concern for her, his obvious effort to restrain himself, the
tragedy of his story and his torment touched her heart. His good
looks, ravaged by suffering but still poignantly attractive, didn’t
hurt either. She wanted to put a hand on his arm, to show him there
was comfort in contact too, but she feared it would provoke another
attack.

Damn, it was stupid to let him get to her.
Stupid in so many ways she couldn’t even count them.

Out in the hall, the grandfather clock chimed
the hour. Midnight. Witching hour. Or the vampire hour, in this
case. She almost laughed, but stifled it. She was getting punchy
and still having trouble believing it, despite what she’d seen.

“Do you want to go on with your story?” she
asked.