Fallen Embers (16 page)

Her heart beat a little bit faster as she recognized the mid-century clothing and hairstyles of the people in the various photographs. The odds were slim, so very slim, that she would find what she was looking for, and yet she couldn't stop hoping.

The pictures appeared to have been shot locally. Julie's sense of anticipation increased. She recognized an earlier version of the patio—the view the same, the furnishings different, the trees a little less gnarled. And then there she was. Julie's breath lodged in her throat when, amidst a smiling group of hippies in one of the shots, she spied a very young, very pregnant woman. A woman whose face was freakishly similar to the one that had stared back at her from her mirror every day for the last twenty years.

I've found her. I've freaking found her.

Tears sprang to Julie's eyes. As usual, whenever her emotions spiked, keeping her fangs sheathed was an effort. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand as she fought her body's instinctive reaction.

Impossible. So impossible.

She moved closer, eyes riveted. She was actually reaching for the picture, intending to take it off the wall, when a voice at her side startled her.

“Excuse me. Those aren't for sale.”

Julie jumped in surprise. “What did you say?” Her heart filled with even more foolish, improbable hopes as she turned to stare at the woman who had come up beside her—so quietly that she hadn't even heard her approach.

“Those photographs.” The woman gestured at the wall in front of Julie. “Please don't touch them. They're not for sale. They're part of the décor.”

“Oh.” Julie's heart sank. Wrong woman. Her eyes were too green, her hair too light, her skin too freckled. The tiny, disappointed sound that left Julie's lips sounded embarrassingly close to a sob. “I'm sorry. I…”

“Oh, honey! Now what's wrong?” the woman asked in concern. “I didn't mean to upset you!”

“No. You didn't.” Julie shook her head. The woman's sympathetic tone was not helping her regain her composure. She glanced again at the picture on the wall and spoke the first words that came to mind. “It's just…that's my mother.”

“What? Who?”

Julie could only point. “That girl there.” How pathetic was it that she didn't even know her own mother's name? As soon as she got back to the city she was going to corner Armand and…no. No, she wasn't. But she was
definitely
going to sit down with Conrad for a serious chat. She understood he was trying to protect her, but enough was enough.

“Are you sure about that?” Julie's new friend sounded skeptical. “I'm not saying you're wrong, but that picture was taken over forty years ago. That girl would be almost my age by now. She'd be a little old to have a daughter your age.”

“No, she… I don't mean…” Shit. This was precisely why she wasn't supposed to talk about these things, wasn't it?
Way to go, Julie. Way to prove Conrad's stupid point.

“Oh, wait!” the woman exclaimed. “I get it. You're talking about the
baby
she's carrying.
That's
your mother?”

“Babies,” Julie replied automatically—again, before she could stop herself. “There were two.”

“That's right, that's right.” The woman nodded excitedly. “Now I remember. Damn, that takes me back a ways. She always did insist she was carrying twins. Not that I doubted her—when it comes to her children, I've often found that a mother just knows. I'm Linda, by the way.” Linda held out her hand and Julie had no choice but to take it.

She wasn't sure she wanted to. Lately, touching her mother's belongings or even being around people who'd known her elicited such strange responses. Kissing Armand last winter, for example, had left her feeling guilty, confused and so very frightened, but with no idea why. But as Linda's hand clasped hers, all Julie felt was a warm, nurturing vibe, almost a motherly feeling. Friendship and peace washed over her, making her feel safe and comforted. She couldn't help but smile. “I'm
so
glad to meet you.”

“Oh, me too, honey. Me too. I've always wondered what became of her. Desert Rose—that's what she called herself back then. I don't imagine she kept the name; most of us didn't. I went by Starchild for a while myself, if you can imagine. And you say you're her granddaughter?”

Daughter
, Julie corrected automatically. But this time she managed to keep her thoughts—and her surprise—to herself.
Desert Rose. My mother's name was Desert Rose.
It was a nickname, clearly, but it was still more than she'd had before.

“I can see the resemblance,” Linda continued. “Now that I look at you. I should have recognized it straight off. You're the spitting image of her—as you probably know. How's she doing anyway? I've always wondered. I mean, she left here so suddenly and we never had so much as a single postcard from her…”

“I'm sorry. There's not much I can tell you. She died…shortly after her babies were born.”

“Ohhh, damn. Well, that's too bad. I'm sorry to hear that. She was a sweetheart. I do hope… Well, I mean, obviously, they survived—because here you are! I was her midwife, you know. Or, leastways, I was s'posed to be.”

“We— I mean, they were born here?” Julie asked in surprise.
No, no, no—that can't be right!
“We always thought—” She cut herself off before she said too much.
Is that why this place seems so familiar?
All their lives, she and Marc had been told they'd been born in San Francisco. They'd been told a lot of things. Was any of it true?

Linda shook her head. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mislead you. She was
supposed
to have had them here. That was the plan. But something changed in the weeks just before she left. She became very concerned about her babies' welfare.”

“Why? Was there something wrong with them?”

“Oh no. As far as I could tell everything was perfectly fine. It was just nerves, you see. She got it in her head that, once they were born, she wouldn't be able to feed them, or wouldn't know how to care for them properly. I probably should have taken more time to reassure her. But we were so busy just then, what with harvest festivals every weekend, and the campground closing down for the winter, and I really didn't think it was anything more than prenatal jitters.”

“I still don't understand what she was doing here. I mean, I thought she was supposed to be living in San Francisco.”

Linda chuckled. “Oh, honey, what were
any
of us doing here? It was karma, or kismet, or all that other good stuff. We were here because this was the place to be back then. It was where we were
supposed
to be. Anyway, that's what we would have told you then, if you'd have asked us. But, in her case… I do remember wondering if there wasn't someone she was hiding from. She always said no, but I'm not sure I believed her.”

Julie nodded. Linda's words had struck a chord inside her. It was as though she could almost sense her mother's emotions—fear and longing and love. “Did you ever ask?”

“Oh, no. We wouldn't have talked about it unless she brought it up. We prided ourselves on being a safe place here, a haven of sorts. A lot of the people who passed through in those days were on the run—maybe most of them. Some were underage, some were dodging the draft, some may even have been wanted by the police. With other folks, it was the demons in their past, or the demons in their heads, they were trying to get away from. It wasn't our place to judge and we always figured the less we knew the less we'd have to lie about.”

“Did she ever say who the father of her babies was?”

Linda looked surprised. “You don't know?”

Julie shook her head—by this point, she didn't trust herself to speak at all.

Linda sighed. “No, she never said. There was one young man, I think she might even have come down here with him, a very talented artist. He wasn't the nicest person I'd ever met, but he did make the most beautiful stained glass.”

“Stained glass?” Once again, Julie's heart started to race. “Like this?” Quickly, she pulled out the stained glass heart she wore on a leather thong around her neck. It was originally part of the wind chime her mother had given Conrad.

Linda nodded. “Yes, very much like that. As I recall, he had several pieces with that gold dust swirled into the glass. It seemed to be a favorite technique of his. Probably because he could charge so dang much for it—he was a little mercenary, as I recall. If you had that from your grandmother, then I'd stake my livelihood on it being his. Anyway, to get back to your question, I guess I assumed he was the father; just based on timing. But it certainly didn't seem to matter. I don't even know if he knew she was expecting. She wasn't very far along when he took off and I don't think either of them bothered to keep in touch. Like I said, he wasn't very nice, and she didn't seem all that attached to him. I always suspected there was someone else in her life, but…well, I guess we'll never know. She certainly had her secrets. I suppose we all did.”

“Do you remember his name?”

Linda shook her head. “No, and to be honest, honey, I don't know for certain that he was the one. I didn't think she knew herself who the father was. I hope that doesn't offend you, but it was a different time back then. A more innocent time, in a lot of ways. I miss it.”

Julie nodded absently. It was disappointing to still have so little information about her parents. If even her mother didn't know who their father was, Julie didn't suppose she'd
ever
learn the answer to that particular question. It seemed like every answer she
did
receive only led to more questions.

She still didn't know why her mother had come here or why she'd left. She didn't know how she and Marc had ended up with Conrad. Or when they'd been turned, or why, or even by whom.

It had to have happened when they were very young, because neither of them remembered anything about it. Damian had always insisted Conrad was their sire, and she and Marc had assumed that meant it was he who turned them. It was only recently that she'd come to realize there was something terribly wrong with that story.

According to everyone she'd talked to since moving to San Francisco, it was supposed to be dangerous to turn children—some said impossible. And Conrad's opposition to turning anyone without their knowledge and express consent was practically an article of faith. So, if their mother had been at all concerned with their well-being, which Linda claimed she was, she would never have put them at risk by asking Conrad to turn them. And if Conrad was sincere about not violating their free will—as absolutely
everyone
who knew him insisted was the case—then he wouldn't have turned them at all, even if she'd asked.

It all added up to nothing that made any sense at all. Unless…

“Did my… Did Desert Rose ever say why she was suddenly so worried about her children? Was it something specific?”

Linda's lips tightened. “Not really. Like I said, she had concerns about feeding them. I'm not saying breastfeeding twins is the easiest thing to get a handle on, but…” She broke off with a shrug, looking far more uncomfortable than seemed warranted—as though the question was not one she wanted to answer; or as though the answer she'd given had only touched on the truth.

“Go on,” Julie prompted. “Please.”

“It was nothing! Typical pregnancy hormones—that's all. It's not uncommon for women to get very strange notions when they're pregnant, especially when they're expecting their first child. And she was so very young…”

“She must have told you something.” Another possibility had occurred to Julie—the most improbable one of all. But, if she'd ruled out all the other options as impossible, what else was left? She locked eyes with Linda and nudged with her mind, ever so slightly. “Please tell me. It's important. I really need to know what happened.”

“You have to understand,” she said, her voice shaky and soft. “We were all about expanding our consciousness. We were searching for enlightenment but, for some of us, the road to the top of that mountain took some mighty strange detours.”

“Are you talking about drugs?”

Linda sighed. “I'm not suggesting that your grandmother experimented with anything while she was expecting—I'm sure she didn't. But, all the same, flashbacks and even hallucinations were not unheard of. You never really knew when something like that might kick in; it might be months or even years after the fact.”

“And…?”

Linda's shoulders sagged. Julie could feel her resistance weakening. “In the last few weeks she was here, she became…restless. She told me she was worried about how her babies would survive once they were born, how they'd receive nourishment, what they would eat.”

“If breastfeeding was a problem, wouldn't she just have given them bottles? It sounds like there was something else that was worrying her.”

“It seems so silly now. Actually, it seemed pretty darn silly back then too. It's just…”

Julie pressed harder. “Go on.”

“She told me she didn't think bottles were going to work because… Because she thought they might be… That they might be…”

“Yes?”

Linda's voice dropped to a whisper. “Vampires.”

“She did?” A huge grin stretched across Julie's face. “She actually said that?” It was as if a weight she hadn't even known she'd carried had suddenly been lifted. She and Marc might not have ever known their mother, but their mother had sure known them. She'd known exactly who they were—what they were—right from the start.

Linda held up a hand. “I know. I know how that sounds.” There was a vaguely truculent note to her voice as she continued. “You're thinking she was crazy, right? That we all were? But, you have to remember, she was very young and… I figured it didn't matter what she believed, at that point. I knew she'd forget all about it once the babies were born. Things would've fallen into place then. Everything would've turned out fine.”