In the Dark (12 page)

“I' m
so
glad you're here,” she sighed, pulling the door open wide. “Because I could really use a hug.”

Armand's hazel eyes twinkled with amusement. “Which I would be very happy to provide.”

“Oh.” Julie's cheeks flamed red.
Crap
. “Sorry. I-I th-thought you were someone else.”

“
Oui
.” His smile turning rueful, Armand nodded. “So I had assumed.” He spread his arms wide and took a step closer. “However…the offer still stands.”

Once again, Julie found herself backing away from the door and into her room, just like she'd done the night before. “Th-thanks,” she stammered, unable to get the words out. “That…uh…I mean, that's…”

“Nice of me?” Armand suggested, following after her. “
Oui
. I am often nice. Ask anyone who knows me.”

“I was going to say, not necessary.”

“Were you?” Eyes gleaming, Armand closed the door behind him. “Well, what of it? The two need not be mutually exclusive. Don't you agree?”

Did she? Julie shook her head in a futile effort to clear it. It was
so
time to change the subject. “So, um…what are you doing here?” she asked, finally catching her breath. What was it about this guy that always left her so flustered?

Armand's smile disappeared. Reproach shaded his voice as he murmured, “I waited all night for you.” Julie figured she must have looked as confused as she felt for his eyes widened slightly in surprise. “I was to give you a tour of the house last night. Do you not remember? We discussed it yesterday morning. But,
non
.” He sighed heavily. “I can see you do not recall our conversation.”

“No, I…” Julie's voice trailed off as she considered what excuse she could make. “Sorry.” She could say she'd gotten tied up with something else, but that might lead to questions as to what it was she'd ended up doing. Failing that, she could claim to have been with Damian, which would work unless Drew mentioned having seen her at the club.
Wait a minute—

An unpleasant chill pebbled her skin. What if he already had? What if Drew and Armand were in league with each other? What if they knew what she and Marc were really here for and were wondering how much they might have learned tonight? What if Armand was questioning her now in hopes of finding out whether she knew that they knew that she knew that they… “Whoa.” Julie swayed on her feet as all the suppositions left her dizzy.

“Are you all right?” Armand asked, quickly slipping a hand under her elbow to steady her. “Julie?”

She nodded gratefully. “I'm fine. Thank you.” Marc was right. She really had to stop suspecting everyone. All this conspiracy stuff could make a person crazy.

“Here. Why don't you sit down?” Still holding onto her arm, Armand urged her toward the bed. “Have you eaten at all today? Would you like me to bring you a snack?”

“A snack?” Julie gazed at him, diverted by the possibility. What kind of snack did he have in mind? Would he bring her Brennan if she asked for him? Would he want to watch while she fed…maybe join in? Or, maybe she could watch while he… “No, thank you.” It was a little scary how much the thought of it appealed to her.

“How about some water then?” Armand nodded toward the bathroom. “Shall I run you a glass?”

Julie shook her head. It was impossible to know whether Marc had really gone to bed or not and the last thing she wanted was her brother's involvement in…whatever this was. “I don't need anything. I'm feeling much better now. I think I was just…overtired.” It was true, she realized, as she pulled her legs up on the bed and curled onto her side. She lifted one hand to her face and yawned widely.

“Of course.” Nodding politely, Armand headed back toward the door. “I should let you get some rest. Perhaps we can reschedule our date for later this evening?”

“Date?” She sat up again, quickly. Had she agreed to a date at some point? What else might she be forgetting?

“To tour the house?” Armand studied her face for a moment and his own face fell. “Or, perhaps that's not such a good idea.” Obviously, he was disappointed with her reaction. Julie could hardly blame him for that. She was sure she'd looked and sounded appalled.

“Maybe we can postpone the tour until after Conrad gets back,” she suggested, smiling apologetically in an effort to soften the blow of her initial reaction. “I really would like to see it, you know, but I have a feeling I'm going to be pretty preoccupied up until then.”

Armand's gaze turned thoughtful. “So…you intend to stay here until his return then? Even though we have no idea when that might be?”

Julie smiled and happily lied. “Damian
insists
we wait.”

Armand nodded. “
Tres bien
. Another time then.” He flashed her a parting smile and was reaching for the doorknob when another thought occurred to Julie.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Ye-es?” he said, turning back again, eyes glinting with curiosity.

“What can you tell me about Golden Gate Park?”

“You want to know about the park?” Armand stared at her, his face suddenly wiped blank of emotion. “Well, let me see…it was created, I believe, in the late eighteen hundreds. It covers about a thousand acres and is very popular with tourists today, as it once was with the hippies. It borders Haight Ashbury, as you probably know, and extends all the way to the beach. In fact, I think the land it occupies was largely sand dunes, at one time.”

Julie shook her head. “No, that's not the kind of thing I mean. What do
you
think of it?”

“Oh.” For a moment, Armand's eyes went very far away—somewhere dark and grim, Julie decided, watching him. “I don't.”

She frowned. “Don't what? Think?”

“Not if I can help it,” he said, smiling faintly, obviously intent on changing the subject. “As an occupation I find it sadly overrated.”

“Someone told me Conrad avoids it. Do you know why?”

At that, Armand's mouth tightened. “I would never presume to speak for Conrad.”

“But why do you
think
he doesn't like it there?” Julie asked, wishing she could pressure him the way she had Brennan.
Good luck with that.
“What do
you
have against the place?”

“That's personal,” he replied, his tone wooden. “And, no offense, but it's not something I wish to discuss.”

Julie sighed. “So, I guess, if I were to ask you to accompany me there…on a date, for example, you wouldn't go?”

His eyes narrowing, Armand stared at her, as though considering the matter. When he shook his head, she thought she saw a flash of real regret in his expression. “
Non
. I would not. And, if you had my memories,” he added as he reached again for the door handle, “you would not go there either.” He was gone before she could think of anything else to ask.

As she undressed and got into bed, Julie replayed the conversation over in her head. There was something familiar about it; something familiar and troubling and…vaguely ominous. She had no idea why.

She was half asleep before the answer came to her. Armand's last words had seemed eerily close to a scene from one of her favorite works of fiction:
Rebecca
. In fact, he'd seemed almost to be quoting Maxim's response when asked about his feelings toward the cottage where his first wife had died. Could Armand have meant something similar?

Julie shivered and pulled the blankets more tightly around her as she pondered the question. Had Armand just told her he'd killed someone in the park? Was it possible he could have done such a thing—and gotten away with it?

Oh, but why even ask? He was a vampire. Of course he could have done such a thing. Couldn't any of them? Besides, hadn't she seen the sadness, the grief, the quick flash of guilt in his eyes? If it wasn't murder that was troubling him, it was something damn close. And, now, she supposed, the question became: who was it he'd killed?

Chapter Seven

Thursday, November 28th, 1968

Thanksgiving Day

“All I'm saying is that the picnic in the park was a total blast and you missed out on a really great party today.”

Desert Rose was pouting. Arms crossed, her posture rigid, she glared sullenly at Conrad from one end of his couch. Lying comfortably against the cushions at the other end, he smiled back at her indulgently. He hadn't been expecting to see her here this evening. Even though she'd taken to spending nearly every weekend with him, tonight was Thursday—definitely part of the week, as far as he was concerned. In her mind, however, the fact that it was Thanksgiving apparently made it the start of the weekend.

“I told you all about it when I was here last weekend. I was really hoping you'd show. You'd have liked it.”

“Yes, I'm sure I would have.”
Enough talk now
. Conrad reached for the girl and pulled her toward him. He rearranged her limbs until she was reclining against his chest with her head resting on his shoulder, her long, dark hair swept to one side.
Unexpected, yes
, he thought, as he began to lick lazily at her neck.
But definitely not unwelcome.
Three days was long enough to go without. He'd grown quite addicted to the taste of her over the course of the past month—which would have worried him, if he'd been planning on turning her. He wasn't. “I'm sorry I missed your picnic today. It sounds like it was a…real happening scene.”

A strangled noise, emanating from the vicinity of the secretary desk on the other side of the room, greeted Conrad's observation. He glanced up, his face breaking into a wide grin at the sight of Armand's pained expression.

“A happening scene?
Mon Dieu
.”

“Well, it was,” Desert Rose insisted as she settled deeper into Conrad's embrace, her eyes closed, her neck exposed. “With music and dancing and…just crowds of people. And more food than you've probably ever seen in your life.”

Armand's eyes grew smoky as he gazed at the girl. His tongue danced lightly across the points of his teeth. He looked mesmerized, enchanted. He looked hungry.

Mine
. Conrad stilled. It took a conscious effort to tamp down the unreasoning jealousy that was once again threatening to burn holes in his gut. Luckily, Armand seemed to collect himself before too much time had passed. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he shook his head and went back to work, writing checks to pay the monthly bills. Conrad relaxed as well, and quietly sank his teeth into the girl's waiting neck.

“Corn and beans and squash and cranberry sauce and those little pearl onions,” she continued her recital, in the slightly dreamy tone that indicated she was so relaxed she hadn't even noticed Conrad's feasting at her throat. “And mashed potatoes, scalloped potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, peas, three kinds of pie, a big chocolate cake. Not to mention homemade bread and biscuits and pumpkin soup. Oh, and there was even an entire turkey made out of tofu.”

“It sounds delightful.” Conrad raised his head. “Armand?”

“
Oui
?”

“
Qu'est-ce que c'est…
toe-foo?”

Armand looked up again, his face perplexed. “
Je ne sais pas
,” he replied with a shrug. Then, his face clearing, he snapped his fingers.
“
Ah, non, non, non. Il est Chinois.
It's something to do with soybeans. A kind of a paste, I think?”

“Soybeans?
Vraiment
?” Conrad shook his head and went back to his meal. Soybean turkeys. What would they think of next? He could still eat human food, if he had to, but it had very little taste and no nutritional value for him, so he rarely bothered. In the past, of course, things had been different and he'd frequently been forced to eat regular meals as part of his attempts to pass for human. He hadn't felt the need for such subterfuge in quite some time, however, and being as he was now a man of some means and could afford not to eat, he no longer did.

“I wish you'd been there,” Desert Rose murmured, still pouting. “You could have met some of my friends.”

“I'm sure that would have been very charming,” Conrad lied and, sensing she was growing restless, quickly licked the wounds shut and released her. “But, you know,
mignonne
, Armand is Canadian and they don't really celebrate Thanksgiving in his country. It would have been rude to leave him alone.”

“Well, you could have come too,” she said, sitting up and gazing earnestly at Armand. “All sorts of people were there.”

“
Merci, chérie
.” Armand smiled at her. “And, for the record, we
do
celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada. It's just not all about the
food
for us.” He cast a sly glance in Conrad's direction. “But, you know, Conrad is not from this country originally either. So you can't really expect him to appreciate the delights of all your traditional American dishes. Like tofu, for example.”

“You're not American?” Eyes wide, she stared at Conrad. “Where are you from?”

“Originally?” Conrad frowned. He had to think about that for a moment. The part of Europe he hailed from had been called many different things over the centuries, most of which would mean nothing to her. “Rome,” he answered, finally, taking the easy way out.

“So, does that mean you're like…Italian?”

“Close enough,” he said, ignoring Armand when he muttered, “…but no cigar.”

“So, what do you like to eat on Thanksgiving then? Spaghetti, or pizza, or lasagna or something?”

Conrad grimaced as thoughts of garlic and other unpleasant spices threatened to sour his stomach. “I don't really care for any of those.”

Cocking her head to the side, she frowned thoughtfully. “You know what's funny? Now that I think about it, I never see you eat anything. Why is that?”