In the Dark (31 page)

“No,” Damian corrected, upsetting
that
idea. “She isn't either. She's coming with us.”

“What?” Marc stared at him in surprise. “Why?”

Damian smiled serenely back at him. “Because I said so, Marc. Do I need a better reason? Very well, then let's just say it's like I told Armand, the night you arrived here. I could never bear to break up such a pretty set. Now, come, enough of this standing around talking—we'll be waking up the entire household, if we're not careful. They'll all want to join us too, and I do so wish to be exclusive tonight. Let's go down to the kitchen and pack up some food for the road, shall we?”

“Food?” Now it was Julie who looked surprised. “Are you kidding? What do we need food for? Let's just go!”

“Why not food,
chica
?” Damian asked, still smiling, even though his eyes glittered with the unspoken, but unmistakable, warning they should both keep their mouths shut and do as they were told. “It's a beautiful night for a drive, is it not? Perhaps we'll decide to stop somewhere along the way and have a picnic.”

 

As the lights in the garage flickered on, Julie's eyes widened. “Wow,” she murmured, glancing at the gleaming row of cars, new and old, lined up side by side. “Look at all these cars. This is amazing.”

“Which one are we taking?” Marc asked, brushing his hands together to rid them of the dust they'd acquired from pushing the doors open.

Damian nodded toward a sleek black sedan. “That one, I think,” he answered as he headed for the glass-fronted cabinet on the wall where the keys were kept.

“Pretty.” Julie eyed the car with interest. “What is it?”

“That's a Jaguar Mark X,” said a voice behind her.
Brennan
. “1963. Isn't that right, sir?”

Damian nodded affirmatively. “Yes, I believe it is.”

“Brennan.” For a moment, as she looked him over, Julie forgot about the worry and the fear that had haunted her these past twenty-four hours and kept her sleepless and starving. A smile warmed her face. “Hi.”

“Hi.” For a moment, his smile matched hers, but then his gaze slid past her and he frowned. “Uh, I don't think you want to be putting that in there sir,” Brennan cautioned, looking faintly alarmed as he pointed at the gas can Damian was holding. “That can's full.”

“Thank you, Brennan. I know.” Damian stowed the full can in the trunk, then reached for the stack of cargo blankets Marc was holding for him. Those went in the trunk as well, along with a length of rope and half a dozen flares. “Grab some of those tire chains, too, while you're at it,” he told Marc. “And a bolt cutter. Just in case.”

“Hey.” Julie held up the small, red and white cooler she'd carried from the kitchen. “Where do you want this?”

“Backseat,” Damian answered shortly.

“Where are you all going?” Brennan inquired as he followed her over to the car.

“Picnic.” Turning, she smiled teasingly at him. “Wanna come with?”

Brennan gazed doubtfully toward the trunk, which Marc and Damian were still loading. He shook his head. “I think I'm gonna have to pass.”

“Julie,” Damian growled in warning as he slammed the Jaguar's trunk shut. He glared at her. “Knock it off.”

“Sorry.” Julie smiled at Brennan. “I was just kidding. You can't come anyway. It's kind of a family outing.” She put the cooler in the backseat and then turned, her gaze falling on a small red sports car parked alongside the Jaguar. “Hey, D, wouldn't that be faster?” she asked. “How come we're not taking that one?”

“Backseat?” Marc replied, shooting her a look rife with meaning, just as Brennan was saying, “Actually the Mark X's a pretty fast…” His voice trailed off. His expression turned startled as he glanced at Marc. “Huh?”

“Oh, right. Duh.” Julie rolled her eyes. They'd need room for Conrad, wouldn't they? The sports car's miniscule backseat would be pitifully crammed with all of them. “That would be way too small for us, wouldn't it? What was I thinking?”

Damian smacked her lightly on the head as he passed her. “Good question,
chica
.
I'm wondering that myself.” He slid behind the wheel and the engine purred to life. Damian stuck his head out the window. “Marc, Julie, get in the car. Brennan, you'll see to it the garage is locked after we leave, won't you?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” Brennan responded, flashing a somewhat worried glance at Julie as she climbed into the Jaguar's backseat.

She smiled back at him. “See you later?”

“Sure thing.” He shrugged. “Have a good trip.”

 

“Well, Julie, you certainly have made a conquest with that one, haven't you?” Damian asked, once they'd gotten on the road. His eyes met hers in the rear view mirror; tender and just a little sad.

Reclining comfortably on the leather upholstery, Julie smiled happily. “He's nice, isn't he? I like him.”

Marc snorted. “Yeah, we could tell.”

Ignoring her brother, Julie leaned forward to ask, “What do you know about him anyway, Damian?”

“Very little, I'm afraid. He hasn't been with us that long, maybe six months.”

“I think he's being overused,” Julie said. “Can't we do anything about that?”

“Probably. When we get Conrad back, perhaps I'll suggest putting him off limits for a while.”

“Off limits?” Julie gazed at Damian in dismay. “You don't mean completely, do you?”

Damian's eyes met hers in the mirror again. “I'm sure Conrad will understand if you want to keep him for yourself. As long as Brennan raises no objection and you don't overwork him yourself, I'm sure everything will work out fine.”

“Do you two really have to talk about this right now?” Marc snapped suddenly. ”You know I'm not comfortable with the idea of keeping people. They're not pets.”

Julie leaned back in her seat and glared at Marc. What was up with him? Ever since they arrived here he'd been surly, snappish and short-tempered, and his mood seemed to get worse with every passing day. She didn't like it.

Damian shot Marc an appraising glance. “What would you prefer we talk about,
chico
? The weather?”

“Anything! How about Vincent? You know, the guy who attacked Jules the other night? The one we're hoping will lead us to Conrad? We could talk about him.”

“All right,” Damian answered agreeably. “That's a good idea. What about him, Marc? What did you learn?”

“I found out how he got scarred. Conrad did it.”

“Did he?” Damian glanced sharply at Marc. “Who told you that?”

“Surly,” Julie muttered watching as angry stares were exchanged.
And inconsiderate, too
, she added silently, while both men ignored her.

Marc shrugged. “Someone who was there, apparently. It seems Vincent went after one of Conrad's…
pets
. Guess the apple didn't fall far from that tree, huh?”

Damian nodded thoughtfully. “Well, that would certainly explain some things, wouldn't it?”

“Would it?” Marc demanded. “I'm not so sure.”

“So, you're saying I'm not the first person he's attacked?” Julie asked, leaning forward again, her interest piqued. “Who else did he attack, Marc?”

“I don't know who exactly,” Marc replied, half-turning to face her. “Some girl, is all I heard, but it happened just about a year before we were born. Which kinda makes you think, doesn't it?”

“No way.” Julie stared at her brother in alarm. “You don't think…I mean, it couldn't be…?”

“Our mother? Sure, why not? It's possible, isn't it?”

“Is it?” Julie asked, as they both turned to Damian. “Is that what happened? Is that why he attacked me?”

Damian shrugged. “I don't know the answer to that,
niño
s. As I've told you both before, I was not here at that time. I know little more than you about what went on then.”

“Except you weren't a baby,” Marc pointed out. “You were a full-grown adult. So you'd have to remember
something
more than we do.”

Julie sighed. “Well, Armand was here and I bet he'd know. Why don't we just ask him?”

“No!” Both Damian and Marc answered at once. They glanced at each other again, their startled expressions morphing into identically suspicious glares, as Julie subsided once again against her seat.

“Why the hell not?” she grumbled, feeling sulky.

“Not until we get Conrad back,” Marc said, turning his frown on her. “After that, you can talk to him all you want.”

“No, you can't,” Damian repeated, his tone final. “Not now, not ever. Put it from your minds.”

“That's not fair, Damian,” Julie protested. “It's
our
mother we're talking about. We have a right to know. What if Marc's right and this Vincent attacked her? What if he killed her?”

“For that matter, what if she's not really dead?” Marc added.

Damian's eyes widened. “Is that what you think?” His gaze flickered from Julie's reflection in the mirror to Marc's and back again, meeting each of their gazes in turn, meeting the doubt and the need and the hope in their eyes. “Niños,” he sighed, so heavily it was almost a groan. “You know better. Of course she's dead. Would we lie to you about such a thing?”

“You said it yourself, didn't you? You don't know much more than we do,” Marc pointed out. “You weren't here, remember?”

Damian glanced briefly across at him. “So it's just Conrad you suspect of lying to you? Ah,
gracias
, I feel so much better now.”

“What I meant is, you can't be that certain about it, either.”

“I'm as certain as I need to be,” Damian snapped. “What reason would Conrad have for lying about such a thing? As heartbroken as he was over losing her—and still is, I think—I've no reason to doubt him.”

“Well, then why all the secrecy? We're her children. Why won't he even tell us how she died? Don't you think we at least deserve to know that much?”

Damian sighed. “What I think is not the issue, Marc. If Conrad wants you to know anything more than what he's already told you—”

“Screw what Conrad wants,” Marc snarled, in a tone more savage than any Julie had ever heard him use before. “I'm asking you now—not him. Tell us what you know!”

“Damian, was it because of us?” Julie asked. “Did she die giving birth to us? Is that why you won't tell us?”

Damian hesitated. His expression wavered. “She died from… No, it was after your birth, child, but that's not…
ah, dios
. She died from extreme blood loss, I believe. Is that not enough to satisfy you both for now?”

“Are you serious?” Marc growled. “No, it's not enough to satisfy us. What kind of bullshit answer is that?”

“Blood loss?” Julie stared at him in surprise. “Like…what do you mean, Damian? Like from a vampire attack?”

“Or from childbirth?” Marc suggested. “Is Julie right? Is she dead because of us?”

“No.” Damian sighed. “I don't know. Both, perhaps. Or neither.” Then he nodded at the scene ahead of them, at the blue-black of the ocean under a nearly starless sky. “Look, we're here. Enough talk. Help me find what we're looking for.”

Chapter Sixteen

Wednesday, February 26th, 1969

Within minutes, the steady suction of Conrad's lips had lulled Suzanne's heart into a slower rhythm. She smiled quietly to herself, trying hard to quell her impatience. This was the easy part. This was nothing they hadn't done before, even if she hadn't known it at the time. It was the next part that worried her—and the next part, and the part after that.

As the minutes progressed, it became harder to breathe. Suzanne squirmed restlessly. “Cold,” she whispered as shivers coursed through her. “I'm so cold.”

“I know, my sweet,” Conrad murmured. “It can't be helped. Just a little longer now.”

His tone was warm and reassuring. Suzanne thought about nodding, thought about answering, thought about telling him that, but she was too tired. She did smile at him though. Or, at least, she thought about smiling…

More time passed. Conrad left off sucking and began to lick her neck, soothing away the faint soreness that seemed to linger in the spot where his lips had been pressed.
Nice
, she thought sleepily.
Don't stop
.

“Now, you must drink,” Conrad said. His voice seemed to come from very far away.

Suzanne frowned. She was vaguely aware that something warm and wet had been pressed against her lips, she couldn't imagine what. She opened her eyes and met Conrad's gaze above the arm he'd placed across her mouth. His face was flushed, his eyes were glazed, heavy, replete.
He looks drunk
. She was giddy and light-headed and…just slightly nauseated by the thought.
Drunk on me
. She wanted to laugh, but just couldn't work up the energy for it.

“Drink,” Conrad urged again and panic nudged at her. She wasn't sure she
could
drink. She wasn't sure she remembered how and she had no idea where he expected her to find the strength.
What if he's wrong? What if he's taken too much and I can't drink? What if I die?

“Just swallow,” Conrad instructed patiently. “You need do nothing else at this point. Just let it in.” His eyes gave her hope. She opened her throat and did as she was told, gagging a little on the thick, brackish fluid that filled her mouth. “Again,” he ordered and she forced another mouthful down. “That's right. You can do it.” It was salty and warm, but less odd-tasting than before. “And again.”

After a few more gulps, Suzanne had found her rhythm and Conrad no longer had to coach her through every step. Now, he murmured soft endearments instead and Suzanne basked in the glow of his love for her, her love for him, and all the many pleasures their future would hold; all the things he would show her and teach her and share with her. Gradually, breathing became easier again. Her heartbeat grew stronger. She sighed with relief and contentment, feeling warm, drowsy, comfortable, safe.