The Silver Kiss (15 page)

“I was spinning. There was something buzzing around my head—a giant fly. I kept on hitting at it, but it wouldn't go away. It kept on brushing at my face with black whiskers, biting at me, and it smelled like carrion.

“I woke several times to find myself in a bedchamber, with a terrible itching about my neck and shoulders, but I felt so weak, I could never keep my eyes open. One time there was a man beside my bed. He was dark and handsome, like our king, with a black mustache and a long curling wig, yet he had the palest face. I was a little more aware this time and tried to talk, but all that came out was a croak.

“ ‘Calm, calm,' he said in a voice strangely soothing,
despite its guttural tone. He stroked my head with long fingers. ‘You have a fever.' He made a motion, and the linkboy came into my line of vision. ‘My imp here will feed you broth for your strength.'

“I was confused. Was the child a street boy, or this man's servant? But my eagerness for the broth wiped away my questions, and I slobbered like an infant. The soup loosened my throat. ‘My father?' I was finally able to ask.

“ ‘We have sent a message,' the man said. ‘You gave the boy your address, remember? He will come when he can.' I didn't remember, but neither did I think my father would rush to be by my side. They must have seen the look of derision on my face. ‘A man's business can't always wait,' the man said, and left the room as if taking his own advice.

“I noticed blood on the sheet. ‘You were scratching yourself in your delirium,' the boy said, following my eyes. ‘I almost bound your hands.'

“I would have asked for my clothes, but I was suddenly overcome with drowsiness again, and fell into another fitful sleep.

“I don't know how long I was there, but it must have been days. The dreams plagued me, but the boy was always there when I woke. One time I saw the man come in and curse, as if taken by surprise. He cuffed the boy and sent broth splattering across the room. Before I lost consciousness, I heard him say, ‘No more soup.' But I took
that for a dream also, because the boy came often to feed me, and when he did I felt stronger.” Simon took Zoë's hands, and held them as if belief were something he could send her through his fingertips.

“Then, one night, I briefly broke through the dreams.” His grip tightened as he talked. “And I found myself clutched to the breast of my elegant host.” He couldn't look at her now, while he told her this. He didn't want to see the disgust he felt echoed on her face. “There was sharp pain at my throat where his head lay. I started to struggle and to make noise, even then misinterpreting his actions, my young manhood offended. He pulled away and hit me. He looked furious. It wasn't the look of a sane man. His face was flushed, his eyes were red, and blood smeared his mouth. Then he saw the fear in me, and his lips drew back in a delighted snarl—they revealed dripping yellowed fangs.”

Zoë pulled her hands from Simon with a squeak of protest and rubbed her fingers. Simon glanced in surprise at his own hands, yet continued speaking.

“ ‘Perhaps I was too enthusiastic tonight,' the man said, his anger turning to amusement. There are a few nights left in you yet, I should not ruin them.' He left me screaming hoarsely but too weak to move. I must have fainted.

“I awoke to find the boy there beside me. I cringed away. The soup will return your strength for only so
long,' he said matter-of-factly, ‘and that time has passed. If you wish to escape my master, then further actions are necessary.'

“ ‘What?' I whispered, hope rising. But then I was suspicious. ‘Why?'

“ ‘Because he beats me. Because he holds from me what I desire. Because I hate him. Is that enough? I am tired of doing his dirty work and luring prey like you to his den, because he's so disgustingly old and jaded, it bores him to do it himself.'

“It would save my life, so I nodded acceptance, and the boy told me his plan. ‘He cannot feast upon his own. If I make you like him, he cannot kill you.'

“I did not think it possible to be sicker than I already was, but my stomach heaved.” Simon grimaced, feeling sick at the memory. “I struggled to rise. ‘No!' I tried to cry, but it came out as a frightened squeak.

“ ‘Do you want to die?' he whispered fiercely. ‘It's your only choice.' I couldn't speak. ‘It's not so bad,' he said. ‘You don't have to be a beast like him. He made me, and I'm not awful, am I?' I moved as far away from him as I could on that tiny bed. He reached for me anxiously. ‘You don't have to prey on humans; animals suffice. You eat animals anyway.' I tried to shake free of him, but he held tighter. ‘It's your only chance,' he insisted. He stroked my clammy brow and smiled. ‘I could change you anyway, against your will, but I wouldn't want to do that. I wouldn't
want to force you. I want to save your life.' He repeatedly stroked my brow, lulling me, and I relaxed and foolishly took comfort in it. ‘I want to save your life,' he repeated. ‘He'll kill you!'

“And, Zoë, I was so frightened, so weak, and so afraid of dying, I ignored the screaming inside of me, and believed his lies. Heaven help me, I said yes.”

Simon felt her warm hand on his and realized he had not been seeing this room at all. His eyes focused on Zoë, and he felt ashamed at the compassion on her face. It was a second before he could speak again.

“He opened my shirt. I didn't know what to expect. Quickly, he sliced my chest with a clawlike nail. I whimpered—then I saw his fangs and gave up hope. He was torturing me. He was like the other. But he swiftly snicked his own wrist and held it to my chest. Our blood mingled there as I stared down in disbelief. ‘To make sure,' he said, and held out his wrist to me. I looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Suck,' he said, and I jerked my head away. But he grasped my hair with a grip beyond the strength of a child and forced my head around. ‘For your life,' he hissed. And choking back the bile, I drank his blood, while he lapped mine up directly above my heart. I sucked till he pulled his wrist away.

“That is the way our kind are born, Zoë. It takes the sharing of blood. Our victims, when they're drained, well—they're just dead. They don't rise again. Not unless, in
their final weakness, they share the blood of one of the damned.

“While I watched in horror, the boy held his arm out for me to see as the blood dried and flaked off, the skin curled back together with a will of its own, the cut on his wrist sealed, and the scar faded away into nothing. ‘No one can hurt you now,' he said.

“And it's true, Zoë. No matter what has happened to me, the only scar I have is the one he gave me.”

“Show me,” Zoë said, challenging him.

Simon smiled sadly. He slipped the jacket off in a creaking of leather and pulled the T-shirt over his head, tousling his hair. Zoë ran a burning finger along the scar, from above his left nipple in a streak to his right ribs. He closed his eyes. Her touch seared his marble-cold flesh deliciously, and his nipples hardened; he was aware of the cold even more because of her. He pulled her to him. Take away my cold, he thought. Make me warm again. She trembled, and he thought perhaps it was not from fear, but because she had never been held to a man's naked chest before. Yet she wrapped her arms around him. How long, he thought, since a beautiful girl trembled for me alone, and not because of my power to hypnotize. He continued his story, holding her tight against the cold.

“I crashed into a dark and dreamless sleep; the sort of sleep where a person loses contact with his very existence. I think that was when I died.

“When I woke up again, I had changed. I felt as if a
cold sun were glowing within me and growing larger. With it came power. All through that day anger built in me, as my strength grew. The animal side of me was rising. Finally, I lay there rigid, staring at the ceiling, awaiting my tormentor, not knowing yet what I would do, and terrified by my rage.

“The door finally squeaked open, and I feigned sleep, not knowing what else to do. The man came to me where I lay, and I heard his breath rasping greedily as he bent to me. His weight on the bed rolled me against him. When he put his loathed face to my neck, I was mindlessly ready to strangle him, but his fangs sank into my vein, paralyzing me for that moment. But then he wrenched back. He spat. He snarled. He pushed himself off the bed with a force that shattered the frame, and threw me against the wall. ‘Boy!' he screamed, whirling to face the door. ‘Boy! What have you done?'

“I pulled myself across the broken bed toward him as the boy came hurtling through the door with a look of glee on his face. ‘Despicable puppy,' my captor said. ‘You dare defy me?' He lurched for the boy, and the beast broke through in me.” Simon saw that other room again and felt that surge of hate. “I looked around madly for a weapon and snatched what was at hand. Stumbling from the bed, I flung myself at him. I ran him through with a shard from the ruined bedpost.” Simon felt Zoë shudder as she made a sound of disgust. “He fell to the floor, jerking and
twitching. His dark wig slid from his head, revealing frosty hair. His skin fell in. He shrank. He writhed. Finally he lay still, a shriveled monkey of a thing, scarcely human.

“The boy kicked the corpse and grinned. ‘How clever,' he said. ‘Much better than what I had in mind.' I was shaking so badly, I could hardly spare much amazement for his words.” Simon paused, aware of how tightly Zoë held him. ‘I'm rich now,' the boy said. ‘The fool willed me all his goods, never expecting me to inherit, of course. The servants will get rid of this—I have already promised them much for their loyalty. We will have a fine time together, Simon.'

“This was the first time he had used my name. I did not remember telling it. ‘Why together?' I asked. ‘Why me?' And he answered, ‘When you look like a child, you need a protector, someone who stands as a guardian in others' eyes. Who better than one's own brother?' “

Zoë released Simon and sat back. “Christopher,” she said.

He nodded.

“I thought so.” Yet she looked shocked.

“Yes, it all fell into place—who the man was, who this child, if I could profane the word, was.” Simon turned from Zoë. He would hate even more telling the next part. He placed his hands lightly on the coffee table and continued, head bowed, feeling the ice rise again within him.

“ ‘You will get stronger,' Christopher told me, ‘but the color will fade from you as your blood changes. Your heart will cease to beat, yet, nevertheless, your blood will crawl through your veins. You will take in air out of habit only; you will need it to speak but not to live. And you will shun the day and its burning rays, because the daylight is for the living and the sun rejects us. You will live by night. But what power you will have! The power to suck the very essence of life itself and bend others to your will. You will live a long, long time—time enough to accumulate wealth and to afford many pleasures. We will be good together, Simon. You won't be like Mother.'

“ ‘What do you mean?' I demanded, dreading the answer.

“And Christopher told me. ‘Wulfram wanted me to kill her to prove I was loyal to him. I didn't like it much and offered her a chance. But she turned from me. She didn't love me anymore.'

“ ‘Mother?' I said, softly at first, in shock. ‘You killed Mother?' I asked louder. Then, ‘Mother!' I screamed.”

Zoë shrieked and jerked back. The table had cracked. The glass was rimed with frost. Simon shook.

“I hurled myself at him, but I was slammed to the ground. I didn't expect it from one his size. He grinned at me and gloated. ‘As I said, you will grow stronger—but not now. I am the strong one now.' He turned.

“ ‘Oh, who do you desire for your first meal?' he asked casually over his shoulder as he left. ‘Shall I bring home your favorite girl from that tavern of yours?'

“I pulled myself from the floor. ‘You said
animals.'

“ ‘I lied,' he said through the crack of the door. It closed, and I heard him slide a bolt home outside. It was then I realized what I had done.

“I stumbled frantically around that room looking for another way out, but there was no other door. I wrenched down drapery, meaning to flee through a window, but found none, just blank wall. I pummeled the locked door with useless fists and battered my shoulder against it, to no avail. I even tried to dig through the wall with a spoon, but the room had to be underground, with rock behind the plaster, for all the impression I made. I gave up, exhausted, and flung myself back on the shattered bed. I was trapped, and damned, with only a hideous corpse for company. Maybe that was when I started to go mad.”

Simon suddenly noticed the table and removed his hands. There were no cuts.

“He brought me a girl that night, a cringing young thing. I refused to go near her. ‘You will.' He laughed and dragged her away.

“Yet night after night I refused, and he grew angrier each time. But I was growing weaker, and every time he brought me the offering it was harder to resist. Finally, he brought her in bound, and slashed her throat with a kitchen knife so the blood would run freely. He took his fill in front of me until his ploy worked, and the smell of fresh blood drove me wild. I made a mess of it while Christopher
laughed and laughed, as if it were a great joke. But the joke was on him, for he'd given me the power to overcome him. To his surprise I knocked him aside and ran from that room, from that detested house, out into the streets.

“I ran and ran.

“I remember retching in an alley, wiping my mouth over and over with the only thing I wore, a ragged, blood-soaked shirt. But after that my mind broke with the guilt and disgust.

“I must have found my way to the outskirts of the city, to the fields, then to the woods. I don't know how I survived. Don't ask me what I did, because I have few memories of that time. I became a mindless animal. I did find that Christopher was right after all. You can survive on animals for a time, but it never satisfies—the hunger is never totally sated, it never leaves you, and it hurts. I know I killed people when I could find them, and anything else when I could not.