S Stirling - A Taint in the Blood

A shape appeared in her mind; the sense that saw it was not sight, or touch, or hearing, but it had something of all three.

Wait a minute, she thought, under the muted rush of relief; she could feel how huge it was beneath the artificial barrier.

He could have done things to my mind when we were together. I’d never have known and he would have gotten whatever he wanted. But he didn’t. He let me leave even though it hurt him. He does have willpower like titanium steel.

Then he went on aloud: “But this always goes better with two. May I have this dance?”

She nodded wordlessly, biting her lip. He placed his right hand on her waist, took her left and led her into the waltz; the musicians played a little louder, and they had the floor to themselves. He smiled at her, his own expression visible behind the stranger’s face and the blank golden eyes.

“Oh, thank God, Adrian,” she said softly, swaying across the marble with him. “I feel like I want to live again.”

“And I as if I have a reason to live again,” he answered.

She swallowed. “You know what happened up there. After you left, and I had to watch some of it.”

“Yes. That is how things are done at such affairs.” A crook to his mouth. “You see why I am alienated from my family, Ellie.”

“Thank God for that.” Sharply: “What happened to that girl you hauled off?”

“Nothing bad.” His face went stiff. “Well, nothing very bad… I’m here as an agent, Ellie, an infiltrator. I have to… fit in. I had to feed on her. Forgive me.”

He looked miserable at her scowl, and she squeezed his hand as they moved to the music.

“Silly, I’m jealous, that’s all. I know you wouldn’t hurt her. You saved her life by getting her out of that… that horrible place before things started. But once we’re out of here, dude, it’s strictly my veins or the blood bank!”

His laugh was delighted. “You know, you are not only the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, particularly in that dress-”

Ellen snorted. “Your sister picked every stitch I’ve got, down to the thongs. And she’s actually better looking than I am, come to that.”

“If you like adolescent boys with small perfect breasts,” he said, and she muffled a snort of laughter. “And I cannot fault her taste in clothes or in women.”

“Do you really have a thing for Marilyn Monroe?” Ellen asked.

He looked at her blankly for a moment. “You… actually you do look a little like her, don’t you? But with a better figure, and your face has more animation. You are more… elegant.”

“Elegant? Wait until you see my new tramp stamp,” she said wryly. “It’s stopped itching, at least. And she thought that really added to my ass; so much for her taste. It’s got all the colors the tattooist had on hand.”

His eyes went a little wider. Then he smiled and let his hand shift a little backward as they turned. His face was abstracted for an instant, though the smooth grace of his movements was unaffected as they danced. Something tickled slightly over the base of her spine.

“It’s actually rather pretty, if a bit loud,” he said. Then a slight frown. “It’s not just colored knotwork, either. There are glyphs worked into it-ideographic Mhabrogast.”

That made her feel as if the skin there was still burning. Then his face cleared.

“Not active glyphs… not a Wreaking. Just commentary.”

“What does it say?”

“Hard to translate… Mhabrogast concepts usually are. Something like… appropriate to purpose, or confluence of aspects with overtones of enjoyment-fulfillment…”

“For a good time, call Ellen?” she said dryly.

“More like, She’s a beauty. On that, if nothing else, she and I agree. And besides being beautiful, you are the most remarkably brave person I know, as well. I do not deserve you, but I shall enjoy my good fortune nonetheless.”

“So will I!”

He leaned closer and whispered in her ear: “You are also supremely bite-able, and at last I am able to say that and not feel sorry for myself, or guilty. I was feeding on Cheba and thinking of you, my Ellie. Jealousy adds to my long-standing hatred for my sister.”

There was something like a lick of hot wind in his voice, something that made her shiver slightly. Familiar yet not.

That’s the first time a Shadowspawn’s looked at me like that and it didn’t scare me. Well, not really scare me. It’s sort of predatory, yes, but I can see it’s Adrian in there. And… yeah, I really do love him, I guess. It won’t be easy, but I want to try.

“You’ve got a better butt than she does,” Ellen said, just for the pleasure of seeing his smile. “And you’re here.”

The tune came to an end, and they turned and applauded the musicians. Then she heard more applause from the formal staircase. Ellen swallowed and made herself turn, smiling, as the glyph sprang into her mind.

Christ, that’s strange, she thought. It’s as if my thoughts were operating on two sides of a plane of glass! “Be ready,” Adrian murmured.

She could feel her emotions running on parallel tracks, the fear-hate-fascination-loathing-longing that Adrienne produced, and the bubbling joy at restored hope as well. The mistress of Rancho Sangre was there, gowned and jeweled now, with her parents, and the three Shadowspawn who’d flown in right after Adrian.

Dmitri Usov was in immaculate white tie and black dress coat; with his long blond hair it made him look a little like a mad, murderous conductor in a Romantic opera about an old-fashioned orchestra. Dale Shadowspawn… she blinked. He was in Apache costume, or a version thereof, complete with tunic and headband and leggings. Not touristified, though the fabrics were fine dark cloth, and there was platinum on the hilt of his long knife.

And Michiko, in the full ceremonial splendor of a H?mongi kimono, with patterns of floral roundels and birds swirling along the seams of the pale-green silk, encircled by an embroidered fukuro obi and topped by an elaborate hairdo held with long jade pins. Even her step in the sandals and white divided-toe socks had a mincing look.

Oh, she thought. They’re expecting this Hajime guy. He’s really old-fashioned.

“Ah, Mr. Peterson,” Adrienne said. “I see you’ve made my Ellen’s acquaintance.”

“A great pleasure,” Adrian said neutrally. “You are to be envied. In fact, I do envy you.”

“I envy you, a little-it wouldn’t be really appropriate for me to dance with her tonight; we’re being very formal.”

“Wilbur!” Jules Br?z? said from behind her, delight in his voice. “Good God, it is you!”

Adrian extended his hand for an old-fashioned shake, rather than the touch of the fingertips that most younger Shadowspawn used. His shields clamped down like a surface of mirrored alloy, until his own perception dimmed.

“Good God, Wilbur, it’s been… nearly sixty years!” his father said.

“Yes,” Adrian said neutrally; he ruthlessly crushed a squib of panic. “A very long time, Jules.”

And there were several unanswered letters from you to Wilbur, he thought. Men change, even postcorporeals. Jules believes you are Wilbur, Adrian. He will interpret anything you say in that light.

“Let’s get a drink. Adrienne is stuck with the greeting tonight, until the grand entrance of our would-be mikado.”

The ground floor of the casa grande was a series of interconnected chambers, mostly opening into each other through arched entranceways in a Moorish-Iberian style. They ducked through into a smaller room, more of a broad passageway around a courtyard, and took cocktails from a tray.

“? votre sant?,” Jules said.

“Your health,” Adrian replied.

He sipped. Then his brows rose. “A classic Deauville! Now, that does take me back.”