Twilight Prophecy

Lucy knew she was supposed to be sleeping, and she certainly needed some sleep.



She'd worked throughout the night on the transcripts, usually with someone present to watch over her, either Brigit or Roland, the dark, soft-spoken Frenchman who dressed and spoke as formally as if he'd stepped off the pages of a historical novel. His accent had eluded her at first, it was so faint. Barely noticeable, but there all the same. And his manners were flawless. He seemed too gentle to be-a vampire, not to mention-Rhiannon's partner or husband or whatever they called their better halves.



Roland was definitely that. Rhiannon's better half, though Lucy would never say so aloud for fear of eliciting the vamp queen's rage. She found herself liking Roland, though, in spite of what he was.



She'd seen little of James tonight. He'd been off with Rhiannon doing more of that training. Training for what? she wondered.



And then she wondered why she couldn't get him out of her mind. Their encounter earlier had left her shaken and feeling things she...didn't like feeling. Attraction. A dangerous attraction, and a stupid one. She'd never thought she would be one of those women who fell for dark, dangerous men-men who would hurt them. She'd always thought herself too smart to do something so self-destructive.



And yet, all she could think about was James and how it had seemed, for one blazing moment, as if he'd been about to kiss her.



What would have happened if he had?



She bit her lip and hoped the vampires weren't reading her thoughts. No, they couldn't be. It was daytime. James could, but she suspected he was either too busy or too exhausted or both. As for Brigit, Lucy didn't think that one gave a damn what she might be thinking.



And she was tired, despite the fact that it was daylight outside. Kismet, she supposed. Her sleep patterns had been changing gradually over the last three months or so. Enough that she'd asked her doctor for a prescription to counter her tendency to lie awake with her mind racing by night, then fall asleep at her desk by day. She hadn't brought the pills to New York City with her, though, and wished now that she'd added them to the list she'd given to Brigit.



Still, tired though she was, she didn't allow herself to fall asleep. Not yet. Instead, she waited, lying silently in the bedroom nearest the bathroom, at the very end of the row of secret chambers, waiting until she thought the others must all be down for the count. Surely James and Brigit would sleep by day, too, since they'd both been up all night. The house was silent and utterly dark. And there was a certain change in the air when everyone else was asleep. A heaviness that was palpable. A peaceful resonance that was broken as soon as one individual stirred. She'd noticed it as a child, while sleeping in her parents' tent in the Northern Iraqi desert on that last dig. She remembered sliding out of her bed and stepping outside, staring up at the stars and feeling that heavy silence.



The same heaviness had blanketed the dig site after everyone was dead, except that it had been even weightier, even more palpable. But just as peaceful, just as silent, as she'd hidden in the dunes, afraid to come out. She'd tried to trust that feeling that no one remained in the camp. That none of the keening gunmen were there. There was no feeling of consciousness. It had fled, just as it did when one slept. Everyone who remained, she'd told herself, was sleeping. Permanently, peacefully, sleeping.



And yet, she'd been unable to move. Maybe she'd known it would be too much to see her parents' bullet-riddled bodies. That was one memory she was glad she didn't have.



Sighing, she tugged her mind out of the past and focused on the task at hand: learning as much as she could about her captors. Not so that she could defeat them or even try. Just to satisfy her ever-curious mind, to educate her knowledge-ravenous brain, and to give her an edge in staying alive.



She moved carefully, trying not to make a sound, and got her cell phone and glasses from her satchel, which she'd hung on the bedpost. Then, sitting silently for a moment and listening, hearing no movement and sensing no consciousness from elsewhere in the house, she pulled the covers up over her head and turned the phone on, quickly hitting the Mute button as it powered up. She'd been sneaking in a page of Mr. Folsom's book here and there whenever possible during the night-any time she could think of an excuse to get away from them for a few minutes. And what she had read so far fascinated her. The last time she'd had to stop, he'd been talking about the Belladonna Antigen-the rare element in her blood that was going to ensure that she died young. Before her time. It had honestly never bothered her much, knowing that. She'd always felt she had been meant to die on that dig with her family.



But she was curious to know what her blood type had to do with all of this. With vampires and government agencies and crazy old men who wrote tell-all books that got them shot.



She opened the file, found the spot where she'd left off after her last bathroom break, and began reading voraciously.



The Belladonna Antigen is a rarely occurring one, found in exceedingly few human subjects. Exact numbers are hard to come by, as a great many carriers may go undiagnosed. The antigen doesn't show up in typical type and cross-matching but requires more in-depth screening to detect. Belladonna sufferers do develop symptoms, but they mimic many other conditions. Carriers lack sufficient clotting factor and therefore bleed excessively, much as hemophiliacs do. Until adulthood, that's the main and only known common symptom. Upon reaching their mid-to-late-thirties, however, other symptoms occur. A decrease in energy levels, and a general feeling of malaise and lethargy, set in. A tendency to sleep more by day and suffer from insomnia by night is an often reported but far from universal occurrence. The weakness increases, and the health of the individual continues to wane, until death ensues. Individuals with the antigen rarely live into their forties.



However, there are a few rare exceptions.



You may be wondering by now why information about a rare human condition is being included in this book about the undead. There is, in fact, a very good reason. Only those humans with the Belladonna Antigen can become vampires. Every vampire in existence today possessed this antigen as a human being.



"What?" she whispered, stunned. "My God." She blinked in shock, before her eyes resumed speeding over the lines.



Moreover, vampires know this and have always known, even before they had a name for the condition. They sense the humans who possess the antigen with an animalistic sixth sense that allows them to recognize their own kind, or at least their own kin. They refer to these humans as the Chosen. DPI research has shown that vampires are unwilling-perhaps even unable-to harm members of this rare human caste and in fact tend to act as guardians, stepping in to offer aid when such humans face trouble or danger.



Many of the Chosen, those who have been told none of this, have revealed, under hypnosis, suppressed memories of dark strangers intervening in times of peril and vanishing again when the individual is safe. Some have encountered the same stranger at multiple times throughout their lives. The similarities in these reports are these: The stranger always appeared by night. The memory of the victim was erased through a means that is apparently similar to post-hypnotic suggestion, though in an extremely powerful form. And the victim nearly always felt a sense of connection, of ease, with the stranger. Other similarities, though these are not universal, are reports that the stranger exhibited superhuman strength, could speak and apparently hear the victim's replies mentally-that is, without words-and that the stranger appeared able to teleport, i.e.: move from point A to point B instantaneously. DPI research has found that this teleportation is an illusion. It is simply that vampires can move at speeds too fast for the human eye to detect. (See the actual recovered memories and session transcripts in the Case Studies Section, Appendix 2.)



She was scrolling toward the specified appendix when there was a tap on her door that nearly made her jump right out of her skin. She swallowed hard and closed the file, shut off her cell phone and quickly dropped it back into her satchel.



"Who is it?" she called, removing her glasses, setting them on the nightstand.



"It's James."



"Oh." She got up, glancing down at herself. She removed the Kwan Yin pendant, draping it from the opposite bedpost and then hanging her bathrobe over it. Brigit's minions, whoever they were, had returned with all the things on her list and then some, including that robe and several sets of pajamas. She tended to gravitate toward high thread count cotton in various pastel colors. They were cool and felt good against her skin. And yet she suddenly felt ridiculous in them.



Dumb. He was not only her captor, he wasn't even her species.



Not according to what I just read, though. Folsom said I'm related. I have the antigen. That's why they can't hurt me. "Lucy?"



So he knew, then. He knew she had the antigen, and he knew that meant she would die young. Maybe within the next eight years or so. Maybe less-since her new sleep patterns were apparently symptoms of the antigen beginning to turn active. So maybe her life expectancy was shorter than she had ever guessed. Unless, of course, she became a vampire.



She rolled her eyes at the ludicrous thought. That couldn't possibly be true. Sighing, she pushed the disturbing thoughts of death-and undeath-from her mind and opened her bedroom door, then looked up at James. His eyes were puffy, his lids heavy. He wasn't standing up as straight as he had before, and his hair was tousled, as if he'd been pushing his hands through it repeatedly.



"Can I come in?"



She nodded, stepping aside. He pulled a large white box from behind his back, and the smell finally hit her. Her eyes widened. "Pizza?"



"I hope you like ham and pineapple."



Her stomach answered for her, growling in anticipation as he walked inside, looking around for a place to set it down. She hurried to the bed and straightened the covers, then sat near the headboard, legs crossed, and patted the spot in front of her. "Right here is good."



James stood beside the bed, opened the box and held it out. She took a big slice and bit into it. The flavors exploded in her mouth, and she closed her eyes. "Oh, this is so good," she said. And then she realized he was still standing there, just watching her. "Aren't you going to have some?"



"Uh-right. That was the plan." He helped himself to a slice, set the box aside and then sat on the edge of the bed and ate.



There was no more talking until they'd both finished-she'd managed to down two full slices, and he'd had three. It reassured her that her appetite was still healthy. And honestly, she felt fine. Maybe that old man was a little bit crazy after all, even if he'd been right about the existence of vampires.



"I'll put the rest in the fridge," James told her. "We can have it for breakfast."



She made a face, then tried to hide it.



"What?" he asked.



Sighing, she said, "I don't think I could eat anything that had been in that fridge."



He rolled his eyes. "The blood is in sealed bags, Lucy. It's not like it's going to get on the pizza."



"It's still disgusting."



"I guess you get used to it."



"I hope I'm not here long enough for that."



James lowered his head.



She pressed him, though. "You're going to let me go, just like you promised, right? As soon as I've translated the tablet?"



"Yes."



"And yet Brigit's minions brought me enough clothes to last a couple of weeks. Why is that?"



He lifted his head, met her eyes, looked amused. "Minions?"



"Well, whoever she sent to get my things. Those dark beings who were lurking by the gate after we arrived, I presume."



"Family, Lucy. They were family. She sent some of our relatives to get your things."



She didn't quite know what to say. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be offensive. I'm just not quite up on the political correctness of discussing a species I didn't know existed. Probably using any of the old cliches is bad form. But then again, I don't even know which ones are myths and which ones are true."



He shrugged. "I don't suppose I can blame you for being impatient with us."



"No, you can't. You broke your word to me once already when you let me believe you were taking me home, only to bring me here instead, so I'm not sure how I'm supposed to trust you to keep your promise now. Clearly you intend to keep me here for as long as you need me, regardless of how badly it interferes with my life and my career. But I need to know you'll keep your promise to let me go once I've translated the tablet."



He nodded and seemed to be deep in thought for so long that she felt compelled to speak again.



"Aren't you even going to promise me that much?"



"That was my first inclination. But the thing is, a week ago, I would have sworn I would never do anything like this. Bring you here against your will, keep you here when all you want to do is leave, force you to help us in a struggle that has very little to do with you." He closed his eyes. "I don't want to make a promise I may not be able to keep. I'm doing a lot of things I never would have thought myself capable of, Lucy. I don't expect you to believe that, but I swear it's true. I've always considered myself one of the good guys."



"Then why are you behaving like one of the bad guys?"



Lifting his head, he looked her in the eye, and she saw him searching for an answer. He got up, paced away from her, seemed to gather his thoughts. Lucy closed the pizza box and set it on the floor beside the bed. Then she made herself comfortable and watched him.



"I was born with the gift of healing," he said. "But I never knew why."



She thought about that. "Does there have to be a reason?"



"Doesn't there?"



"I don't think so. I was born with brown hair and eyes. There's no reason for it. It just is."



He nodded. "Lots of people are born with brown hair and brown eyes. But I'm the only one of my kind."



"You're a twin."



"Brigit's...entirely different from me."



"I see." But she didn't. Not really. "So she doesn't have the healing touch, then?"



"No."



She sensed there was more, but she didn't press. He was in a talkative mood. She sensed it would be best to let him run with it, see where it led, rather than risk making him clam up again.



"Go on," she said. "Please."



He nodded. "I don't really know where I was going."



"You have the healing gift. You believe it's for a reason. You've been wondering what that reason is for your entire life. What else have you been doing while you were wondering?" she asked. "I take it you've been...estranged from your family?"



He nodded. "They see it that way. I haven't been out of touch with them, I just chose not to live among them. I've been trying to lead a more...normal life, in constant search of a raison d'etre."



"So do you have...a job?"



"Lots of them. Mundane ones, though. Jobs where I can be largely anonymous, and come and go at will. Nothing like a career, the way you have. I do whatever is necessary to earn enough money to keep me going. My real vocation has been healing."



"You just...go around putting your hands on people?"



He nodded and got a faraway look in his eye. "Huts in HIV-ravaged villages in Africa. Cancer wards at children's hospitals. Refugee camps in Darfur. I slip in while the mortals sleep, and I put my hands on them. The little ones, usually. And then I try to slip away without being caught." He shook his head in self-deprecation. "Brigit says I'm like some oversized tooth fairy."



She sat there, stunned to her core. Of all the things he could have told her he'd spent his time doing, saving dying children was not one of them. Not even close. She found herself starting to see him as angelic again.



"You're just like a vampire," Lucy whispered.



"Only instead of taking life, you're giving it."



He smiled softly. "Vampires don't take lives, Lucy. Not anymore. Not unless it's a life sorely in need of taking."



She thought about that, fascinated. "But...they need blood. I mean, do most of them really subsist by robbing blood banks?"



"Not entirely. But they don't need to kill in order to feed. They can drink from the living without taking enough to do harm and even remove any memory of the experience. It can be...quite pleasurable, actually."



"Do you...?"



"No." He looked away. "Yes."



Lifting her brows, Lucy said, "Which is it?"



"I...I can extend my incisors-vamp up, as Brigit calls it. I can pierce a jugular, imbibe human blood. But I've only tasted it once, and not from the living. And it wasn't my choice-I was a child."



She wrinkled her nose. "Was it...horrible?"



"It was...wonderful."



Her face went lax, brows rising, stomach clenching. And yet, even while being repulsed, she found herself wondering why he was being so honest with her, so open. He had to know it would disgust her to think of him feeding on blood.



"But I'm not a blood drinker," he said quickly.



"I don't need to be, so I've chosen not to be. I eat normal food, drink normal beverages and keep my fangs firmly retracted." He smiled to show her.



For one brief moment she got lost in that smile, in those eyes, in the man who was...once again convincing her that he was some sort of a hero. Her kidnapper. Damn, what was wrong with her?



"And what about Brigit?" she asked, to change both the subject and the line of her thoughts.



He averted his eyes again. "I believe she imbibes on a regular basis. It increases any vampire's strength, their power. She thrives on it."



"What sorts of powers does your sister have?" Lucy asked.



He shook his head. "That's for her to tell you, should she choose to."



She couldn't help but want to continue the discussion, her curiosity more powerful than her fear. "So vampires, and half vampires, can drink and make the victim forget?"



"Three-quarters, not half. And yes," he said.



"And what about the...the marks?" She touched her own neck as she asked.



His eyes followed the motion of her hand and then lingered there on her throat. It seemed to Lucy that his gaze heated while it rested there. "The punctures heal at the first touch of sunlight. So the mortals rarely even see even a hint of a mark."



She was quiet, contemplating.



"It's a lot to absorb, isn't it?"



"It's an entire world I never even knew existed."



"Most people don't know. At least-they didn't. Until now."



She lowered her eyes. "Can I ask about the cliches without offending you?"



"Of course."



"Is it true about the garlic and the crucifixes?"



"No. And no."



"And the holy water? It doesn't burn?"



"No."



"And what about you and Brigit? Are you really...immortal?"



"We don't know."



She frowned, puzzled. "You don't know?"



"How can we? There have never been children born to vampires before-until our mother. She stopped aging, as near as anyone's been able to figure out, the first time the DPI killed her."



She blinked in shock. "The...the government...killed your mother?"



"My mother was their most sought-after captive for a time. Half vampire, half human, bred in a DPI experiment just to see if it could be done. Vampires are supposed to be sterile, you know. Turns out the males are. In females, though, it takes a few months for all the viable eggs to leave their ovaries. They fertilized one in a female prisoner right after she was turned, using semen from...from a mortal who hadn't yet been turned. Then they implanted the fertilized ovum and held the female captive until she gave birth. That baby was my mother."



"And the parents were...your grandparents?"



"Yes."



"What happened to them?"



"They escaped, along with their child. Jameson and Angelica-they're still alive today, still look as young as they did then and they're still together and deeply in love."



"And your mother?"



"The DPI found her again as a young woman, captured her, then experimented on her, killing her in various ways to see if she was immortal or not. Reviving her and killing her again. Over and over, until her family managed to rescue her. She, too, is still alive, as is my father."



"Good God," she whispered. "And she conceived-why? How?"



"There seemed to be some healing properties in her blood, that restored my father's seed." He looked at her quickly. "I'm sorry. Our nightmarish family history isn't something you really needed to know about."



"I had no idea."



"How could you? But maybe it'll help you to see why Rhiannon is so...hostile toward humankind."



"And yet she once was. Human, I mean."



"That's the irony, isn't it?"



"And you go around saving them. Healing them. Us." Lucy drew a deep breath and put a hand on his chest. "And you don't even know...if you're immortal or not?"



"I've never been sick a day in my life. Nor has my sister. We aged normally into adulthood, and since then I've been waiting for years, searching the mirror for signs of my first gray hair or crow's feet to appear."



"How old are you?"



He smiled. "Old enough that I should have seen some of those signs by now."



"Do you have other-you know-powers?"



He shrugged. "You already know I can read your thoughts."



"It's very disconcerting, you know," she admitted.



"It's considered bad manners to go probing around in someone's head without their consent or knowledge. I don't do it. I only heard you before because your thoughts were so...well, vehement. They were projectiles, in a way. You were sort of sending them."



"I see."



"Everyday thinking, I wouldn't hear unless I was listening in. And I'm not. I promise."



"Okay."



"You can block them, shield yourself from eavesdropping vampires, if it makes you feel less...violated."



"Really? How?"



"Visualization. Picture an invisible helmet, impermeable, no thoughts can escape it. See it strongly, and often. Design it. See its colors, feel its weight. Then just don it whenever you have thoughts you want to keep to yourself."



She nodded. "So you...you communicate with each other that way? Is that one of your powers, too?"



"It's so natural to us it doesn't seem like a power, exactly. I mean, maybe anyone raised by adults who communicate telepathically would pick it up, you know? And a lot of mortal twins seem to have a bit of that ability. Beyond that, we're very strong, far stronger than any ordinary human being. We can run faster, jump higher and we see well in the dark. None of those things are as strong in us as they are in our vampiric relatives, but they're far stronger than in humankind."



He sighed, looking at her again, and this time he covered her hand with his. "I'm going on and on, and you need to get some rest so your mind will be fresh come sundown. I just...I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to show you that I'm not bad, not evil. And to tell you how sorry I am that I had to drag you into this drama."



"Why?" she asked softly, her eyes on his hand, where it rested on top of hers.



His gaze was there, too. "I care what you think of me."



She lifted her head just as he raised his. Their eyes met. "I'm fascinated by you, James." Maybe that was too much. She blinked and said, "By all of you, I mean. And by your history and your abilities and your family. Thank you for telling me a little more about you. I think...I think I understand a bit better now."



"I hope so." He reached out with his other hand, as if he were going to brush it through her hair, then stopped himself and blinked at it as if in surprise. "I'm overtired. I need to get some rest, too," he said, lowering his hand to his side. "If you can think of anything that would make this time a bit easier on you, please don't hesitate to let me know."



She nodded. "This...training they have you doing. Is it pretty grueling?"



"It drains me. Physically as well as spiritually. But it has to be done." He moved toward the door. "Oh, before I forget, Brigit said you thought you could work faster if you knew exactly what you were looking for."



She nodded. "I can't see what harm telling me might do. I mean, I'm going to know what that tablet contains anyway, once it's translated."



"That was the argument I made to Rhiannon. She forbade me from telling you anything, of course."



"Of course."



"I've decided to tell you anyway."



She lifted her brows in surprise. "You're defying her?"



He shrugged. "The faster I'm finished with this, the better. She'll see that it did no harm in the long run."



"So...?"



"According to legend, that tablet contains the entire account of the death of Utanapishtim. It is our hope that it also contains some clue that will lead us to his remains. As well as telling us how he can help us prevent this so-called vampire Armageddon."



She frowned. "The original tablet didn't actually say he could prevent it," she told him. "It did seem to be about to say that, but then the rest of the segment was missing."



"I know. Those missing segments are another piece of the puzzle. Translating what we have here might fill in the blanks. We desperately need to know everything we can, everything that prophecy has to say, especially about Utanapishtim."



She frowned hard. "I think you take these things far too literally."



"I think you're going to change your mind about that."



That, she realized, was entirely possible. "Then again," she said, "a week ago I'd have said there was no chance, not even a remote one, that vampires could exist, and now I'm surrounded by them." She rubbed her arms as a chill ran up her spine. "Just saying it out loud still feels so...surreal. It's like my entire worldview has been demolished. I don't know what's real anymore."



"Nothing has changed from when you felt secure and serene, not really."



She shrugged, not agreeing with him at all. From her perspective, everything had changed. "What do you want with Utanapishtim's remains?"



He shifted his eyes away from hers. "There's a ritual. It's complicated, and also sort of oathbound."



"Oathbound?"



"It's something we don't share."



"I see. And are you going to tell Rhiannon that you told me all this?"



He got to his feet and stood beside the bed. "Not unless I have to. Good rest, Lucy. I'll see you at sundown."



"Good night-I mean, good rest, James." She got up, as well, and there was an awkward moment when she tipped her head up to stare into his eyes and he stared right back. The air between them actually seemed to snap and spark. But only for a moment. Then he turned away, moved to the door and was gone, and Lucy wanted to stomp her feet in frustration.



She closed her eyes tightly, wishing she could control this desire, fight this magnetism of his that drew her like a moth to a flame. And then she lifted her hand to the doorknob, intending to turn the lock-but stopped with her hand in midair. What if he wanted to come back in later?



What the hell was she thinking? She was in a den of vampires, for God's sake!



She turned the lock, firmly and decisively, and then she went back to her bed and tried to get some sleep.