Shades of Gray

"Edward, we've got to go back."



"Not now," he said firmly. "Not until the sun's up. Way up."



Marisa flinched as Edward washed the dried blood from the numerous scrapes on her arms and legs and face.



They had taken shelter in a small roadside chapel they had stumbled on in their flight. Edward dipped his handkerchief into the font of holy water again. She had objected at first, but he had waved away her protests, insisting that it would protect her from infection, and vampires.



Edward sat back on his heels. "Did Alexi... did he drink from you, or make you drink from him?"



"No." She rubbed her wrists, which were still sore from being bound. She looked down at her dress, which was torn and stained with blood. "I need a change of clothes."



"I don't know where you'll find any. Hell, I don't even know where we are."



"Edward, watch your language."



"What? Oh, sorry." He glanced around. The chapel was small. Built of dark wood and stone, it stood in the center of a small copse of trees. A statue of a sad-faced Madonna stood beside a rough-hewn altar. A single stained-glass window was set in the east wall. A large wooden crucifix hung below the window. It made him feel safe, protected.



"We can't just stay here," Marisa said.



"Oh, yes, we can," Edward said. He sat down with his back against the altar. "I've hunted vampires most of my life," he mused. "I've never met one as strong as Alexi. I wonder just how old he is."



"You don't think he's killed Grigori, do you?"



"I don't know. I hope not. I'd hate to have to spend the rest of my life in eighteenth-century Italy."



"Oh, Lord." She had forgotten, for the moment, that they were in the past.



"Yeah." He glanced at the stained-glass window, smiled when he saw the colors brighten and come to life as the sun rose behind the glass. Dust motes danced in reflected ribbons of red and gold and green light. "Let's go."



Marisa took off her heels, then peeled off her ruined nylons, glad that she wasn't wearing panty hose. Edward took her shoes and placed them in the pockets of his jacket.



Outside, the morning was bright and clear, the air fresh and clean. A faint breeze stirred the leaves.



Marisa's trepidation increased with every step she took. What would they find when they returned to the winery?



The sun was high in the sky when they reached the cellar.



"Stay here," Edward said.



Marisa nodded. She had no desire to see what, if anything, was left in the cellar.



Clasping his cross in both hands, Edward descended the narrow wooden stairs. The smell of blood filled his nostrils. He could see dark patches of it splattered across the walls and on the hard-packed earthen floor. It took only a glance to see that the cellar was empty.



"Edward?"



He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The day seemed incredibly bright and beautiful and he took a deep breath, glad to be alive. "There's no one down there."



She stared at him, afraid to ask what it might mean. "What do we do now?"



Ramsey judged the position of the sun, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Grigori's house is in that direction. There must be a town nearby."



"How far is it?" Marisa asked.



"His house? I'm not sure. I think Chiavari said it was about three miles from Pietro's." Edward grimaced as he contemplated the walk. "I should have spent more time working out."



"Come on, you wimp. Three miles is a piece of cake." The thought of food made her stomach growl. "Wish I had a piece of cake," she muttered, although it seemed wrong to feel hungry at a time like this.



"Yeah, me too." Ramsey shook his head. "Been a helluva night."



The town was located about a half mile from Pietro's. It was early and there were only a few people out and about. The people they passed regarded them with blatant curiosity. Marisa could hardly blame them. Their clothing alone would have made the people stare. Her dress was far too short for the mode of the day; worse, it was torn and stained with blood. Her hair was a mess; her face was bruised. Ramsey looked more presentable. His gray slacks were dirty, but his shirt and coat were remarkably clean, considering all they had been through.



It occurred to her, abruptly, that whatever money they had would not be accepted or recognized.



They passed a small bakery and her stomach growled loudly as the scent of coffee and freshly baked bread wafted through the air.



"Geez, I'd kill for a cup of that coffee," Ramsey muttered.



"Perhaps we could offer them something in exchange for breakfast," Marisa suggested.



"Yeah? Like what?"



"I don't know. My earrings, maybe?"



"It's worth a try."



"Let's just hope they speak English."



"I speak a little Italian," Ramsey said. "Picked it up in my travels."



Marisa combed her fingers through her hair and put on her heels. "How do I look?"



Ramsey grinned at her. "You want the truth, or a polite lie?"



"That bad, huh?"



"Well... here, put my coat on. It'll cover some of the blood on your dress."



Marisa slipped into his coat, and then they walked into the bakery.



It took a while, but eventually Ramsey managed to explain to the proprietor that they wanted to exchange Marisa's earrings for something to eat.



The man called his wife, who looked the jewelry over, and then nodded.



Marisa and Ramsey sat down at one of the tables. Marisa glanced around. It was a small place, a sort of combination bakery and cafe. There were no other customers.



A short time later, the proprietor's wife emerged from the kitchen bearing two cups of coffee and a plate of pastries. Marisa noted the woman was wearing her new earrings.



"What are we going to do when we leave here?" Marisa asked.



"Go back to the Chiavaris' and wait for them, I guess," Ramsey replied. "You got any better ideas?"



"Not really." She sipped the coffee. It was hot and bitter. She couldn't remember when she'd ever had any that tasted better.



"I watched him bring her over," Ramsey said.



"What?"



"Antoinette. I watched Chiavari bring her across."



"You mean you saw him make her a vampire?"



Ramsey nodded. "It was  -  " He shook his head. "I don't know how to explain it. It was awful, and yet  -  " He ran his fingertips over his cross. "It was kind of... I don't know... mystical."



"How did he do it? Is it like in the books?"



"Yeah, pretty much. He drank her blood until she was at the point of death, and then he slit his wrist with his teeth and she drank his blood."



Ramsey looked at Marisa, his expression troubled. "I felt like I'd just watched someone being reborn, but that's not right, is it? She's damned now."



"Is she?"



"You know she is! They both are. It's a life against nature. A life against God."



"I always wondered why drinking blood would make you a vampire. It doesn't go in your veins when you drink it, it just goes in your stomach. I'd think it would just, you know, just go out again."



"I often wondered that myself," Ramsey admitted. "As near as I can figure, once a vampire drinks, the blood isn't digested, like food. Instead, it's absorbed into the whole body."



"It's so bizarre, so hard to believe. How many vampires have you killed, Edward?"



"Thirteen."



"How can you do it?"



"Because it has to be done, and there's no one else to do it. There's no one else who knows, no one else who believes."



"What happened to your friend, to Katherine?"



"She fell in love with a rock musician. He was a vampire, newly made. I didn't realize what he was at first. The young ones can sometimes pass for human. He dressed sort of weird and she only saw him at night, but that didn't seem strange for a guy in a rock band. By the time I realized what he was, it was too late."



"And you killed him."



"I staked him through the heart and cut off his head." Ramsey's eyes blazed with fervor. "He won't lure any more young girls to their deaths."



Marisa swallowed hard. Edward's zeal left her feeling suddenly sick to her stomach. "Are you ready to go?"



"Yes." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Marisa. I didn't mean to upset you."



"It's all right." She took the hand he offered her and they left the cafe.



For a time, they walked in silence. The touch of the sun on her back and the beauty of the countryside soothed her. For a moment, she pretended that everything was all right, that she was in Tuscany on vacation, that she knew how to get home again.



She delved into her memory, trying to recall what she knew about Italy. Famous names immediately sprang to mind: Dante and the Medicis, Michelangelo's David, the Pitti Palace set in the Boboli Gardens, the canals of Venice, the cities of Rome and Naples and Florence, Firenze, which was known as the city of flowers. There was the Ponte Vecchio, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Italy was the home of so many historic sites and works of art she had always yearned to see.



But not like this.



They turned a bend in the road and Grigori's house rose up before them. It looked picturesque in the early morning light. Set amid fallow fields, with a narrow stream running behind it and a sky filled with puffy clouds overhead, it reminded her of something out of a Disney cartoon. She almost expected to see Snow White standing in the doorway kissing Dopey on the head as she sent the Seven Dwarfs off to work.



It was quiet and dim inside. Where was Grigori? Had Alexi killed him? Wouldn't she feel it if he was dead?



She went into the kitchen and rummaged around until she found a towel and some soap.



Sitting at the wooden table, she began to sponge the blood out of her dress.



"Have you looked in the bedroom? You might be able to find something to wear in there."



"Oh, good idea." Rising, Marisa went into the bedroom. She found three dresses hanging on hooks behind the door. She selected one, lavender cotton with long sleeves and a round neck.



Slipping out of her blue jersey, she drew Antoinette's dress over her head. It was a little too long and a trifle snug on top, but other than that, it was a pretty good fit. And it was clean.



She changed quickly, thinking she would feel better once she was out of her ruined dress. She didn't. Wearing Antoinette's clothing made her edgy and uncomfortable.



"And with good reason," Marisa muttered. "You're in her house. You're falling in love with her husband  -  " She shook the thought aside. She would not fall in love with Grigori. When this was over, she would never see him again.



Returning to the living room, she found Ramsey sitting on the bench, his head cradled in his hands. He glanced up when she entered the room.



"I think I'm going to try to take a nap," she said.



Ramsey nodded. "Good idea. Maybe I will, too."



"Okay." She toyed with a fold of her skirt. "Do you think he's all right?"



"I don't know, but if he isn't, we'd better start learning to speak the language."



It took longer than usual to drag himself from the darkness. He sent his senses into the night, testing the air, searching for the presence of mortals. When he was certain he was alone, he emerged from the earth, burrowing upward until his head and shoulders were clear. Exerting even that little bit of energy left him feeling drained. Never before had he lost so much blood, or felt so weak, so vulnerable.



Closing his eyes, he delved deep inside himself, gathering what strength he had left. With an effort, he gained his feet, and then he began walking. Thoughts flashed through his mind like the changing colors of a kaleidoscope.



He needed sustenance.... Where was Alexi?... Was Antoinette dead?... Where was Marisa?



The hunger's dark need spread through him, clawing at his vitals, until his whole body ached with it.



As weak as he was, he still moved with greater speed than a mere mortal. A short time later, he stood outside the house he had once shared with Antoinette. Ramsey and Marisa were inside. He could sense their warmth, hear their beating hearts. The hunger fought for control, urging him to go into the house and take what he needed, to drink and drink until the deep, empty well of his need was filled.



He stood hidden in the darkness, a part of the night, death cloaked in the guise of a man. Stood there, his hands clenched, his nails digging into his palms, until he was in control, and then he opened the door.



Ramsey saw him first. Clutching his cross, Ramsey leaped to his feet. Like a warrior priest, he planted himself in front of Marisa. He held the crucifix in one fist, and raised his other hand, the one with the cross tattooed on the palm.



"Edward, what are you doing?"



"Protecting you," Ramsey replied curtly. "Look at him, Marisa! Look at him and see what he really is."



Marisa leaned a little to her right, peering around Edward. Grigori stood in the doorway, a vision from a nightmare. Bits of dirt clung to his hair and clothing; his skin was as pale as a shroud; his dark eyes burned like the fires of an unforgiving hell. His left cheek was still blackened where Antoinette's crucifix had burned him.



"Get out of here, Chiavari," Ramsey said.



"I can't. I need your help."



"It isn't help you need. It's blood. Go find it somewhere else. We have nothing for you here."



"Edward  -  " Marisa stood up.



"Stay back!"



"I won't hurt her," Grigori said wearily. "Or you."



"Yeah, right." Edward took a step backward, keeping himself between Marisa and the vampire. "Get out of here."



"You seem to forget, Ramsey, this is my house," Grigori replied, a faint note of amusement evident in his tone.



"Edward, he needs our help."



"Dammit, Marisa, look at him!"



"Yes, Marisa," Grigori said. "Look at me." His voice was low and deep, as it had been the first night she met him. An angel's voice, she had thought then. "Come to me."



She met his gaze, felt his voice wrap around her like a fine, silken web, felt herself being inexplicably drawn toward him.



Grigori held out his hand. "Come to me, cara."



"No!" Edward grabbed Marisa by the arm, but she twisted out of his grasp and darted toward Grigori, who quickly enfolded her in his embrace.



"Leave her alone, dammit!"



"Ramsey, calm down. I'm not going to hurt her."



Edward backed up until his legs bumped into the bench. Then, without looking back, he reached for one of the wooden stakes he had fashioned earlier.



"You don't need that," Grigori remarked.



"Like hell."



"Ramsey, listen to me. I will not take her blood unless she's willing."



Edward snorted. "Look at her! She's already under your spell."



"I will release her. If she refuses me, I will go elsewhere."



Edward's hand tightened around the stake. "I don't believe you."



Grigori cupped Marisa's chin in his palm. "Marisa?"



She looked up at him, and he broke the bond between them.



"Marisa, I need your help."



"What?" Confused, she looked over her shoulder at Edward. She didn't remember moving. How had she gotten here?



"Marisa?"



"What happened?" she asked, frowning. "How did I get here?"



"I summoned you."



She shook her head, bewildered. "I don't remember."



"He can control you now," Edward explained.



"Make you do things you don't want to do."



She looked up at Grigori. "Is that true?"



Grigori nodded.



"Because you took my blood. You did, didn't you? Alexi said so."



"I'm sorry, but it was necessary."



"Why?"



"I'll explain it all later. Right now, I need blood."



She knew what he was asking. Wondered why he was asking. Moments ago, she had been in his power. Why hadn't he just taken what he wanted? she wondered bitterly. He'd done it before.



Grigori smiled faintly. "Blood freely given is all the sweeter, and more powerful."



"And you want mine?" Revulsion churned in her stomach. She stared at his mouth, imagined his fangs tearing at her throat.



"Trust me, Marisa, I will not hurt you."



"Don't do it," Ramsey said.



Marisa stared at Grigori, trying to see the monster that Edward saw. But looking past the pale skin and the dark eyes that smoldered with a hunger she would never understand, she saw a man in torment, a man who could take what he wanted without asking, a man who could have killed her long ago. A man who had never hurt her at all.



"Marisa?"



She heard the need in his voice, remembered the kisses they had shared, the night she had held him in her arms. Slowly, she nodded.



"Marisa, are you sure you want to do this?" Edward's voice was filled with disbelief.



"It's all right, Edward. I know what I'm doing."



Grigori took her by the hand and led her to the wooden bench. She sat down, and he sat beside her.



Edward stood nearby, the stake clutched in his fist.



"Relax, Marisa," Grigori said quietly. "I won't hurt you." He glanced over his shoulder at Ramsey. "If you're going to kill me, you'd best do it now, while you have a chance."



"Don't tempt me, Chiavari."



Grigori laughed softly, then turned toward Marisa. He brushed a lock of hair away from her neck, kissed the pulse beating there. He felt the hunger rise up within him, a darkness that threatened to overwhelm him, and he took a deep, calming breath. He could feel Marisa trembling in his arms, sense Ramsey hovering behind him.



His muscles tensed as he waited for the vampyre hunter to drive the stake through his back, into his heart, thus ending his existence once and for all. A long moment slipped into eternity. In that time, Grigori wondered what death would be like. Would his soul burn in hell for all eternity? Was there any chance he might find forgiveness on the other side?



He glanced over his shoulder at Ramsey, and then, with a sigh, he drew Marisa into his arms.



There was no pain. She knew he had bitten her, could feel the blood being drawn from her body, but she felt no pain, only a strange sense of weightless pleasure. She closed her eyes, and her mind filled with disjointed thoughts and images.... She saw Grigori as a young boy, saw him herding sheep, wrestling with his father, swimming naked in a small pool, kissing his mother good night. She saw him growing older, saw him sitting in a moonlit field with Antoinette, felt the excitement of young love, the awakening of passion as he kissed the woman who would be his wife. She experienced his pain, his rage, when he found the bodies of his children. She saw the vampire who had made him what he was, saw and understood why he had asked for the Dark Gift. Understanding, she discovered, was different from simply knowing.



"Marisa?"



She looked up at him. She had known Grigori was a vampire, she had seen the proof, heard it from his own lips, but only now did she truly realize what he was.



"Are you all right?"



She nodded.



He caressed her cheek, ran a finger over the mark his bite had left in her neck. He had taken no more than a few sips, yet the purity of her blood, her generosity of spirit, had taken the sharp edge off the hunger burning through him, filling him with a sense of warmth, a sense of light he had never known before. Never, in two hundred years, had he tasted anything so sweet, so satisfying, and yet the little he had taken wasn't enough to quench his thirst. He wanted to hold her in his arms and drink and drink, until he had taken all of her into himself. "Thank you."



Marisa nodded again, and then looked up at Edward. He was standing as before, the stake clutched tightly in his fist. There was pity for her in his eyes, revulsion and hatred for what Grigori was, what he had done to her.



"It's okay, Edward," she said, surprised at how difficult it was to form the words, how weak her voice sounded. "I'm fine."



"Ramsey, get her something to drink."



"I'm not your slave," Edward muttered, but he went to do as he'd been told.



"What happened to Alexi?" Marisa asked. "Where's Antoinette?"



"Here," Edward said. He thrust a glass of red wine at Marisa. "Drink this."



She sipped the wine slowly, feeling its warmth spread through her.



"All right, Chiavari, spill it. What aren't you telling us?"



"He's got Antoinette."



"How do you know?"



"I know," Grigori said.



"What's he done to her?"



"He put a stake through her heart. Her body lies in a crypt behind the church."



"Then she's dead but not destroyed," Edward remarked.



"What do you mean?" Marisa asked.



"All we have to do is pull the stake from her body and she'll rise again."



"She does not wish to rise again," Grigori said quietly.



"How do you know?" Edward asked, and then wished he hadn't. The vampire looked at him through the eyes of one enduring the pain and damnation of hell.



"I know."



"She said she wanted to avenge her children."



"She is at peace now. It is time to free her soul, before she takes a life, before the darkness destroys the light within her." Grigori paused a moment. "The name on the vault is Amadeo. I want you to make sure she can't rise again; then see that she's buried properly." A sadness shadowed his eyes. "My children are buried there, under a tree near the back wall. Put her beside them."



"Me? Why me?"



"I thought you would be eager to do the job," Grigori retorted caustically. "Isn't that what you live for, destroying my kind?"



Ramsey nodded. He would do what had to be done, but it wouldn't be easy. He had never dispatched a vampire he had known personally.



"The church is located about two miles south of here. You can't miss it."



"I'll take care of it first thing tomorrow morning. Where's Alexi?"



"I don't know. Antoinette drove a stake into his back, but she missed his heart. I think he has gone farther into the past to lick his wounds."



"So, we've accomplished nothing," Edward muttered.



The words nothing but Antoinette's death seemed to hover, unspoken, in the air.



"I want to go home," Marisa said softly. She gazed up at Grigori. "Please take me home."



"Tomorrow night," Grigori promised.



"And until then?"



"Until then we stay here."