Afterimage Read online

  It wasn’t that he was displeased with his resolution. Any other enforcer worth his eyeteeth would have condemned the aberration to death without a second thought. Not only did she have forbidden knowledge of the extent and structure of the formal vampire community, but her powers to detect and resist the Undead were the strongest he had felt in a mortal in a long, long time. That in conjunction with her hatred of all things vampiric made her a very real danger.

  He had relished giving her life, however, not so much for the girl’s sake, but because he knew his decision would irritate not only those in the Brotherhood, but more importantly, Nikolena herself. It was la directrice who relegated these assignments—demeaning in their unimportance—to him whenever she felt piqued, which lately seemed to be all the time. To resolve a case in a decidedly unorthodox way was Drago’s way of thumbing his nose at her. He couldn’t do that on an assignment of real significance, of course. Nikolena would have his head. Literally. But on unimportant cases like this one, he took great satisfaction in using his discretion to resolve things “The Drago Way.”

  No, his unease with the Jaks affair wasn’t due to his giving the aberration life. It was with the subject herself. Far from the disgusting creature he had expected, Marya Jaks nevertheless had been a disturbing find. He had hidden his feelings from her well and with the practice of centuries, but she, with the pain of her brief life and the passion of her youth, had stirred memories in him which were better left dead and buried.

  She was young—barely more than a child even in human terms—and had grown up in the modern world. She knew nothing at all of real pain or persecution, yet she had pled her case with the kind of conviction that normally comes with age and experience. Her words had struck a chord deep within him.

  He leaned his head forward and brushed a long, wayward lock of hair from his eyes. She was an aberration—a foul being as unnatural as any on earth. That such a detestable creature had the power to touch him shook him as nothing had in a very long time. He was glad he was on his way to his chateau outside Paris for a short vacation. He would relax, feast well, and think no more on black-haired beauties with tainted blood who spoke with an eloquence beyond their years.

  DISBELIEF KEPT Marya awake for hours after Drago left. She stared at the white card over and over, afraid she was dreaming or hallucinating. Each time she looked at the word on the card she expected to see DEATH staring back at her in a mocking scrawl, but LIFE was all she saw.

  She was almost afraid to try to go back to sleep. What if she woke up in the morning only to find that Alek Dragovich had really been nothing more than a dream after all?

  She changed from the dress into jeans and a shirt and stepped out onto the rear patio. If she were still dreaming, maybe the brisk night air would snap her back to reality. Alek Dragovich—the Anti-God, the Black Death, the bane to all those who violated the laws of Midexistence—was much more believable as his namesake, the dragon, than he was as some kind of white knight.

  Drago a white knight. The image was so preposterous she wanted to laugh. But each time she held the card to the moonlight, LIFE shone at her.

  She had never really dared over the years to hope for life, and when Drago had appeared tonight any shred of optimism she still clung to had all but vanished. In spite of the arguments she had put forth, she had never counted on being spared. All she had expected Drago to see was the power of her abilities and her anger. And the visits to New Orleans. Those alone, she knew, were enough to constitute a great enough risk for her to be flagged for termination.

  She wondered what had swayed his decision to the side of life. Mercy? Compassion? She wanted to laugh again. He knew no such emotions. Drago had appeared bored with the whole affair. Perhaps he just didn’t care one way or another. Perhaps there was less paperwork to file in granting life than in taking it. This time she did laugh. It was by far the most plausible explanation she had come up with.

  When Marya finally did lie back down to try to resume her interrupted sleep, though, Drago’s image continued to fill her mind. Dream or nightmare, dragon or knight, the memory of the antifreeze eyes would not go away. Chilling in what they lacked, alluring in what they held, she wasn’t sure if she was thankful she’d never have to tread their depths again, or sorry she’d never again be the object of his gaze.

  MARYA SLEPT LATE that morning. Awareness gradually seeped into her foggy mind, and with it, fear. She was afraid to open her eyes. Light meant reality, and reality had always meant pain. She summoned the courage to crack her lids just enough to make out the rays of sunlight squeezing past the edges of the shades and drapes to form rectangles of brilliance on the walls. She opened her eyes a little wider and saw her boudoir chair. It sat empty, its velvet arms bereft of a body to embrace. Had Drago really sat there only scant hours ago? Now, in the light of wakefulness and reason, last night seemed even more like a dream.

  But what a dream! Her mind’s eye could still see the image of him in the chair, his long legs stretched out before him, his fingers rubbing along the velvet and his eyes doing likewise up and down the length of her body. Last night she had been too angry to worry about the impropriety of his visit, but now she felt her cheeks flame with the memory. Every detail of his appearance flooded her mind, from the long hair so black it glimmered with highlights as blue as his eyes, to the mouth that mirrored the indolence of his gaze. Could a dream conjure so much detail?

  She squeezed her lids shut, took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and turned her head to her nightstand. The card was still there, propped against the base of the lamp, where she had set it before retiring. She squinted at the card. LIFE.

  Marya sucked in another long breath and let her head fall back to her pillow. It’s all true. It’s no dream.

  She covered her face with her hands, fighting a sudden impulse to cry. It was everything she had never dared wish for. A future. Dreams. Goals. Relationships. She bounded off the bed and let the shades snap upward. Light streamed into the room. She turned on her stereo, and music filled the silence. She barely knew where to begin. She had had no plan beyond this day. Her art. She had always been serious about her art. It was, after all, how she made her living. But too often it had become just something to pass time with, something to fill the hours between one Brotherhood visit and the next. Now she could set goals, both financial and artistic. She could travel, take workshops, really hone her craft.

  She could make friends now, could allow real relationships to develop. She could make a commitment beyond tomorrow. Jaime. She could stop holding him off, stop giving him excuses. If he’s still interested.

  Sudden doubts shadowed her enthusiasm. Rejoining the Roma community would in truth be a challenge. She had no family nearby to claim, and with her schooling and artwork, she had assimilated herself into gadje society more than most Roma. Her only real chance was to marry into the Roma community, but her chances there were slim, too. She was well beyond what the Roma considered ‘marriageable age,’ and she had no family with whom a Romani family would wish to make an alliance. All she had was herself, her talent, and her unique heritage. She hoped it would be enough for Jaime. And his family.

  The Buckland family had also been assimilated into gadjikane society more than most. They had run a successful horse farm near Jackson for a number of years, and Jaime, too, had received schooling. To his parents’ eternal consternation, Jaime had not married and was now, like Marya, well beyond the age at which Roma couples united. She tried to remember the gossip she had heard about him. He had been seeing a Roma named Seline Smith for a while, but she wasn’t sure if he was seeing anyone now. Marya tried to think how long ago she had heard the latest news. It had been at least two or three months ago. Jaime could already have met someone new and be a married man by now.

  No. Romani marriages were grand events. Had such a happening occurred, even she would have heard about it. She reached for he
r small phone directory, then just as quickly put it down. She needed to have a plan. This had to be done just right. A thrill of excitement coursed through her. It was good to be in control of her life again.

  Jaime. He had invaded her thoughts too many times over the course of the past two years. Always, she had pushed those thoughts aside. The luxury of dreaming about the good-looking young Rom was one she hadn’t been able to afford. She indulged herself now, bringing forth the memories of her last meetings with him with as much vividness as she could summon. He was very tall and unusually slender for a Rom, but his dark, brooding looks easily made up for his lack of brawn. He wore his hair well above his shoulders, but its thickness made it appear wild and unruly in spite of its short length. His features were sharp, but regular, and only added to the intensity of his appearance. Schooling had given him tools of literacy and knowledge, but it had also bred anger. At his best, Jaime was severe, yet charming. Very, very charming. At his worst, though, he was hard to be around. Sometimes the chip on Jaime’s shoulder was so big as to be nearly visible.

  Marya frowned, realizing that from Drago’s point of view, last night she had probably sounded like she had a chip on her shoulder, too. Well, if she had, so what? Who cared what a vampire thought? They weren’t human. It irritated her that thoughts of Drago were intruding into her new life. She pushed the vision of his blue eyes from her mind and turned her thoughts back to Jaime.

  What would have happened with Jaime if the Undead hadn’t put her life on hold? Would they now be married? Would she already have children? She wondered if she would still have her artwork, or if horses would now rule her life. Was that the life she really wanted? She didn’t know. She had never before allowed her dreams to progress far enough to ask herself these questions.

  Damn the Undead! For how long would the twelve-year suspension of her life affect her future? Would she ever be able to lead a normal life?

  Perhaps not, but she would lead a life. The vampires were gone. She was in control now.

  Three hours later, she picked up her phone and called the number for the farm.

  “Hello. Buckland Horse Farm.” A male voice. Probably either Jamie’s father or his uncle.

  “Is Jaime there?” Better not to volunteer her name unless asked for it. Jaime’s family had always frowned on her.

  “Who is calling?”

  So much for plans. “Marya Jaks.”

  “Marya.” There was a short pause. “Jaime’s busy with the horses right now.”

  No ‘how are you’ or ‘nice to hear from you.’ The censure came across loud and clear. Marya tried to ignore it. “Can you give him a message to call me, please?” She gave the man her number, but he neither repeated the number back to her nor gave her any other indication that he was actually writing it down.

  She refused to let her excitement be dampened. She would wait a day for a return call, and failing receipt of that, would drive out to the farm. However, as it turned out, plan “B” was unnecessary. Jaime returned her call within the hour.

  “Marya! This is certainly a surprise. What can I do for you?”

  Happily, Jaime’s voice held none of the subtle rebuke she had heard from the man who had answered her call.

  “I realized how long it’s been since I talked to you last. I’ve been wondering how you’ve been doing.”

  “I’ve been well, thanks.” Jaime’s voice had the ability to range from a mesmerizing musical lilt to a harsh bark. So far it was cautious. Friendly, yet wary, as if he were dealing with a strange horse whose temperament he wasn’t sure of. “Yourself?” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  “Well. Listen, Jaime, I know we had our disagreements. I had . . . a problem I couldn’t talk about. It kept me from doing a lot of the things I wanted to do. I’m sorry about the way we ended things.”

  He broke in. “No, the way you ended things.”

  “All right. The way I ended things. It wasn’t good, or fair. I admit it. It was bad luck to leave things the way I did, and I want to make it right.” She held her breath.

  He was slow in answering. She heard the small noises in the background. A thump. A nicker. He must be calling from one of the barns. “What about these ‘problems’ of yours? Are you ready to face them?”

  Not them. Him. And she had faced him last night and had won. Drago’s image threatened to rise again. Damn those blue eyes! Marya had anticipated these questions and had carefully scripted an answer before she had made the phone call to the Buckland Horse Farm. She couldn’t tell Jaime the truth, of course. Each of the enforcers who had visited her over the years had stressed that it was strictly forbidden for her to tell any human her knowledge of the realm of Midexistence. Even though Romani culture was filled with legends of the Undead, those legends prevailed predominantly in Europe. When her mother had moved the two of them here from France, she had been careful to keep the family heritage a secret. Neither the Bucklands nor any of the other local Roma knew anything of Marya’s father or grandfather. So Marya had happily complied with the enforcers’ directives, not because of their dire warnings, or to aid the Undead in the concealment of their existence, but because it was to her own advantage. The local Roma looked at her with suspicious eyes as it was. She had no desire to give them any more ammunition to use against her.

  “I’m ready to face them now, but for a long time I didn’t feel like I had good fortune at all. It turned out I was very sick.”

  “I hope you had the sense to go to a gadjikane doctor.” She could hear the frown in his voice.

  “Oh, sure. First the doctors told me it was serious, even life threatening, but it wasn’t. Even the gadjikane aren’t always right. Still, I felt rotten for a long time.” In a way, it was the truth. She did feel her good fortune had deserted her. She hadn’t felt right. She did think her ‘problem’ was life threatening. The only real lie was that Alek Dragovich had “cured” her, not some gadjikane doctor. Dr. Dragovich blessing her with renewed good luck and health. She wanted to laugh at the ludicrous image.

  “You should’ve told me. I would have helped you any way I could. Hell, my whole family would have overwhelmed you with sympathy visits.”

  “The problem’s been resolved. For good. Do you think we can meet and talk about things, Jaime? I would love to see the horses again. Do you have lots of new foals?”

  Mention of the horses was very deliberate on Marya’s part. It was Jaime’s passion. She knew any mention of the animals would distract him from memories of their bitter last parting.

  “Uh, yeah, we’ve had a good foaling so far.” He paused. “Listen, Marya. What made you call me today?”

  The question caught her a little off guard. She wasn’t expecting him to turn the conversation back to her so quickly. “I want to put my life back on track. I’ve always regretted the way we parted.” That much was only the truth. “As I said before, I want to try to make things right with us.”

  He paused before answering. “It isn’t always possible to pick up exactly where one leaves off. Time passes. Things change.”

  “I know that, Jaime. I want to try. If you do, that is.” She held her breath.

  “What do you want from me, Marya?”

  The million dollar question, as the gadje would say. “There’s an excitement to life that surrounds you. I want to be part of that. I want to be more than friends. I think you’ve always known that.”

  Jaime exhaled a harrumph into the phone. “‘Excitement.’ I doubt my parents would view my ways in quite the same light. Listen, I have to get back to work, but I would like to see you. How about Friday night? I’ll pick you up at seven. We can play it by ear. Dinner, then maybe a show or a walk through the Garden District if it’s nice out. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful. I’ll see you then.”

  She set the phone down with a triumphant thu
mp. She had truly missed Jaime. He was the essence of raw energy. He could shock, and he could spark debate all too easily, but his passion for life was contagious. Whether it had been a quiet walk along the horse trails of the farm, or a heated disagreement, Marya had come away from her encounters with Jaime Buckland feeling stimulated and revitalized.

  And on those occasions when he had kissed her, it had been like touching a live wire. Places in her body she didn’t know existed had responded first with an awakening, then a delight and a demand for more. He had offered the ‘more’ that Marya craved, but she had forced herself to reject him.

  It had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. Jaime lived with the constant expectations of his family. Most of those hopes centered on Jamie’s marrying soon, and to a proper Romani girl. In spite of his family, though, a spirit unbound by outside forces seemed to manifest itself in Jaime. He always somehow managed to do what he wanted to do. It wasn’t recklessness, or a disregard, but a likening to a creature that runs wild across a field. The freedom and joy of that image was a powerful lure to Marya. Jaime embodied it, and she wanted to follow him, to touch him, to be a part of him. But she hadn’t been able to. Not with the possibility of a death sentence hanging over her head.

  So when Jaime had hinted at deepening their relationship, she had backed off. And when he, in his frustration, had laid out an ultimatum, she had ended it. Jaime would accept no halfway measures. It was everything or nothing. He had left her no choice.

  No. It wasn’t Jaime. It was the vampires who left me no choice. Her anger, so close at hand whenever she thought of the Undead, threatened to spoil her positive mood. She was quick to control it. She ruled now, not them. Not him. Not Drago, the monster whose lassitude and indifference were opposite poles to the energy and ardor of the man she would soon be seeing again.