Chapter 11
He picked up the note from the kitchen table. It was scrawled on the back of a grocery store receipt.
Stopped by to drop off some more of my culinary delights. I didn't change anything in the recipe since you seemed to tolerate the last batch so well. Ah, you did, didn't you? Anyway, I had to pick up some food for this gray, fuzzy thing I have running around my apartment, so I didn't stay. See ya tonight.
Nat
P.S. You need some notepaper in this joint.
Nick's frown lifted only slightly as he read Natalie's words. Putting the paper back on the table, he slid his coat off and threw it on a chair.
Nat. Beautiful, caring, optimistic, mortal Nat. He should have gone to see her instead of running off to the Raven. Told her about his encounter with Hardwick. Confided to her how he felt and what he feared. Yeah, maybe he should've. Should've...but didn't. Couldn't.
He had thought about it. For about one second. Then the need to withdraw had driven everything else from his head. All that remained had been a singular urgency to seek out his own kind, a fierce compulsion to get away from the thundering heartbeats, the rushing blood. He'd once again been caught, discovered, recognized for what he truly was, and it had pushed him to seek refuge from the humanity he precariously mimicked. He hadn't wanted to be around mortals, any mortals. Particularly the one mortal who he would hurt most by his unnatural desires and his inability to control them.
Turning from the table, Nick walked to the refrigerator. He stood glowering at the closed doors. He hadn't wanted to cause Natalie more pain, more disappointment. She'd been so happy when he'd told her how much Elliot liked the flute. Her smile had brightened every corner of the dingy morgue, not to mention the darkest recesses of his cold heart. She'd made him feel more euphoric than ever about the occasion. And his raised spirits had gone a long way toward encouraging her about his attitude. It hadn't been difficult to see the secret hope in her eyes, the positive light that glowed from within. He couldn't bring himself to dash that hope. He couldn't stand to watch as the light faded into nothingness, knowing once again he was the cause.
With a more forceful tug than was necessary, Nick opened the refrigerator. Sitting in front of the bottles of blood were three very familiar, plastic containers. His eyes moved from the plastic to the glass and back to the plastic as he hesitated, the hunger wracking his body while the guilt attacked his mind. But he was trying. He hadn't given up. Picking up a plastic cup, he removed the lid. A thick, metallic odor wafted from inside, causing a surge of protest from his stomach when it hit his senses. His body didn't want the protein drink. It didn't need the protein drink. His body wanted blood. It needed blood. As much as he tried to deny it, tried to change it, the fact still glared him in the face. He was a vampire and he needed blood to survive. Would he really alter that reality with these concoctions?
As he looked down at the pale, pink liquid, Nick shook his head. He didn't know. He just didn't know. Could evil be exorcised with protein powder? The absurdity of the question brought a bitter snort of laughter from the vampire. Of course there was more to it than that. But could 800 years of evil be exorcised at all? Or would it stay with him, consume him, forever? Was it invincible? Just as Hardwick had claimed?
Hardwick. Why was he worrying about the ravings of a depraved mortal? But he wasn't depraved, not really. Not when it came to his assertions about Detective Nicholas Knight. And that was the whole point. The 'sicko', as Tracy had referred to him, had seen right through the facade, the lie. He'd recognized the vampire for what it really was. Evil. A killer. A kindred soul? Isn't that what Shear had called him? He'd denied it at the time, but wasn't it the truth?
No. He'd killed because he had to in order to survive. It wasn't the same thing. He was nothing like Shear or Hardwick. Nothing. He hadn't simply chosen to go out and become a murderer. Nick's train of thought slowed to a crawl. Ah...but hadn't he? Immortality had come at a stiff price. It had cost him his soul, his humanity. He'd made the choice to become a vampire. He'd made the choice to give up his mortality. Therefore, hadn't he made the choice to become a killer, a murderer?
His conscience rejected this conclusion as he grasped at an excuse for the decision he'd made so very many years ago. He'd had no idea what he was getting himself into, not a clue as to what it all really meant. Until it was too late, that is. But did ignorance absolve him of the consequences of his actions? Did it make him unaccountable for what he'd done? No, it didn't. In the end, he had to own up to the choice he'd made eight centuries ago. Own up to it, and, at the very least, try to make up for it. At the very most, try to change it, or, as the case may be, its result. And when it was all said and done, maybe that was what separated him from Shear and Hardwick. Maybe his effort to atone was his saving grace. Maybe.
Nick brought the mixture up to his lips and took a healthy swallow. Ye Gods. These things are worse than dead blood.
He felt his gut lunge with another objection when the shake reached its mark. His gaze moved longingly to the green bottles sitting in the back of the refrigerator. The shake had done nothing to ease the hunger. He'd only had a small amount, but it really made no difference how much he drank. Even if he downed the whole thing, the need would still burn just as brightly. Natalie's cocktails never did quiet the thirst. Even so, he would try again. This was part of the penance after all. Closing his eyes against the queasiness, he forced himself to take another drink.
But would his desire for atonement be enough to rid him of the evil that held him so securely? He returned the unfinished protein mixture to the refrigerator as Hardwick's heated words ran through his head. 'My so-called 'evil' will be here long after you're gone. It's infinite. It never ends. It has a life of its own, a power of its own. You can't destroy it or me.' How true were those words? For the mortal, they were a delusion surely. However, if what he'd discovered this morning at the Raven was any indication, for the vampire, they were more true than Nick had ever dreamed possible.
Closing the door, he walked away from the refrigerator to shut the blinds. Nick watched the steel curtains slowly grind into place, severing him completely from the world of daylight. As the rays of the new sun disappeared behind the shutters, he allowed his mind to wander back to earlier that morning. Antonio Caproni. He was positive it had been Antonio Caproni he'd felt. A vampire who had been dead for 400 years. But he wasn't dead. At least not in the spiritual sense. His essence lived on in the body of another vampire, or so it seemed. It still struck Nick as fantastic when he thought about it, but the feeling had been so intense, so clear. Had Tony's desires, his hunger, his evil, kept him alive? Did it truly have a life, a power, of its own?
Antonio had relished being a vampire. He'd reveled in it. Almost as much as LaCroix. He had savored the superiority. The heightened strength, and everything else that went along with being a vampire, he'd seen as the ultimate achievement. The killing hadn't bothered him at all. He was a creature that needed blood to live. As far as he'd been concerned, it was as simple as survival of the fittest. Mortals were lesser beings that provided sport, satisfaction and nourishment. They were to be enjoyed, not revered.
And enjoy them he did. Very much so. Especially a certain group. Nick's discovery of Antonio's special feeding habits had come as a shock. One that he never would have experienced had he done as his friend asked and minded his own business.
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ITALY 1520
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Nicholas rose from his seat and left the pub. Outside, he took a deep breath of the clean, spring air. It was filled with a plethora of blood scents, the mortals around him unknowingly calling to the vampire. He was hungry. Where would he hunt tonight? The opera? Perhaps something a little less cultured. The minstrel show? He smiled. A brothel?
Suddenly he couldn't help but wonder where Tony was going to do his hunting and on what particularly he would be dining.
No.
Curiosity was a bad thing. He'd told his friend he would leave him alone, and he would. But even as he made this silent declaration, Nicholas closed his eyes, and, reaching out with his senses, scanned the area for any sign of Antonio.
He began to walk. Down the cobblestone street, past the various taverns and toward the more affluent part of the city. There weren't many vampires in the area, and Antonio wasn't too far ahead of him. Nicholas picked up on his friend's aura fairly easily. He told himself that he'd opted for culture and was merely heading to the opera house for his meal. However, by the time he'd passed the establishment in question, he had to concede his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Tony was somewhere not too far ahead. He would do a little harmless investigating and then be off to calm his thirst.
Harmless investigating? More like nosy snooping, wouldn't you say? Nicholas' inner voice of conscience corrected his observation. Well, yes, he supposed it was true. But it was nonetheless harmless, wasn't it? Breaking a trust? Harmless? Hardly.
Nicholas stopped in his tracks. What was he doing? He was meddling. That's what he was doing. The very thing he found intolerable in LaCroix. He'd let his inquisitiveness turn him into a prying busybody. It had him sneaking around like a thief in the night. Didn't he have better things to do than spy on his friend?
His attention drifted from the individual ahead of him as he took a brief look around. He recognized his surroundings. The area was one of substantial wealth, several grand apartments scattered amongst the impressive homes. Antonio's villa wasn't all that far from this spot, he noted inattentively as the guilt over his behavior resurfaced.
Slowly shaking his head with the shame of his petty actions, Nicholas turned to retreat from the pathetic pursuit. But as he started to walk away, he paused. He could still feel Tony up ahead, but the Italian was no longer alone. Nicholas heard no conversation, only the beating of a mortal heart as it broke through the silence that blanketed the darkness. It was a quick, light sound, like the fluttering of a bird's wing. A surprised unease spread through him as he acknowledged the delicate cadence. The heart was young.
It has nothing to do with you. Mind your own concerns.
Nicholas ignored the sudden feeling of dread that rushed over him and continued his withdrawal. After a few steps, he glanced around for any human eyes that might be looking his way. Finding none, he took to the air.
Thirty minutes later, after having indulged on an exceptionally luscious barmaid, Nicholas made his way back to Antonio's villa. The elder vampire had invited him to stay at the opulent dwelling several weeks back, and Nicholas had taken the Italian up on his generous offer. The apartment he'd been staying in was very comfortable, but couldn't compare to the wonderful accommodations Tony offered.
Nicholas landed in the rear gardens and quickly surveyed the area. The house was quiet. The few servants his host employed stayed during the day only. The activities that sometimes occurred in the villa at night were not for mortal eyes, and none had permanent, twenty-four-hour, residence.
Walking through the door leading to the kitchen area, Nicholas strode to his rooms. He entered the richly-furnished sitting room with its Persian rug and gilded-framed paintings, and stepped into the bedroom. He had left this evening with hardly a lira in his pocket. If they were going to spend time at the minstrel show later, he would need more money.
He'd pulled the strongbox from under the huge, canopy bed and was retrieving the key from the breast pocket of his coat, when he felt another vampire enter the house. Antonio.
Unexpectedly, the fluttering heart was still with him. Nicholas' curiosity pulled at him once again.
It's none of your business. Get what you came for and leave.
With deliberate quickness, he took what money he needed from the box and slid it back under the bed. With a hand holding back the thick, brocade tapestry curtain which served to protect the room from the unwanted rays of the sun, Nicholas stood poised at the window. Ready to make an unnoticed exit, he wavered. The youthful pulse throbbed a little more quickly now. And as a muffled cry of terror shattered the unnatural silence of the house, the guest turned from the window and followed the sound of the now fading heartbeat.
He found the source of the dying sound in Antonio's arms. The elder vampire was seated on the edge of his ornately carved, four-poster bed, bent over a young girl who lay motionless across his lap, his fangs still buried in the tender flesh of the child's neck. One more frail beat, and the small heart fell silent. Nicholas watched with hushed dismay as Antonio lifted his head, a look of pure ecstasy on the Italian's face.
Nicholas' stunned gaze moved from his host to rest on the ashen features of the youngster, his sudden sadness a wave of physical revulsion writhing in his throat. The girl couldn't have been more than six or seven. A lovely child who would have grown into a beautiful woman. But it would never come to pass. Brown eyes, once sparkling with the light of life, now stared unseeing up at the ceiling, fixed and dull. The horror of the last sight they'd beheld frozen in their innocent depths for all eternity.
Pulling his attention from the disturbing picture of the dead child, Nicholas focused his sights back on Antonio. The older immortal's eyes were closed while he basked in the rapture created by the young human's blood as it surged through his body. The satisfied smile that lifted the Italian's lips brought an answering scowl to Nicholas' face.
"Why?" The question was little more than a strangled whisper from Nicholas as he struggled to overcome his initial alarm.
Antonio's eyes snapped open. They were still flecked with gold as he looked at the intruder. It was obvious he'd been so immersed in the experience of the kill that he hadn't felt his guest's presence. At first, surprise was the only expression visible in his expression. But an amused resolve soon took its place as he stood from the bed, the child's body draped over his arms. He walked to stand a few feet in front of Nicholas, his voice light with his unconcerned attitude. "Why?" He seemed genuinely perplexed by the question, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he repeated it. "You ask why? But you already know the answer, my young friend. I am a vampire. That is why. No other explanation is necessary. Like you, I do what I must to survive. But...unlike you, I seek to savor and enjoy my extraordinary existence to its fullest."
Taking a step closer to his host, Nicholas reached out a tender hand to close the young, lifeless eyes of the girl. As he lowered his hand, he gently ran the back down a soft, pale cheek. "But a child? A lovely, innocent child? She was so very young." He stumbled over the last word, still finding it difficult to speak.
"She was a mortal, Nicholas. A delicacy. An unparalleled experience of sensation." The Italian looked down at the youngster in his arms with a contented sigh before concentrating his attention back on Nicholas. The brown eyes reflected a sympathetic, yet mildly impatient, visage. "Nicholas. Nicholas." The subtle disappointment in Antonio's tone caused the younger vampire to bristle slightly. "You are deeply upset by my choice of meal. I knew this would be your reaction. That is the reason I did not confide in you. I knew you would not approve."
The numbing sorrow was beginning to melt, and Nicholas' voice now resonated with the growing anger that started to overtake him. "She was only a child, Tony. How could anyone approve of feeding from one so young?"
Turning, Antonio bent to lay the small body on the large bed. As he straightened, he fixed his guest with a look of guilt-free, unremitting smugness, the casual countenance stoking the rage that continued to build in his fellow immortal. He didn't seem to understand or accept the justification for Nicholas' objection to his action. And even if he did comprehend it, he wasn't about to acknowledge it. "I'll admit my preferred prey is a little out of the ordinary, but I wasn't aware of a law, or rule, forbidding us to partake of any type of nourishment we choose as long as it is done in a manner that does not endanger the community with discovery." The disappointment in his voice slipped into condescension. "Really, Nicholas. You are so quick to judge. You have no idea what you are condemning, what you are missing. The exhilaration of young blood is like nothing you have ever felt, I can assure you. Children...well-fed, well-cared-for children, offer an excitement and satisfaction that I can't begin to describe. There is nothing like the life-force of a child. Once you have tasted the sensation, the intensity of feeling and emotion, it is difficult to give up." Pausing, he looked deeply into his companion's eyes. "It is impossible to give up."
Nicholas held the intense stare and recognized the frantic spark of dementia that once again danced in Tony's eyes. Blood was a staple for a vampire, a singular necessity. But a certain type of blood could evidently become an addiction. And as the younger vampire looked into the dark depths of that obsession, he felt compassion for his friend calm the anger that gripped him. Even though he had accepted what he'd become, Nicholas had yet to completely shake the remnants of his mortality. He continued to feel the stirrings of a conscience deep within him. Tony had witnessed a moment or two of the doubt those stirrings caused and had scolded his friend for what he'd called 'an unreasonable weakness'. It was through this conscience that Nicholas saw all vampires, especially himself, as victims of an unnatural obsession. And it was through this conscience that he now sympathized with Antonio and felt the need to encourage him. "If you try, you can resist the temptation, Tony. I know you can."
"Resist?" The word shot from the Italian in the form of an incredulous laugh. "You presume a great deal, my friend. Why would I want to? Why should I have to? I am doing what my nature dictates, Nicholas. I find no shame in that. No reason to alter or 'resist' my desires. We kill to survive. We kill to feel life. The age of our prey is of no concern, only what we gain from it."
His gaze fell from the wild, unrelenting conviction in his friend's eyes, and Nicholas knew that whatever else he might say would fall on deaf ears. The other immortal didn't see things in the same light, and Nicholas became painfully aware just how little he really knew Antonio. Feeding on children was something he had not expected from Tony. It was also something he could not accept.
He looked to the body laying on the bed. The sorrow resurfaced while he took in the shoulder-length, brown curls and the pretty face, long, thick lashes resting softly on flawless skin. His examination also noted the lovely, well-tailored dress she wore, the pale blue silk shimmering in the moonlight that poured through a heavily curtained window. As Nicholas acknowledged how impeccably dressed the child was, he realized she had come from a wealthy family. She had been well cared for, more than likely loved, and probably very happy. Recognizing these things, a question crossed his mind. He cast inquisitive eyes back on Tony. "Why prey on a child of good standing? If you must, why not at least take--"
"The small, human rats that scurry in the street?" Antonio seemed to read his guest's mind as he interrupted him. "Act as an angel of mercy and release them from their hell on earth?" An arrogant smile curved his mouth as he slowly shook his head. "Nicholas, you really are still quite mortal, aren't you?" He turned back to the bed. Sitting down, he ran a light finger across the pinkish-gray puncture marks on the child's neck, his sights remaining on the wounds when he spoke. "What I do, I do for my benefit. For my pleasure. Children from the street are hideously scrawny--unappetizingly malnourished. They are not as pleasant to the palate. But more importantly, they are a hard lot. Emotionally, I mean. They are very callous for ones who have lived such a short time. They have to be, I suppose. They've seen and experienced things that have made them tough beyond their years. Their innocence, and the strength of feeling that goes with it, is compromised. Pampered children are soft and exceedingly vulnerable. That makes them perfect. It makes them irresistible. The degree of emotion that can be rung from a happy, healthy child at the time of the kill is inconceivably delicious."
Savage, brown eyes collided with dejected, blue ones for no more than a split second before Nicholas spun on his heel and stalked out. He couldn't stand to be in the same room with Antonio another minute. The elder's nonchalant, yet menacingly calculated, attitude toward the killing of children thoroughly disgusted him. But what repulsed Nicholas even more was the spark of curiosity his host's description had kindled. Even as his conscience was sickened by the thought of taking blood from one so young, the beast, the vampire, wondered what the taste, the sensation, would be like. His barbaric speculation brought with it a renewed surge of shame.
Nicholas quickly fled Tony's influence, retreating to his rooms to silently leave through the window as was his original plan.
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Unceremoniously dropping the remote onto the coffee table, Nick walked back to the refrigerator, the unpleasant memory weakening his determination. At the time, he had been thoroughly revolted by both himself and Tony. The recollection only served to bring that feeling back. Not only did it bring back the disgust, but it also brought back the unwanted temptation.
Opening the appliance door, he barely resisted the lure of LaCroix's gift and pulled out a bottle of his own acquisition. He drank deeply, the blood taking the edge off his hunger and giving him the strength to beat back the terrifying curiosity.
Lowering the almost empty bottle from his lips, Nick stared into the green glass, a dark frown etched on his face. He'd killed a barmaid that same night four centuries ago. Did the fact that she had been a young woman, an adult, make his action somehow more acceptable than Antonio's? Had he been that big a self-righteous hypocrite? They had both taken a life in order to survive, and, if he allowed himself to reflect on the memory clearly, they'd both killed for the feeling, the pleasure it gave them. Looking back on it now, he knew one death had been no less wrong than the other, but he still couldn't help but feel Tony's action had been more immoral than his. The view continued to ring loudly of hypocrisy, but he didn't seem to be able to alter the way he saw the whole thing.
Its contents gone, the bottle was tossed into the trash as Nick turned his thoughts from the past to the present, specifically to the fledgling he'd met earlier at the Raven. Unfortunately, however, he couldn't ignore the past where Andrew Fisher was concerned. The younger vampire appeared to have an extraordinary link to history. One that would continue to remind Nick of Antonio Caproni no matter how much he might want to forget the Italian.
At this point, Nick had all but convinced himself that Fisher somehow carried with him, either consciously or unconsciously, the essence of Antonio Caproni. If this were indeed the case, how strong could Tony's influence be? Was Andrew responsible for the missing children? Could Antonio's bloodlust be that strong? Or, maybe Nick was barking up the wrong tree, accusing Fisher of something for which he was not responsible. After all, there was no evidence Andrew had anything to do with the disappearances. Nick had absolutely nothing other than a feeling based on a 400-year-old memory and an outrageous impression, his conclusions founded merely in guesswork and supposition. He needed to talk to Fisher and try to get some answers. His peace of mind, what little peace his mind could conjure up these days, wouldn't let him rest until he resolved the disturbing questions that continued to gnaw at him since meeting Fisher. He had to know if his suspicions were correct, or if he were simply losing his mind.
A part of Nick opted for the insanity plea. Because if his impression was right, if Antonio lived on through another, what did it say about the soul of a vampire? What did it say about his soul? Could he ever find rest, release? Or, even upon his death, would his evil continue to thrive?
Exhaustion tugged at Nick's eyelids. Abandoning the disturbing speculations, he moved to the staircase. He didn't know how much sleep he would get, but he had to make the attempt. Maybe he would be able to get the answers he sought tonight. With legs that suddenly felt as if they were made of lead, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
End Chapter 11