Beneath a Blood Red Moon
Page 48

And as for light ... well, it has taken me decades to adjust to where I’m really comfortable in the daylight.
And trust me—you’ll seldom catch me at the beach.”
“Maggie, come on, how can you be a vampire if you don’t live up to legend?”
“Legend is only hearsay, and that embellished,” she said sadly. “But then again, legends are most often based on fact. Many vampires do rest in their coffins, because they died before they were reborn. They awoke in their coffins. A coffin remains home to them. At times, don’t we all need to go home? I was never buried. I live here—always returning to my home, which is my native soil. I don’t need to carry dirt around with me here. If I go to Europe, yes ... I bring native soil with me, and it rests beneath my bed.
We draw strength from the earth. But think about the city of New Orleans, Sean, and about our cemeteries. Our above-ground tombs are referred to as ‘ovens’ because they are ovens. In a year and a day, the remains of the dead are more or less baked, you know that. The body, per se, no longer exists—bones are pushed to the rear of a coffin to make room for the next deceased in a family. In cooler places than New Orleans, where a tomb bakes in the sun, some vampires do sleep in their coffins.
In crypts, in family vaults— in bedrooms. All vampires have reflections—it’s a myth, a good story, that they don’t. And we thrive on good food, just as others do, we just... we just need a little more. That’s the curse of our ’gift,‘ as so many choose to call it. We have a hunger, a thirst ... and it must be appeased. And as to my genetics ...” She paused, shaking her head as she looked at him. “There was no baby, Sean. Magdalena didn’t have an illegitimate child with her French lover. My father knew that I might well live for centuries. So he invented the story that I was having a child. Every twenty years or so, I could come back to New Orleans. As the new heiress. I look like Magdalena, Sean, because I am Magdalena.”
She was lying, of course. Maybe she even believed just a little bit what she was saying. God knew, the legends abounded in her family.
“Maggie, please ...”
“Sean, you have to listen. It’s the truth.”
“Oh, come on, Maggie, I can’t believe you!”
“You must believe me.”
He shook his head impatiently.
Vampire. It could really mean so many things. Someone who simply sucked the essence of life out of others. A tyrant of a husband, a shrew of a wife. A psychological vampire, stealing heart and soul.
A hemophiliac, physically needing blood.
An insane man or woman, believing he or she needed to drink blood to survive. Why not? Killers listened to voices, demon dogs who told them how and when to take a life. The world was full of madness. Bloodlust came in many guises.
And Maggie was eccentric, she had listened to one story too many ...
“All right. You say you’re a vampire. So is it your thirst for blood that has brought about these recent murders? Are you trying to tell me that you’re the killer, that you had to drink blood?” He shook his head. He loved her, and he knew the truth. “Maggie, I’ve seen the killer.” She shook her head impatiently. “Yes, you’ve seen the killer, and no, obviously, I’m not the killer.” She hesitated, looking down at her hands. “But you don’t want to accept the truth— even though you’ve seen it. You know that something isn’t right, that there’s something different about these killings, that blood doesn’t disappear. Vampires can and do exist, and I am one. And a long time ago, I did kill. When I—when I was first bitten, my father was desperate to keep me from becoming a heedless predator. He acquired blood for me from different places, he studied vampire lore, he learned. He bought blood from local doctors, the hospitals, even the morgue. I’ve chosen to ... well, in the last few years, I’ve relied on blood banks—and small mammals. Birds, upon occasion. I never wanted to kill. But I have done so.
Condemned men mostly. Once, I finished off a Yankee soldier who had been tainted with bad blood.” She hesitated. “Vampire blood. There are subtle degrees to vampire bites; some kill, some taint,” she murmured. “That particular man was going crazy. I wish I hadn’t had to kill even him. Of course, I did mean to kill that poor retarded child who was to hang—”
“What?” Sean snapped, remembering his father’s story. Was Maggie totally insane—or was he?
She shook her head. “Long time ago. I had a very good friend and her son was retarded and he was accused of an awful crime he didn’t commit. So—”
“You made him a vampire?” Sean said mockingly.
She shook her head. “I’ve never created another of my kind. We’re only allowed two per century—”
“Two per century,” he repeated, but she didn’t seem to realize that he was mocking the incredulity of her story.
“But I wouldn’t, you see. I’d never do this to anyone.”
“Why not? You seem to be doing well.”
“At the cost of my soul, Sean. I’d never do that to anyone else.” She was so grave. So straightforward. She thought she was telling the truth.
He just stared at her.
“I wouldn’t, Sean.”
“You were talking about the war,” he said harshly. “What war? There have been a number of wars throughout time, you know.”
“The Civil War,” she said with a sigh of aggravation. “And I killed the man who brought about the death of your ancestor, the other Sean,” she said on a whisper. “His name was Wynn, Colonel Wynn. What happened wasn’t really his fault, and I was sorry for him as well when I discovered what had happened.” She hesitated again and Sean realized that he was still just staring at her—very blankly. “Sean, there’s an evil vampire—”
“In contrast to a good blood-sucking vampire, right?” She sighed with great impatience. “Sean, believe it or not, most of us are like any other predator, man included. We have moved into our times, the last days before the millennium! Most vampires limit their blood intake to what’s absolutely necessary. There are those who are very old, and who have sickened of killing, who have learned that killing is what gets us killed in return. There are a number of my kind who have learned a way to subsist on the blood of lesser animals as well. Men eat meat, vampires eat the meat and drink the blood. Animals bred on ranches, sometimes other predators when they’re in abundance—”
“Is that what you do? Get your blood supply from killer ‘gators out in the bayou?”
“Don’t be absurd; I told you, I subsist on mammals. Reptiles are cold-blooded. They can stave off hunger for a while, but not fulfill it. And there are blood banks everywhere these days.”
“Oh,” he breathed. Oh, yes, so matter-of-fact!
She was losing her mind.
He loved her so much.
Suddenly, he drew her against him, rocking with her. “Maggie, listen to yourself. You’ve got to realize that what you’re saying is a delusion. It can’t be true. This is the real world. There are very bad men.
Yes, they are monsters—God knows, we have human monsters. They aren’t ghosts and vampires or werewolves, just monsters who are men, who are human beings. Maggie, I love you. You’ve got to know that. I love you so much. I know you believe this, but it can’t be true. We can talk to someone—”
“Sean, you came in here last night, searching under my bed! You’ve suspected something since you met me. Now, when I tell you the truth, explain what you’re questioning, what you’re seeing, you won’t believe me!”
He lowered his eyes quickly, not wanting her to see that her words had suddenly made him uneasy.
God, yes, he’d seen too much. And there was more. He’d been haunted far too often in the night lately.
He’d had so many strange dreams!
He’d dreamed about the Civil War.
He’d dreamed about the killer.
But he was a sane and rational man. He had to deny what she was saying, or someone would lock them both up and the killer would be free to go on an even greater death spree.
“Maggie, I can’t possibly—”
“Sean!” She took his face between her two hands, looking earnestly into his eyes. “This isn’t as absurd as it seems. Why not? Why can’t it be? Perhaps it’s like a disease, one we know nothing about. We pass it from one to another. I don’t think that any of us really knows exactly where or when it all began, but hundreds and hundreds of years ago, at the very least. Sean! Do you believe in a God, in a Supreme Being? Do you believe in goodness? If there is good, then there is evil, if a man’s soul can rise to heaven, it can also be trapped on earth. If there are angels, then there are devils. I am a vampire. There are others.”
“But, if such creatures were real, Maggie, the entire world would be peopled with vampires!” Sean proclaimed.
She shook her head, still trying so hard to sway him. “No. Because vampires can be killed. And because, like I told you, there are rules, there are laws. In ancient days, men did hunt us down, kill us, sometimes almost annihilate us. We’ve learned to co-exist, just as men co-exist with tigers, wild dogs, mountain lions. The rules among us are strict, so that we can survive. We’re not allowed to create more like ourselves more than twice during a century. If we did just strike out heedlessly, our numbers would have become so vast long ago that, as you said, there would have been something like a duel to the death— annihilation between humanity and ... and whatever we actually are! If we destroyed our food supply—that supply which so many of our number still crave too desperately to deny— we would all perish as well. Most of us live quietly. Some are more concerned in their choice of victims than others. I was telling you the truth before—that many of us exist, go about a day-to-day life, and no one ever knows what we are, because we have learned to live without killing humans. We’re not living in the past.