Chapter 11

HE WINCED AT his unintentional pun. "You think human DNA might revitalize your gene pool."

"Exactly." Volnar smiled as if pleased at his quick compre-hension. "Some of the elders consider it contamination, but I've overruled them. Including the ones who make derogatory re-marks about 'lap dogs pretending to be wolves.'"

Roger felt his chest tighten with anger. Though he wasn't sure he wanted to be a wolf, he didn't care for the proposed alter-native.

"Some of them," Volnar continued, "cite the fable of the Ugly Duckling, which they think ends on a note of unwarranted optimism.

What kind of a swan could the creature become, crippled by a barnyard fowl's conditioning?"

"Are you deliberately trying to goad me?"

"Only preparing you," Volnar said, "for the hostility you're sure to encounter sooner or later. Not that it's universal. Most of those who know about your existence either tentatively approve or are indifferent."

"The nay-sayers have a point," Roger said. "Do you happen to have read Mark Twain'sPudd'nhead Wilson?"

"Actually, no."

"Two boys are switched in infancy, half-brothers, the son of a slave woman and the son of the mistress of the house. When they reach adulthood and the truth is revealed, the young man who's grown up thinking himself a slave suddenly becomes the master's heir. One might expect a Cinderella conclusion, but that doesn't happen. The slave turned master proves utterly unfit for the station to which he was born."

"You don't have to apply that pessimistic tale to yourself. You've done better than that."

"Oh, have I? Not from my viewpoint." Roger took a deep breath, then coughed when he inhaled cigar smoke instead of fresh air.

"How can you stand that blasted thing?" He wondered whether the smoke was a test of his willingness to accept Vol-nar's domination. When he'd cleared his throat, he said, "What you've made me is a misfit among both vampires and my human peers."

"On the contrary, you've done remarkably well, considering how you were forced to 'flounder,'" Volnar said. "Not unlike Tarzan in Burroughs' novel, who, after being reared by apes, as an ape, taught himself to read and eventually functioned not only as a civilized man but as an aristocrat of the most civilized nation on earth."

"A pulp fantasy," Roger said. "Real-life feral children more often become mental and emotional cripples."

"That didn't happen to you, however," said Volnar, "so I suggest you stop wasting energy on resentment."

"But I haven't turned out like Tarzan. More like a badly socialized puppy."

"In what way?" said Volnar.

"Well, I understand that if you take a puppy away from its mother and litter mates too soon, it doesn't know how to behave like a dog. On the other hand, if you leave the separation too late, the pup can never fully adjust to life with a human master. Either way, you have a maladjusted dog."

"It's true that there are critical periods in our childhood and adolescence-times of imprinting, as with ducklings. The adaptability of young vampires is a double-edged weapon."

Roger stood up, too restless to hold still. "Sylvia has a fear of religious objects-that's the kind of thing you mean, don't you?"

"Yes. Her advisor was too lax. She was exposed to excessive human influences. She almost thought, in her mid-teens, that shewas human. Then she drifted the other way and picked up a cl.u.s.ter of absurd superst.i.tions about her nature." "Then I'm not the only child whose upbringing you people royally fouled up." He simmered with tension, half tempted to take a swing at Volnar just to discharge it.

"Learning how you've dealt with your highly specialized problems may help us avoid mistakes with future generations." Volnar rested the cigar in an ashtray and strode to Roger's side. "Don't let anger blind you to the possibilities, young man. This stage is only the beginning. The next is to breed you with a female of our species."

Roger jerked away from the elder's outstretched hand. "What? Do you think for one minute I'd consider that? Creating another child to suffer what I've gone through?"

"He or she wouldn't suffer the 'ident.i.ty crisis' you've had," Volnar said, walking over to pick up his unfinished cigar. "The child will know his or her nature and destiny from the start. I'll serve as its advisor myself."

"All the more reason why I'd run miles to avoid the whole thing."

"Nevertheless, I do expect you to consider it," Volnar said. "I've contacted a young woman, born in the 1880s, who has proven her fertility. She conceived more than once but miscarried each time. With you as the sire, perhaps a pregnancy might-"

"Not interested," Roger cut him off. "I can't condone any more of your d.a.m.ned experiments. And what makes you think this woman would accept being forced into mating with a-a halfbreed?"

"Not forced! Our women choose their own mates, subject to veto by the elders, to prevent inbreeding. I've already explained your background to her, and she is enthusiastic."

"She may like the idea of being a reproductive machine for you, but I don't!" He almost wanted to rush out of the room and drive away, but the need to learn as much as he could stopped him.

"Juliette doesn't fit that description in the least. She teaches English at the College of William and Mary in Virginia and writes historical romances under anom de plume -far from a mindless breeding machine. However, she does want a child, and her next estrus is due fairly soon. Think it over."

"I don't need to think," Roger said, baring his teeth. "I'm absolutely sure that I don't want to serve as sperm donor to a woman I've never met in support of a project I don't believe in."

Volnar said, "Aren't you curious, if nothing else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Many of our males live out their first thousand years-or more-without once being chosen to mate. This may be your single chance to experience fully consummated genital s.e.xuality."

The notion disturbed Roger, though he couldn't say why; he certainly felt no physical urge for the act Volnar alluded to. "You keep mentioning estrus, as if vampire females went into heat like-"

"Dogs? Wolves?" Volnar's lips quirked in amus.e.m.e.nt. "They do, and male vampires can consummate the s.e.xual act only when stimulated by a female in heat. Mating lasts through an entire night of repeated copulation. If an unwanted conception occurs, the woman can mentally compel her body to eject the embryo." He became more serious. "Not that this problem comes up very often anymore. We do need your genes, Roger. Your potential hybrid vigor."

"I don't want to discuss it." Suddenly he recalled his recent conversation with Sylvia and the heady scent she had begun to emit.

"Wait a minute-you wouldn't suggest that I breed with Sylvia, would you?"

"Certainly not. Did she invite you to?" At Roger's nod, Volnar said, "Mate with her recreationally, if you wish, but breeding isn't an option. She's too young for motherhood. The first estrus is almost always barren. And she is too young emotionally, as well. She's hardly out of adolescence."

"From the standpoint of knowledge and experience as a vampire," Roger said bitterly, "so am I."

"You have a half-brother who believes I've treated you abominably," Volnar said. "If I hadn't absolutely forbidden it, he would have intervened long ago to give you that knowledge."

Surprise at this new revelation sidetracked Roger from dwelling on his anger. "Sounds like an intelligent man. I want to meet him."

"You will, in good time. However, you've probably seen him without knowing it. I daresay you watch vampire movies?"

"And read the books," Roger said, "idiotic as most of them are. I hoped to get some sort of perspective on my-condition."

"Well, your brother is Claude Darvell, the actor."

Roger sank into the chair, felled by sheer astonishment. "The horror film star? Good Lord!"

"Not that I approve. Claude calls it a 'purloined letter lifestyle'-hide in plain sight. It could only work in a peculiar cultural climate like the present." Volnar shook his head. "He also speaks in a silly-a.s.s-Brit dialect like something out of P. G. Wodehouse; he claims it's his way of appearing harmless. Altogether, a thoroughly irritating young man."

To Roger, irritating Volnar sounded like a worthwhile pursuit. He approved of his half-brother, sight unseen. He conjured up a mental image of the Anglo-French actor he'd observed in several low-budget films-tall, lean, pale, dark-haired, sensual, like a cross between Lord Byron and a young Christopher Lee. No telling how much of that gaunt, broodingly handsome look came from makeup, of course.Probably a lot less than I ima-gined! "It never crossed my mind. The name isn't that uncom-mon." An unpleasant thought struck him. "Doesn't Sylvia know who Claude is? She must have suspected a relationship. Why didn't she say anything to me?"

"Because that would have betrayed his secrets without his permission. She's a wild young creature, but she does follow the basic rules. Now that I've given him permission, your brother will get in touch with you. The sibling tie is the most important family relationship we recognize, the only one that remains strong in adulthood."

Acid welled up in Roger's throat. "If it's so d.a.m.ned important, why didn't he get in touch with me a long time ago?"

"Because, as I told you, I forbade it. He's about two cen-turies older than you, but by our standards, that is still young. He knew better than to violate my orders."

Roger leaned back and closed his eyes. Emotional overload, combined with the smoke and too much brandy, gave him a stabbing headache.

Volnar surveyed him as if evaluating his condition and a.s.signing a grade of D-minus. "You're in worse shape than I realized. How often do you feed? From human donors, that is."

Roger evaded the older man's steady gaze. Did he have to be so confoundedly direct?

"Come, now, Roger, a physician shouldn't overreact to a simple diagnostic question. As your advisor, I have not only the right but the duty to ask."

"Every two or three weeks."

He had the dubious satisfaction of getting a reaction out of his advisor-outraged astonishment."Three weeks?" Volnar was actually speechless for a moment. Then he went on, "I withdraw my criticism of your behavior. It's surprising you are able to function at all. Even considering your mixed heritage, abstaining for that long is insane. I'd estimate that you need human blood at least once a week. What in blazes were you thinking of? If you can call it thinking."

"It seems obvious," Roger said stiffly, "that the lower the frequency, the less chance of exposure." "Up to a point, yes, until you run into the range of diminishing returns. Don't you see that your exaggerated caution may lead to a condition in which you couldn't help committing some reckless act? You are without a doubt the most thoroughgoing idiot I have ever had the misfortune to advise."

Volnar checked his harangue and added more calmly, "You defeated your own purpose. Moderation, young man, moderation."

He put the room key in his pocket. "Come along, we're going for a walk. Staying inside and watching you writhe in agony is an uncomfortable way of spending the night."

The suggestion appealed to Roger. Outdoors, the breeze would dissipate Volnar's cigar smoke. They took the stairs rather than the elevator and set out at a brisk pace up West Street away from Church Circle. They walked past restaurants, art galleries, and boutiques toward the more commercial section of town.

Volnar spoke in a low voice that would have been inaudible to human ears a few feet away. "You're ignorant of the risk you were taking. Vampires have been known to go mad from being too long deprived of human blood. In situations where sufficient animal prey is available to keep the body from falling into a protective coma-I've seen the results, and they are appalling."

"How was I to know?" said Roger impatiently. "How long is too long?"

"The optimum interval is forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Preferably no less often than twice a week, and even in your special case, certainly no less than once a week."

Easy enough to say, Roger reflected.Where does he expect me to get this endless supply of victims?

Volnar continued in a lecturing tone, "In addition to milk and blood, we require psychic energy-'life-force,' if you will. That is what makes frequent access to human prey essential. One could, of course, live entirely on human blood, but that would be wasteful and hazardous. If the physical need for bulk nourishment is supplied by the vital fluids of lower animals, the quant.i.ty taken from human donors can be quite small. Quality and frequency are more important."

Though Roger had figured out most of this on his own, he was glad to have his empirical findings confirmed. The information was of no help on a practical level, however, and he said so to Volnar.

"Your problem, young man," said Volnar, "is that you refuse to come to terms with what you are. You now have no excuse to deny that you are a vampire." Roger winced at the pulp-horror word. "You see, that's precisely my point. Your morbidly hyperactive conscience has flogged you into the belief that if you deny your nature most of the time, fulfilling its demands only when absolutely driven, you are somehow less guilty. Well, I intend to knock those spineless evasions out of you if it kills you."

"If I tried that kind of reality therapy on my own patients," Roger said, "I'd find myself up on malpractice charges."

"That's better," Volnar chuckled. "Now channel some of that fight in the proper direction. Your present behavior pattern is suicidal.

If you're that eager to die, at least do it in some way that doesn't endanger the rest of us."

"I don't want to die," Roger said. He realized that the state-ment was unequivocally true for the first time since he'd begun preying on human victims.

"Wonderful," said Volnar dryly. As they walked on in silence, he continued puffing on the cigar. After a while he said, "If you're serious about that resolve, begin by correcting the problem that is distracting you at this moment."

Embarra.s.sed, Roger avoided his piercing stare.

"You're doing it again," Volnar said. "What are you feeling right now?"

"Princ.i.p.ally annoyed with you." If, in the vampire subcul-ture, "advisor" was partially equivalent to "therapist," he had to put up with this prying. But he didn't have to pretend to like it. Besides, Volnar could doubtless read his emotions like large print. "Princ.i.p.ally?" said Volnar sharply.

"Why do you insist on my verbalizing it?" Roger demanded. "Do you get that much pleasure out of raking me over the coals?"

"It is not a pleasure at all. I do this because it's what you require. I'm trying to help you, you blasted idiot." His voice held no kindness; Volnar reminded Roger of certain doctors he'd known during his internship, who viewed both patients and medical students as unavoidable nuisances and feebleminded as well. Roger, to his mild surprise, found the edge of contempt in Volnar's tone bracing.

"All right, d.a.m.n you, I'm thirsty!" he burst out. Glancing around to see whether any other pedestrians were close enough to hear him, he lowered his voice. "And I wish you'd quit harping on the subject." He calmed himself and examined his sensations. "I shouldn't be; I fed only five nights ago. And the truth is, my system is so upset after what I saw tonight-and what Sandor threatened me with-that I'm not sure I could take the opportunity if it were offered."

"You will force yourself, then," said Volnar, discarding his cigarette. "I'm taking you out to dinner."

"You've had a destination in mind all along?"

"Certainly." They pa.s.sed the public library, set back from the street on a broad lawn, and turned into the residential streets behind it. "Earlier tonight, I spoke to one of the hotel's clerks going off duty. I determined that she lives alone and ordered her to leave her bedroom window open-none of which she consciously remembers, of course."

"You're going to take the chance of entering a house?"

"The donor will not wake. And if we exercise reasonable caution, neither will anyone else."

Roger thought the plan was riskier than anything he'd ever done, but his thirst left him in no mood to argue.

"I a.s.sure you, the risk will be negligible." Volnar stopped in front of an small box-shaped house with tall hedges and a red brick facade with white siding. "Can you do this?" he said in the same prison-yard whisper he'd used earlier. And he shadowed himself.

But in Volnar's case it would be more accurate to say he vanished. Even Roger, knowing where and how to look for him, perceived only a faint shimmer from his aura.

"Not that well," said Roger. He demonstrated his best effort.

"All right," said Volnar. "More than enough to deceive any casual pa.s.ser-by." He veiled himself again, as did Roger. They slipped behind the hedge and glided silently around the corner of the house. Roger followed the ghost of Volnar's presence, which became easier to detect with practice, to the rear of the property. Volnar prowled around the backyard, listening at windows and sniffing the air. Finally, dropping the invisibility, he stopped to push up a screen. The window itself, as predicted, was already open.

Roger still had doubts, but when Volnar climbed over the sill, he couldn't do much except follow. They were in the bedroom of a young woman barely out of her teens, clothes scattered on the floor, the bureau and dresser buried under mounds of cosmetics and magazines. Bookshelves near the open closet door held an a.s.sortment of stuffed animals, paperback romances, and trilogies of the Tolkien-clone type. The air was thick with cologne and powder, overlaying the muskily sweet perfume of the girl's body.

She lay curled on her side in a double bed, an extra pillow hugged to her chest. Long, black hair streamed over the sheets, lending her a romantic appearance that probably would have been dispelled in seconds if she'd awakened and spoken. But ap-parently Volnar didn't intend for that to happen. "Are you planning to-to take her asleep?" said Roger. "That's practically rape. When I have to do it this way, at least I wake them up first."

Volnar arched an eyebrow at him. "Is that how you appease your overactive conscience?" He p.r.o.nounced the last word like the name of a disease. "By deluding yourself that half-conscious partic.i.p.ation equals willingness? When you feed on your patients, they are in hypnotic trance, are they not?"

"Well-yes." On reflection Roger had to admit that there wasn't much difference from the victim's point of view. But for the predator-"You can't get much satisfaction from someone who's completely out of it." "One of the first sensible comments you've made," Volnar said. "The solution is simple, however. Inducing REM sleep is easy, and pa.s.sion experienced in a dream is no less intense than in a trance." He moved to the bedside and placed a hand on the girl's forehead. With a small sigh she turned on her back. Volnar stroked her hair and ran his fingers along the curve of her jaw. Roger noted the flicker of her eyelids that indicated the dreaming phase. To his heightened senses, the throb of her pulse made the air of the room vibrate. He watched Volnar turn the sheet down to her waist, revealing a low-cut cotton nightgown whose thin material didn't conceal the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the dark peaks of the nipples.