The Season of Passage

  Hold on. No one persecutes vampires. No one believes in them.

  Terry sat down on the stump and held onto his head. It did not seem to be working properly. All right, he had to back up and get his bearings. Point one - people did not believe in vampires. Why did he believe in them? Because of Jenny's story? Yeah, the girl had written a story about hobbits, and magic rings, and lizard monsters. He couldn't remember, though, anything about vampires in it. Had Chaneen been a vampire? No, Chaneen was Jenny. She was Lauren's sister. Where was Lauren, anyway?

  Terry got up again. He had to find Lauren. She could explain Jenny's story to him. He plucked the white rose from his pocket and set it on the stump. If she came back while he was gone, she would know he had been there. She had been kind enough to leave him the candle. He had decided to explore along the lake. Lauren always loved to go for walks along the lake. He took his gun with him. He

  remembered the major had told him it was hunting season.

  He reached the sandy shore and turned west, walking in the same steps he had taken with Lauren two years ago. He smiled to himself, feeling nostalgic. It seemed like only, yesterday. What a great line that was - only yesterday. He should use it in one of his books.

  The lake was a perfectly flat mirror for the gods above to use. The full moon had climbed high into the sky. He hoped it didn't fall down. The trees looked great in its supernatural light. He felt as if he was on Venus. Every step forward brought him a deepening sense of tranquility. He was looking forward to seeing Lauren again. She had a story she wanted to read him, a story that Jenny had written.

  Terry halted twenty yards from the stream. Sitting on the other side, on a smooth boulder, was a woman. She sat turned away from him, her hair long and black down the back of her white dress. She didn't notice him at first. He crept forward cautiously. Faint fear pricked the base of his neck. Something was wrong with him. He was not thinking clearly. He must have fallen off the wagon without realizing it. He was supposed to be in grave danger. He raised the gun in his hand. He remembered he had brought the shotgun for protection.

  What am I doing here? How did I get here?

  Yet he didn't want to shoot the woman. She had her back to him. She had made no move in his direction. And her head was bent over. She appeared to be crying. She sounded so sad. He wanted to weep with her. He wanted to comfort her. He didn't want to kill her.

  Terry stepped to the edge of the stream. 'Lauren?' he said.

  She stopped crying. She turned slowly toward him. Her eyes met his. She was beautiful beyond his fondest

  memory. Her hair was much longer, far thicker. It tumbled past her shoulders and touched the tops of her breasts swelling above her dress's low neckline. She looked like a princess in a fairy tale. For a long time she stared at him. , Then she smiled.

  'Terry,' she said.

  In a moment Terry was across the water and in her arms. He had left his gun behind. At last his head cleared, completely, he thought. He pressed his face to hers and their tears mingled together and washed like a stream past the valley of the shadow of their nightmares. He stroked her silky hair. She was back. She was safe. She was his again.

  'Shh,' he whispered. 'It's all right. Everything's fine. It's over.'

  'Jenny's dead,' Lauren said, still crying softly. 'She killed herself. Mark told me.' She paused, uncertain. 'I remember him telling me that. Is it true?'

  Terry held her at an arm's distance. Lauren was fine now, he could see that. But what about the curse? 'It is true,' he said. 'I'm sorry.' He added gently, 'Do you remember anything else Mark told you?'

  Lauren searched his face, and then turned away in confusion. 'Where have I been?' she asked. 'I remember kneeling beside a tombstone.' Tears rolled over her cheeks. 'It said, Jennifer Wagner, 1992-2005. But I thought it was only a dream, because I remember going to sleep. I was resting in my hibernaculum and Gary walked into the room and wished me goodnight and then I went to sleep.'

  Terry hugged her. At last he understood Jennifer's story. Chaneen's coming and sacrifice had been enough. The curse was no more. 'Do you remember your letter?' he asked.

  She squeezed his hand against her face. 'My letter?'

  'You wrote a letter.'

  'Did I?'

  'Don't you remember?'

  'No,' she said. 'I don't even know how I got here. I went to sleep. I had this dream. I was floating on a sea of ice. I was cold all the time. I was trying to get back here. That's all I wanted to do. But no one could help me. Then I woke up. I was on my knees, by Jenny's grave.' Lauren tilted her head toward the sky. 'And I looked up, and Mars was gone.'

  She remembered nothing since the possession had begun Perhaps she never would - he was never going to tell her about it. Once more, he was even beginning to forget about it himself.

  'You're home now,' he said. 'That's all that matters.'

  She stared at him with hope in her sad warm eyes. Then she nodded and leaned her head on his shoulder. 'I want to go to your cabin, Terry. Please take me there.'

  They let go of each other for a moment. Lauren reached behind the boulder and picked up a large red bag. It was woven of knotted string; she fitted it over her shoulder. She smiled shyly and gestured to her long white dress. He noticed for the first time how sheer the material was. In the light of the moon he was able to glimpse the outline of her sleek hips. She did not appear to be wearing anything underneath. She was trying to tell him the hem of the dress would get wet when she crossed the stream. He felt chivalrous. He stood and swept her up into his arms, something he had never done before. She was light. She snuggled close. He carried her to the other side and far beyond. The whole time she rested with her head against his beating heart, her eyes closed. She could have gone to sleep.

  Eventually he came to the stump in front of his cabin, where he had left the white rose. In the short time he had been gone, the flower had begun to blossom. It was late at night; it was a miracle. Lauren stirred and he set her down on her feet. She looked at the cabin, and a smile, both happy and wistful, touched her lips. Terry picked up the rose.

  'I brought this for you,' he said.

  A wave of sorrow brushed away her smile. 'Can we save it for later, and put it on Jenny's grave?'

  'Sure.' He set the rose back down and took Lauren's hand. They walked toward the cabin. At the porch he paused, noticing that the candle had gone out. It must have been the wind, he decided. It had begun to come up again, out of the east, dry and irritating. 'The candle went out,' he remarked.

  'You lit a candle for me?' Lauren asked softly.

  'In my heart. But there was someone here before me. It must have been Daniel...' Terry's voice trailed off. He was about to add something else. He remembered that the boy was not well.

  Lauren's smile returned. 'Sometimes when I was away, I worried that I would be forgotten. Forsaken in a way.'

  'I could never have forgotten you.' He passed through the open front door. But Lauren remained behind, on the porch, staring at the dark candle. 'Are you coming in?' he asked.

  She glanced up, her expression radiant. 'Can I?'

  'Of course.'

  Then, in the twinkling of an eye, she was in his arms again, inside the cabin now, kissing him, her breath wet and delicious. Terry slipped onto the couch and pulled her with him. She dropped her bag on the floor and it was forgotten. He went to turn on the lamp. She stopped him. There's no

  need, my love. The curtains were wide open. Outside the tall trees swayed in the rising wind. The moonbeams danced through the glass of the window, transforming the living room into a lagoon of tropical dreams, changing Lauren from a lost soul into a sensuous woman. Her skin seemed to shimmer in the silver light, inviting his touch, his love. She leaned close and kissed his throat, her hand probing gently underneath his shirt. She tugged at the hairs on his chest as the tip of her tongue slid over the base of his Adam's apple. Terry's own hands drifted. The nipples of her breasts swelled between his fingers. Yes, love me.

>   'I bought this couch for you,' he whispered. 'For Christmas.'

  Her eyes sparkled. 'You're sweet.' She sighed and pressed her wide-open mouth back over his lips, curling her tongue inside. Terry grasped her hair. He was falling through warm purple clouds.

  'Want to go in the bedroom?' he asked from a place far away.

  She teased. 'Do you?'

  'Yes.'

  She released him and smiled sweetly, sliding the low neckline of her dress back over the curve of her exposed breasts. 'You'd think you'd offer a girl a drink first,' she said.

  Terry chuckled. 'I'm afraid the cupboard's probably bare. But I'll go check.' He started to stand. She stopped him.

  'No,' she said. 'I have something here, something sweet.' She began to rummage in her bag.

  'Oh?'

  Lauren brought forth a half-filled bottle of French wine, and two champagne glasses. She placed the glasses on the coffee table, and pulled the cork in a swift motion. The

  popping cork made a moist, oddly obscene sound. A barely sensed, indefinable aroma touched the air.

  'We should have a toast, don't you think?' she asked. 'Yes?'

  Mildly curious, Terry took the bottle. He raised an eyebrow. He knew something about liquor - it was expensive grape juice. When was the last time he had drunk wine like this? It had been before he met Lauren, back in his youth. It was funny, but just holding the bottle reminded him of those days, in a very real way. He felt mildly stoned, and he hadn't even had a drink yet.

  'That would be fine,' he said. 'Where did you get this, Lauren?'

  'Lori,' she said.

  'Huh?'

  She grinned. 'Call me Lori. All my friends do.'

  He laughed. 'All your friends do. Very well, Lori, where did you get this wine? It's really special, this vintage.'

  Lauren took the bottle from him and poured two drinks, one large, one tiny. 'Ivan gave it to me.'

  'Ivan?'

  'One of my friends.' She handed him the big drink. 'This is for you.'

  'Thanks.' He took the glass absently. Who was Ivan? He could have sworn he knew that name from somewhere. Lauren raised her glass and tipped it against his. The crystal chimed like a miniature bell.

  'Cheers,' she said.

  Terry nodded at her glass. 'That much wine couldn't get a fly drunk.'

  'If you remember, I was never a big drinker.'

  Terry contemplated his glass. It was dark red. 'The way I remember it, you wouldn't even smell a glass of whiskey, or wine either.'

  'That's true.' She tipped her glass to his again. 'Cheers.'

  Terry smiled. 'You used to say alcohol was for bottling frogs, not for famous astronauts.'

  'I remember.' She put her drink to her lips.

  Terry poked her side playfully. 'What made you change your mind about us drunks?'

  'This is a special occasion.' She reached over and lightly pinched his groin. She added, 'Don't you want me well lubricated?'

  Terry's pants had become uncomfortably tight. He set down his glass on the coffee table. 'I'd better not. I've been laying off the booze. I had trouble with my stomach. My doctor told me I had to take care of myself.'

  'But I'm your doctor.'

  'No, I had another one. Oh, I suppose you're right.'

  'And I will take care of you. It's good wine. Very sweet. I'm sure you'll like it. I know you will like it.'

  He shrugged. 'Maybe later.'

  'But I'm thirsty now.'

  'But...'

  'Now,' she said. The word hung in the air like a guillotine.

  Terry glanced at her in surprise. 'Lauren?'

  'Lori.'

  'Why don't you have a glass of water?'

  'I love to love a man with the taste of wine in his mouth,' she murmured, a gleam in her eyes. 'You do want to love me, don't you?'

  Terry took her arm. He started to stand. 'Let's go into the bedroom.'

  Lauren pulled at his hand, firmly, and he was seated once again. The couch felt suddenly cramped. She held the full glass near his mouth. 'Drink,' she said.

  Terry began to feel uneasy. The red liquid rippled

  beneath his eyes, the tiny waves moving in slow motion. The wine was cold; he could actually feel the chill radiating from it.

  'Drink,' she whispered, pressing the wine against his lower lip. Her nails were pointed, seductively long. On one finger she wore the engagement ring he had given her, the three-carat diamond. On the other finger she wore a simple silver ring. The latter looked vaguely familiar. It had a wonderful shine.

  'Where did you get that ring?' he asked.

  Lauren withdrew the glass from his mouth and switched it into her other hand. She turned her attention to her ring finger. It hung limply, seemingly numb. Her entire hand, in fact, appeared heavy. 'I found it,' she said.

  'Where?'

  She studied him. A corner of her mouth curled up over her teeth. 'It hurts my finger. Could you take it off for me?'

  He nodded and took her hand in his. Then he paused, confused, his fingers on the ring. It was not the least bit tight. 'Where did you find this?' he repeated.

  'Why do you ask?'

  'I just... I want to know,' he stuttered. He was no longer floating on perfumed clouds. He was sitting by a roaring fire after an icy funeral, reading about the mystery of Man's origin. A cold fear, small but spreading swiftly, entered his mind.

  'Take it off and I will tell you,' she said.

  Reluctantly Terry began to ease the band over her knuckle. He was trembling. He had thought his head had cleared before. Why had it been cloudy? A disturbing question. There were others. He was sitting only ten feet from where he had first read Jennifer's story. It was coming back fast. Janier had taken Chaneen's ring to Mars. Lauren had gone to Mars. Now she had a ring of her own.

  'If it hurts so much, why didn't you take it off before?' he asked.

  She locked his gaze with her own. It was as if her eyes became a single fathomless pupil. 'You will do as I say, Terry.'

  He tried to joke. His voice cracked. 'I think the silver suits you.'

  'But it's uncomfortable. It pains me.'

  'Then take it off yourself.' He hastily removed her hand from his lap. The wineglass in her other hand splashed. Had a drop spilled on her white dress? There was a red stain near her right breast. Yet the stain appeared dry. It...

  Oh, God.

  It was a bloodstain.

  Michael.

  Terry knew the meaning of terror.

  'You seem fascinated by this silly ring,' Lauren said. 'Tell me, why is that, Terry?'

  He shook his head and turned away. Please, Jesus, no. The ring was Chaneen's. Naturally Lauren couldn't remove it. She was still a vampire. He had been tricked into inviting her inside his house.

  'Ahh.' Lauren nodded, reading his thoughts. 'Look at me.' He did so. He had to. It was as if he had no will of his own to resist. 'Do you find me desirable?'

  Her dress had slipped back off her shoulder, off her breast. An erect nipple peeked over the material.

  He knew what the situation was. But suddenly all he could think of was sex. And all he had to do was give the word. Yes, Lori, let's make love. Sweat dripped from his hair, thick with salt. It stung his eyes. He shivered amidst the many dark fires that began to burn inside him.

  'Yes,' he croaked.

  'You want me to love you,' she said mischievously,

  stroking his crotch with her free hand. 'And look, you're all prepared to love me.'

  'No.'

  'Yes. Beautiful, so beautiful.' She sighed and began to unzip his pants. She reached inside. There wasn't a lot of room. She pinched the tip of his penis, again and again. His pleasure was only outweighed by his pain. He couldn't burst. It wasn't permitted. Not until you decide, lover. That was the proposition.

  'You know,' she continued. 'I've been wearing this silly ring for a long time. It can always wait. But you're thirsty. You're hot. You need a cool drink.' Again she touched the glass to his lips. Saliva col
lected in his mouth. The wine smelled like an ambrosia a hedonist would order before the Grim Reaper came for him. 'Go ahead,' she crooned. 'Just a little sip. And I promise I'll give you a long...' She squeezed his penis and licked her lips. 'You know.'

  'What is in this wine?' he panted.

  She continued to caress him even as her eyes bored into his soul. 'Just a little sip and you'll see. It's such a small thing.' She leaned over and whispered in his ear. 'Then I'll be yours forever.'

  'But you're a...' He could not get the word out. It didn't catch in his throat, though. It caught lower. All he could think of was down there, where the nasty kids played.

  'I'm your lover,' she said. 'Drink. Now.'

  'Go ahead, Janier, and I will let you go. It's such a small thing.'

  'No!' he cried, shoving her hand away. It was another trick. She was a liar. She was evil.

  'No?' she asked, mocking.

  He turned away and zipped up his pants. 'I've got to go, Lauren,' he mumbled. He tried to stand. She held him on the couch with one finger.

  'Of course you don't want to leave. Surely you know you can't.'

  He swallowed. 'I have to.'

  She shook her head. 'I'm sorry.'

  'But I have decided to go,' he said, pleading.

  She threw back her head and laughed, coarse and throaty. 'You have decided. I'm afraid leaving is not one of your choices. Indeed, your choices are rapidly dwindling. Fool! With your rosary around your neck. Do you know who/am?'

  Terry froze. He didn't want to get into an argument with her. He had no magical powers. He was not Chaneen. He didn't even have his gun with him. He was doomed.

  Still chuckling, she reached a powerful hand under his shirt and grabbed his rosary. She twisted the beads slowly tighter until he was choking.

  'You will be my lover, if only for tonight,' she said. 'Your seed is necessary - the same seed as before, alive but slipping into sweetness.' She tugged at the rosary. He was yanked forward and his air was completely cut off. 'Yes?'