Anne Brontë Nightwalker

Chapter 36

Vander and William are silent. I search William's face, but he is looking into the fire, and I cannot read his gaze.

So much for his captive dove. Vulture is more like it.

"At first, I was free from the sun's harm," I say. "I survived an entire rotation of the moon moving about in full sunlight. A Day Walker. But as time passed, dawn came on brighter and more harshly until eventually it was stolen from me entirely."

Vander looks shocked.

"I thought my initial light tolerance was because I was new. My tolerance has grown weaker and weaker with time. I knew no other of my kind to share my experience with. I ran far and fast from Branwell and he never found me. It was perfect exile, absolute isolation. But now I wonder if my solar tolerance came not from my youth, but from the girl. I had taken her at the very moment of menarche, when the potential for life is quickening, manifesting itself in a physical way. Perhaps this is from where my strength came."

"Your solar intolerance stems partly from your weakness," Vander says. "You have not taken a life in years and your immunity is low. The more life we take, the stronger we are, but still I thought there was not enough blood in the world to make one a . . . what did you call it . . . Day Walker? My God." Vander stands from the table and begins pacing. "But, you, Anne are proof! A month is an outrageous time for our kind to experience the sun. I have never known anyone to survive more than a few hours and that was at their strongest and they were scarred and ravaged for the rest of their days, which is the price one pays for crossing a Vanderbilt!"

William and I both tense.

Vander catches himself. "Forgive me. It was a long time ago, but I too have had a trying experience with my maker. I may not be a great fighter, but I have other means. Needless to say, he paid for his ignorance." Vander wags a finger in the air to no one in particular. "Don't ever fuck with a Vanderbilt."

"Maybe this Night Walker unknowingly stumbled upon the mystery as Anne did," William says. "He's trying to reenact the kill by choosing young, virgin females."

"Yes," said Anne. "But it's not their virginity that grants him immunity and makes him a Day Walker. It's their quickening."

"And how would he know when that time would come unless he captured young children and held them for months or for years?"

"And even then, how would he know when to feed? He may not have put the puzzle together. I never would have if we hadn't had this discussion. On the rare occasions I've seen others of my kind, deep conversation wasn't on the agenda. Especially not with the Alphas. They're too territorial. Dominant. There is room only for one."

Vander gives me an arch look. "For someone who has known few vampires, you certainly have entrenched ideas about them."

"Please don't use that word," I say. "It's so distasteful."

'"Vampire'?"

I nod with a grimace.

"Would you prefer Nosferatu?"

"That sounds like a bad movie."

"Yet we have more in common with the vampire bat than any other creature in nature."

"We don't have wings and hang upside down to sleep, nor do we live in colonies."

"And yet we both survive exclusively on blood."

"Perhaps," William interrupts, "our killer is just as in the dark as you were all these years, Anne."

"Well, if this is the case he will keep feeding upon young women," Vander says. "There will be no end. He must be stopped."

"But how?" I throw my hands up in frustration.

Vander stands and stokes the fire, musing. "He has his weakness. Stoker got some of it right. We may not turn into animals or mist or control the weather, but we are not without resources. We heal faster and live longer, but, thank God, we are not immortal. These days, enough firepower exists in the world to fatally wound him. We need no longer fight with swords and clubs."

"Santos," I say. "He might have the firepower to stop him."

"Yes," says Vander, "but not the speed or strength."

"Or the patience." William suddenly stands. "Swords, however old fashioned, are not a bad place to begin. Vander, didn't you say once that every civilized man should be proficient in at least one weapon, regardless of his occupation?"

"I do believe I did." Vander smiles and with a glint in his eye, turns to me. "Anne, my dear, what is your weapon of choice?"

I give him an incredulous look. He raises an eyebrow, as if to say, Yes? I am waiting. "I am a healer. A nurse and paramedic. I strive to curtail injury, not create it. After all the wars I've witnessed . . ." I wave my hand, as if I can bat away the entire idea. "Fighting is not in my nature."

"A weakness we must remedy," Vander says.

"What need do I have for it? You don't honestly imagine I'll get into a sword fight with a Day Walker?" I laugh at the thought.

"One never knows, my dear, and at the very least, training will help build your strength and confidence. Only the strong can protect the weak. I have an extensive collection of weapons. You may take your choice. Katanas, naginatas, tantos, sai, Malaysian throwing knives, German daggers, AR15s, Uzis . . ." I wrinkle my nose in distaste. "Yes, too crude," Vander agrees. "What am I thinking?" He stills, illuminated by an idea. "How about the bow and arrow? You can be Asheville's Katniss Everdeen."

"Who?" I ask, bewildered.

William comes close to me and places a finger on my chin, tilting my face up to his. His eyes are the color of a darkened dawn, that time of greatest longing for me, when I sense the sun slowly coming, feel its softening of the world, the orange and lavender of the sky about to bloom, yet am forced to retreat before I can steal even a glimpse. He is that glimpse. His pupils expand as he looks at me as if they are soaking me in. For a second I fear he'll kiss me right here before Vander. I feel my face grow hot and almost wish for my anemic coolness.

"I know the perfect weapon," he whispers. "Elegant and deadly." His voice transfixes me, unfastening my resistance. William still wants me. I feel it. I killed a girl and he still wants me. He releases me, but not before quickly running his eyes down my body as if gauging my suitability. Then he pivots and strides toward the bookshelves. Reaching out, his finger alights on Les Trois Mousquetaires and tilts it back.

A broad segment of bookcase glides away, revealing a hidden room. Instead of books, weapons line the walls, gleaming and glinting in silver and steel and gunmetal grey, carved and etched, handles wrapped in leather, or, waiting to be held bare and cool in one's hand.

William picks one up. With a flourish, he whisks a slender sword into the air and takes a fencing stance. A graceful aggression. His body holds the posture as if he's done this all his life. "With your superior speed and strength, Anne, this might one day come in handy."

"My strength is nothing compared to an Alpha's," I say.

"Then we must work on your skill."