HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

Ailsa shook her head again. “Kurt, please. Do not do this. His money is not worth your death.” She stroked his beared cheek, he could feel her fingers trembling. “He will do worse than kill you.”

Worse than kill him? That made absolutely no sense. “Ailsa, it’ll be all right.” He wiped her tears away with a gentle finger, trailing a finger along the edge of her jaw. “Ailsa...”

“Kurt, please, do not do this.” Her words came out in a desperate pleading rush. “The Master will change you into something wicked, evil. He—“

Kurt Varick silenced her with a kiss. The Master? Her excuses were getting downright bizarre. Kurt took an abrupt step back, let go of her. “Tomorrow night, Ailsa.” The gentleness was gone from his voice.

She slipped her dark blue cardigan back on, then buttoned up her overcoat, nodding mutely, knowing that after tomorrow night Kurt Varick would be no more. This sable-haired blue-eyed man would become the Master’s to do with as he wished.

Ailsa Haines gathered up her packages and hurriedly left his apartment and got into the old black Studebaker. The Master shunned the daylight but with the coming of winter, the days were getting shorter. Already, it was neary twilight. She had to hurry. But even so, she was late.

“Where have you been, Ailsa?” Dorian Thayer’s low voice was silky smooth. “I am famished.”

Ailsa forced herself not to shiver. “Forgive me, Master. Traffic was horrendous. I shall have your meal shortly.”

“See that you do,” snapped Thayer, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. He strode past the dining room to his study, aggravated that she was lying. Where had she gone? He poured himself a drink, let the dark red liquid slide coolly down his throat. He set the empty glass down, then sprawled across an emerald-green sofa and stared into the flickering flames in the fireplace.

This was not the first time Ailsa had lied about why she was late. Granted, the city was progressive but traffic wasn’t that bad. He glared into the flames. Six times now since the summer solstice. His dark eyes narrowed. That was unacceptable. Something had to be done.

Ailsa stepped into the room, hesitantly, sparing him a fearful glance. He could have been a marble statue, sitting there, his skin pale, his hair deep black. The billowy black silk shirt and skintight black jeans emphasized his paleness. The high cheekbones, square jaw, piercing dark eyes. It was the eyes that frightened her. “Master, your evening meal is ready.”

Dorian nodded slowly. “Very well.” He got to his feet. Tall and lean, he towered over the more petite Ailsa. She was flushed, he noted. He reached out a pale cold hand and brushed her cheek ever so lightly, then scraped his thumb roughly over her lips. Her lips were slightly swollen as if from kisses. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed a handful of her hair. He yanked her close to him as he realized the obvious. She had a lover. “Do not be late again,” he ordered harshly.

She shuddered and he let her go. “Yes, Master.”

“Now be gone,” he told her, waiting until she left before striding to the dining table to survey what she’d set out. A silver goblet sat there, beside covered plate. It was perfect as always. A slow smile came to his face and he sat down, then he frowned. Good help was so hard to fine nowadays.

*****

No sooner had Ailsa left, he’d dressed and left the apartment as well. He had everything he needed for tomorrow tonight except fresh batteries for his flashlight. Kurt Varick locked up the apartment and hurried down three flights of stairs and outside. He turned up the collar of his second-hand coat. It was cold here, he thought, wishing for a warmer climate, maybe the Caribbean or Brazil. A face flashed in his mind. Even Egypt sounded good right now.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him to eat supper. He decided to eat at the Manuc. He would pass it on the way to the hardware store. He ducked into the lobby of the inn and headed straight for the old cafe-style restaurant. After sitting down, he told the tall, slender brunette waitress he’d have the day’s special—a steaming bowl of hearty stew and warm crusty bread. Then he saw her.

She was wearing a body-skimming sweater dress that barely reached mid-thigh. The deep black seemed to make her skin and hair brighter. She’d cut her hair, he realized with a shock. Instead of it being to her waist, it hung just past her shoulders. Then he saw who she was with and wave of hot, intense jealousy swept over him.

“Why, Kurt darling, I didn’t know you came here.”

He held back a groan. He didn’t need this—her—not now. Kurt turned around to see the lovely daughter of the British ambassador. “Hello, Miranda,” he said as politely as he could.

Miranda tossed a lock of rich brown hair over her shoulder. “Papa wishes to see you soonest.”

Kurt didn’t quite sigh. Percival Berkeley-Smythe was a bore. “What about?”

Miranda lifted one bare shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I haven’t a clue.”

Kurt took a deep breath. “I’ll see him tomorrow.”

Miranda sat down beside him and leaned on the table, causing the strapless dress to reveal more than Kurt cared to see. It wasn’t that Miranda wasn’t gorgeous, or built like a model, with long rangy legs and shapely curves—some of which was about to spill out of her tight sheath dress. It was her spoiled-brat attitude that turned him off. Miranda started twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers. “Kurt, you haven’t been answering your phone,” she said, her crimson lips in a pout.

Thank God for whoever invented answering machines. Where the hell was his food anyway? “Been busy.”

The look Miranda shot him made him wonder if maybe she wasn’t as ditzy as he’d thought. “Papa hasn’t seen you all day.”

“I have a personal life, Miranda.”

“It’s that little twit of a housekeeper, isn’t it,” snapped Miranda, her hazel eyes blazing. “Why you son of a—“

“Watch it, Miranda. I wouldn’t think Papa would want you to cause a scene.” How the hell did he get so damn lucky?

“Scene?” whispered Miranda. “I’ll cause a scene you won’t believe. You have a job because of me, damn it.”

Oh, sure—bring that up. “I’m forever grateful.” Kurt nodded as his food came. Maybe now she would leave. He took a sip of tea. “But not that grateful.”

Miranda shot to her feet. “You just lost that job.”

He intended to quit soon anyway. “Fine,” he said around a mouthful of bread and butter. Then he grinned. “You can’t fire me.”

“What?”

“Your papa has to fire me. You would have to tell him why I should be fired. And why is it I should be fired, Miranda?”

“Ooohh—“ Miranda whirled around. And slammed into the waitress. The tray full of half-full beverage glasses flew into the air as the waitress and Miranda crashed to the floor. Water, diluted sodas, even coffee cascaded all over the two women.

Miranda got to her feet, angry. Her hair was a soggy mess and her dress stained and wet. She shot Kurt a laugh-and-I’ll-kill-you look, then stalked away.

Kurt bit his tongue to keep from smiling. He helped the waitress to her feet. “Are you all right?” he asked.

The girl muttered something in Romanian under her breath as she began picking up the glasses and napkins. “Thank you for asking but you really do not wish to know.”

Kurt nodded. He knew that feeling.

*****

“Chad, did you see that?” Cassandra shook her head. “How embarrassing.”

“Indeed.” Chad sipped his wine, trying to remember why the dark-haired girl in the silk dress had looked so familiar.

Casi turned back to her meal but took one last look at the man the girl had been arguing with. He had dark hair, a beard and blue eyes. She knew she had never met the man before yet he seemed so familiar even down to the smirk on his face.

“Cassandra? Something wrong?”

“Not at all.” Casi sighed,unable to shake the odd feeling she knew that man. She finished off her stew. “That was delicious. Bucharesti is beautiful, Chad,” she added, realizing as her mind flashed back to the tour they’d taken earlier, that this trip was starting out much better than she’d expected. “Thank you for a wonderful birthday present, Chad.”

“You’re most welcome.”

They continued chatting through the rest of the meal and dessert. Standing in the lobby, Casi gazed longingly out at the night. Now would be the perfect time to explore. “Let’s take a walk.”

Chad rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Cassandra, I’m tired.”

“I’ll be in plain sight of the doorman.” She reached up and patted his hand. “I’m wide awake, Chad. It’ll be just a few minutes.”

Slowly, he let go of her shoulder. “All right.” He walked off towards the stairs, reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder several times. Casi waved at him and walked outside.

The doorman half-bowed to her. “Quite chilly tonight, madame.”

“Just getting a breath of fresh air.” Casi soaked up the ambience of the old city. She took a deep breath, let the cold air invade her lungs and chill her bones. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She could see torches in place of streetlights, horses and carriages instead of cars. The background noise faded into silence. She could almost smell the acrid scent of burning torches, hear the clip-clop of horse’s hooves, the clatter of wooden carriage wheels on cobblestones....Then he walked into her vision. Tall, raven-haired, piercing eyes, broad shoulders. He was dressed completely in black, a cape with a bloodred satin lining the only color. He moved smoothly, impossibly fast to stand in front of her. “My love, I’ve missed you,” came his deep, carassing voice. He ducked his head to kiss her.

Cassandra sucked in a breath and opened her eyes to banish the vision—and him. With a roar of noise the sounds of cars and horns exploded around her. Different scents assailed her nostrils—car exhaust, late-blooming flowers. Everything seemed back to normal until she glanced across the street. He was there, staring fixedly at her, his cape snapping in the sudden gust of wind. A person could get lost in those compelling dark eyes. Without thinking, she stepped off the curb---

“Madame, look out!”

The doorman took her arm and pulled her back just as a truck lumbered by. Cassandra stumbled and shook her head to clear it. When she looked across the street, he was gone. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly, nodding to the doorman. It gradually dawned on her she’d nearly been killed. What an ironic way to go after all she’d been through. Casi took a deep, steadying breath and wondered if it had been her imagination—all of it. “Did you see him?” she asked the doorman.

The doorman nodded. “Nothing but a wraith, madame. He appears now and then like the ghost he is.”

Casi wasn’t sure how she liked that answer. “But you saw him.”

He nodded again. “Most people do late at night. Perhaps, madame, you should be going in now.”

“Yes, yes. That would be a good idea, wouldn’t it.” Casi started for the hotel entrance, then glance over her shoulder. The road was quiet again, the other sidewalk empty. He hadn’t looked like a ghost.

“Aubrey...” whispered Dorian Thayer, pain in his voice. He stood rigidly still, behind the tree, yet still able to watch her enter the Hanul Manuc. He swallowed hard at the sudden soul-searing ache. “Aubrey...come back.” He took a step forward, reaching out. Then he remembered. Aubrey Collins had died five hundred years ago. Yet she stood before him, alive and whole. A mirror image of his beloved Aubrey had returned to him. Dorian clenched his long pale hands into fists. She would be his again. He pulled the cape around him and using the darkness, disappeared into the night, his path now certain....

*****

Casi stopped on the stairs, just out of sight of both the doorman and the desk clerk. A frission of fear swept over. She hadn’t heard the truck. She should have heard the truck. She continued up the stairs and stopped at Chad’s door which was across the hall from hers. “Chad,” she called softly. “You still up?”

He didn’t answer, so she tapped on his door. “Chad?”

Frowning, Casi tried the knob, surprised when the door swung open. His bedside lamp was on, casting a dim gold glow over Chad, propped up in bed sound asleep. A property assessment book for London, Third Quarter, 2002 lay open on his lap, a pair of wire-framed glasses dangling from lax fingers. Casi smiled. She quietly closed the heavy, oversized book and set it on the nightstand. She gently took the glasses, folded them and placed them on top of the book. That’s when she saw it.

A small square black box, small enough to fit in her palm. She ran a finger over the flocked surface, then picked up the box. Slowly, she opened the hinged, domed lid. Tucked into the black velvet was a gleaming diamond solitaire. Something squeezed her chest and Casi felt her throat tighten. Very carefully, she closed the lid and set the box back in it’s spot on the nightstand. She quietly left Chad’s room and silently pulled his door shut.

She hurried over to her room and ducked inside, shutting the door behind her. She fell against the closed door and let the breath she’d been holding out in a sob. Oh shit—she shouldn’t have come...

*****

28 October 2003

Bucaresti, Romania

10:02 pm

The night was dark and he saw more of his reflection in the window than the city outside. He downed the last of the brandy in his glass and closed the heavy drapes. He turned around and headed across the small apartment to the kitchen area to get another drink. Seeing her had unsettled him more than he ever thought it would and that wasn’t a good thing right now.

He reached for the decanter of wine, then realized the last thing he needed to do was get drunk, so he decided to fix himself a cup of tea. He heated a mug full of water with a teabag in the microwave, then as he got the mug out, he nearly dropped it as realization dawned. Oh damn, she had him drinking tea now. He added a generous amount of sugar and milk, like he did with coffee.

Kurt sat down at the small dining table and stared down into his tea. The milky pale liquid was a few shades lighter than her gold-brown eyes. Tiger eyes, he thought, remembering Kenya, that night. God, he still remembered the bruise from walking into a tree. Such an idiot, he’d been oogling a certain redhead’s backside and not watching where he was going—and bam! Instant migraine. Jody was right. It was funny....now, he added, touching the faint white scar, now hidden by the dark hair.

He absently took a sip of tea and almost scalded his tongue. He groaned. Ailsa’s bizarre fears, Miranda’s little snit at the restaurant, seeing her, now this. Kurt glanced at the watch on his arm. Another two hours and this fateful day would be over.

The soft knock startled him. Kurt left the table and went to open the door. His eyes widened. “Ailsa!”

“Kurt, I could not stay away.” She stepped inside and shoved the door closed with her high-heeled black pump.

Kurt took a step back, puzzled. Something was different about her. She hadn’t been wearing those shoes or that coat. “Ailsa...now is not the time—“

She shed her black wool coat and his voice faded. She was wearing nothing but a sheer lace bra and bikini—the black lace standing out against her pale, slick skin. Before he could say another word, she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder. She was ice-cold, he noticed uneasily. Ice-cold and clammy. Something was wrong. “Ailsa,” he began, gently trying to pry her off of him. “It was foolish to come over here...dressed like...that. You could have caught a cold or—

His mind went blank as he felt a searing, piercing pain at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Stunned by the pain, it took him a heartbeat to realize what was happening. “No,” he said hoarsely, feeling fire race through his veins in a frightningly familiar sensation. He tried to pull her off of him but suddenly she was stronger. “Vampires...don’t...exist,” he heard himself mutter through a haze.

His heartbeat sounded loud in his ears and slow—too slow, as she stepped back. Blood covered her lips and chin—his blood. He collapsed to his knees as his stomach lurched, threatening to get rid of his supper and the brandy. His neck was throbbing as dizziness brought on vertigo. For a second, Ailsa looked like someone else and it scared him. He found it hard to breath. “Why--?” he tried to ask, tried to make his eyes focus but blackness crowded his vision. He thought he saw Ailsa stagger and slump to the floor, lifeless, thought he saw the apartment door start to open—then everything faded to black.

*****

29 October 2003

Bucaresti, Romania

6:03 am

Cassandra MacFairlaigne watched the sun rise above the old buildings. Then she changed out of the silk nightgown into a fleece tunic and thermal leggings, both a faded indigo, and tan suede hiking boots. She ran a brush through her hair that reached just past her shoulder blades now instead of all the way to her waist, and left the room.

She passed the restaurant and exited the hotel. Normally, when she needed to clear her head, she had access to her car and an extensive knowledge of all the back roads around Cape Cod. No such chance of doing that here. Once outside, Casi turned to the right and started walking, not really paying attention to street signs or even direction.

Oh God, she shouldn’t have come. Usually, she could read Chad like a billboard. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? She watched her boots as she strode over the cobblestone streets. She should have listened to her conscience and said no. Another thought crossed her mind. And what if Joe was there right now in Provincetown wondering where the hell she was. It was getting even worse.

Casi took a deep shakey breath. She didn’t want to hurt Chad. She folded her arms across her chest and hunched her shoulders forward as she walked. But she couldn’t marry Chad. Not when Joe had promised to come back to her, not when he finally admitted that he loved her. Tears leaked from her eyes and she shuddered. Honest to God, she had never meant for it to get this far. “I’m sorry, Chad,” she whispered. “So sorry.” She shivered again and realized she’d forgotten her coat. But she didn’t want to go back. What if he was awake? How could she tell him no before he even proposed.

Suddenly, she felt a weight settle on her shoulders. It was warm and scented with a clean brisk scent that was a mixture of maleness and a light cologne. Startled, her head jerked up and she found herself staring into piercing blue eyes.

“You looked cold.” The stranger from the restaurant last night adjusted the wool coat around her shoulders. Then he noticed the tears and his voice softened. “Are you okay?”

“I---“ Her voice broke and she shook her head.

The stranger touched her cheek with a gentle, almost familiar hand, raising her face to his. “Want to talk?”

Her tear-filled eyes met his for a long moment, then flicked to his dark hair, his beard. Realization swept over her and she hurriedly stepped back away from him. “I---I’d better go.”

“You’re pretty far from the inn.”

“I—“ This time, she looked around her, at the buildings, the signs all unfamiliar. “Damn.”

He smiled and a strangely familiar warmth shot through her. “I’ll walk you back,” he offered.

“No. I....can’t go back there right now. Actually...I’m hungry.”

“I know the perfect place.” He held out a hand to her.

Casi stared at his callused hand, then lifted her eyes to search his face. “What’s your name?”

“Kurt Varick,” he said, making a slight bow.

She hesitantly placed her hand in his. It felt so...right somehow. “Casi MacFairlaigne.”

He shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Casi stared at their joined hands and felt an ache in her soul. “Same here.” She told herself to look at his face. “You don’t look like a Kurt,” she blurted out.

He whipped his head around to look at her. “Excuse me?”

She ducked her head, embarrassed. “Kurt is a variation of Conrad. Conrad means ‘honest counselor’.”

He arched a dark eyebrow, his expression puzzled. “What? I don’t look honest or like a counselor?”

Casi managed a weak laugh. “Definitely not a counselor.” She swallowed hard, studying him and embarrassed to be doing so with a total stranger. “You look strong, dangerous.”

He grunted. “Really.” His tone bordered on sarcastic. “Come on.” He led the way to a small cafe’ nestled in an alleyway. “Viola.”

“Nice.”

He nodded and made his way to a table.He held her chair for her, then sat down acroos from her. When the waiter came, Kurt ordered for both of them. “I always work better on a full stomach.”

“Me too. What do you do?” Casi decided to ignore the fact he’d ordered scrambled eggs, biscuits and sausage with juice—her usual eating-out breakfast.

“Grunt work at the British Embassy.”

“You’re not British—or Romanian.”

“You’re very perceptive.”

Casi shrugged as the waiter brought his coffee and her fruit juice. How had he known she didn’t drink coffee? “Force of habit. So where are you from?”

He added sugar and cream to his coffee until was pale brown. “I doubt you’d know of it, little place at the tip of the Cape.” He took a careful sip of coffee. “Of course, I didn’t stay there. At eighteen, I left, moved around.” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Kenya, Hong Kong, New York, Ireland, Egypt...”

Cassandra gave a start, knocking over her juice. “Damn.”

A waitress came over to clean up the spill. Casi wiped her hands on her napkin but kept her eyes on his face. There was that smirk again—just for an instant. “How odd.” The waiter brought a fresh glass of juice and she thanked him.

“Odd?”

“I’ve been to all those places. Funny that we never ran into each other before.” She had a very sneaking suspicion but it was just too crazy, impossible even.

His blue eyes darkened for a moment. “That is odd. Of course it is a big world out there.”

The waiter brought their food and Kurt began eating with gusto. He smiled at her and nodded to her plate. “Eat up.”

Casi picked up her fork, ready to stab a sausage, then set the fork down. “Tell me, Kurt, do you have any brothers?”

He sat back and grinned. “Funny you should ask that. Are you fishing for their names to see if they fit them?”

Casi found she wasn’t all that hungry anymore. Why the hell would he be here? Now? “I have this thing about people’s names,” she said, trying to sound casual about it.

“Okay. Daniel and Sullivan. I’ve always thought it should be Gilbert and Sullivan but my parents frowned on that.”

Casi narrowed her eyes. Daniel was his younger brother’s middle name. Was Sullivan Jonathon’s middle name? Was it possible? “I see. That would have been embarrassing for....Danny boy,” she added the last as a test. If he responded to it, then it was him.

His grin widened. “He always hated that name.”

Casi sucked in a hard breath. It was him. “So why were you staring at me in the restaurant last night?”

“You were the most beautiful woman there.”

“What about...Bulgaria?”

He gave her an odd look. “You must be psychic. Or did you see me there?”

“I’ve never been there.”

“Pity that. Nice place to visit.”

Casi felt unsettled. Maybe she was wrong. If Kurt had started traveling at eighteen, it was reasonable he’d been to all those places. Maybe he was just a drifter working odd jobs wherever he was.

“The food is really delicious. Eat up.”

“I....can’t. I guess I’m not that hungry after all.” She pushed her plate away, untouched. “Can you take me back to the inn?”

“After breakfast.”

“No. Please, now.”

Kurt studied her for a long moment. “Okay. Now.”

Casi managed a smile and realized what her problem was. She’d wanted it so badly for it to be him. The fact that it wasn’t had dashed her hopes. That meant Joe was probably in Provincetown, thinking she’d walked out on him this time. She watched Kurt turn his head to signal for the check and what she saw made her gasp. Two small puncture wounds were just above the line of his collar bone and had been hidden by his shirt collar. The rims of the small holes looked raw and pink while crusted reddish brown blood covered the centers. “Vampires don’t exist,” she whispered on an exhaled breath.

Kurt snapped his head around to look at her. “What did you say?”

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.