COME UNDONE
by
PiperMerlyn
Chapter 34
The Chapters
30 October 2003
Bucaresti, Romania
4:21 pm
The sun was sliding slowly toward the horizon, the red-gold spilling across the modern and ancient buildings below, spilling into the windows, cascading across the well-worn parquet floor. Red-gold rays stretched through the windows like ethereal fingers. The solarium was striped red sunlight and dark shadow. He stood there, watching the scene below, still unaccustomed to the greens and browns of the city, so unlike what he’d grown up with. He heard a footfall, almost silent, almost catlike, on the wooden floor and he turned to see her. “Ahh, Lilith did you succeed?”
She’d shed the wig and contact lenses and had changed into black jeans and a black sweater. “Yes.”
“What will you do with him?” asked Hadad curiously.
“Make him mine.”
Hadad turned to watch the sun sink further down toward the horizon. “And what do you wish to do with the woman?” he asked offhandedly.
“You have her?”
He turned to look at her. “Yes.”
“Kill her.”
Hadad kept his thoughts to himself. “Very well, Lilith. It will be done.”
“Thank you.”
Hadad almost laughed at their formality, as if they were mere acquaintences, not co-conspirators. “Oh no, Lilith. Thank you. You have done me a great service. With him out of the way, I can rebuild my father’s empire.” He looked around the room. Despite it’s rundown appearance, the furniture and decor were antiques. “I have only one last obstacle.”
Lilith took a step back and narrowed her eyes. “Who?”
“I wouldn’t worry, Lilith. You’re not an obstacle—yet.” Hadad shrugged. “I was referring to Dorian Thayer.”
“That’s not a wise move, Omar. A vampire is not an easy creature to kill.”
Hadad laughed. “You really believe Thayer’s a vampire?”
“I know.”
Hadad shook his head and snorted. “A stake through the heart. Piece of cake, as the Americans are fond of saying.”
“No. The spine must be severed. And the head cut off.”
“Whatever. I wasn’t going to do it.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“Don’t fret, Lilith. I’ll find some fool. And then all this will be mine.”
Lilith frowned. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. Or all the vampires before they’re dead.”
Hadad watched her leave, then shook his head. “Pessimist.”
*****
Lilith Raven walked slowly up the curving staircase. She could feel latent power here, old power. She glanced up at the landing and took a deep breath. It seemed almost too good to be true. Joe was hers. After thirteen years...Of course. Thirteen, that’s why she’d succeeded.
She stepped onto the landing and started down the hallway. She stopped at the second door on her left. She flashed back all those years ago to Hong Kong. She hadn’t known then who the target was, only that she was to keep him distracted, disoriented and off-kilter. To find out it was him—the boy she’d seen on Samhain all those years before—her chosen one—by the goddess, the fates had honored her. And now at long last.
Lilith pushed open the door and sighed. At long last. She walked into the room and studied him. He’d lost weight and was pale but that could be remedied. With his hair dark, he looked nothing like Chris. The man she could never have—that was the brutal truth. The man she truly wanted could never be hers.
Lilith pulled up a chair and sat down. But she’d make do. She always had. She’d had to make do with a step-father instead of a real father. All her life, she’d made do. But first, she had to make him forget Cassandra MacFairlaigne—forget her forever.
She cocked her head to one side and her blond hair cascaded over her shoulder. She was still getting used to being blond since she’d been born with raven-black hair. She’d found temporary haircolors the perfect solution for her, anytime she needed a change...A sudden thought made her look back at the man sleeping. He moved restlessly in his sleep. She touched a hand to her hair. It had all began with that late night visit by Ailsa...A slow smile curved her lips....yes....
******
30 October 2003
Bucaresti, Romania
4:48 pm
It was a hum that swept through him and it pulled him away from what he was doing. He didn’t need to look outside to know it was growing dark. Dorian Thayer sat back in his chair and heaved a sigh. He felt the growing hunger that welled up inside him, almost as if it were linked to the vanishing of the sun. It probably was, on some deep level.
He stared at the square screen and sighed again. When he’d started hours before he’d been resigned not to find too much. It was after he started the search that he realized that he’d be lucky if he got the barest information on Cassandra MacFairlaigne. Instead, it seemed he got too much.
First he’d hit on two different websites—one run by a business called MacFairlaigne Software Incorporated; the second run by a William MacFairlaigne and devoted to keeping a large extended family on track. It was on the second one, that he learned that William was also the owner of MacFairlaigne Software Inc. and that he had a daughter named Cassandra.
The name had hit another website devoted to authors who had the same publishing house. What he’d uncovered had been interesting and made him wonder why she’d come to Romania. Was she on business or pleasure and what did the man who had stolen his name want with her?
Dorian Thayer felt the hunger grow stronger until it began to blot rational thought. He’d have to feed soon, since he’d not fed in over twenty-four hours—not since that disaster with the girl in the square. He pushed himself to his feet and started for the door.
He left the room and started down the stairs to the kitchen. He reached for the handle of the old refrigerator and pulled it open. Sitting on the top shelf were special containers in three rows. He pulled one container out and sighed. He’d long since gotten used to this method although tasting the warmth the other night had almost made him wish he wasn’t quite the civilized person he pretended to be.
He drained the container and felt the hunger’s edge fade away. This was the way he’d done it for the last fifty years or so. It was less noticeable than bloodless corpses scattered around the city, he thought morbidly as he tossed the container in the trashcan and veered for the stairs, still trying to figure out what was going on.
A knock on the front door startled him and he glanced in that direction, stunned. No one knew where he was. No one. So who on earth could it be knocking? After a moment’s hesitation, he started for the door, took a deep breath and pulled it open, ready to tell whoever it was to go away. Instead, all he could do was stare.
Her hair was still a dark auburn and it hung down to her hips instead of swirled around her head. Gone was the high-necked, ankle-length dress, in its place was a simple gold dress that just brushed her knees, leaving arms and lower legs bare. He took a deep breath and found he couldn’t speak at all.
Her gold-brown eyes were wide as she stared right back at him. She took a breath and a step backward, nearly falling off the low stoop. He shot out an arm and grasped her slender wrist. The shock of feeling her skin rub against his seemed to snap him out of his daze. “Aubrey...”
She swallowed hard, brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her dress. “It’s Fiala now.”
He realized he still held her wrist and let go, carefully as if she would shatter if he made any sudden movements. “I thought...”
“So did I. When I returned here and learned you still lived....”
“Returned?” Dorian shook his head, puzzled. “When were you ever in Romania?”
“Seventeen-forty-nine.”
“What--?” Dorian lowered his voice and realized the stoop was no place for this kind of discussion. “Come in,” he said automatically, then stopped and stared. “I did have to invite you in, didn’t I.”
She gave him a sad look and nodded, as she stepped into the foyer. She gazed around the foyer and the hallway that branched off from it. “You need to bring the decor out of the past...Dorian.”
“And I suppose you’ve embraced this new century with fervor.” Dorian clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. “That was uncalled for.”
“Yes, it was.” Fiala brushed her hair back. “You do realize the way I found you is because of this new century.”
Dorian thought of the computer in his room and heaved a sigh. “Of course. How is it you were searching?”
“It was Eva’s suggestion. To determine if the man in my estate was you or an imposter. You should not purchase land in your own name, at least not often.”
“Your estate?” Dorian couldn’t stop staring. “You own it?”
“Yes.”
Dorian took a breath and motioned for her to follow him to the formal parlor. “Come....Fiala, let us talk. What brought you to this doorstep?”
“I found the paper trail that led me here. You purchased this place in your own name seventy-five years ago.”
“I purchased it precisely one-hundred and eighty years ago, under a different name. I am not naive in protecting myself, Fiala.”
“Was it you?” she asked after a moment, not sitting down but merely wandering from end table to shelf, lightly touching an object here, trailing a finger over a dusty painting there.
Dorian found it hard to focus on the conversation. He was watching her move, gracefully as always. It was still hard to believe she was alive—had been alive all these centuries. “What do you mean?”
“In 1749, someone killed the creature that held me captive. Was it you?”
Dorian found at that moment that he had to sit down or fall on his face. Fate was cruel. He’d seen evidence of someone living with the creature but thought it of no consequence, some half-dead creature like the one he’d stabbed through the heart with a wooden stake, a sliver from a wooden cross. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “He’d taken all I held dear.”
“Did you not suspect someone else lived there?”
“It seemed of little consequence. I assumed the creature had lured some poor unfortunate—“ Dorian cleared his throat. “No one was there that night.”
“No. A young man—“ She managed a self-mocking smile and shook her head. “A young man tried numerous times to make me leave but I was in fear of the young man’s life so I did not. But fury and sorrow made me leave that night to meet with that young man—“ She shook her head again. “When I returned, I found the dust that remained.”
She stopped moving around the room and turned to look at him. “The chivalrous young man was named Kurt Varick. He died in 1749. Yet there is a man who claims that name and he is in mortal danger.”
Dorian thought of the woman who looked like Aubrey—Fiala. “There is a woman who resembles you and is also in mortal danger.”
“The man in my estate who lays claim to your name is in reality Omar Hadad, a drug smuggler.”
Dorian stiffened in his seat. The tainted blood had held that unhealthy tang of drugs. The girl had been half dead before he touched her. But what was the connection between this man who claimed he was Kurt Varick and Cassandra MacFairlaigne? “Fiala, I believe we need to help them.”
“Yes. I feel the same.”
Dorian nodded, watched her walk toward the door. “You’re leaving?”
“It has been a long, long time, Dorian. Things change, times change—I changed.”
“As have I.” Dorian got to his feet. “Fiala, we can always start fresh.”
Fiala searched his face with wide gold-brown eyes for a long moment. “I’m not sure I’m capable of doing that, Dorian. There are many memories, not all pleasant.”
“Then we will be as we are—old friends.” He reached out a hand. “And eventually perhaps something more?”
Slowly, she reached out and grasped his hand, then as their entwined hands came completely together, she closed her eyes and sighed. “Yes.”
Carefully as if she were fragile china, Dorian stepped up to her. He lightly touched his other hand to the curve of her jaw. “It is good to see you.”
Fiala opened her eyes and smiled, slowly, a genuine smile of joy. “It is good to see you, Dorian and know you are not the monster in my estate.”
Dorian ran his free hand down her hair. “It feels the same, soft, still smells like cinnamon.”
Fiala laughed softly. “After all this time, you still remember?”
“You were my one and only love, Fiala. How could I forget?”
She brought her free hand to his cheek. “I have missed you, my love.”
“And I have so missed you.” Carefully, ready to pull back if she resisted, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers ever so lightly. When she didn’t step back, he deepened the kiss. For the first time in centuries, he felt whole.
Fiala broke the kiss and looked up at him. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him back. “There is much to do, Dorian, now that the sun has set completely. Come.”
“You have a plan, then.”
“Yes, of course. I would not have searched for you if I didn’t and if it hadn’t required your assistance.”
“I’m glad you did.”
Her smile widened and she relaxed against him. “I suspected you would be.”
He laughed low in his throat and wrapped his arms around her. “You still know me too well.” Together, they left the manor. Dorian stopped, seeing the long black limousine. He arched an eyebrow at Fiala. “Doing well?”
“Yes.” She tugged on his arm. “Come, meet my....sister and Walter.”
He hung back for a long moment. “Walter?”
“He drives the limousine, helps with necessary things. Come.”
Dorian smiled. “I’m coming.” Dear heaven, it felt so good to be with her again.
*****
30 October 2003
Bucaresti, Romania
4:50 pm
Fading sunlight and deepening shadows danced across his face, rousing him. He opened his eyes slowly, groggily. He felt sluggish and his head seemed to weigh a ton. “Thirsty,” he said hoarsely. God, he was so thirsty.
Someone half-raised him up and put a cup to his lips, tilted it up. At the first taste of the liquid, it registered somewhere in his brain that it wasn’t water. The warm odd-tasting liquid hit the back of his throat, made him want to gag. “No..”
“It’s medicine. Drink it.”
He caught a whiff of roses and he blinked several times to clear up his vision. The girl had dark hair. “Ailsa?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, made him drink the rest of the medicine. Joe’s eyes focused and he saw Ailsa holding what looked like a goblet. He could feel the liquid slide into his stomach like a heavy weight but for once instead of lurching, it rumbled. “I’m starved.”
“Good. That’s a very good sign.”
He narrowed his eyes. Something had happened to Ailsa—or had that been a dream? “What do you mean?”
She shook her head sadly. “You’ve been very ill, Kurt. Delirious, even.”
Joe sagged against the pillows. Dreams? It had all been a dream? He shook his head. “It was all dreams? But I’ve never had a dream that bizarre before.”
“Fever does strange things to your mind.”
Joe shook his head again, slowly, because he felt dizzy. “But that strange? I’d dreamed you became a vampire. How’s that for weird.”
Ailsa frowned. “That’s not something to joke about, Kurt. I warned you.”
Joe slanted her a look. “Ailsa---“
“I warned you the Master would do worse than kill you.”
Joe took a deep breath. He set the goblet on the nightstand. Ailsa couldn’t be serious. Thayer...wasn’t a vampire. But he wasn’t. Thayer...He frowned. Why was he having such a hard time remembering. “I hope the bathroom’s not far,” he said after a moment.
“I’ll show you.” She stood up and moved to help him out of the bed. He let her assist him to his feet. He thought he saw two marks on her throat but told himself vampires didn’t exist—funny, how that sounded so familiar. Ailsa pointed him toward the door to the bathroom. He relieved himself, then moved to wash his face in the lavatory. But there was something wrong with the mirror.
He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at the mirror. It reflected the opposite wall of the bathroom but not him. Joe gripped the edges of the lavatory. Vampires didn’t exist. Vaguely, he heard Ailsa call him and he almost corrected her when she called him Kurt. He felt his stomach rumble almost painfully and he made his way to the door. “What?”
“You need to eat.”
He swayed on his feet and he gripped the edge of the doorframe. He agreed there. “All right.”
She took his hand and he noted it was ice-cold and paper-dry. He let her lead him out of the room and down the hall. He couldn’t still wrap his mind around what he saw—or rather didn’t see. Vampries didn’t cast reflections—but vampires didn’t exist....did they? This couldn’t be happening. There must have been something wrong with the mirror. Why else hadn’t it reflected his image? He shivered and she turned to look at him. He swallowed hard. “Ailsa.”
“Yes, Kurt.”
“What’s going on?” He tried to pull his hand free of hers but for some odd reason she seemed stronger. With sudden clarity, he remembered her walking into his apartment, clad in nothing but lingerie and a coat “Tell me,damn it. Now.”
She gave him a sad look and sighed. “I warned you, Kurt. The Master has turned you, as he has me.”
“Turned...” Joe shook his head. “No, I don’t want some half-assed answer, Ailsa. Truth—the plain truth.”
“You’re a vampire.”
Joe felt his world tilt precariously, felt his stomach heave as if he was about to throw up. The blood-red stuff in the bottle. Oh God, no....
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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.