The Becoming

Chapter Eleven

It's ten o'clock. Max left to pick up his boss, and I'm staring at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Do vampires really have to do their own dishes? I've never seen that in movies.

I rinse the dishes, load them into the dishwasher, and reach for the Cascade. The phone on the counter rings so loudly it makes me jump. The box slips from my hand, and before I can catch it, powder spills across the floor.

Shit. The second time today I've made a mess.

Do I have to avoid loud noises, too? Is that another vampire bogey?

Before I can say hello, he begins. “Anna, this is Grant Avery. Sorry to disturb you. Is your friend still there?"

Now I'm getting mad. “Doesn't anyone say hello anymore? And if you know I had someone here, then you know he's gone. So why are you asking?"

"Sorry."

His tone is unapologetic and quite insincere, but it's something else that triggers alarm bells in my head. “Avery, please tell me that you aren't having him followed."

There's a slight hesitation before he replies. “No, it's not Max we're having followed."

Max? He knows his name? The alarms are shrieking now. “Avery, can you read my thoughts over the phone?"

He starts talking in the same dry, academic pitch he used when explaining my new “gift."

"No, actually I can't,” he says. “Something about electric circuits that interfere. If you're wondering how I knew Max's name, it popped into your thoughts once or twice while I was there this afternoon."

For the first time, I'm disappointed to hear that he can't get inside my head. In fact, I'm fighting a wave of panic. “Can you come over now? Or can I come to you? We have to talk about Max."

"Well,” he says, “that's convenient because I have something to talk to you about, also. Would you like to come here?"

"And here is?"

"Do you know the Mount Soledad area?"

Everyone on the coast knows the Mount Soledad area. It's one of the most prestigious addresses in prestigious La Jolla. A vampire doctor. Figures that's where he'd live. “Want to give me the address?"

I reach for a piece of paper and write it down. “I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Good. And Anna?"

"Yes?"

"Wear something nice. I have some folks I'd like you to meet."

And he hangs up.

I replace the receiver, frowning at both the implication and inflection of his tone. I have a good mind to come as I am, in the scrubs he so graciously lent me when I left the hospital.

But on the other hand, maybe I'm about to meet some of my vampire relatives. First impressions are always important, aren't they?

For work, I drive a Ford Crown Vic, the same model as most cops and tricked out with a lot of the same gadgets. For pleasure, I drive a two-year-old, British Racing Green Jag XKR convertible. Between the car payment and insurance, I shell out what amounts to the mortgage on a small house each month. But it's my only luxury, and since I own the cottage outright, it's a concession I'm able to make.

As I pull into Dr. Avery's driveway, I'm sure that at least my car will fit in with this crowd. I park between a silver Lexus and a big Mercedes sedan. And did I say driveway? I climb out of my car and glance back along a tree-lined avenue that meanders about a half mile from a gated entrance to the front of the stone mansion.

Pretty damned impressive, even for this neighborhood. Either medicine or vampirism pays very well.

Dr. Avery answers the doorbell himself. He's all spiffed up in a navy suit with a cream shirt and red silk tie. Black basket weave oxfords peek from the cuffs of tailored slacks. Even his mop of hair lies tamed and moussed. He looks every inch the country gentleman.

I raise an eyebrow. I expected a servant to answer the door.

The servants have the night off, he says, ushering me in with a hand on my back. Welcome to my home. You look wonderful, too, by the way.

Did I say he looked wonderful? I have to be more careful with my thoughts. And it makes me wonder what I was thinking when I decided to come to Avery. I can't protect myself from creatures who can invade my thoughts at will. How can I hope to protect Max? What I need to tell Avery, I need to tell him in private. Max's safety depends on it.

Max is safe, Avery assures me. Remember, the thoughts of my guests will be as open to you as yours are to them. We all have secrets.

But that doesn't make me feel any better as he guides me through an immense foyer and into a living room with more square footage than my entire house. One wall is floor to ceiling windows and another is a huge stone fireplace big enough for a man to walk into. There is a small cluster of people gathered in a tight knot in front of a roaring fire. I count six, three men and three women, talking in soft voices, seemingly unaware of our approach.

The men are all in their mid-forties, wearing suits of gray or dark blue. Their intense faces are ruggedly handsome, their bodies under the exquisitely tailored clothes look lean and fit. The women are similarly attired in Armani and Gucci, with glittering stones in their earlobes and at their throats. They all sip from martini glasses and wave well-manicured hands to make their points.

They are the people you see on the society pages and in the glossy magazines. I recognize a few of them, including the Deputy Mayor of San Diego and the Chief of Police.

No wonder Avery said my secrets would be safe.

There is a break in conversation, and Avery urges me to join the group. But I feel as out of my element as my off-the-rack dress is to the designer suits in front of me.

Avery's voice comes from behind me and I jump.

You look wonderful, he says a second time. That color is perfect with your hair and complexion and silk flatters your figure.

You are a beautiful woman, Anna. Don't worry that you can't compete.

I was thinking about my dress, I reply archly. I have never worried about competing.

He smiles.

Well, I haven't, I repeat. It sounds childish, even to my ears.

God, what if they heard?

So much for first impressions. My eyes turn back to the group, but talk seems to have resumed, and no one is looking our way. If they picked up on any of that, it's not apparent. I touch Avery's arm.

Can we go somewhere else to talk? I gesture toward the fireplace. I'm not ready for this yet.

He looks a little disappointed, but he doesn't try to dissuade me. Instead, he leads me back out to the foyer, where he heads to the right and toward another set of double carved wooden doors. He passes in front of me to swing one of the doors open, and I follow him in.

This is the library.

I raise an eyebrow at him. No kidding? Is that what you call a room with hundreds of books? A library? I'm glad you cleared that up. Avery, I may live on the other side of the tracks in Mission Beach, but I do read.

He doesn't appreciate my sarcasm. I can't catch what he's thinking, but there's no mistaking the set of his jaw or the suggestion of annoyance hovering in his eyes.

I can't catch what he's thinking. Why is that?

"I'm sorry,” I say aloud. “I'm a little nervous."

The apology does the trick. He relaxes, physically and mentally, and opens his mind to me once again.

You have to teach me to do that, I tell him, shaking a finger. You didn't mention that you can shut yourself down when you want, did you?

A faint light sparkles in the depths of those green eyes. I'm not going to divulge all my secrets right away. Otherwise, you won't need me anymore. Would you like a drink?

Red wine, if you have it.

This time he raises an eyebrow. I think I can find something you'll like.

He moves away from me and toward a large sideboard. With a push of a button, a door slides open. Inside the lighted cabinet, crystal decanters wink and sparkle like so many jewels on a bed of velvet. He chooses one, pours two glasses, and beckons me to follow him.

We find ourselves on a wide balcony hovering over the dark Pacific many feet below. I can't see anything except the vast emptiness of the ocean, but I can hear the waves.

He hands me a glass. Hope you like this. It's from my family's vineyards.

Oh, you're from Napa Valley?

He has the glass to his lips, but just stops himself from taking a sip as a gurgle of laughter erupts. No , he says, not Napa. Provence.

Provence ? As in France?

He smiles. It's the same kind of smile I used to give slow students.

Okay. So I forgot for a minute that you're probably a thousand years old with roots that go back to the Stone Age. I told you, I'm not quite with the program yet. You have to cut me some slack.

Avery still has that smile on his face, but he's taken a seat on a chaise longue and motions with his glass for me to join him.

I take a seat opposite him and raise my glass for the first taste of a wine I suspect I'll never be able to afford. I don't expect to like it, either, so I'm quite caught off guard by the sublime flavor. It's rich and dry and tastes elemental, as though made of earth and sea as well as grape. I take a second sip and smile.

You like it.

I do. And yes, I'm surprised. I've never been a connoisseur of wines. I don't have the palate for it, or so I've always thought.

I raise the glass. Or is this another acquired vampire thing? Blood and wine, elixirs of life?

Avery laughs, tilting his head as he watches me over the top of his glass. No it's not a vampire thing. Not really. But you will find you've misjudged a lot of things, Anna.

His eyes lock me in their gaze for a long moment. I can't read him again, but suddenly something vaguely sensual passes between us.

I pull myself away, and stand up. This isn't what I came here for.

He stands, too. I know. You came to talk about Max.

Max. Yes. Just saying his name snaps me back. I look toward the windows across from us and into the living room, where the fire reflecting on the glass catches two figures in stark relief. A man and a woman.

I look at Avery. They aren't all vampires?

He shakes his head. No. The wife of Police Chief Williams and the husband of Deputy Mayor Davis are mortal.

I look back at the two. Do they know—?

That their spouses are Vampire? Yes, of course.

And they accept it?

What they accept is a life bountiful beyond their wildest dreams. It is the vampire who suffers in such a union.

It's not what I expected to hear. I turn to look at him. Avery's face is set, his eyes hooded. You don't approve.

It's not my place to approve or disapprove, he retorts shortly.

But why did you say it's the vampire that suffers?

He turns his face away from me. You will learn the answer to that on your own.

He returns to the library and the sideboard where he pours himself another glass of wine. He doesn't offer me a second glass or return to the balcony. He takes a seat behind a large desk in the middle of the room and waits for me to join him inside.

I don't understand the abrupt change in his attitude and demeanor, but he's shut himself off from me again, and I have no choice. I answer the summons.

He waits for me to take a seat across from him before beginning.

We have important things to discuss. It's getting late and I must return to my guests. If you don't wish to accompany me, I suggest we get down to business.

I nod, but my paranoia springs back. How do I know the people in the other room can't hear us?

Avery tilts his head. Listen.

I do. Soft music, classical, something low and sweet drifts on the air from hidden speakers. I listen harder. Below the music, a hum. White noise?

He nods.

Prevents thought transference from room to room. I value my privacy. I protect that of my guests.

That electrical circuit thing you mentioned?

He nods again.

I hesitate, but for just a moment. I have to trust Avery.

Max is an undercover agent with the DEA. His life depends on keeping our relationship a secret. He only visits me when it's absolutely safe. I never know when he'll show up, so I need to know how you found out about his visit.

Avery purses his lips. He's closed his mind so I can only wait until he's ready to reply. But the fact that all of a sudden, this mind reading is a one-way street is beginning to grate. I make it a point to let him know it.

You'll learn the trick soon enough, he fires back. Now do you want an answer to your question?

I swallow down the caustic retort I want to fling across at him and just say , yes.

You are the one being watched.

Me? Why?

I told you this afternoon. You may be in danger. You don't have all your powers yet. It's our custom to protect fledglings, so to speak, until they find their wings.

And you didn't think it important to tell me this?

Would you have approved?

Of course not. I can take care of myself.

The way you did with Donaldson?

He throws it out like a challenge, his eyes flashing.

Now my irritation bubbles over and erupts into full-blown anger. “Donaldson was a fluke. David and I have handled much worse and come out on top. Vampire or no, we would have had him if things hadn't gotten so crazy."

"Oh, you think so?"

Before I can draw a breath, Avery is up and out of his chair. He sweeps me from mine and I am pinned under his body on the floor. I can't move my hands or my legs. His weight is crushing. His lips are at my ear and he whispers, “Can you take me?"

I don't understand what's happening. Avery is strong, stronger even than Donaldson. But there's nothing sexual in this attack. Does he mean to kill me?

I can't read his thoughts. His breath is ragged in my ear. I feel his mouth at my neck.

Suddenly, something changes.

His neck is there, a pulsing heartbeat, in reach. Panic becomes blood lust. He eases his grip and I pull an arm free, yanking at his tie until it loosens, ripping at the top button of his shirt until it gives way. With animal instinct, I tear at him. I snap and gnaw with my teeth until the skin breaks and there is a glorious rush of adrenaline-laced fire coursing down my throat. He tastes of wine and sunshine and I work a hand free to hold his head captive while I drink.

I drink.

A fragment of a thought breaks through.

Anna, enough.

But I clutch at Avery, drawing him even closer. I don't want to stop .

You must.

Avery is now lying very still. He does not try to pull away. His mind is open, a feeling of euphoria radiating from him like heat from the sun. He is calmly waiting for me to make the decision.

I think it's what saves him. I drop my head back onto the carpet, awash with guilt and shame. What have I done?

Avery shifts his weight and looks down at me for a long moment. Then he lifts himself off me, and holds out a hand to help me up.

You did what I wanted you to do, he says.