That realization jolted him back to sanity and he leaped quickly from the chair, then bent over the slumbering human. “You will sleep through the night, experiencing only pleasant dreams, and will wake in the morning remembering an uneventful walk to your home the previous evening. You will feel relaxed and happy about your life.”
Without thinking, he inhaled her aroma and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Goodnight, Grace.”
What the hell, Ethan? You are so screwed up.
He bolted down the stairs, closed and locked her front door and ran with vampire speed back to the lair where his undead companions waited.
Grace woke to the sound of the telephone ringing.
She blinked her eyelids, which seemed overly heavy, and rolled towards the annoying noise coming from the bedside table.
“Hello?” she croaked.
“Grace? Is that you? What’s wrong with your voice?”
“Uh-huh, it’s me, Roz.” She cleared her throat. “There’s nothing wrong with my voice. I’m just groggy from sleeping.”
“You’re still sleeping? Are you sick?” her friend asked, anxiety elevating the pitch of her voice. “The only time I’ve ever known you sleep until noon is if you’re too exhausted to get out of bed. Or you’ve sung yourself into a trance. Should I skip my yoga class and come over?”
Grace forced herself to sit up, which wasn’t as easy as she would have expected. Maybe she was coming down with something. “Don’t be silly, pal. I’m an adult woman who can take care of herself.” She glanced at the clock, surprised. “You’re right though. I don’t usually sleep this late.” She shook her head to clear away the strange mental cobwebs. “I had the most bizarre dream.”
“Ah, a dream. Excellent. Right up my alley. What did you dream? Have you finally begun to explore your gift of prophecy? Roz sees all and knows all.”
Grace chuckled. “I don’t think so. Unless my future is filled with angels and vampires.”
“Oh, yum! Angels and vampires. Maybe the dream represents the basic struggle between good and evil. You’ve always taken the high road, maybe you’re ready to join me on the naughty side. Are you considering doing something wicked, my repressed friend?” She laughed.
“Not that I know of.” Yeah, as if the opportunity to make a wicked decision ever enters my life. “Maybe I’m yearning for something unusual.”
“Something unusual? Hmm. There’s hope for you yet. What do you remember about the dream?”
“The strongest memory is the face of the angel who saved me from a fiend with fangs. My rescuer had long, dark hair, beautiful emerald eyes and pale skin. Hey! I just realized I dreamed in colour. That’s weird for me. Even though the dream scene took place at night, I could still see the red blood dripping from the vampire’s mouth and the green of the angel’s eyes.” She hooted out a laugh.
“What?”
“The angel wore a Rolling Stones T-shirt. The one with the big tongue. Not anyone’s idea of standard celestial garb, I’d say.”
“At least he had good taste. I’m encouraged that you’re dreaming about a man. Remember what I told you . . .”
Grace snorted. “You mean your margarita-fuelled ramblings about my destiny? The man I’m supposed to meet? The one who’ll rock my world?”
“Hey!” Roz pretended to be offended before assuming an obviously fake gypsy-fortune-teller accent. “You’re trifling with an ancient prediction. Ignoring a prognostication passed down through the women of my family - the outcome of a revelation long awaited. Disregard at your own peril . . .”
“Chill, Madam Roz,” Grace laughed. “Put away the crystal ball. I believe, I believe.”
“OK then,” Roz said, cheerfully speaking in her normal voice again. “Maybe your dream has deeper implications. I’ll have to meditate on your symbols and see what I can conjure for you.”
“Thanks,” Grace sighed. “But I’m sure I can figure it out. I’ll sing about it. Maybe I just watched too many horror movies as a kid.”
Roz hesitated a few seconds. “You sound very serious this morning, Grace. Not yourself. Are you sure you don’t want me to come over? I could cast a little healing spell - cook something chocolate in my cauldron. It’s not a problem. I worry about you being alone so much.”
Me too.
“You’re sweet, Roz. I’m OK. I’ve got a busy afternoon with lessons and a recording session. Then tonight I have another sound circle. In fact, I’d better get to it. Thanks for calling. I probably would’ve slept all day if you hadn’t.”
“Well, if you’re sure you’re OK. I’m just a phone call away if you change your mind. Love you.”
“You too.”
Grace hung up.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, still feeling slightly fuzzy. She hadn’t felt so off since the last time she’d gotten carried away with champagne at a friend’s wedding, and she was certain she hadn’t consumed any alcohol in days. Unless she’d overindulged in her dream and had an imaginary hangover. Or maybe being in an angel’s presence was intoxicating. She chuckled at the idea.
She shuffled into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped inside, thinking about the strange dream.
There was an air of mystery around the beautiful, phantom man with the green eyes. It was unusual for her to remember his face in such detail, after only a brief glimpse. She imagined herself running her fingers through his long silky hair and skimming her lips along the strong bones of his jaw. His features were almost too perfect, his body too buff. She laughed out loud.
Whoa! Get a hold of yourself, Grace! It was just a dream. A great dream, but all in your head.
The hot water felt wonderful against her bruised skin.
Wait a minute. Bruised skin? Why is my skin bruised? When did that happen?
She finished washing her body and hair, slashed the plastic curtain aside and angled over to the full-length mirror. Investigating all the tender spots, she discovered bruises on both elbows, her h*ps and an especially spectacular extravaganza near her tail bone.
As she pressed on the blue-purple skin of her hip she had a sudden memory flash of hitting the ground, hard.
What? I don’t remember falling down. Did I roll out of bed onto the floor?
The pale face of the dream angel with the Rolling Stones T-shirt floated into her mind and she smiled, then shook her head.
How peculiar. She definitely didn’t feel like herself today.
Ethan’s eyes popped open the second the sun set.
Concentrating, he tried to understand the wispy, uncomfortable feeling he’d never had before. He couldn’t shake the idea that he’d been . . . interrupted. Or something. Who knew what went on in his brain while he was dead during the daylight hours, but he had the craziest sense that he’d been thinking a few seconds ago when his life force (death force?) reanimated his body. His sire, Alexander, adamantly insisted vampires were simply empty shells while the sun ruled the sky, nothing but paralysed cadavers. But if that was true, Ethan must be losing his mind. Maybe he was. First he’d lurked around the human woman without fanging her and then he dreamed, of all damn things.
It was her. The mortal female. Grace. Her scent was all over him. She’d done something. He just knew it.
He sat up in one of the cardboard boxes that passed for coffins in the basement of the vampires’ headquarters, gathered the bottom of his T-shirt under his nose so he could sniff it, and sighed. He flopped back, feeling suddenly as relaxed and limp as a drained meth addict. Even her smell melted his bones.
Compelled to see her, he quickly showered, changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt, ran a comb through his thick, dark hair and skulked out the hidden exit. It wouldn’t do for Alexander to become too interested in his activities. The master had forbidden his offspring to take any action that wasn’t a direct order or coven business. If the short-tempered vampire knew about Ethan’s new obsession, there would be hell to pay.
Ethan wasn’t an idiot. He usually gave every appearance of following the rules. But he couldn’t seem to dampen his fascination with the blonde-haired human.
He knew what he intended to do was dangerous. Going to the human’s - Grace’s - studio meant being in the vicinity of other mortals. Other mortals with beating hearts and the pungent, intoxicating aroma of blood flowing just beneath the surface of their skin. He’d never been able to control himself before. Was he willing to go berserk and massacre an entire building full of people?
Apparently, he was.
On his walk downtown he practised saying her name out loud, “Grace, Grace, Grace . . .” The sound enchanted him. He’d gotten so caught up in his verbal trance that he missed all the reactions of the people he passed on the busy pedestrian mall.
When he arrived at her studio, he slipped around behind the building and leaned against the brick wall as a realization hit him. His knees went soft. Had he just walked along a street filled with his favourite food source without attacking anyone? The thought stunned him, then he laughed as he noticed he’d actually clutched his chest, making the familiar, mortal heart attack gesture. It had been a long time since he’d done anything like that. Something almost frighteningly freaky was happening. He hadn’t felt this odd since becoming a vampire in the late 1960s. Almost human.
Beautiful chanting captured his attention.
He inched towards the music studio window and peeked in, expecting to see a roomful of mortals. The large space was empty. He took a step back and focused on listening to the sweet sounds still issuing from somewhere nearby. Lowering his gaze, he tracked along the foundation of the building until he came to an open window in the lower level. He stepped closer and squatted to investigate.
The basement of the building had been transformed into a sound chamber. Instead of muting the sounds, the acoustical structure of the room exaggerated the depth of the notes, causing the frequencies to reverberate in breathtaking ways.
He could literally feel the chanting in every cell of his body. Or whatever made up his body these days.
The chamber appeared much larger than he’d expected. At least fifty people sat in concentric circles on the marble floor. Grace knelt in the centre, next to a sobbing woman who lay prone on a body-size pad, clutching her stomach. Ethan’s keen vampire nose told him the woman was sick. Not far from death. Why had she come to Grace’s circle on her deathbed? Maybe she wanted to experience the same peaceful feeling he’d experienced at Grace’s bedside. He knew from personal experience how horrible a painful death was.
The chanting was so powerful he felt his consciousness slipping away. He didn’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t suddenly been overwhelmed by the scent of blood - so many humans in one place - which immediately thrust him deep into his vampire nature. He growled and rose slowly to his full height, just in time to be surprised by a pair of mortals who turned the corner, heading towards his location. His mind spun as he thought of nothing but the aroma of the blood pulsing through the hapless mortals’ veins. His fangs descended and he crouched, ready to spring.
“Hi! Are you here for the sound circle? We’re late too. Why don’t you come on in with us?” The female of the couple moved to the door of the underground area and stood, waiting, a smile on her friendly face. Her companion waved.
As if he hadn’t just regressed into a snarling beast, he forced himself to straighten, then snapped his shoulders back and raised his chin. “Yeah, OK.” He clenched his fists at his sides.
Yeah, OK? What the hell? Nobody ever told me vampires could have psychotic meltdowns. Maybe all the drugs I did in the 1960s have finally caught up with me. Did I just choose not to attack them because they were nice to me? Am I insane? Since when does my brain work when I’m near mortals?
He edged over to the door and held it open while the two humans entered and descended the staircase. He followed, already enraptured by the engulfing sound.
Can’t these people sense me? Don’t they realize a predator is behind them? What’s happened to human instincts?
They entered the chant-filled sound chamber and quietly found places to sit in the outermost circle. He kept a distance between himself and the others seated nearby and scanned the room. It was incredible. Whatever Grace had done to the walls made the area seem as if they’d stepped inside an amethyst quartz crystal. The circle area consisted of gentle risers, so that people in each circle sat slightly elevated over the row before. Scented candles burned atop tall, ornate holders, creating soft light and shadows. His vampire vision, especially attuned to the darkness, allowed him to see the blissful expressions on the faces of the participants. The sounds washed over and through him. Fifty voices chanted unfamiliar words, creating extraordinary harmonies. The vibrations lapped against his ears like the soothing waves of a vast sea. He imagined himself back in the womb.
His gaze finally locked on the only one who mattered, and he studied her as she sang, her face ecstatic. Grace’s long, blonde hair flowed down the front of her body, hiding all but the sleeves of her shiny, white shirt. With his sensitive hearing, he was able to eliminate all the other voices and tune into hers. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Her timbre caressed him like summer rain and he felt his heart sputter, then beat wildly, which startled him because he’d previously had no occasion to allow his cold, dead heart to mimic life.
He closed his eyes, lost in the pleasure of her vocalizations, and began chanting himself. Or, more accurately, the chant took control. The sound simply happened. He’d heard about the concept of channelling, but he thought it was a scam. He’d never have guessed what an amazing sensation it was to simply allow sound to flow from his body without any conscious direction. He hadn’t sung in so many years, he was surprised by the power of his own tenor voice.