Blood Sisters_ Vampire Stories by Women - Paula Guran Page 0,61

in several days, he chuckled.

“Something amuses you, Mister Tree?” said Saint-Germain from behind him, his tone lightly remote as he approached. “I heard you come down the stairs a few minutes ago. I’m pleased you’re up. I thought you might be … hungry.”

“I was. I am,” James said, turning to face the other man. “But there’s …” He could not continue and was not certain why.

“For whatever consolation it may be to you, I do sympathize, Mister Tree,” le Comte said slowly, looking up at the tall American. “It may surprise you to learn that it will be a while before you become used to your … transition.” As he said this, his dark eyes met James’ uncompromisingly. “Transition?” James repeated with a bewildered smile. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” Le Comte de Saint-Germain gave James another steady look and said cautiously, “Mister Tree, are you aware of what has happened to you?”

James laughed uneasily. “I think I’ve been hurt. I know I have. There are cuts on my arms and legs, a couple pretty serious.” He cleared his throat nervously. “There were three of us in the jeep, and there was an ambush. No one bothered to find out if we were press, but I don’t blame them for that. I don’t know which side did it, really.” He shook himself self-consciously. “Someone must have walked over my grave.”

“Very astute, Mister Tree,” Saint-Germain said compassionately.

“I don’t remember much more than that. It does sound lame, doesn’t it? But I don’t.”

“You recall being injured.” He motioned toward the tall, studded doors that led to the small sitting room where James had found him the night before. “That is a start.”

James fell into step beside the smaller man and was mildly startled to find that he had to walk briskly to keep up with Saint-Germain. “Actually, it’s all muddled. I remember the crossfire, and the jeep turning over, and being tossed into the air, but the rest is all … jumbled. I must have passed out, and didn’t come to until after dark. I can’t tell you what made me come here. I guess when you’re hurt, you look for a safe place, and I’ve been here before, so …” He heard Saint-Germain close the door behind them and stopped to look about the sitting room.

“It seems eminently reasonable, Mister Tree,” Saint-Germain told him as he indicated the chair James had occupied before.

“Good,” James responded uneasily.

Saint-Germain drew up his chair; the firelight played on his face, casting sudden shadows along his brow, the line of his straight, aslant nose, the wry, sad curve of his mouth. Though his expression remained attentive, his eyes now had a sad light in them. “Mister Tree, how badly were you hurt?”

James was more disquieted now than ever and he tugged at the cuffs of his jacket before he answered. “It must have been pretty bad. But I walked here, and I figure it’s more than forty, maybe fifty miles from … where it happened.” He ran one large hand through his silver hair. “Those cuts, though. Jesus! And I felt so … detached. Bleeding does that, when it’s bad, or so the medics told me. But I got up …”

“Yes,” Saint-Germain agreed. “You got up.”

“And I made it here …” With a sudden shudder, which embarrassed him, he turned away.

Saint-Germain waited until James was more composed, then said, “Mister Tree, you’ve had a shock, a very great shock, and you are not yet recovered from it. It will take more than a few minutes and well-chosen words of explanation to make you realize precisely what has occurred, and what it will require of you.”

“That sounds ominous,” James said, forcing himself to look at Saint-Germain again.

“Not ominous,” Saint-Germain corrected him kindly. “Demanding, perhaps, but not ominous.” He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “Mister Tree, Madelaine led me to understand that you were told about her true nature. Is this so?” Privately, he knew it was, for Madelaine had confided all her difficulties with James over the years, and Saint-Germain was aware of the American’s stubborn disbelief in what he had been told.

“A little. I heard about the aristocratic family, and looked them up.” His square chin went up a degree or two. “She made some pretty wild claims …”

Saint-Germain cut him short “Did you bother to investigate her claims?”

“Yes,” James admitted, sighing. “I had to. When she told me … those things, I had to find out if she had been making it up