she asked, then added, “I don’t even know who’s here. Sarafina, Roland and Rhiannon, and…Gilgamesh—I mean, Damien. Anyone else?”
“Shannon. Damien’s wife. You’ll like her, she’s…from this century.” He made a sheepish face. “Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, they’re all safely tucked away in the basement.”
“I figured as much. Is it full of secret passages and hidden exits?”
“Just the one—there’s a tunnel straight out to the cliffs above the ocean, but we’ve never needed to use it. It’s just a precaution. And Pandora’s down there, too, on guard duty, with a bowlful of food and a velvet cushion. But truly, we’re safe. No one bothers us out here.”
“Even now? I mean, the locals must…notice that they see you, but not her, by day.”
“We say she works in Boston. It’s a bit of a com mute. Gone before daylight, home after dark. It seems to work.”
“And how long have you been here?”
“You think they’ll wonder why she hasn’t aged. But really, women seem to find aging optional these days.”
She laughed. “Well, some do.”
“Either way, I’m sure no one suspects we’re anything unusual. Even with the madness going on in the world right now. Still, better safe than sorry.”
“Speaking of what’s happening out there—what sort of errands are James and Brigit running? I mean, if it’s all right for me to ask.”
He blinked rapidly. “Why wouldn’t it be all right? You’re family, Lucy.”
She averted her eyes. “Because I have the Belladonna Antigen, you mean.”
He nodded. “Yes. That, and the fact that you’re turning your life upside down to help us.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I didn’t have a choice about the helping part. And as for the Belladonna thing, I don’t really know what that means—I mean, to them. I know what it means to me. I’ve known for years now. And I’m okay with it. But other than that they all had it, too, when they were human, and that they can sense those of us who have it now, I know next to nothing.”
“No one’s talked to you about this?” he asked.
“No. I found that much out…on my own.”
“I see.” He nodded, but he looked slightly pissed off. “I suppose James is distracted.”
“I’d say obsessed is a better word. And maybe starting to get a little bit drunk on his own power lately, but I think he means well.”
“The antigen makes you prone to being a night owl, sleeping during the day. It makes you grow more and more sensitive to sunlight, and eventually it starts to cause some physical problems. Some weakness, dizzy spells. Are you having any of those yet?”
“No.”
“Then you’ve got time before you really need to know any more about that.”
But she already knew. The effects of the antigen would kill her before she hit forty. That was a lot to contend with. She frowned. “Do you have it?”
“No. I can never become what they are. We have ways around that, and I can fill you in as much as you want later on. Right now you’re probably more interested in knowing about you. About how this thing impacts you. Do you know they can’t harm you?”
“I…heard that somewhere.”
“Well, it’s true. Vampires are compelled to protect the Chosen—that’s what they call people with the antigen. Sometimes they risk their own lives trying to protect them, and sometimes they do it in spite of themselves. They’re driven. It’s like a genetic imperative.”
“I see.” She was riveted.
“You don’t need to fear them, Lucy.”
“I guess not.” She took another bite, then asked, “Do I get any other…you know, extra abilities with the antigen? I mean, like being able to read thoughts, the way they do?”
“You might. Mainly, though, that tends to happen with only one of them.”
“Only one?”
He nodded. “The one. You see, for every vampire, there’s one of the Chosen with whom the psychic bond is far stronger than with any other. It’s a powerful connection. An unbreakable link. And it remains, even after that human becomes one of the undead, if indeed they do.” Tilting his head to one side, he asked, “Why do you ask? Have you experienced telepathy with anyone?”
“No.”
“Well, when you do, that one will protect you with his or her life, if necessary. More than likely you’ll be compelled to do the same in return.”
“That would be a switch. I’m not exactly the protective type.”
He smiled at her as she finished her doughnut, then pushed the box closer. She took her éclair, reached for the pot in the center of the table