remember you,” Rourke said, studying Tricia. “You were wearing a pair of blue trousers and a red shirt with little white hearts on it.”
Tricia’s eyes widened as he described what she had been wearing the night Kari had asked her to come over and look at the painting.
“Now do you believe me?” Kari asked.
“It’s not possible,” Tricia said, her voice little more than a whisper. Grabbing Kari by the hand, she backed toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
Tricia let out a shriek when she turned toward the door and saw Rourke barring the way. “How did you do that?”
“Tricia.” He caught her gaze with his. “Listen to me, Tricia. I want you to go home. None of this ever happened. You were never here tonight. You have never seen me or the painting before. Nod your head if you understand.”
Tricia nodded.
“Now go home.”
Moving like a robot, Tricia left the room. Moments later, Kari heard the front door open and close.
Kari stared up at him. “How did you do that?”
“A form of hypnotism.”
“You’re real, aren’t you? I didn’t imagine you, did I?”
“No, I am as real as you are.”
“Are you going to make me into a vampire?”
“If you wish.”
“I don’t!” She lifted a hand to her neck. “But you already did, didn’t you? You bit me.” She glanced toward the window. “And the moon is almost full.”
He laughed softly. “You are confusing vampires with werewolves.”
“But you took my blood. Isn’t that how vampires are made?”
“I tasted you,” he said, smiling. “I would have had to take much more to bring you across. Just a taste,” he murmured. “And you were sweet, indeed.”
“Sweet!” She made a gagging sound. “Blood isn’t sweet.”
“Ah, my dear, that is where you are wrong. It is the sweetest nectar you can imagine.”
“Maybe to you.” Kari took another step backward, sat down hard when the backs of her knees collided with the chair in the corner. “Were you really trapped inside that painting for three hundred years?”
He nodded curtly.
“It must have been awful.”
“Awful?” He swore softly. “That hardly describes it. A bad harvest is awful. Bad wine is awful. Being imprisoned behind a wall of glass for three centuries was torture.”
In more ways than one, he thought bleakly. It had been more than the loss of his freedom, more than the agony of being unable to slake his hellish thirst, more than his desire for a woman. It had been the blow to his pride that still rankled, even after all these years. The wizard had overpowered him, humbled him as no other ever had. Even now, the shame of it was hard to endure.
“Those notes you stuck on the glass,” Kari remarked. “What did you write them with?”
“Blood.”
Even though she had suspected as much, the thought made her shudder. “What was it like, being trapped like that?”
He looked thoughtful a moment. “I am not sure I can describe it. In the beginning, I had no sense of myself. There was no depth or color to my world, no sound. I could only stand there, unable to move or see or feel.” He took a deep breath. He hadn’t known fear often in his life, but he had felt it then in every fiber of his being. “All that changed, in time. Gradually, my strength returned. Once I could move, the painting came to life. With the return of my strength, I became increasingly aware of my surroundings. I began to hear what was going on outside my prison. I paid attention to everything I saw and heard, though much of it remained a mystery.”
“You don’t talk like I’d expect someone from the past to talk.”
He grunted softly. “The influence of radio and television, I expect.” He glanced at her TV. “The people imprisoned there, do you know the name of the wizard who enchanted them?”
“What?”
He gestured at the TV. “The name of the wizard who imprisoned them, do you know it?”
Kari stared at him for a moment and then she laughed. “There
Tricia’s eyes widened as he described what she had been wearing the night Kari had asked her to come over and look at the painting.
“Now do you believe me?” Kari asked.
“It’s not possible,” Tricia said, her voice little more than a whisper. Grabbing Kari by the hand, she backed toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
Tricia let out a shriek when she turned toward the door and saw Rourke barring the way. “How did you do that?”
“Tricia.” He caught her gaze with his. “Listen to me, Tricia. I want you to go home. None of this ever happened. You were never here tonight. You have never seen me or the painting before. Nod your head if you understand.”
Tricia nodded.
“Now go home.”
Moving like a robot, Tricia left the room. Moments later, Kari heard the front door open and close.
Kari stared up at him. “How did you do that?”
“A form of hypnotism.”
“You’re real, aren’t you? I didn’t imagine you, did I?”
“No, I am as real as you are.”
“Are you going to make me into a vampire?”
“If you wish.”
“I don’t!” She lifted a hand to her neck. “But you already did, didn’t you? You bit me.” She glanced toward the window. “And the moon is almost full.”
He laughed softly. “You are confusing vampires with werewolves.”
“But you took my blood. Isn’t that how vampires are made?”
“I tasted you,” he said, smiling. “I would have had to take much more to bring you across. Just a taste,” he murmured. “And you were sweet, indeed.”
“Sweet!” She made a gagging sound. “Blood isn’t sweet.”
“Ah, my dear, that is where you are wrong. It is the sweetest nectar you can imagine.”
“Maybe to you.” Kari took another step backward, sat down hard when the backs of her knees collided with the chair in the corner. “Were you really trapped inside that painting for three hundred years?”
He nodded curtly.
“It must have been awful.”
“Awful?” He swore softly. “That hardly describes it. A bad harvest is awful. Bad wine is awful. Being imprisoned behind a wall of glass for three centuries was torture.”
In more ways than one, he thought bleakly. It had been more than the loss of his freedom, more than the agony of being unable to slake his hellish thirst, more than his desire for a woman. It had been the blow to his pride that still rankled, even after all these years. The wizard had overpowered him, humbled him as no other ever had. Even now, the shame of it was hard to endure.
“Those notes you stuck on the glass,” Kari remarked. “What did you write them with?”
“Blood.”
Even though she had suspected as much, the thought made her shudder. “What was it like, being trapped like that?”
He looked thoughtful a moment. “I am not sure I can describe it. In the beginning, I had no sense of myself. There was no depth or color to my world, no sound. I could only stand there, unable to move or see or feel.” He took a deep breath. He hadn’t known fear often in his life, but he had felt it then in every fiber of his being. “All that changed, in time. Gradually, my strength returned. Once I could move, the painting came to life. With the return of my strength, I became increasingly aware of my surroundings. I began to hear what was going on outside my prison. I paid attention to everything I saw and heard, though much of it remained a mystery.”
“You don’t talk like I’d expect someone from the past to talk.”
He grunted softly. “The influence of radio and television, I expect.” He glanced at her TV. “The people imprisoned there, do you know the name of the wizard who enchanted them?”
“What?”
He gestured at the TV. “The name of the wizard who imprisoned them, do you know it?”
Kari stared at him for a moment and then she laughed. “There
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