Indefinite Renewal Read online

  “So you’re saying that every time I do this, their thoughts and emotions will affect me less and less?”

  “Exactly.” The brandy swirled hypnotically as Daniel idly swiveled the glass, and Nick had to force his eyes away. “Eventually you won’t even notice them unless you’re trying—and the earlier memories, like Amy’s, will fade away with time. The only reason they’re in your head at all is because her energy makes up enough of you at the moment to hold them together. They’ll get weaker and weaker as her energy makes up less of your total self.”

  “Well, that’s something, anyway,” Nick muttered, stretching his arms along the top of the couch; it was bad enough knowing he had killed Amy and was using her energy to stay alive without having to carry her feelings for him inside his head as well. He digested the information, and then paused as he hit a phrase he hadn’t noticed before.

  “You said ‘absorb someone fully.’ Is there another way? Can you absorb them partially?”

  Daniel nodded. “Of course. It’s just like eating—you can take as much or as little as you want. It’s entirely up to you.”

  “But I’ve absorbed two people already, and I drained both of them completely!”

  “True, but you had reason—the first time you were drained yourself and reacted out of self-preservation, and the second time it was him or you. You simply let instinct take over, and didn’t stop until they were dead.”

  “So I don’t have to kill everyone I touch?”

  “Of course not.” Daniel leaned forward and lowered the empty glass to the table, eyes rising to meet Nick’s own. “Think about it—in the last two weeks are those the only two people you’ve touched?”

  Nick let his mind drift back, and then shook his head. Of course not—he had shaken hands with several people, mussed Hillary’s hair, thumped Gordo on the shoulder, bumped Brian and been bumped by him, brushed past strangers, . . . he had touched quite a few people lately, and only those two had been hurt. A weight lifted from his heart, and he felt better about this whole situation than he had since it had started. He could behave normally around others without having to avoid contact like some kind of leper!

  Daniel watched the thoughts revolving in his head and smiled. “Feel better?”

  Nick nodded, mouth twisting into a small smile. “Yeah.” He ran his fingers along his bangs, brushing them out of his eyes. “But about this partial absorption stuff—how does that work?”

  “Simple. Just start draining someone and stop whenever you want—take conscious control of the process.”

  “Will they simply die sooner, then?”

  His mentor shrugged. “That depends on the person and how much you drain. If you take too much they’ll show it, even if they have years left—they’ll look older, thinner, like they’ve been sick for a while.” He winked slyly. “There are ways around that, though.”

  “Oh?”

  Daniel leaned forward and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Yes. Don’t tell the others about this, because I’m not sure they know, but I’ve found a way to restore a person to their former appearance after taking as much energy as I want or need.” He studied Nick for a second. “Can I trust you with this?”

  Nick nodded eagerly.

  “All right. It’s very simple, really—after you’ve absorbed what you need, take just a little more. Then give it back.”

  “Give it back? How?”

  “Just will it back to them—while you’re in contact with them there’s a link between your body and theirs. It lasts until you let go, even after they die. You can use that link to send energy in both directions; it’s just that they can’t absorb it deliberately. So you send them a little back and concentrate on sending it to the outer body instead of the organs and mind and whatever else. That’ll restore them to their former appearance, and no one will be the wiser.” He smiled, a nasty grin that sent shivers down Nick’s spine. “Coroners tend to think it was a brain embolism or something.”

  “Interesting.” Nick stood up and wandered over to the far wall, where the wide picture window looked out over the lake—he pulled the curtains back so he could see, and rested his forehead against the cool glass. Neither spoke for a minute.

  “What’s the competition?” Nick didn’t turn, but he could see Daniel’s reflection in the glass—he had been reaching for more brandy, but paused now before continuing to pour.

  “What competition?”

  “The one you and Francisco are involved in. The one everyone seems to think I’m destined to be a pawn in.” Nick still didn’t turn around.

  There was another, slightly longer pause.

  “Stocks.”

  “Stocks?”

  “Yes. You know, the stock market. We’re each trying to amass more money and control than the others in the world of stocks and bonds.” Nick could see Daniel raise the glass to his mouth, and thought he heard a faint gulp and the whisper of a swallow as he drank it down.

  “Is it just you two?”

  “No, there’s also Marion, Jonathan, and a handful of others. The four of us are the major contenders, but Jonathan is a ways behind and Marion is simply playing out of boredom, rather unenthusiastically, so it’s really between Francisco and me.” Daniel stood and stepped toward the window and Nick turned to meet him halfway, not wanting to be pinned against the smooth expanse of sunlight and water. “I had no intention of using you in this, Nick—I hope you believe that. I’d appreciate your support, of course, but you’re too new at all this to be very useful, even as a pawn. A few centuries and you could be a major factor in the games, but right now you’re only a spectator.”

  Nick straightened up, and was pleased to discover that he had an inch or two over Daniel. “That’s fine. I don’t mind watching, and you have my support, for what it’s worth—I don’t like Francisco much, and I don’t trust Harcourt. But don’t try and manipulate me—I don’t like to be played with.” He brushed past Daniel and headed toward the door. “I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for explaining that stuff.”

  “Of course.” Daniel made no move to stop his departure, merely swiveled around to watch him go. “If you need anything, just come here. I assume you’ve already discovered that Wilson, the doorman, has your name on the membership list now—you can get in whenever you like, and come and go as you please. I’m usually here, and if not the staff know when I’ll be back.” Nick was halfway out the door. “Oh, and, Nick?”

  He turned. “What?”

  “I wouldn’t use you like that.”

  Their gazes locked, clashed—one pleading, the other suspicious, both equally unyielding.

  “We’ll see.” Then he was gone, and the door slid shut behind him, the click of the lock a dull beat against the hiss of the air-conditioning.

  “Well, now what?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You seem rather calm.”

  “Of course. Where did he come when he needed answers? Here. He’s already started depending upon us for help. He’ll be back.”

  “I hope you’re right. He’s stronger than I’d expected.”

  “Not to worry—I have a few aces still unplayed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The phone rang.

  “Oh, hell!” Nick tossed the graphs aside and started frantically searching his desk, sending notes, charts, and articles flying. Just when he’d gotten everything laid out, the bloody phone rang! Off-campus, no less—if this was some stupid wrong number somebody was going to die. He finally uncovered the blaring instrument, cleverly concealed in a small bunker of magazines, books, and his lunch, and snatched the receiver up, narrowly avoiding knocking his apple into the trash.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Gordon?” A woman’s voice, vaguely familiar.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Detective Kanson—we spoke last week? About Amy Feldmar?”

  “Right, right.” He leaned back in his chair a bit, careful not to squash the folder behind
him.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  He glanced around at the small blizzard that had been his revised paper and sighed. “No, just getting some work done. How can I help you?”

  “Actually, I thought you might like to know how the case is going.”

  “Oh?” He sat forward, elbows crumpling papers, and ran a hand through his hair. “Have you come up with anything?”

  “Well, we haven’t found her yet, if that’s what you mean. But we do have a lead.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, a student says he saw her that night, near the library, at around ten-thirty. She was talking to an older man in a dark coat. The two of them were headed toward Nichols Hall. Mr. Gordon, do you remember ever seeing Ms. Feldmar with an older man? The student said he had dark hair streaked with gray.”

  “Hm?” Nick shook his head, trying to dispel a sudden image of Amy walking with Daniel. Something about directions . . . he remembered the phone and raised it back to his mouth. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t—mostly I saw her with other girls, either the sorority or from the cheerleading squad.”

  “I see.” Something in her tone made him pay attention.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing—it’s just that that’s what everyone else said, too. She didn’t have many male friends except for a few classmates, some of the kids at her church, and you. No one that fits the description, which makes it harder to pin down.” She sighed. “Well, thanks for your help. If you think of anything let me know, and I’ll do likewise.”

  “Okay, sure. Thanks for calling.” Nick hung up the phone, sending the apple spiraling into the garbage can, but didn’t move to retrieve it. His head was spinning, images dancing within, and he couldn’t tell if they were figments of his imagination or bits of Amy’s memory. Had she really met Daniel and given him directions to Nichols Hall? The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. That would explain how Daniel had found him when he had passed out, and it might have been why Amy had come here instead of going to Gregors—Gregors was actually a little closer, but if she had led him to Nichols she would have gone ahead and gotten a drink here.

  He brushed the papers off his desk and stood up. Carmichael’s revision would have to wait a little longer—he was going back to the Club. Maybe there was a way to find what he needed without matching wills with Daniel again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was almost five when Nick finally stepped through the heavy brassbound doors again, but that didn’t seem to matter—it felt the same in early evening as it had during the day, quiet and somehow timeless. The fact that he didn’t see any clocks added to that, and he quickly lost track of time as he wandered from room to room, looking for answers. He had asked the doorman where Daniel was—apparently he was out on some business matters, and would be gone all night. Perfect.

  Michael wasn’t in the front room, which eliminated Nick’s first choice, so he kept looking. He liked Michael, and trusted him more than Harcourt or Francisco, but all he needed was someone who knew what was going on—it didn’t even have to be anyone he’d already met. After all, everyone else clearly knew who he was already.

  Two men played pool in one room, one with long red hair and the other bald with a neat beard, but Nick decided not to disturb their game and simply nodded politely as he passed. The long-haired man nodded back, but his partner was measuring a shot and didn’t look up. Nick heard the faint thunk of impact as he walked away, then the sound of a ball dropping solidly into a pocket, followed by soft cursing in a language he didn’t recognize. Shaking his head, he moved on.

  A handful of men and women were sitting in a dining room toward the back of the building, arguing energetically. One of them, an attractive older woman in a skirt and jacket, spotted Nick and motioned him over, but he declined with a shake of his head—he wanted to talk, not watch a verbal duel on some subject he probably knew nothing about.

  Turning to leave, he noticed another woman sitting at a smaller table by the window—she was alone, and her eyes met his over her raised coffee cup. She smiled and beckoned to him, and this time he accepted.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello. Would you care to join me?” She motioned to the seat across from her, and Nick accepted, careful not to jar the table as he sat. The remains of a meal lay before her, and her cup steamed softly—he was surprised to smell tea.

  “I’m Nick Gordon,” he volunteered, hands fidgeting with the edge of the embroidered tablecloth.

  “Of course.” She inclined her head softly. “Marion Lafayette, at your service.” She offered a slender hand and he took it, surprised at how smooth her skin was. She was a striking woman, her green dress complementing her long auburn hair and matching her sparkling eyes. When she smiled Nick had to remind himself that she was probably ten times his age, and that he was here for information. A waiter saved him by approaching, clearing Marion’s plates, and asking Nick if he would care to eat anything. Nick hid his embarrassment by ordering a steak and a baked potato, with a beer on the side. Marion waited until the servant had left to raise her cup again, then smiled once more—Nick felt his face heat up as if he were a sun lamp.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you—Daniel has been talking about nothing else for weeks. I was disappointed the other day when I found out you had been here and had talked to Michael and to Francisco, but had been whisked away before I could be introduced.” She mock-pouted, then laughed, a warm tinkling sound like the chiming of small silver bells. “But now here you are, and Daniel is off puttering about, so I have you all to myself.” Her gaze suggested things that sent a shiver through him, and Nick wasn’t sure if sitting here had been such a good idea. Then she smiled again, more warmly if less playfully, and he relaxed a little.

  “It’s nice to be appreciated,’ he managed lamely, kicking himself as the words spilled from his mouth. He had never been good at flirting with attractive women, and this didn’t look like it would be an exception.

  She let the remark pass, and toyed with the handle of her teacup. “How are you handling all of this?” Her free hand fluttered in the direction of the club, the debate in the other corner, the whole situation.

  “All right, I guess.” He shrugged, eyes intent on the tablecloth, afraid to meet her gaze. “It’s weird, but it really hasn’t affected me much.”

  “No,” she agreed, “I guess it wouldn’t have. Not yet. Give it a hundred years or so, when everyone you know is dead and you’ve had to change your name at least once, maybe more, and then see what you think.” The waiter arrived with his food, set it down, and left them alone again. Nick stared at the huge flame-seared steak and gently steaming potato as if he had never seen food before.

  “Is something wrong?” Marion inquired softly, one hand snaking out to rest on his—the warmth of her fingers burned against his flesh.

  “Hm? Oh, no—I just didn’t realize how big it would be. I’m used to cafeteria food, not real stuff like this.” He gulped. “I hope they take credit cards here,” he admitted after a second.

  That brought a laugh from Marion—she seemed genuinely amused. “Silly boy, you don’t pay for food here! This is the Club, and you are a member! Enjoy!” Nick studied her to see if she was teasing him but she seemed serious, and so he nodded and cut into the steak. It was excellent, tender and juicy and faintly spiced, and he dug into the rest with relish. Marion watched him eat in silence, obviously amused by the zest with which he attacked his food—she waited until he had finished before speaking again.

  “Do you like the Club?”

  Nick leaned back, took a sip of his beer, and glanced around, taking in the fine furnishings, the broad windows, and the waiter even now approaching to remove his empty plate. “Yeah, it’s great. I could get used to this.”

  She inclined her head modestly, hair writhing with the motion. “I’m glad you approve.”

  Nick shifted to let the waiter take his plate, then glanced at her again, one eyebrow rising
. “I thought Daniel built this place.”

  “Oh, he did,” Marion agreed, a sly smile on her lips. “After appropriate encouragement, of course.” Her eyes suddenly widened, mouth pouting just a touch, and she took on an expression of vulnerability and innocence that Nick knew immediately must have been the downfall of many a man. “My, it’s such a shame we have to keep meeting in hotels and business centers and the like,” she exclaimed, her voice also altered, its tones that of a perplexed and helpless woman. “It’s too bad no one has built a permanent place for us—someplace where we can gather and even live if we choose, without having to worry about being discovered.” The vacuous expression faded and she smiled triumphantly. “Daniel took the hint, and built this place.”

  Nick was puzzled. “But he got the credit for it, the prestige.”

  “Yes, but I got my club.” She shook her head, auburn tresses scattering around her face. “You see, Nick, I don’t care about these silly games the men like to play. I play my own games, for my own stakes.” A momentary smile, seductive and predatory, suggested that he might be part of one of those games, but the look faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I already have the other’s respect—what more do I need?” She glanced over at the other table, where the argument was still taking place. “Most of us feel the same way—why waste time on these petty little contests when we can manipulate others to give us what we desire?” She leaned in and favored him with a smug little smile. “Naturally, we women are more adept at that, since we’ve had practice getting men to do what we want.”