MaryAnn nodded. “Well, of course, from what I’ve seen in movies. Is that where you’re getting your information, too? The movies?”
“You don’t have to believe me,” Destiny pulled her arm away from MaryAnn. She could hear hearts beating. She could hear the ebb and flow of blood. The whispers of private conversations. “I’m not crazy.” She said it firmly, more for her own benefit than for MaryAnn’s.
“I know that. I couldn’t leave the church, even though I knew you were in danger and I wanted to go help you. I sat there until morning, although I prayed for the strength to leave. But I couldn’t. I saw him, Destiny. I saw and heard everything he said.” MaryAnn shivered delicately. “He wanted you to call me out of the church.”
Destiny nodded her head. “Yes—to share your blood.” She said it bluntly, wanting to conclude this conversation. She had forgotten how emotions could tie one up in painful knots. She preferred physical pain.
“Let’s go back to why you believe you’re a monster. What makes you think so, Destiny? Because this maniac, this vampire, exchanged blood with you?” MaryAnn asked. “I can only go by what I’ve read in books or seen in movies. I know little of vampires and didn’t for a moment believe they existed until I witnessed that horrible man. Now I’m open to the possibility, but I still can’t believe you are one. Garlic, for instance…”
Destiny shuddered. “I never go near the stuff. I don’t know what it would do to me, but I don’t dare try it.” She pushed an unsteady hand through her hair. “I haven’t looked in a mirror in years. I don’t think I have a reflection, but I don’t know for certain. I want so much to enter the church, but I can’t take the chance.”
“Sweetheart—” MaryAnn caught her firmly and turned her. “Your reflection is just as clear as mine in the mirror there. And you happen to be standing directly under a string of garlic. You haven’t even noticed it.”
Destiny’s brilliant gaze found herself in the oversized mirror above the bar. She looked pale. Startled. Frightened. Did that face really belong to her? The last time she had seen herself she had been eight years old. How long ago had that been? She didn’t know. She didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. Hanging above the bar where deli sandwiches were advertised were various food items, including strings of garlic in nets.
Afraid that if she took her eyes from her image it would disappear, Destiny watched herself shake her head. “I’ve never looked before. I was afraid of what I might see, or not see.”
“Honey,” MaryAnn continued with great gentleness, “when you pushed me into the church, you went inside with me. I was still struggling toward the man. I didn’t have control of myself until you spoke.”
There was a small silence while they both turned her words over in their minds. “I went into the church?”
“Then you had control of me,” MaryAnn mused. “Destiny, whatever you are, you’re not evil. You’re not anything like that monster.” She shuddered, remembering the fangs, the jagged teeth stained with blood. She glanced around the bar, spotted a small empty table in a corner and steered Destiny toward it. She was beginning to understand why the young woman had such troubled eyes. How long had Destiny lived with the knowledge that such monsters inhabited the world?
“Sit down, Destiny.” MaryAnn used an authoritative voice. Destiny was so pale, so shocked, she looked as if she might fall over. When Destiny seated herself, MaryAnn took the chair across from her. “Did that man really take your blood and force you to take his?” It seemed a silly question to ask, something out of a Hollywood horror film, but MaryAnn had seen the creature, and she had known he was evil and that he was not human. She’d been a witness to the blurring speed Destiny had used in attacking the thing.
“Not him.” Destiny’s voice was so soft, MaryAnn strained to hear her. She sounded far away. “There was another. A long time ago. He…” Destiny trailed off, one hand going to her throat defensively. She covered her pulse, pressing her palm to her skin as if covering a ragged wound. For a moment she looked so vulnerable, so young and fragile, MaryAnn had to force herself to remain silent. “I can’t think about it. I don’t dare think about it.”