Love Like Winter

Carly choked and fell backwards, catching herself just in time and very nearly swallowing the flashlight. Her voice mumbled around the metal cylinder, incoherent garbles of horror that had started in her head as, "What did she do to you?"

If Abby understood, she had no answer. She just kept staring over Carly's shoulder, unseeing, unhearing, uncaring. Like one of the guards at Buckingham Palace, Carly thought, not moving except by order. Dalila's order. Suddenly the bottom fell out of Carly's stomach. This wasn't voodoo. This wasn't drugs. This wasn't anything normal or sane or real or rational or oh God, oh fuck oh God oh fuck Abby was a living statue and Dalila had done it to her--

Something clattered behind Carly, loud as a gunshot in the silent room. She spun, the flashlight still clenched between her teeth, and caught sight of a decorative fan on the floor some thirty feet away. She remembered seeing it earlier, clenched in the hands of a kimono-wearing dressmaker's dummy...a dummy that wasn't there anymore. It had moved.

In that first moment of terror, when time slowed to a glacial pace, Carly reached a number of important conclusions. She realized that all the dummies were people, just like Abby. She noticed that another couple of platforms were empty now, and that two white-clad figures stood in the doorway, blocking her escape from the room. She saw that Abby was beginning to move, too, so slowly and silently that Carly knew exactly what must be happening all around her, with every damn one of the dozen-plus dummies in the room. And she knew that even though these things had been people, they weren't people anymore. Dalila had done something to them...and now they were going to do something to Carly.

She wheeled around to protect her back, and then she figured out one last thing: the reason why nobody ever held their flashlight in their mouths. It was way too easy to bump the switch with your tongue.

The next few seconds passed in a blur of panic and darkness. Carly spat the flashlight into her hand, but it was slick with saliva and rolled through her fingers before she could catch it. She heard the clatter of metal on hardwood, then her own involuntary yelp. Frantically she groped for her lighter, still jammed deep in her pocket, and tried to summon the flame. Meanwhile, her imagination filled the darkness with silent, faceless figures that converged on her with arms outstretched. It made her fingers tremble so badly that it took forever to spark the light. At last she succeeded.

Abby was closest to her. Terrifyingly close. Recognition flickered vaguely in her eyes, but behind it raged a vast, inhuman hunger. She reached for Carly and clamped the lid shut on her lighter.

Carly flung herself backwards, re-igniting the flame as fast as she could. This time she saw five or six more mannequins behind Abby, watching her eyelessly through their fabric masks. One of them reached for her again, and Carly almost stepped backwards until some sixth sense warned her against it. She slid sideways instead and saw, from the corner of her eye, white hands grasping for the space she'd just vacated. Then something found the lighter again and the room dropped back into darkness.

They don't need to see, Carly told herself, flailing and stumbling away from the creatures. But they know I do. When she thought she'd put a little distance between herself and the...whatever the hell they were...she flicked the wheel and the room sprang back into view. Carly was further from the door than she had been. They were herding her toward a corner, and when they got her there, they'd...they'd...Carly didn't know, but she suddenly pictured herself with white skin and hair, posing motionless beneath a mask. Another mannequin reached for the lighter, and the flame wavered alarmingly as she snatched it clear.

"Stop fucking doing that!" Carly screamed. And suddenly something snapped in her, something that had been building up with every petty slight and every veiled insult and every tiny assault on her dignity that Dalila had perpetrated since they first met. "Fine," she muttered, a shade more calmly. They wanted to keep putting out her fire? Well then, she'd have to give them one that would take a while. Carly spun around, found the most expensive wall hanging in reach, and held the flame against it.

The ancient material went up with a fwoosh, a brilliant light, and a heat so intense that Carly had to throw herself sideways, even though she risked bumping into one of them. She didn't, though. She didn't even bump into Abby, who'd been close enough just a moment ago to eat her face. Every other ex-mannequin in the room, including Carly's wife, was tearing off its costume and beating it against the tapestry.

The flames died slowly, and with it, a little of Carly's terror. She was onto something here. These...things...were so obsessed with putting out the fire that they'd totally forgotten about her. Come to think of it, they'd snatched her cigarettes just as quickly, when she'd been here before. It was almost as if.... Carly scooted backwards towards another hanging, set it alight, and grinned wickedly as half the pack peeled away to deal with this new threat. Maybe they were just really protective of Dalila's treasures, but maybe it was something more.

It was definitely something more. One of the creatures--it wasn't Abby, thank God it wasn't Abby--got too close to the flame. The fire sprang up her arm and across her chest with terrifying speed. She let out a high, whistling hiss like a teakettle boiling over, a sound loud enough to bring tears to Carly's eyes. Then she collapsed to the floor, and it consumed her as she thrashed in silent agony. It was like she'd been made of dry newspaper; in moments, there was nothing left of her but ash.

Carly's smile grew wider, more merciless. These things could die. She could destroy them, torch them all except for Abby and leave the place burning with Dalila still inside and get rid of the whole lot of them--

She came to her senses when five more of them stepped into the room. Carly wasn't ready to take them all on, not with just a cigarette lighter and a (now ridiculous) expandable baton. She'd have to run again. But it would be the last time she ran; when she came back, she'd be better prepared. She'd be fucking loaded for bear.

Abby was still fighting the first blaze, and it almost tore Carly apart to leave her there at the mercy of the flames--and the mercy of Dalila. But Dalila had no mercy, and whatever she'd planned to do to Abby had already been done. If she had hope of rescuing her wife, she'd have to rescue herself first.

Carly backed out into the hallway. She could see the near end clearly now, in the light of the twin blazes, and she was sure there'd been a lot more statues out there. Oh. Wait. Oh, fuck. Carly practically threw herself at the nearest table and set the runner afire. Immediately half a dozen ghosts, some still wearing their bull heads, materialized from the darkness and converged on the blazing table. They'd been planning to ambush her, Carly thought; and with so many bodies in such a narrow space, they would damn well have succeeded. She actually had to squeeze between them to get out, had to feel their too-cool bodies and powerful muscles bunch against her skin. Fortunately, she was less afraid now than she had been. She'd learned their secret, and she just kept lighting fires all the way down the hall to the fire escape.

Carly lost count of all the blazes she'd set before she was even halfway to safety. She never bothered trying to count the minions in the first place.

*****

Renata answered the door herself, not wincing even a little at the bright winter sun. Of course, Carly hadn't really expected her to be allergic to daylight. If none of the rest of it was true, then why should that be? It wasn't important, anyway. Only two things mattered to Carly. One, Renata was the same kind of creature as Dalila; anything else would have been even more improbable than the truth. And two, Renata was nothing at all like Dalila. They clearly hated each other, and Renata hadn't made any move against Carly or Abby--or anyone else Carly knew about, not that that meant much. Anyway, as far as Carly was concerned, Renata was the closest thing she was going to find to an ally. Not that that meant much, either.

"Ms. D'Antonio," said Renata, blocking the doorway with a strategically placed arm. "I remember you. I didn't expect to see you again, though."

"You should have," Carly told her. She moved in closer, deliberately crowding Renta's space. "You knew what would happen when you left me and Abby alone with Dalila."

Surprise, understanding, and perhaps the slightest hint of appreciation flickered across Renta's face. "Ms. Weinstein gave you my address."

"How else could I have found you?" Carly flashed a chilly smile, then brought out her lighter and tossed it casually into the air. "Now, are you going to let me inside before or after the threats?"

The lighter had barely passed its zenith when Renata snatched it from the air. "Come in," she answered blandly, turning away without a second glance. She held the lighter up over her shoulder. "I might even give this back to you before you leave."

Carly followed Renata into a townhouse apartment painted in muted earth tones. It couldn't have been any more different from Dalila's warren: there were no expensive works of art here, no antiques from bygone ages, and certainly no minions disguised as inanimate objects. This could have been anybody's home, except...Carly noticed it, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The closest she could come was that it felt almost ostentatiously humble. She looked around, trying to figure out what was nagging her subconscious.

At last it came to her: Renata's home was completely empty of decoration. No knick-knacks on the mantel, no pictures on the wall, no vases on the table. Everyone had something they put up, even if it was just a five-dollar picture of dogs playing poker. Everyone had something they were proud of. But not Renata. She deliberately avoided any sign of pride, even house-pride. "You're mortifying yourself," Carly realized.

Renata met her gaze without flinching. "I have much to atone for."

Thinking of Dalila's coterie, Carly couldn't help but agree. She remembered Renata talking about ancient Rome, back at the party. She'd spoken of it like she'd been there. And if she had, then how many feasts would that make for her, over the course of two thousand years? How many monsters had she created? "I can imagine," she said, not bother to hide her disgust.

"No," Renata answered simply. "You can't." She sat down, gesturing to Carly to do the same. When Carly didn't move, she shrugged and continued. "There are no words for what we are. Some myths come close; different people have spoken of us as vampires, succubi, jiang shi...but nothing expresses our nature precisely. I prefer the term 'Ageless,' but each of us calls ourselves something different. That is important to understand, Ms D'Antonio. We are not kin."

Carly didn't have time for a speech. "Look, Renata," she said, "I don't care what you call yourself. I know what you are, and what Dalila is--"

"No, you don't. And you need to." Carly had never seen a stare that direct and open; it made her want to flinch, but at the same time, she couldn't look away from the incongruous black eyes in that ghostly face. Abby's face had been ghostly, too, Carly remembered; and that almost brought a question to mind. Then Renata spoke again, and between the look on her face and the tone in her voice, Carly couldn't help but listen. Her train of thought was completely derailed.

"I know you don't remember what happened," said Renata, "the night Dalila drank from you. You forgot it because she commanded you to forget. That is part of what she takes--" her face twisted, and she practically spat the next words-- "what we all can take. You notice the loss of color, if we let you; but paleness is only the symptom of a much more serious theft."

She took a deep breath, as if she were steeling herself for something she hadn't confessed in years--centuries, perhaps. Even as impatient as Carly felt, she still found herself hooked. "We drink vitality," Renata told her. "Passion. Everything that makes people people. Their bodies remain, but only as empty vessels. We hold the spark of their wills. And with that in our control, they become our puppets, our pets. Our playthings to do with as we please." Her eyes flickered. "It is a heady power to wield, even for the best of us. And Dalila is not the best of us."

Carly shivered, understanding at last all that had been done to Abby--and some of what had been done to her, as well. It took her several seconds to find her voice again. "But I...Dalila doesn't control me," she said, hoping it was the truth. "She took from me, and I'm not a, a...I'm not like Abby."

"The will is a powerful thing," Renata answered. "It renews itself, if left alone. To drain it past the point of recovery, to make more creatures like ourselves, requires time and a determined effort. Dalila does that, with people she wishes to own. With others, she takes as much or as little as the occasion requires. You, she drained just once--and just to reach Abby."

Carly's emotions were whiplashing all over the place. She was horrified, desperate, disgusted--and yes, insulted, too. She needed Renata's help, but she hated her, too. Especially now. "So, who do you drain?" she demanded, too angry and impatient to stop herself.

Renata sat very still. "No one, any longer. Neither Dalila nor I need to feed, to live....But you cannot understand what it feels like, to hold a person's essence in your hand. You can not." Just for a moment, her composure slipped and Carly caught a glimpse of the longing she'd tried to bury. Then the mask dropped back into place. "I will not apologize for my weakness, Ms. D'Antonio. Nor will I boast of my strength. I am not the creature I was. Let that be enough for you."

Carly knew she should be frightened out of her mind, but she must be so far past that point that she couldn't even remember how it felt. Unbidden, a memory from the party popped back into her head. "That was why she invited you," she guessed. "She was teasing you."

"Oh, yes," Renata nodded. Her face was calm, but her voice was bitter. "Dalila refuses to believe that anyone could give up this power. My existence mocks her claim that morality is meaningless among our kind. She wants to see me debase myself. She wants me to drink, deep."

That statement brought Abby back to the forefront of Carly's mind. "But you don't," she said quickly, desperately. "You know it's wrong. And that means you have to help--"

Renata held up a hand to cut her off, but then she paused so long that Carly had to try again. "I need--" she began, but Renata shook her head almost violently.

"You need what you cannot have. Abby is gone. She will never be the person she was before. You cannot revive the dead. You can only kill yourself trying."

"There has to be--"

Renata leapt to her feet so quickly that Carly gasped. "Leave now, Carla D'Antonio, and forget your lover ever existed. It was a mistake for me ever to have let you inside."

Carly stood her ground with effort, her eyes welling. "No," she whispered, then said it again more loudly. "No. I won't accept that. Abby is my--" She struggled to find words, any words, that would adequately convey all that her beloved had been to her: wife, lover, best friend, confidante, and a thousand other things no language could express. "She's my everything. I can't just leave her there."

"Then you will die."

Carly tilted her chin. "I'd rather die for someone I love than live the rest of my life knowing I didn't try to save her." It was strange, hearing herself say something like that and realizing she meant it.

Renata seemed to think it was strange, too. Her fury evaporated, and just for a moment, she looked ready to join Carly in her tears. "Dalila is a fool," she muttered at last, "to ignore treasure like this, even when she has it in her grasp."

Then she was right next to Carly, stroking her cheek like a lover. "Be still," she murmured before Carly could even think of trying to escape, "One taste is all I ask. One taste, before it's all gone."

Carly didn't know whether it was fear, or the first stirrings of Renata's control that made her nod. All she knew was that she couldn't refuse the request...if you could even call it that. Too late, Carly realized she'd never been safe here at all. Renata was just too fast, too clever. She could drain Carly all the way down to a husk, and Carly had gone and made herself irresistible to her. Now all she could hope was that Renata had enough self control to keep her word and stop with a "taste."

Then Carly stopped hoping even for that.

*****

Carly was pretty sure the only reason she heard Dalila coming was that Dalila wanted Carly to hear her. After all, she was a monster, right? She could do all kinds of freaky shit. Yep, she wanted Carly to know she was there...and that meant it'd be pretty rude for Carly to ignore her. "Hi!" she chirped, grinning so widely it felt like the top of her head might fall off. She gestured around the bar with a half-filled glass of Stoli, almost spilling it on the bartop before she recovered. The room already stank of booze, and she couldn't stand to waste another drop. "I broke into your place again, figured you wouldn't mind." She looked down at her glass again, taking a moment to find her focus. "Oh, and I stole some of your liquor. You've got some damn good shit, you know that?"

"Yes, I do," Dalila murmured. Carly couldn't read her true feelings, but she didn't think Dalila would be too happy that she'd trespassed on her a second time. Still, she looked pretty civil, for a monster. "And no, I don't. Mind, that is." Suddenly she was right across the bar, perching casually on a stool and smiling like a well-fed cat. Shit. She moved just as fast as Renata.

"I hope you don't mind that it's just the two of us," said Dalila. "You left a bit of work for my pets on your last visit...I know I should install a sprinkler system, but I'm irrational that way. I just can't stand the thought of all my furniture getting soaked. I prefer to just use healthy caution. Not letting pyromaniacs into my house, that sort of thing. In any event, they're off cleaning up after you and I don't want to interrupt their labors. Besides....I thought you might not want Abby to see you like this. Really, Carly, you don't look at all well. I say that as a friend. You seem dizzy, pale, unkept. As though you've had perhaps a bit too much of my...damn good shit."

Carly brushed her off with a sloppy wave. "Oh, that's not the booze. I stopped by an old friend of ours, you know? Well, mine. You don't really have any friends, do you? Just things you own and people you haven't killed yet." Dalila's smile tightened and her eyes narrowed, but Carly didn't give a fuck. That was the upside of knowing you were about to die. You didn't care who you pissed off. "Anyhoo, she said I should just give up on Abby. Oh, and she said I should kill you, I think...I dunno, things got a little hazy there at the end."

Dalila's smile broadened and her eyes filled with savage joy. Carly thought it was the first genuine emotion she'd ever seen from the bitch. "She drank from you!" Dalila crowed. "Two hundred years of shoving her morality down my throat, and at last she breaks her vows--for you! Oh, I knew there was a reason I hadn't killed you yet!" She laughed. The sound was musical, but there was so much cruelty behind it that Carly had to fight not to retch. Fortunately, she wouldn't have long to worry about it.