They exchanged a sober look.
“So, what do we know?” Carling said. “If what happened was an illusion, it could not have come from my spell magic.”
“Somehow it still has to be an integral part of you,” Rune said. “The scene was a very intimate and important part of your past.”
She bowed her head and the curve of her mouth turned unhappy, but she gave a reluctant nod.
Rune remembered the conversation he had had with Rhoswen. He said, “You may not be Wyr, but you are like Dragos in that you also have another kind of magic. Vampyre magic. Rhos wen said that a by-product of the virus was a certain amount of Power, at least enough for telepathy and crossovers, but the virus itself is also magic in nature. There are all the famous attributes that come from Vampyrism, like longevity, strength and speed.”
Her head came up. She gave him a puzzled look. “Yes, of course, along with all the famous limitations like the need to drink blood, inability to eat solid foods, and vulnerability to sunlight, but I’ve never heard of this kind of thing happening to any of the other Vampyres who reached the end stages of the disease.”
“How would you know?” he said. “The oral histories state that other Vampyres experienced some kind of episodes. You’re experiencing episodes too, along with all the other symptoms you’ve categorized. It seems clear they must be connected to Vampyrism. Whatever actually happened yesterday—whether it was an illusion, shared hallucination or some kind of alternate reality—it was an interaction of me coming into contact with what was happening to you, and that has never happened before. Apparently I could connect with your event because of my Wyr attributes. What I went through had a very real, if strange, crossover experience. That’s the information we have right now.”
Carling shook her head slowly. “We also know that neither one of us was in control. I had no idea how dangerous this could be for you. I don’t have a choice; I’m going through this whether I like it or not. But you do have a choice, and you need to protect yourself.”
“We don’t know enough,” he said. “And we need to learn more. What I need to do is go back into the next episode, if I can, and see what else I can discover. Carling, your life depends on us figuring this out.”
“I know.” She met his gaze. “But I don’t want you getting hurt.”
He gave her a slight smile. “And I don’t want you dying. We’ll just have to look out for each other as best we can. When you have another episode, I’m going to try to engage again. Agreed?”
She straightened her spine and nodded. “Agreed.”
She looked at the table. Rune had laced his fingers through one of hers while they talked. They had passed the wine back and forth with their free hands.
She murmured, “What do you suppose it means?”
She did not question his overtures any longer. Along with the rest of the list she had made earlier, it was clear Rune was too affectionate. Reaching out to touch or hug her seemed to come as easily as breathing to him. She was convinced that, like his penchant for flirting, it meant nothing. No doubt he did as much with everyone around him.
However, gestures of physical affection had never come easily to her. She meant to question how she had let him hold her hand without a shred of protest, but Rune’s response was ambiguous enough that he could have taken her meaning another way.
“It means,” he said as his fingers tightened on hers, “that I’ll be very interested to see what happens next.”
? ? ?
The morning had brightened as they talked. The air turned heavy and yellow as the sun rose high overhead. Carling reclaimed her hand and went to stand at the open door. She supposed the temperature must have warmed as well. A steady brisk breeze blew from the ocean, smelling of brine and change. Things unresolved, things not understood. It was irritating to think of dying in the face of so much mystery. Could irritation become enough motivation to stay alive? Perhaps curiosity? She sighed, rubbed her face, and wished she could experience the restoration of sleep again.
Rune moved up behind her. She could feel the heat of his body along the length of her back, a siren’s call of warmth and strength. He said, “Rhoswen didn’t stay with you.”
She turned her head slightly. “Why, was she supposed to?”
“We thought it would be best if one of us did, in case you slipped into an episode.”
So that was why Rhoswen had argued with her so fiercely. She set her jaw. “I sent her to bed,” she said. “She and Rasputin go back to San Francisco tonight.” She turned to stab him with an angry gaze. “I can send you away too.”