Forbidden Nights with a Vampire(28)

 

"I wasn't referring to your theory." Maggie set her cup and saucer on the kitchen table and took a seat. "I find it interesting that I asked for news about all the harem ladies, and you talked only about Vanda."

 

Phil shrugged. "I'm concerned, naturally, because I agreed to be her sponsor."

 

Maggie sipped her Chocolood. "And why did you agree?"

 

"Someone had to do it. No one else volunteered, and I do have some experience in psychology." When Maggie just stared at him with a knowing look, he raised his hands in a surrendering motion. "All right, I admit it. I'm hopelessly attracted to her. Always have been."

 

Maggie grinned. "I always knew there was something between you two. But why do you say it's hopeless?"

 

He took a can of beer from the fridge and popped the top. "At first I couldn't get involved with her because I was her guard, and frankly, I just thought she was playing with me because she was bored."

 

Maggie nodded. "She was bored, but I think she was genuinely attracted to you."

 

"I've just recently become aware of that." He thought back to their kiss, and the way she'd surrendered in passion. And then he recalled the years he'd wasted when he could have been pursuing her. With an inward groan, he guzzled down some beer.

 

"It shouldn't be hopeless now," Maggie said.

 

He sat across from her at the table. "I'm her anger management sponsor, so I'm not supposed to get romantically involved. And I'm her guard again. Technically, she's forbidden."

 

"Technically?"

 

He shrugged and drank more beer. "I'm not a very technical person."

 

Maggie's mouth twitched. "A man of action, eh? That could be exactly what Vanda needs."

 

He plunked the beer can on the table. "She's avoiding me. I think she's…afraid."

 

"Ah." Maggie traced her finger along the rim of her teacup. "She was always very cautious about forming new relationships. She knew me for over ten years before she would even admit we were friends. But once she calls you friend, she'll fight like a tiger to defend you. Do you know she threatened my husband once if he didn't treat me right?"

 

Phil smiled. "That sounds like her. She tried to defend Ian, too, last December."

 

Maggie nodded. "She told me once that Ian looked a lot like her youngest brother. But when I asked about her family, she refused to talk about them."

 

"Do you know what happened?"

 

"No, not really. When she first came to the harem, she was like…a wounded animal. She wouldn't speak to anyone. Wouldn't look at our faces. It was so sad." Maggie grew silent, frowning as she remembered.

 

"Tell me more," Phil said softly.

 

"I was afraid she would starve to death. There were nights when she refused to go out for…food." Maggie gave him an apologetic look. "That was before synthetic blood."

 

"I understand. And Vanda would refuse to hunt? Wasn't that painful for her?"

 

"Oh yes. Something awful. I would beg her to go hunting with me. Even when she did, she would barely take enough blood to stay alive. I always had this terrible feeling that she was punishing herself."

 

"Why would she make herself suffer?"

 

"I asked her, but she would never say." Maggie finished her Chocolood, then took her dishes to the sink to rinse them out. "She reminded me of a sparrow with broken wings. All brown and downtrodden. She wore this old brown dress, and her hair was brown, too. A lovely brown, streaked with dark red highlights, but she pulled it back severely in a bun. It was like she wanted to crawl into a hole and never fly again."

 

Phil sat in silence. This was not the Vanda he knew. As far as he could tell, she had suffered from a case of post-traumatic stress syndrome and depression. She might still be suffering from the aftereffects. After all, she'd gone from one extreme to the other, from the broken brown sparrow to a purple-haired, whip-toting, wildcat prone to violent outbursts. The real Vanda—the one she was afraid to be, lay somewhere in between.

 

He finished his beer. "She never confided in anyone?"

 

"No," Maggie set her cup and saucer in the dishwasher. "Her first year in the harem, she hardly spoke at all. George, the Coven Master back then, gave us a small monthly allowance. Cora Lee, Pamela, and I would go shopping or to the movies. Vanda spent her money on art supplies."

 

Phil sat back, surprised. "Art?"

 

"Yes. She painted. Every night. All night." Maggie grimaced. "Ghastly pictures. Red paint everywhere. Blood, dead bodies, swastikas, barbed wire, wolves—"