Chapter Six
Awakening from a strangely sound sleep in total darkness, Carly felt around the bed to try to orient herself to her surroundings. She had no recollection of the previous evening beyond reclining on her velvet cushion at Eric's feet. She recalled, vaguely, hearing bits and pieces of a conversation between Eric and Godric about New Orleans and the challenges Godric would face as king, before she stuffed plugs in her ears and went to sleep. With their acute hearing, vampires tolerated the excruciatingly loud music surprisingly well, Carly thought, since she was miserable after comparatively little time.
Once she found the edge of the bed, Carly maneuvered to the bathroom, where she took care of her "scheduled maintenance" and put on a robe. Eric didn't keep a clock in his bedroom, so she had to go out into his main living area to puzzle out what time it was. Although she'd slept all the day before, she couldn't afford to keep vampire hours all the time. The medical examiner's office, while flexible because of her "gifts," still needed her to put in eight hours every day during the coming week, since she'd be departing soon for New York City to attend Abdullah's gallery opening. But once she was dressed and ready, she'd be heading home for the rest of the day, and then back to work the next.
Carly would drive one of Eric's cars over to her place, where he'd pick it up after getting back from New Orleans Monday night. Eric was to accompany Godric as he made his way to his new capitol, but Carly was staying in Shreveport. Once the palace was fully remodeled, Godric planned to have a large party, one that would include local human leaders and philanthropists as well.
Once she was dressed, she looked for Eric's car keys, which he usually left for her on the kitchen counter in such circumstances. Beneath the keyring was a note:
Dearest Carly, If tonight were not going to be so difficult, I would bring you, but I fear that your memories of New Orleans are too clouded by our last moments with Sophie-Ann. I hope to make better memories with you in that grand city someday. Please drive my Corvette carefully. Pam may ask you to stop by Fangtasia tonight, just to maintain continuity, but do not feel obliged to stay longer than you wish. You need your rest for when I return. -Eric.
Terrific, Carly thought. So now I'm part of the furniture of Fangtasia.
Carly was craving a more substantial southern breakfast than the cereal Eric kept around for her, so she headed toward the nearest Waffle House. It would probably be crowded on a Sunday morning, or early Sunday afternoon, she realized, but there were usually seats at the counter, she rationalized.
As she drove toward the Waffle House, Carly noticed two buildings in a row that she'd never paid attention to, probably because she always drove this way in the dark—an elementary school and a nursing home, which were side by side. All the playground equipment, athletic fields, and parking lots were on the side of the school opposite the nursing home, so Carly assumed that the folks in the nursing home wouldn't be terribly afflicted by the noise inevitable to an elementary school.
Cars filled the elementary school parking lot, and bouncy houses and carnival games dotted the athletic field. According to signs in front of the school and at the corner, the crowds were due to the Shreveport Community Festival being held at the school. Carly pulled into the Waffle House parking lot and decided she'd walk around the festival once she'd eaten.
After a satisfying breakfast—with eggs, a waffle, and ham—Carly moved her car to the elementary school parking lot and started walking around. The crowd outside emanated unrestrained, childish joy, as the waves of enthusiasm rolled off children who bounced themselves silly inside inflatable playhouses as the parents sat by watching their kids and chatting with other parents.
"Do you have a program of events, ma'am?" a teenaged volunteer asked.
"No." Carly took one from the girl's hand.
"Well, we have lots of booths inside too—opportunities to volunteer, churches, vendors. Enjoy yourself!" The pixie bounced away toward another empty-handed pedestrian.
Carly strolled toward the school building, past booths set up for school fund-raising, and paused for a moment near a pet adoption booth. A small group of women were trying to keep a pack of four dogs separated. Anxiety flooded off the volunteers as they held the dogs at arms length while straining to smile and look enthusiastic about them. All the volunteers clearly feared the dogs they held—most of them pit bulls or large crosses. The dogs were equally afraid, so their snouts kept smelling the air and they scratched at the ground beneath them. As Carly approached the dogs, she sensed their hopelessness that their circumstances would change and their fear of the volunteers who held them. All the dogs, Carly knew, had been abused, although their external wounds had healed. One of them, a brindle-coated pit bitch stood nervously and stared at Carly. As she focused on dog, waves of rage toward humans spilled out of her—vague memories of the cries of her pups as some were drowned or as others were thrown into fighting rings.
"Oh, baby," Carly reached out her hand toward the dog, who backed away. Carly sent visions of her own dogs to this deeply traumatized creature, Carly's own memories of helping her oldest dog give birth and then assisting as the puppies grew into happy and healthy dogs who moved in with area families. Carly infused the visions with love and empathy, and wished, desperately, that she could replace this traumatized dog's memories with those of her own dogs. Finally, the bitch's eyes closed slightly, and she sunk to the ground, allowing Carly to pet her lovingly.
"That's right, sweetheart, you don't have to hurt." Without realizing it, tears streamed down her own cheeks and the volunteers stared as the brindle rolled onto her back to let Carly scratch her.
"Wow," the brindle's handler said quietly. "What did you do?"
Carly looked up into the shocked woman's face. "I've always had dogs, except when I've lived away from home. I guess she knows how much I miss them."
"Whatever you did," one of the others, a statuesque blond in her fifties, said, "can you do it to the others?"
"It would help," Carly said, "if you all relaxed around them. Try trusting them a little."
The brindle's handler responded antagonistically, "These are strong dogs, ma'am. I don't know if you realize..."
Carly cut her off. "Please, call me Carly. Dogs are only as cruel as the people who have them."
"They're rescue dogs. People have been cruel to them," she responded.
"You're not. You're trying to find them loving homes," Carly whispered to the next dog, a smoky-coated male. This dog hadn't been around fighting, but it had been chained outside and inconsistently fed, so fear and longing struggled for supremacy inside the dog's mind. It was desperate to trust, but reluctant to. Carly spoke to it, "You just need someone who will spoil you rotten, don't you?" When it sniffed her hand, Carly began petting it and sending it visions of the treats she used to give her dogs when they ran the obstacle course she set up for them. Beneath her hands, the dog relaxed into a calm and submissive state.
The third, a muzzled mixed breed growled at Carly slightly as she approached it, although it cowered more than positioning to attack. Carly stood and addressed the dog, "So what's your story, huh?" Staring into the dog, all she saw was darkness, and the sound of gunshots and screaming. This dog had been locked inside a blacked-out apartment, chained to the wall, and encouraged to bark at every sound.
"She was locked in an apartment." The dog's handler started to tell her story, "And found after her owner had been murdered."
Loneliness and alienation drove this dog, who wanted nothing more than company. Carly thought how much this creature would enjoy living in a happy pack like the one she had on her farm when she was a girl. She also thought about the dogs she'd seen in Sweden, barking, yapping, playing sled dogs who loved nothing more than to run. After sniffing Carly's hand tentatively, the dog stretched up to be pet. "That's a good girl," Carly whispered. "You're just lonely. Why don't you make some friends?" Carly reached with her other hand to pet the brindle who sat nearby. "Why don't you two make friends for a little while?"
The handler said, shortly, "She's muzzled because she's snapped at other dogs."
"Only because she doesn't know how to relate." Carly emptied her mind and imagined herself as a conduit between the two dogs, the frustrated mother who'd been deprived of her children and the lone guard, who had spent her life in darkness. Carly asked the brindle's handler, "Can I have her leash?"
Without moving her hand, Carly grasped the offered leash and left it slack. After a few moments, while Carly petted them both slowly, imagining a cable of loss drawing them together into friendship, the brindle rose, and took a few tentative steps toward the muzzled bitch. The brindle nuzzled her shoulder, and the other dog sank onto her back as the brindle started to lick her neck and shoulder. Finally, the brindle collapsed down onto the muzzled dog and laid her head down to comfort her. Carly said, "There you go, momma, let her know how love feels."
When Carly handed back the leash, she noticed that all the volunteers were misty eyed or openly crying. Carly turned her attention to the last dog, a hyper little terrier who had been running in circles around the kennel that housed her. "So why is he in a kennel?"
"He's a runner," the blond reported. "We're afraid he'd get away."
"Oh, do you need a job," Carly asked. She could see right away how this creature would exhaust anyone who owned it. "Are you a hunter?" Without any difficulty, Carly could see the little bathroom where this dog had spent the first year of its life, running back and forth, chewing on its paws and tail in frustration. "Have you called any exterminators?"
"Why?" The volunteers all exclaimed in some horror.
"No," Carly shook her head and her hands, mortified that they'd thought she'd suggested euthanizing the dog. "These dogs are intended to ferret out vermin. An exterminator might want a dog to help, especially if his clients want a creature trapped rather than killed. Like squirrels."
They finally seemed to realize what she was talking about. "That's a good idea."
Somewhat exhausted by the emotions she'd experienced, but exhilarated nonetheless by connecting with these creatures that she loved so much, Carly said, "I hope you have better luck now with their adoptions. Don't be afraid of them. They're all good dogs. And I think you can take off her muzzle."
The muzzled dog's handler removed the restraint and petted her head. "Oh, there you go, sweetie." The muzzled dog, now free to open its mouth, started licking the brindle's coat.
"Carly," the blond volunteer spoke, "would you be interested in volunteering with us?"
Carly thought of her work, and her strange schedule, and her beloved Eric, and didn't know what kind of time she could dedicate honestly. "I'm pretty busy with a new job and helping at my boyfriend's new club, but could I get your card?"
"New club?"
"Yeah," Carly lied, knowing that these women would all cavil at the disclosure that she was a vampire's girlfriend, "he's opening a nightclub in Bossier City in a few weeks. He's still fighting about the name with his partners."
Although she had been ignoring the women's thoughts, preferring to focus on the dogs', Carly felt a wave of relief from the blond, who had begun thinking of Fangtasia the moment Carly mentioned a "new club."
"It was nice meeting all of you, and I'll think about volunteering." Carly smiled and fled before she could catch any other more judgmental thoughts than those she'd already seen. Apparently, most folks from Shreveport imagined Fangtasia to be a vampire sex club filled with drugs and debauchery. Of course, Carly hadn't been awake long enough inside the club to support any counterarguments to those claims.
Signs directed visitors toward the school cafeteria, which was lined with booths from all sorts of different groups—Kiwanis Club, Optimists, Elks all conferred with one another in a "service-oriented" corner. The other booths seemed to be more evenly distributed through the hall. Perhaps having a line of churches that were all competing for members seemed too confrontational to the organizers, especially on a Sunday. Carly ignored most of the churches, since she'd only ever attended the Marble Collegiate Church in New York City, which was her family's church going back as far as anyone would care to remember. Despite Edna's agnosticism, Carly's mother remembered Norman Vincent Peale fondly; he led the church for fifty years and was the only minister Carly's grandparents ever knew. Now that Carly knew that she was a valkyrie, she'd need time to reassess her quiet agnosticism and formulate a more thoughtful position about religion. Nevertheless, she doubted that any protestant or evangelical pastor in Shreveport would be much help.
One booth caught her eye, however. A tidily dressed husband and wife sat in front of a huge folding banner, like that you'd see at a trade show, and behind a sign that read "New Congregation Forming."
Carly couldn't resist the temptation to see what this brightly advertised group was all about. In her limited experience, the glossier the advertising materials for any church, the more likely that the church was really a business, or a cult, or both. Striding up with a smile on her face, Carly asked, "So you're forming a new congregation? What denomination is the 'Fellowship of the Sun'?"
The husband spoke first, and as soon as he opened his mouth, Carly tuned into his thoughts to do a comparison. He said, "Reverend Newlin was ordained as a Southern Baptist Minister, but he and his congregants have renamed themselves 'The Fellowship of the Sun' so that they can respond to the emerging threat of vampires to our society." He thought, Damn she's hot. Lanky too. Newlin better be right that women like heroes. Once we start getting rid of these vampires, women will flock to us.
"Umm," Carly paused, having difficulty reconciling the two voices emanating from this conventional suburban man. "So where is this church?"
"The home church is in Dallas, but I was just transferred here, so we're going to build a new congregation. We'll start with something simple, just with a satellite feed to Dallas, but if we get big enough, the younger Reverend might come out to help or train a pastor in their new tradition."
"Okay," Carly tried to go back to the beginning of the conversation. "So, you really won't have a church? You'll just all get together and watch Newlin's sermons? Like those that are on TV already?"
The wife piped in at this point, "It's about fellowship. We can all gather together and seek shelter with one another from the Satanic forces that are gathering."
"There are Satanic forces gathering?" Carly could barely contain herself, because she hadn't even heard the name "Satan" in all the time she'd been around vampires. When Eric and Godric were turned, they were pagans, and she knew that the Magister and Jean-Jacques had both been Christian clergy when they were turned, and seemed to remain just as virtuous as one would expect medieval Christians to be.
The wife stared at Carly intently, concern spreading across the woman's face. "Vampires are agents of Satan."
"Really?" Carly tried to keep from smiling as she tuned into the woman's thoughts. The wife's thoughts were clear: I think we can get through to this poor girl. Any soul we save will be glory to God. Maybe I can make up for losing my sweet little sister. I have to help make the world safe for my baby. Carly wanted this woman to vocalize her anxieties, more than anything to get a sense of the forces that were gathering against vampires, against Eric and his maker. "How do you know?"
"Satan is the tempter." The good wife continued, "He approached Eve at night, lured her with the promise of immortality and god-like power. Vampires accepted Satan's bargain and live a cursed existence away from God's light. If we seek shelter in God's light, we will be saved."
"Interesting..." Carly turned her attention back to the husband, whose interior monologue focused primarily on Carly's desirability in comparison with his newly pregnant wife. "And you think you can be a hero if you make the world safe from vampires?"
What the hell? Did I say that out loud? What tits this girl has. "A man is only a hero if he does God's work."
Carly knew she'd shaken the hypocrite by tuning into his interior monologue and that she could have a little fun at his expense. "So you're going to be God's warriors?"
"Yes, that's why we sing 'Onward Christian Soldiers.'" The wife smiled enthusiastically.
"So you're going to declare war on vampires?" Carly looked directly at the husband, "To save your women and bring them home to you?"
Maybe this girl understands me. I've never been able to say these things to Sheila...maybe this girl wants a hero. "Well, vampires are corrupting young women, bringing them down into the gutter."
Sheila looked down at her lap and started to trouble her hands, wringing her fingers anxiously and sadly.
"Is that what happened?" Carly finally overheard the husband's name from Sheila's sad thoughts: Bob should have been there for her...for me...but he failed us both. "Is that what happened, Bob? Did you lose a girl to a vampire?"
Sheila looked at her husband fiercely. "No, not to a vampire. My little sister was on drugs, and she called us from the bus station in Amarillo and asked for help getting back home. Bob wouldn't go get her. Said she needed to learn her lesson."
"You know that wasn't my fault, honey." Bob stared at his wife and then turned his attention back to Carly. "How did you know about that? How did you know my name?"
"You told it to me, Bob. Don't you remember? You and Sheila introduced yourself when we started talking." Carly said it earnestly, in a way that made them believe her. Carly knew she could have forced them to believe, could have made them remember something entirely different than what had happened, but she wanted this man to suffer, which he wouldn't if she rewrote his memories.
"Yeah, um..." Bob paused. "I'm sorry. It's just hard for us to talk about this." Bob's thoughts poured out of him without any restraint, accompanied by images that made Carly want to kill him first and call the police on him second. Little whore got what she deserved...willing to betray her sister letting me touch her like that. Good girl wouldn't let a man do that...Good girl wouldn't let her sister's husband touch her like that...all her fault.
"Sheila," Carly stared at the woman, "do you work outside the home?"
"No, why?" Sheila's innocent eyes looked up at Carly with anxiety.
"You might want to learn to count on yourself instead of on this scum who took advantage of your sister and who will take advantage of the next wounded woman who comes near him." Carly turned back to Bob, with anger in her voice, and said, "You'll never be anyone's hero, Bob."
Opening up her wallet, Carly pulled out cash that had been sitting there since she returned from Sweden-she estimated it was about four hundred dollars-and handed it to Sheila. "Go home to your family before he lets you down even worse."
Carly walked away from the booth and tried to forget how much she'd interfered in two people's lives without knowing them. But she felt invigorated, strong, and powerful, even if she might have revealed too much of her abilities to someone who wished nothing more than to start killing vampires and forcing himself on the damsels in distress he found along the way. If Bob was the best recruiter Newlin's people could field in Shreveport, and she'd just ruined his life with a ten minute conversation, Eric and Godric had some time to plan before the hate church got a foothold in Louisiana.
Resolved to brief Eric and Godric as thoroughly as possible, Carly tried to negotiate an exit without having to pass by the Fellowship of the Sun table, which was now occupied by two people who were screaming, crying, and turning over tables as a small crowd gathered around them. Carly hated how much she could learn about people's lives from brief interactions, how she now knew about Sheila's feelings of inadequacy, about her long quest to get pregnant, about how Bob had molested her sister shortly after they married when the poor high school girl had sought help with an overzealous boyfriend who was pressuring her to have sex before she wanted. Despite having access to that information, Carly didn't feel overwhelmed by it, just sorrowful for Sheila, who now grieved for her marriage while she still mourned her late sister, run over by a car while trying to hitch-hike from Amarillo to Dallas.
Trying to set aside Bob and Sheila's domestic affairs, which were escalating into a multi-booth fight, as she made her way to the other exit, Carly found herself in front of a table occupied by a wheel-chair bound resident of the nursing home next door and a middle-aged woman in a nurse's uniform and an elderly, but not infirm, woman wearing a "volunteer" tag on her blouse.
The "volunteer" asked Carly quietly, clearly trying to hide her interest in the local gossip, "Do you know what all the ruckus is down there?"
"I fear I may have caused it," Carly suggested sheepishly.
The elderly woman smiled in reply and then asked, "What do yo mean, sweetie?"
Carly tried to formulate a response as quickly as she could and reported, "I called her husband on some nonsense, and I guess it let her see what a creep he really is." By the time Carly finished her explanation, two police officers were on the scene to inquire whether Sheila needed any assistance getting away from Bob, who was now raging and pulling apart the booths around theirs.
The woman in the wheel-chair spoke up, "I think you may have saved her a lot of trouble in the long run, honey."
"I hope." Carly looked at the table, which included advertising materials about the nursing home as well as a "wish-list" for volunteers and donations. "So, my name is Carly Michael. It's nice to meet you."
"Hello, Carly," the volunteer replied. "I'm Evelyn Brown, this is one of our nurses, Winnie Campbell, and a long-time resident, Martha Connolly."
Carly nodded at all three women and said, "It's a pleasure to meet all of you." She shook their hands and with each smile and handshake they exchanged, Carly felt a surge of energy, felt as if the room suddenly filled with oxygen, or as if she was suddenly lighter. It felt almost as if she'd consumed some drug.
Winnie, the nurse, asked with a lilting Jamaican accent, "You're not from Shreveport, are you, Carly?"
"No," Carly giggled, "takes one to know one, huh? I'm originally from New York."
Winnie laughed heartily, "Oh yes, no one ever imagines I'm from Shreveport. No, no, they don't."
Carly felt the bond between these three women, even though they seemed to be from radically different backgrounds, and she felt great sympathy with them.
Evelyn picked up where Winnie left off. "I guess none of us are locals, then, are we ladies." Evelyn sought affirmation from her fellows. "Martha, weren't you born in Ireland?"
"Oh, yes, dear, but it's been almost a hundred years." Martha smiled sweetly at Carly. "But I feel like I've been in our home for a hundred years, too."
"Don't exaggerate, Marta," Evelyn scolded gently. "She just wishes she could get out and about more."
"And that there were more people to talk to other than you two!" Martha said in a voice loud enough to startle Carly.
"That's one reason we're looking for volunteers today." Evelyn pushed the "volunteer wish-list" toward Carly.
Taking the list, Carly looked it over. The nursing home was looking for birthday party assistants, karaoke leaders, bingo callers, scrapbook instructors, story-tellers, knitters, and painting and drawing instructors. Carly looked at the three women and asked, "How much of a time commitment are you asking for from volunteers?"
"Oh, really, whatever you would like to spend. We're happy for any volunteers," Evelyn assured.
"So someone could come in and do a drawing class once a week for a few hours, maybe before dinner?"
"Do you draw?"
"Yes," Carly responded, wondering how much she should disclose about the nature of her work. "I do portraits, professionally."
"So nice," Winnie exclaimed. "Our residents would love that, especially if you could bring some in to show. We also have lots of show and tell volunteers."
Carly didn't know why she was setting herself up to volunteer, but something about these women, about their vitality, and joy in life and in one another's company drew her in. She felt elated with them, and they seemed increasingly light and cheerful with her as they talked. Before Carly knew it, the four of them had been talking eagerly for two hours. By the time they finished their conversation, Carly felt as if she could fly, she felt so light. Her mood improved even more when Martha rose from her chair and summoned Carly over for a hug.
"Oh, Martha," Carly squeezed the fragile old woman, whose life full of happiness and sorrow, love and hard work flooded through her as they embraced. "It was such a pleasure to meet you."
"I'll be at your class, don't you worry," Martha patted Carly on the hand. "And I'll make sure every old lady comes to see your paintings."
Carly nearly floated out of the building, the drama from Bob and Sheila far behind her, seemingly without a care in the world. She drove out to the strip-mall that had a Michael's and a Kroger's grocery store in it, and shopped enthusiastically and purchased supplies for a class of twenty. She even bought some fruit and flowers the class could use as a still-life exercise.
At the grocery, she shopped with equal enthusiasm, suddenly wanting to bake soda bread, to make baked beans, and to roast jerk chicken. It was as if she were filled with a hundred long-lost childhoods that were desperately seeking comfort food. Once Carly was home, she set to work making the drawing kits and preheating the oven. By two in the morning, the euphoria finally subsided, and Carly was packing enough food for fifty people into the freezer and wondering what she was going to do with three loaves of soda bread.
As Carly settled down, trying to assess what had inspired the mania that consumed the last ten hours of her life, Eric called on her house phone.
"Hello, lover," Eric whispered. "I had to call and find out what had you so excited when I wasn't with you."
"Hi, Eric. You could feel that?" Carly wondered if he'd known since sundown how energetic she'd been, how consumed she'd been in cooking and planning.
"Yes. It even spilled over a little to me." Eric laughed gently. "We got a lot done tonight. Godric hadn't expected us to finish until dawn. What happened?"
"I'm not quite sure, really."
"If I didn't know better," Eric's voice sounded stern, "I would think you were on something."
"You wouldn't be alone." Carly hesitated. "I don't know really what happened. I stopped at a community fair and met some women from a nursing home..."
"I've rarely met drug dealers from nursing homes," Eric contributed facetiously.
"No. I talked with them, and then I started feeling euphoric, almost like I was high. But I got energetic, and wanted to cook, so I did."
"Do you think they might have had some kind of topical medication that you reacted to?" Eric asked seriously.
"No. We shook hands, but they all seemed healthy." Carly thought back to the interaction at the elementary school and recalled, "But they seemed to feel better too after talking with me."
Carly looked around her kitchen and then remembered that, although she'd cooked furiously, she hadn't eaten anything. Despite not having eaten since breakfast, Carly felt sated, without any hunger or thirst at all. As she walked around the kitchen, still holding onto the cordless phone, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
"Shit."
"Carly?" Eric sounded increasingly concerned. "What's wrong?"
Carly stared at herself in the mirror, touching the taut skin on her face and running her fingers through her hair, almost an inch longer than it had been during the morning. The backs of her hands were smooth, entirely vein-less, and her nails were long.
"I look terrific." Carly whispered breathlessly.
"I know, darling, but what's wrong?"
"No, Eric, I look younger than I did this morning." Carly's voice trailed off as she looked at herself carefully in the mirror.
"I'm coming home now, Carly. You're frightening me."
"Okay. That's good." Carly hung up the phone and then went into the bathroom to look at herself more carefully. Her phone rang again, and Carly picked it up and said, absently, "Yeah."
"Carly," her aunt, Arianna, said sternly, "where have you been?"
"What?"
"You're drunk, Carly. I just checked in on you, like I've started doing recently," which was news to Carly, "and you've eaten way too much too quickly. Where have you been?"
"An elementary school, aunt. I went to a community fair."
"Where, Auschwitz? Carly, it's like you've sucked down fifty deaths all in one gulp. You can't do that to yourself without preparation."
"What?" Carly felt dizzy. She remembered what Arianna had said about "Not eating properly anymore," and how she had started showing her age. Arianna told Carly in prior conversations that she didn't think that she consumed the spirits of the dead in the same way that true valkyries did, but what she was saying on the phone suggested something entirely different.
"I met a few old ladies who were from a nursing home."
"They must have had death clinging to them..." Arianna trailed off and started mumbling. "Well, that makes some sense now, but you've got to be careful. Carly, what did you make after you met them?"
"I cooked...a lot...I think I have a fridge full of food now." Carly staggered back into the living room, now feeling as if she were drunk.
"That's harmless." Arianna sighed. "How long were you around these women?"
"About two hours."
"Are you going to go to this nursing home again?"
"I'm going to volunteer next Saturday afternoon." Carly paused and asked, "Is that okay?"
"Yes, but don't touch anyone. You'll have the same feelings...the euphoria, elation, and the need to create, but you shouldn't touch anyone or go into any of the rooms."
"Why?"
"Because the death builds up there, clogs up the facility, clings to the people who are still there, and if you start moving through the whole building on one visit, it will be too much."
"How do you know this?" Carly was limp, seated on her sofa, imagining corridors filled with blackened vapors that prevented people from moving through the building.
"I visit a few hospitals each week to keep them clean, but I need much more than you can even consume, dear niece." Arianna sighed, "You will do a great deal of good for them, but you can't overwhelm yourself, because you'll start to draw attention to yourself. You don't want anyone thinking you're mad."
"No," Carly closed her eyes, realizing that was exactly what Eric now thought as he flew back from New Orleans. "When did you start checking on me?"
Arianna took a deep breath on the other end of the line. "When the ancestors told me to."
"What did they tell you?"
"That your powers were growing quickly, although you seemed to have them under control, even the fire, until tonight."
Eric burst in the door as Carly was about to ask her aunt about the flames that protected the two of them. "I have to go, Arianna. I need to explain all this to Eric."
"Explain what?" Eric walked toward Carly tentatively. "Who was that?"
"My aunt." Carly stood, unsteadily, and moved to embrace him. "She called right after I got off the phone with you. She knew something was wrong."
"Did she explain it to you?" Eric's voice reflected his worry.
"The old women," Carly explained, "from the nursing home had death clinging to them, and I consumed it somehow, like a real valkyrie, and I guess I got high on it. She said it was like I'd been around fifty deaths all at one sitting."
"And now?"
"Now, I just feel like I've come down, exhausted."
Eric gathered her up in his arms. "Then I'll put you to bed."
Carly put her hand on his chest, "Does Godric need you to go back to New Orleans?"
"No," Eric shook his head, "He's done with me for now, although he wants you to come down and interview the humans who will be working for him."
"Anytime..." Carly yawned. "I'll do whatever I can for him."
By the time Eric had Carly's shirt off, she was sound asleep and dreaming.