fishbone, I hope?' Carmine said solicitously. 'They can be dangerous. Can I'
'No!' She swallowed. 'Thank you. It's gone now.' She took a large and unladylike swig from her wineglass, and this time distinctly saw David raise an eyebrow.
'More, darling?' No trace of disapproval in his voice; but he was good at hiding things. Always had been, now she thought about it.
'Yes. Thanks.' Defiantly she emptied the refilled glass in one, challenging him to make any comment. He didn't.
'It was a lovely meal, Penny,' Carmine said, possibly to ease the sudden sharp change in the atmosphere.
'Absolutely,' David concurred before Penny could think of a reply. 'We must do it again, mustn't we?'
Penny opened her mouth to snap 'Must we?', but had the wit to close it again before anything came out. David offered Carmine coffee, and when Penny showed no sign of volunteering to make it, he headed to the kitchen to do it himself. Penny watched him go (tall, slim; that old tendency to put on weight had quite gone, and he looked extremely handsome these days) and as he disappeared, a question sprang into her mind. It was a spin-off from the immortality thing (she was feeling calmer about that, though doubtless it would come back and hit her again later), and suddenly she wanted, extremely badly, to know the answer.
She turned to Carmine. 'May I ask you something?'
'Of course.' Carmine inclined her head in a way that made Penny wonder if she was being patronized. Third thought to push away .
'It's about children.'
'Ah.' Carmine's expression grew wary. 'I've been wondering if that would come up.'
Penny bristled, though not visibly. 'I think it's a natural enough concern. Whatever David might'
'You didn't have children before. Was that choice, or ?'
'Choice, of course.' Her hackles were rising by the moment and she wished she had not begun this conversation. Too late for regret, though, and with determination she collected herself. 'It's a perfectly straightforward question. Can we?'
Carmine said, 'No.'
Penny's bravado and aggression collapsed. 'Why not?'
Carmine's eyes held a world of sympathy, even if Penny was unwilling to acknowledge it. 'It's a harsh fact of his — our — condition,' she said. 'A vampire can procreate — naturally, or our kind would have died out in the earliest days; maybe never even have evolved in the first place when you think about it logically. Chickens and eggs, you know' She saw Penny's face become very tight, and quickly let the metaphor drop. 'I was born what I am, and I could make a child with any man, mortal or otherwise. David, though, was not born what he is, and when the condition isn't hereditary, the rules are different. He could only father a child on a woman who was vampire born. But with you, it isn't possible.'
Penny's mind spun off into space, and her lungs seemed to be clogging up with something murky and angry and bitter. 'So,' she said, ' you could have a child with my husband, but
What did that pause signify? Anything? Nothing? At length Carmine did answer. 'Yes. Theoretically.'
Theoretically . Penny asked, 'Have you had any children?'
Carmine broke eye contact and looked away. It was the first time Penny had ever known her to do that. 'Yes.'
Penny's bitterness was growing, and with it a desperate desire to strike out, to hurt , because she was hurting and she wanted Carmine to suffer along with her. 'Where are they now?' she demanded.
The second pause was longer than the first. Then: 'One,' Carmine said, apparently without emotion, 'is in New York. Or was, the last time I heard anything of him. He's a heroin addict, and he wants to die of it, but he can't, because of what he is. The other' — her voice caught momentarily — 'did die, though she was the one who didn't want to. Ironic, yes? But it was a long time ago, and a long way east of here, and people believed in us then, so when she made a serious tactical mistake they' She coughed. 'Well, you know how the legend runs. The method of killing us is one of the facts that hasn't been distorted.'
Penny stared, fascination creeping in despite herself. 'A stake through the heart?' she prompted softly.
Carmine nodded. Her face had tightened, taking on the look of a fixed clay mask. 'It doesn't actually have to be a stake,' she said. 'Anything will do, as long as it pierces far enough. In her case'
'Your daughter?'
Carmine swallowed. 'My daughter, yes. In her case it was a — a kitchen knife. Just a kitchen knife.'
David came back then. 'Coffee's brewing,' he began cheerfully, then saw Carmine's tension, the expression on Penny's face. 'What is it?' His tone became sharp. 'What's happened?'
Penny mouthed ' tell you later' but he didn't see it; his attention was on Carmine. She, however, straightened her shoulders and smiled up at him. 'Nothing to concern you,' she said lightly. 'Women's talk, that's all. David, when we've had coffee I really must go. It's been a lovely evening, but I have to be up tomorrow; I've got an early appointment.'
Penny wanted to say bitchily, 'Another ten grand in the bank?' but held her tongue. This wasn't the moment for scoring points; in a few minutes more Carmine would be out of here. She disciplined herself to make polite and superficially pleasant small talk while the coffee was enjoyed and they all had a cognac, then David fetched Carmine's coat and walked her to her car. Penny watched covertly from the window, but it was too dark to see what sort of car she had. Something expensive, no doubt. She could afford it, couldn't she? And why was a simple farewell taking so long? What were they doing ?
When David did return (six minutes: Penny had counted) she was washing up with a pointed amount of noise and splashing. Before his illness, he had promised to buy her a dishwasher. Out of the question now, of course. They couldn't afford it. As she slammed another plate into the rack he came up behind her and slid his hands around her waist.
