Night's Children

Virginia has escaped her year-long imprisonment with her son, Santan. She hopes to raise him to be a good, moral man. Santan, however, is sensitive to sunlight, and he has trouble with solid food. He is the half-human, half-vampire child of Virginia and her former captor, Count Basarab Musat, king of the vampires-and Virginia knows that one day, the boy's father will come for him. For the time being, the count is busy in his home country of Transylvania. There is the potential for a family disaster, and he is the only one strong enough to pick up the pieces. Even, in the midst of the drama, he feels he may be losing his passion for the kill. He hunts the streets, searching for blood to rekindle his lust for the living. In the back of his mind, he considers Virginia and his son, but he cannot return to them yet. Far away, Virginia has her own troubles. Her last night with the count left a gift: she is pregnant with another of his offspring. She is haunted by dreams of Basarab. At first, they are infused with light and love, and she believes she may be able to rekindle her relationship with the count. But soon, the dreams turn dark, and her fear returns. Virginia is being hunted, and the count may be the only monster strong enough to keep her safe.

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Night's ChildrenBy Mary M. Cushnie-MansouriUniverse, Inc.Copyright © 2012 Mary M. Cushnie-MansourAll right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4697-9303-0Chapter One It was hard to believe that I had finally escaped. The graveyard was still. It was a good place to collect my thoughts. I stared at my son, still overwhelmed that he was with me, and then placed him in the basket provided to me by Aunt Emelia. It was time to start my journey. I had no idea what life had in store for me now, but I was hoping that whatever it threw at me, there would be less turbulence than the past year of my life had immersed me in. I needed to find a secluded place to live. I secured the ten thousand dollars, Emelia had given me, under Santan's blanket. It would buy me time until I wrote to her. She had said in her letter that she would provide for me and the child—I was banking on that. A high-rise apartment was not logical, especially with a small child ... not to mention the fact there would be too many people around, something I was not willing to take such a chance on. I followed the sidewalk down West Street and then stopped at Henry Street. I decided that might be a good street to check out, so I turned and headed down it. I noticed a small apartment building in the distance and guessed that maybe if I rented a ground floor apartment, it might not be too bad. As I approached the Red-D-Mix plant, I noticed an "Apartment for Rent" sign at the end of a long, narrow driveway that ran alongside the railway track just beyond the factory. I gazed up the lane, noticed the large grove of trees, and walked toward them. When I reached the house, I knocked on the front door. A young man opened the door, just as I was about to leave. From the look on his face, he must have thought I was one weird lady, dressed in a black cape, carrying a baby in a basket. "Hi," I whispered huskily. "The sign at the road says you have an apartment for rent; I'd like to see it." "Sure," he replied, running a hand through his thick, auburn curls. He smiled sheepishly as his eyes gave me a once-and-twice-over. I hesitated, noting his unkempt appearance, but I was desperate for a place to live. "Well?" I prompted. His gaze was making me feel uncomfortable. "Is it still for rent?" "Yeah, yeah ... just a sec, I'll grab the key." He disappeared for a moment. "It's on the ground floor at the back," he informed on his return. "Has two bedrooms, kitchen, living room, and a four-piece bath. There is a small fenced yard off the kitchen. I use the front yard. Fridge and stove come with the place, and there is laundry equipment in the basement, if you want to use it. You can come through my place, if you like, using the door between our apartments. It locks from both sides. Or, you can use the outside side door, which leads to the basement. I'll give you a key." He paused. "Name's Randy, in case you were wonderin'. And you are?" "Virginia," I responded, just giving him my first name. "The apartment sounds like a nice place; when is it available?" "Right away. The previous tenant moved out last week. You can move in immediately if you need to." I noticed again how his eyes scanned me. We walked around to the backyard. There was an abundance of vintage maple trees holding up a half-rotten wooden fence. The gate wobbled as Randy pushed it open. "Guess I'll need to fix this," he mentioned. That's highly unlikely. "Watch your steps here; the ground is a bit rough," he added. Randy opened the back door and we stepped inside the kitchen. What a mess. "I haven't had time to clean," Randy was quick to say—he must have noticed the disgusted look on my face. I got the impression that Randy had had no intention of cleaning the apartment. "Don't worry about cleaning," I said. "I don't mind a little hard work." I placed Santan's basket on the floor and took a quick look-through. The rooms were of an ample size. The ceilings were ten feet high, which dated the house back several years. Old, peeling wallpaper was on some of the walls, flaking paint on the rest. "Could I do some decorating?" I asked, running my hand along the wall. "Sure, whatever you like," Randy replied amiably. I expected that would be his answer. Anything to save you work. "How much is the rent?" I asked. "Six hundred a month ... everything included." He looked hopeful. "I'll take it." Randy smiled; I noticed he also breathed a sigh of relief. I was making his job easy. I wondered what his connection to the owner was; and, was he paid to look after the place? "When do you want to move in?" Randy enquired. "Right now, if that's okay." Randy tilted his head to one side. I could tell he was curious about me—about my outfit—about the baby in my basket. He cleared his throat, as though he wanted to say something more. "That is okay if I take the place now, isn't it?" I asked before he could be too inquisitive about my condition. "Yes ... yes ... that will be fine; but ... but ..." "But what?" I asked, probably a little too sharply. I could feel the heaviness of milk in my breasts. Santan would be waking for his meal soon. "I need the first and last month's rent," Randy said, blushing as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "No problem," I answered, "just give me a few minutes. I'll come to your apartment with the money. Would it be possible to use your phone, so I can arrange to get my own phone installed?" "Sure." Randy looked relieved as he turned and shuffled off. "I'll leave the key on the counter for you," he mentioned before he closed the door. I walked back to the kitchen and looked down at Santan. His eyes were twitching, and his arms and legs were wiggling under the blanket. "Want to see your new home?" I whispered as I picked him up. Santan's head bobbed around on my shoulder. His dark eyes shone brightly as they looked around. He whimpered. I sat down on the floor in a corner of the living room and began to nurse him. He fussed until I covered him with a blanket. I glanced at the large windows. I would definitely have to invest in some heavily lined curtains. I peeked under the blanket. Santan was sucking contentedly. My milk was still a reddish colour. I hoped the blood would soon be gone, leaving nothing but pure mother's milk. After Santan had finished his meal, I counted out twelve hundred dollars from the envelope. I laid my son in the basket and draped the blanket over the handle to protect him from the sun. I looked around the apartment again, picked up the key, and then headed to the front of the house and knocked on Randy's door. "Hi again," he greeted me with a pleased look. "The phone is on the end table by the couch." Randy pointed at the doorway, which revealed a cluttered living room. I was surprised he had remembered that I had wanted to use his phone. I handed him the money. He looked shocked. I made my way in the direction he had pointed, stepping gingerly around the various items strewn on the living room floor. How can people live in such clutter? "You wouldn't happen to have a phone book handy?" I asked. "Sure ... sure ... let me see here," Randy mumbled as he dug through a pile of newspapers. "Here it is," he proclaimed, holding up a dirty, torn phone book. I grimaced at the condition of it, and prayed bugs wouldn't crawl out of the first page I looked at. "I will need a receipt for the rent money, Randy. You can provide one, can't you?" He nodded. "Good. My full name is Virginia Casewell." I had decided not to use my real last name. I had no idea, yet, how I would procure new identification, since all of mine was gone. I guessed I would cross that bridge when I got to it. Randy nodded and ambled off to the kitchen. I flipped through the phonebook until I found Bell Canada's service number, and then dialled it. At first the operator was pleasant enough, but when I said I hadn't had phone service in my name before, her tone changed. "We will need some information, then. Full name?" "Virginia Casewell." "Employer?" I had to think quickly on that question. Who was I employed by? The Count Basarab Musat? To give birth to his child, and then be laid off—without notice! "Employer, please, miss," a curt reminder came over the phone line. "I ... I ... I'm self-employed," I managed to spit out. "Well, what is it that you are self-employed at, miss?" The voice sounded snippy now. How the hell do I know what I am self-employed at? What difference does it make anyway, as long as I pay their damn bills? "I'm a freelance writer," I finally informed her, not being able to think of anything else. "Oh." I pictured a sarcastic look on her face. "Address please." I gave her the rest of the details she needed, and then she put me on hold. The seconds ticked off on the rusty alarm clock that Randy had propped up on a collection of well-looked-at girly magazines. I wondered if he was a pervert. Probably not—most likely he was just a normal young man, dreaming the impossible dream of having a "Bunny Girl" for a night or two. From the looks of the messy apartment, I was almost certain he did not entertain much, either, which suited me just fine—the less people around, the better for me and Santan. The operator returned to the phone line and gave me my installation time. She also mentioned that I would need to put down a $200.00 security deposit. You are hoping I will say I don't have the money, aren't you, so you can cancel the order. "No problem, will your technician accept cash?" I heard her clear her throat. Good, I was well under her skin. "Of course," was her terse reply. "He will give me a receipt, I hope?" I asked matter-of-factly. "Of course." The operator went over the booking with me, and then hung up without even thanking me for the business. I thought of reporting her rudeness, however that would only draw unneeded attention to me—something I didn't need. The more private that I kept my life, the less chance there would be for him to find me. Randy was standing in the doorway of the living room. He was wearing his sheepish smile. "Gave you a hard time, eh?" "A hard time is what I would like to give her," I answered, still irritated. "Do you know the number for a local cab company? I need to go out and pick up some groceries and a few items for me and the baby." "No need to call a cab; I'll drive you around," Randy offered. "Now the apartment is rented, I am free to do what I want. Besides, I need to pick up a two-four of beer, and some groceries." "That is extremely kind of you, but I need several things besides groceries. I don't want to take up too much of your time." I had noticed how he had mentioned the beer before the groceries—hopefully not an indication that he was going to be a party-guy, which would mean I might have to be more vigilant than I had first thought. "Time is what I have plenty of," Randy countered with a bow. "Randy's limo is at your service, miss, for the entire day, if that should be your desire." He straightened up and took a closer look at me. "You have any clothes, besides what you are wearing?" I glanced at my outfit. "No." "How say I lend you a pair of jeans and a shirt?" He suggested, without questioning me about why I had no other clothes. I breathed a sigh of relief. I wondered how clean the clothes would be, but then again, I knew I couldn't go to stores in what I was wearing. "Thanks, I'd appreciate that." Randy headed to his bedroom. He returned a few minutes later with a pair of jeans and a red cotton shirt—a perfect colour. "You can change in my bathroom," he suggested. "Thanks, but I think I'll just go to my apartment and change. I can meet you out front in 15 minutes, if that is convenient for you?" I took the clothes from Randy and picked up Santan's basket. "Do you want me to watch the little fellow for you?" he asked. "Ah ... no ... it's okay; I'd rather have him with me." "Weird lady," I heard Randy mutter as I headed out the door. The jeans fit perfectly around my waist, but I had to roll up the pant legs. I was pleased the shirt was roomy, camouflaging the fact that I was not wearing a brassier. "Wow!" Randy whistled as I walked up to the car. "They fit you better than they ever fit me!" I hoped Randy didn't have an ulterior motive on his mind where I was concerned. After all, he didn't know me from a hole-in-the-wall, and he was lending me clothes and taking me shopping. "Let's boogie!" Randy cut into my thoughts. He opened the car door. "It isn't much, but it gets me around," he mentioned as I was putting Santan in the backseat. Randy and I spent the next couple of hours shopping for baby items and other necessities I needed for the apartment. I moved along quickly, trying to finish before Santan's next feeding. After the grocery store, Randy made a quick stop at the Beer Store on Grey Street. I mentioned that I had no furniture, so he drove to a used furniture store on Murray Street. I noticed a few baby items sitting in the parking lot. I bought a crib and mattress, dresser, change table, and a buggy for Santan; plus a bedroom suite, a small kitchen table and chair set, and a living room couch and chair for me. The man said he would have everything delivered later in the afternoon. Randy still hadn't questioned my bizarre circumstances, and for that, I was relieved. Most people would have plied me for answers. How often does a stranger, dressed in a long black cape, and carrying a child in a basket, show up at the front door? And, on top of that, the stranger had enough money to pay cash for everything they purchased, even though her appearance implied poverty. Randy helped me to unload my parcels when we arrived at the house. I thanked him and tried to give him twenty dollars for his gas and his time. He refused. I made a mental note to buy him a case of Blue the next time we were out, and to put gas in his car. "You have a licence?" Randy asked as he was leaving my apartment. "I drive," I answered, "but I don't have a current license." "Well, if you ever get it, you can borrow the Bug anytime I'm not using it." "Thanks." I shut the door and turned to face my new life. * * * In the late afternoon, my furniture was delivered by a burly man with a pungent odour. He insisted that he put everything into its exact location. All he expected from me was directions, and to hold the door open for him. Earlier, while Santan was sleeping, I had scrubbed the kitchen, bedrooms, and bath. I intended to ask Randy if the carpets could be replaced, or better yet, removed altogether. I preferred wooden floors; the warmth of them was comforting. "Well, miss," the delivery guy looked around when he had finished bringing the furniture in—"lot of potential in this little apartment, if the right person gets hold of it and fixes it up. Private too." He hitched up his pants and stared at me. I didn't like the expression in his eyes. "Been in Brantford long?" he asked. "No," I replied, offering him nothing further, hoping he would get the message that I was not in the mood for a lengthy conversation. I handed him a ten dollar bill. "Thank you very much for delivering my furniture here so quickly. May I give you something for your trouble?" "Oh no, miss, we aren't allowed to accept tips. Little fellow sounds hungry," he added, as Santan's whimpers began to get louder. "His pa around?" I noticed a greedy look in his eyes. "Not here—at the moment," I informed, flatly. "Once again, thank you; and, as you can hear, I must see to my son now." He still took his time leaving. Just before I shut the door, he turned and looked back. I noticed a startled expression on his face. He hesitated a moment, shook his head, and then got into his truck and left. I looked down at my shirt and saw the moist circle around my breasts—thank God the shirt was red! * * * The first week passed quickly. I cleaned. I tended to Santan. I tried to sit with him in the backyard, but even in the shade, the sun bothered him. I was forced to keep him under cover all the time. I prayed time would change that. Randy was gracious enough to take me out a few more times so that I could pick up some other necessities for my apartment. * * * By the end of the second week, my milk was a pale pink. I credited the decrease in the blood to the fact that I was no longer drinking Max's special drink. Santan hadn't seemed to notice the difference in his meals, and I felt this was another victory for me over the Count Basarab Musat. It would also be one more step toward keeping Santan human and wholly mine. (Continues...) Excerpted from Night's Childrenby Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour Copyright © 2012 by Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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