Free Necroscope: The Plague-Bearer by Brian Lumley

care for you…”
    And suddenly aware of the truth in those words, and finding herself sidetracked, she couldn’t help wondering out loud: “But how much do you care for me? Answer me, Harry.”
    “As much and more than I ever cared for anyone,” the Necroscope immediately replied. “That’s how much I care for you.”
    Now B.J. smiled. “Oh, and what of your Brenda? Answer me.”
    “I used to love her…I think,” he answered. And still he retained his totally relaxed, hypnotized expression, showing no feelings whatsoever. “But Brenda has been gone a long time, and I can’t find her.”
    “And does that pain you?” B.J. found herself fascinated now. “I mean, how are you affected? You may continue to answer me.”
    “No, it no longer hurts me,” Harry answered. “But it frustrates me—because I don’t know where they are, Brenda and the little fellow, or even if they’re safe and well.”
    “And you love no one else, just me?” B.J. felt herself softening. This serious business she’d commenced didn’t seem nearly so serious now. Oh, it was—yes of course it was!—but so was her relationship with Harry.
    “No one else,” he replied. “Just you…now.”
    “Oh?” And as quickly as that B.J. was frowning again. “Just me… now? Was there some other woman beside Brenda, then?”
    “Before Brenda, yes—and since Brenda.”
    B.J. was suddenly hot and flushed; she felt her concentration slipping. “You’ve never mentioned this before! Who else was it, or is it, that you love or loved? Who is she?”
    “My mother,” Harry replied. “My Ma. She’s dead, you know.”
    And feeling foolish, Bonnie Jean sighed her relief, letting it wash right over her before telling him: “Yes, I know. You’ve told me before. And you remember her, and love her still, after all this time?”
    “Of course…because she loves me.”
    Ah, the faith of the man! thought Bonnie Jean. He dreams of his Ma in heaven, looking down on him and loving him still! For of course she couldn’t know the truth of it, and Harry couldn’t enlighten her; he had told her as much as he could tell anyone.
    Then, finally, it was time to finish this.
    “Harry, mah wee man,” she said. “I want you to remember all I’ve told you about this threat to me and mine, and to yourself. Not on the surface of your mind but deep inside it. Will you do that for me?” It was more a demand, a command, than a question.
    And the Necroscope responded: “Yes, I’ll remember, but deep inside.”
    B.J. felt satisfied at last. She smiled…then pursed her lips, nodded, and added one last thing. “Harry, I expect you to watch out for me and mine, but not so much that you’ll put yourself in harm’s way. Is all understood?”
    For long moments he was silent; and then unusually, indeed uniquely in B.J.’s experience, a frown had crept onto his brow! It seemed that even hypnotized he could be puzzled, concerned.
    And: “How am I to watch out for you, and stay out of harm’s way?” he queried. “What if I come face to face with a vampire?”
    Ah! Now B.J. understood the problem. Her fault, for she had issued what appeared to be contradictory instructions; at least to Harry’s way of thinking. And now she corrected herself. “No, Harry! I only meant that you should look after yourself as best possible. Is that understood?”
    And as the frown disappeared from the Necroscope’s face, so he answered, “Yes.”
    “Well then,” B.J. said, sitting back from him. “Now you may get up on your elbow—blink your eyes and yawn—stretch your limbs and come more properly awake. And you may want to give me a kiss before I go down to the bar. You might also want to tidy up a little before you come down. You may begin to do all those things now, Harry.”
    Harry began to do exactly as ordered, of course; but before B.J. could go down to the bar her telephone rang, and she commenced a long angry argument, in fact a harangue, against one of her