Immortal With A Kiss Part 8

The woman in question wore a very ornate gown. "The poor painter probably spent months on the seed pearls alone," I commented, taking notice of how exquisitely they were depicted, each one so real I felt I could pluck it from the canvas. Two larger pearls dropped from her ears, complimented by a lone teardrop-shaped pearl dangling from a rather ugly snarled clasp of silver secured to a ribbon around her neck. "She was very wealthy," I commented.

"Money has never been a problem for Suddingtons. Is that conceit to say so?"

"Not if it is true."

"Not unlike yourself," he commented, and when I cast him a questioning look, he c.o.c.ked his head playfully. "That dress cost a fortune."

I felt rather sheepish. He must have guessed I had dressed for him. I cast about for a diversion and noticed a tapestry on the wall behind a ma.s.sive carved desk. "My, look at this! It is absolutely marvelous. The medieval Suddington ladies must have labored long and hard on it. It is quite intricate. Look at all of the figures . . ." I stopped. My heart gave a b.u.mp in my chest. One of the scenes was unmistakably of Saint George, seated upon a white horse, red cape billowing behind him dramatically as he bore his spear upon the dragon he was so famous for vanquishing.

England's patron saint was not an uncommon motif in English art, but I would never view the image without dread. The dragon, or serpent, was an icon of evil, but it was also a symbol of eternal life. It was sometimes used, I'd learned this past spring, as the sign of the vampire, invoking the memory of the Dragon Prince, Dracule, or the Dracula, as he was better known. But despite my dislike of the subject matter, this was, I had to admit, a magnificent depiction. Never had heroic Saint George battled a more ferocious foe, for the dragon on this was huge, monstrous, and regal.

"Rather more violent than you typically see," Suddington commented thoughtfully. "We were a despicably warlike clan, I am afraid." He took me by the arm. "Come away. It does me a disservice for you to see the worst of my lineage put so plainly on display."

As I turned, my eye was caught by one of the other battle scenes, and I recoiled. A number of men were impaled in rows, as the Romans used to do, in a grisly scene, like a forest of corpses. I shivered, thinking of Miss Markam making her horrific discovery of the ma.s.s grave. "It is a rather disturbing history."

"Indeed, it is a b.l.o.o.d.y one," he said, and his voice was colored heavily with an emotion I could not name. "Please, come away. I've never really looked at that horrid thing before. It hangs behind the desk where my back is to it. I've a mind to remove it now that I notice how monstrous it is."

"Please do not. It is no less than the kings and queens need to apologize for." What had made me move toward him, as if to comfort him? I found myself once again squarely in his sights, and the sensual energy that seemed just below the surface with us two began to rise.

"I suppose you are right," he murmured, his gaze fixed on my mouth.

My heart began to swell, sending blood rushing through my veins, making me dizzy. My eyelids lowered and I even swayed forward the slightest bit in an invitation for him to do what I knew he was thinking of doing. I wanted him to kiss me . . .

I realized the unseemliness of this in a sudden rush of common sense, and I pulled away. I do not think it was my vanity that made me think he was disappointed.

He adjusted his features into a mask of composure, suddenly very correct and cool. He was pleasant, however, and offered his arm. "Let us join the others. We've already been gone longer than I planned, and I would hate for our absence to be noticed. I would not wish to put you out of your employer's good graces."

"Yes," I agreed. As we traversed the hallways once again, I said, "Miss Sloane-Smith is good to tolerate my presence tonight. It cannot be typical for her to socialize with her staff. I am, after all, one of the teachers under her administration."

I was a bit fl.u.s.tered, and, realizing I was babbling, cut off the gush of words.

He did not seem to notice. "Oh, it is not that. She does not like women much. Glorianna never did. It has always struck me odd, as she lives with all women and is responsible for the instruction of young girls." He shrugged.

I cast a sideways glance at him. "She seems very fond of you," I observed, unable to resist.

He blushed, a gesture I found inordinately endearing. "Glorianna and I work closely with regards to Blackbriar when I am in the district. It is part of our heritage to be patrons of the school." And then he said, very quietly, very thoughtfully, "It is not easy to escape the obligations of the past."

I could not get Suddington out of my mind. Why had I stopped him? I wondered as I sat in my bed replaying the scene in the library over and over again in my mind. It was far past the hour I should have been asleep. I had been trying to read for the past half hour to no avail; my concentration would not cooperate.

I suspected the answer to why I had evaded Robert Suddington's kiss lay in misplaced loyalty to Valerian Fox. Why would I, after his having ignored me these past five months, feel I owed him anything? I should have kissed Suddington. Should the opportunity present itself again, I would not draw away.

A soft sound broke into my thoughts, and I c.o.c.ked an ear to listen, but heard nothing else. Turning to my book, I resolved to put away this ridiculous romantic pining (but for whom-Suddington or Fox?). Then I heard it again.

The fine hairs on my arms rose as I felt the coverlet tighten over my legs. It was as if something on the floor were pulling on it. The sound came again, and with a shock of horror, I realized it was the scuttling of tiny feet.

I felt the cold drenching of terror come over me, paralyzing me for one agonizing moment before I forced myself to move. I leaped up, standing on the bed, and saw a large, red-eyed rat staring at me from the foot.

I bit off the scream that tore from my throat as I struck out at it with a swift kick of my foot. My aim, as always, was true, connecting with the solid muscle of the quivering little beast and sending it flying. I leaped back, clinging to the bedstead for support as a number of plump rats swarmed over the bedclothes and gathered at the foot of my bed.

I fought to fend off panic. I had to stay calm. And quiet. I had no doubt should I scream for help the vermin would flee, leaving me no better off than Victoria Markam had been, babbling about rats instead of corpses.

The small cabal of rats huddled together, eying me with greedy intelligence. Beyond these little leaders, others waited on the floor for their chance at me. They jumped and squirmed, fat flesh-colored tails whipping about like worms. There had to be at least a hundred of them.

My gaze darted desperately from the group on the bed to those on the floor. What was I to do if they all moved as one? I could not keep on top of them, not if they came at me from different directions.

Just looking at the writhing ma.s.s-let alone imagining coming into contact with any of them-made my stomach clench. But I knew I had to ignore these feelings, to concentrate and bring to bear those instincts inside of me that had saved me before. I tried to focus . . .

I felt a sharp pain in my heel. Letting out a cry of pain, I whirled to find a rat had come up behind me and sunk his jaws into my foot. I kicked my leg furiously, but the rat clung tight. I felt hysteria rising, driven by the repulsion I felt for these vile little creatures. Think! I screamed inwardly, fighting it off. I deliberately slowed my breathing, but my heartbeat pounded like a fist in my chest.

Fighting the urge to tear off the disgusting creature, I reached down and grasped the wriggling body. A moan of revulsion escaped me, but I ruthlessly pried open its jaws, livid with my blood. The thing was vicious, lashing about in my hands, trying to sink its long incisors into my flesh. I lifted it over my head and flung the heaving body against the wall. It hit with a sickening thud, then slid to the floor, leaving a trail of gore in a red streak. I very much doubted an ordinary person would have been able to throw the rat with such force, but I had ceased to be surprised by what I could do. I did not always understand my Dhampir powers, but I was getting used to the habit of reaching deep inside myself for solutions, and finding myself capable.

I scanned the ma.s.s of wriggling rats. I could not fight the lot of them, not if they swarmed. They watched me, eyes gleaming like tiny red pinp.r.i.c.ks. What would they do? I wondered, forcing myself to stare back at their glowing eyes. My body was tensed, waiting, just as they were. I was in that frame of functioning where instinct took over. It was nearly as if I had no thoughts, just impulses and quiet knowledge; this was how it had been before when I was in battle.

There was no doubt, of course, that these were the animal minions, or familiars, to use the term often cited to describe them, of a vampire lord. There was certainly a will at work, a vampire unseen-but close. Was it here in the room, hiding, watching? My eyes scanned the shadows. I did not feel it, but then I was preoccupied. What are the rats waiting for? I puzzled.

Then one of them broke away. A ripple of excitement twitched through the pack, riding over their sleek backs as the intrepid charger dug its way up the coverlet and onto the bed. Then it hurled itself straight at me. I jerked back-the d.a.m.nable thing had surprised me!

It scrabbled up to my neck before I could get a hold of it and sunk its teeth into the artery below my ear. Horror reared inside me, but my Dhampir nature overrode it, bringing me back into control. With a well-aimed blow, I smacked the rat hard before it could latch on, sending it to the floor with a thump. It writhed for a moment, red eyes glaring malevolently at me as it died slowly. Painfully, I hoped.

I slapped my hand on the wound. I was bleeding, of course, but the bite had not penetrated to the artery. A gust of cool wind ruffled my hair. I snapped my head to the window to see the sash slide upward with no hand to guide it. My breath hitched, knowing it was here; the vampire was here. I saw it, barely-merely a shadow hovering outside in the night, although my chamber was three stories above the ground.

It began to climb inside and the rats went into a frenzy.

I glanced wildly around me, fighting a mounting feeling of being outmatched. I tried to remain calm, remain in control and obey the instincts in my blood that had served me well in the past. But I could not keep my eyes from the growing shape, a man's shape, impossibly tall with wide shoulders the breadth of the sash. The clatter of the rats' nails on the wood floor rose as they leaped over one another, snapping their powerful jaws in agitation and excitement. They were ready; they were coming for me.

I concentrated on the vampire in my room, and in a strange way that steadied me. This was a fiend I knew, one I had battled before. The disgust and repulsion at the sight, the feel, of the rats had undone me for a moment, but now I felt on familiar ground.

The vampire was inside now, towering above me in the little room, an enormous shadow in the shape of a giant, a monstrous male figure without a face-more terrible for its anonymity.

Then I realized suddenly that I could not reach my tools. What a fool I was to be caught unprepared! My confidence was once again shaken.

I realized how badly I had miscalculated. I had left myself unprepared.

Then, in the midst of my despairing bent of thought, I recollected something. I gasped as the idea took hold. I'd done something once with a pack of unearthly dogs Marius had sent to kill me. By the power of my will, I had turned their minds, warping the hold the vampire lord had on them, and set them to devour each other. Perhaps I could do a similar thing with these rats.

I reached out with my mind. However, I was instantly repelled by their primitive, bloodthirsty instincts. Bile rose in my throat. I was sick, no less than had I eaten their putrid flesh.

As I struggled to regain myself, I realized their sheer number was overwhelming me. Their leader was the one I should target. Did I dare? I'd once done mental battle with Marius. With this in mind, I flung out a dagger-like thought with my mind toward the creature hovering in the window. I sensed its hesitation. Its surprise?

Why would it be surprised? Unless- It did not know I was Dhampir.

But then, why was I being attacked? What had I done to draw the attention of the vampire if not for the fact that I was its natural enemy?

Another rat bit me, sinking its teeth into my ankle, but it did not latch on, choosing instead to scuttle away quickly. I smiled, ignoring the blood it had drawn, for I saw the creature was not so brave now that I had killed a few of its comrades.

Leaping out of the bed, I landed square on the floor, surefooted, and the rats scattered with a hail of high-pitched squeals, save one whose tail was pinned beneath my heel. I sidestepped, squeamish about the contact, and it scurried away, angrily hissing at me over its back. I thought fleetingly that I should have killed it instead of letting it escape, but I did not want to take the time.

I then turned to the window, and in a move I was certain shocked the creature hovering there, headed straight for the vampire. I made sure not to look at it directly, instead angling my sight to the left so our gazes did not connect. I had learned the hard way never to look a vampire in the eye.

On the chest of drawers lay my comb and my brush (why had I not unpacked my crucifix and hung it on the wall over my bed-I knew better!). I grabbed these, and a well-worn ribbon I'd tossed there when I'd taken down my hair. Quickly, I lashed the long silver handle of the brush with the comb, converting it quickly into a makeshift cross. In addition, the entire thing was of silver, which was repulsive to the undead. Still it was a puny weapon, but my brazenness, rather more than my weapon, brought the vampire up short.

The thing cringed, and as it did, it reversed through the window, flying backward without turning its back to me, as if the night itself had sucked it to its bosom. Then the rats swarmed over me, their tiny claws scrabbling up my legs.

I fought in horror as I whirled, swatting wildly at them. The vampire was escaping! I let out a cry of fury as it disappeared, with nothing but a rush of wind blasting me in my face to mark its departure. I reached out, trying to get to the window, but the solid muscular bodies of the rats weighed me down and their nails bit deep to secure a hold in my flesh. Their squealing was loud in my ears. I cried out, overcome by the repugnance and pain, and went down on one knee.

The comb and brush fell from my hand. I lunged for them, but a rat intercepted me and bit down hard on my hand, its teeth sc.r.a.ping bone. The pain was tremendous. I began to sob, drawing in wracking breaths as I struggled to think, to stand and fight! But I realized with dawning despair that I could not contend with this many, not even with a real weapon.

They began to bite me, sending me into twisting convulsions of pain as their ravenous mouths sank into my flesh over and over again. I rose and staggered against the wall and fought back as my consciousness wavered momentarily. My mind cast about desperately for what I might do to save myself. I had to think like a Dhampir, to use what I knew!

I thought of something. Losing no time, I battled against the pain and waded laboriously to the bed, kicking aside the rats that surged toward me. I fell to my knees and scrabbled desperately for my bag.

The vial of holy water was full, thank G.o.d. I wrenched it open with shaking hands and splashed the rats liberally. It set them immediately smoking, as if they'd been touched by fire, and they dropped with leaden thuds to the floor. Breathless and frantic, I spun, holding the vial out before me to show the others, threaten them with it. It was a bluff. I did not have enough to vanquish all of them, but I hoped they would not realize this.

The undulating ma.s.s flinched, shrinking back from my outstretched hand. Slowly, I stepped forward. I did not feel my bites, for I was intent on facing them down.

There was one moment when I did not know whether or not my ploy would succeed. They moved stubbornly, cl.u.s.tering against the far wall. I sensed they were loath to give up their advantage. Go, I prayed fervently. Please go.

Then they fled, moving as one ma.s.s, spilling over the windowsill and out into the blackness where I knew their master hovered unseen.

I waited in the silence left in the wake of their departure, garnering my wits and my strength before lifting myself up off the floor. When I could move, I threw the dead rats out the window, then I shut it tight. I pressed my forehead against the gla.s.s in relief, hearing nothing but the rasp of my own breathing, how it sawed rapidly, then slowed, quieted as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. As it did, exhaustion filled me. My limbs felt heavy as lead, and I began to notice the pain from the bites. Heaving myself away from the window, I lit the lamp and inspected the wounds in the small pier gla.s.s.

They were not terribly serious; at least none appeared to require st.i.tching. I washed each bite thoroughly, wincing at the sting when the cold water hit them. I would find some medicines in the apothecary tomorrow. For tonight, I did not think I could move, even to defend myself should the rats return.

I climbed into bed, but I did not feel safe. The vampire had gone for now. I had surprised him by fighting. He had not suspected I was a hunter.

But he would be back, in some manner, to get revenge. Neophyte though I was in the ways of the undead, I did know that much, and I vowed to myself that I must never allow myself to be caught unawares again.

Chapter Ten.

"I have no idea why I was the target of such an attack," I told Sebastian the following afternoon as we sat in his room at the inn. I'd come here as soon as I could get away. "I was able to drive it off only because I caught it off guard."

We were seated at the small table and chairs by the window. In the corner of the room, Father Luke lay fully dressed upon the bed. "It knows you are Dhampir now," he growled, his voice rough from his illness. "It is far more dangerous for you."

I smiled wanly. "It can kill me for one reason as well as the other."

Sebastian would not break his solemn look. "But what was the reason of the attack if not your being Dhampir?"

My smile faded. "I wish I knew. Then perhaps I'd have some clue to this entire mystery."

Sebastian sighed. His eyes flickered over me as he frowned. "Are you certain you do not wish me to look at those bites? You are certain you washed them thoroughly?"

I touched one of the bandages. I'd raided the apothecary closet that morning. "Yes, and salved each one before sealing them under a bandage. Do not worry, Sebastian. Our stillroom maid at home was talented at making medicines and instructed me well."

Father Luke rose up laboriously off the bed. "The vampire was afraid of you, you say."

"I said it was surprised," I clarified, then thought about this. "I suppose it was afraid. It ran off, didn't it? It was caught off its guard when it realized what I was."

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin. I saw his big, blunt-fingered hand still held a tremor, if only a slight one these days. "The Dhampir is rare, of course. No vampire makes the strigoii vii lightly, nor do they leave one of them unattended."

"Yes," I agreed, for I had read of this as well when I was at the archive. "The vampire world has great fear of us children. We are its only natural enemy."

Father Luke gripped the bedpost as he made his way toward us. "That is what I do not understand. If a Dhampir is identified, the news spreads quickly through revenant society so that all might beware."

I tensed, ready to rise to go to his aid, but Sebastian stopped me with a single raised finger and a quick shake of his head. I reluctantly remained in my seat.

Father Luke said, "Why was the news of you kept secret?"

"Wait," Sebastian said impatiently. "You forget I have not studied at a secret archive." He raised his eyebrows at me, then turned to Father Luke. "Nor am I member of a secret Vatican society of vampire extirpators. Please explain to me why those like Emma are rare."

"There is the belief," the priest said, his voice wheezing with the effort it took him to remain on his feet. Still, Sebastian made no move to help him. "There is the belief," Father Luke repeated, "that vampires prefer to kill their victims when they initiate them. This is not true, although it can happen. The strigoii mort, which we have told you about, is such a creature. It is to guard against this possibility why precautions are taken when a person dies under mysterious circ.u.mstances."

"Well, of course." Sebastian looked from me to Father Luke. "I recall the story you told of the gypsy that attacked you in Avebury, Emma. What was his name? Wadim?"

"Yes, he was one of Marius's minions. But he had been made strigoii vii first. That is the way the vampire prefers to do it, because to transform a person without giving it time to acclimate to its undead existence is very dangerous. The creatures that result are useful only as soldiers-they are vicious beyond imagining, although once trained they can be fiercely loyal."

"So it is not typical for a person to be killed by a vampire, then rise from the dead," Sebastian said. "I don't believe I understood that completely before. After all, it is how most of the legends have it, isn't it?"

"From the most primitive cultures, there has always been the knowledge of the vampire," Father Luke agreed. "Some of the particulars vary. In India, it is said Kali wears a necklace of skulls and has four arms. The Greek vrykolakas is believed to ape human behavior. In Scotland, boabhan-sithe are wild, uncivilized flesh-eaters." He nodded to me, adding, "You have studied all of this?"

"I have," I replied. "I have found, however, that when one looks closely, one sees commonalities."

Father Luke looked feverish as he grinned. "Of course, for their nature does not change any more than a human being is a different creature from another person with different customs and culture."

His eyes were bright, almost glazed. I grew concerned at this, then thought that perhaps it was not so much his illness (it was charitable to call what afflicted him an illness and I much preferred to think of it that way) but the intensity of his thoughts. His pa.s.sions ran deep and hot on the subject of the vampire. Whatever loss he had experienced in his faltering faith, his dedication to eradicating the undead was not part of it.

"What are you thinking?" I inquired, suddenly aware that he had a theory he was in the process of sorting out.

"Among those traits all of the undead have in common is their propensity to fashion companions for themselves. The compulsion, even though it puts them at great risk, weakens them and makes them vulnerable while they recover their strength."

"Companions?" Sebastian said, his voice squeaking with alarm. "Do you mean like mates?" His powdered complexion grew paler, his eyes wide with horror. "My G.o.d, they mate?"

I patted his hand. "Not in the sense we think. They cannot reproduce, you know. They are dead, Sebastian."

"It is their great failing," Father Luke said. His eyes were hollow, his jaw too lean. The addiction had ravaged his once-powerful form, but had not blunted the sheer magnitude of the man. "Indeed, they need that nearly as much as they need blood. It makes them stupid and often careless, this great, burning need to not be alone."

"So they make . . . families?" Sebastian asked, incredulous. "Is that what you are saying? Families of undead?"

"Imagine the loneliness if you could never tell a single one of your thoughts to another," I said, attempting to explain. "Or laugh at a shared amus.e.m.e.nt, or be appreciated, or feel pride at the admiration of another for your intellect or accomplishment."

"I never thought those creatures felt anything," he groused.