“It is not her, brother,” Hugh said, watching Lionel’s preoccupation with the stitching.
“You are right. It is not her.” He knew Maria Monteleone was dust and bones over two hundred years ago. “But the girl is of her bloodline, I can tell. And you know what we say in Marcus’ house.”
“Yes. Blood never lies,” Hugh whispered. “But, what is the truth?”
Lionel reached, gripping his brother’s shoulder. “Two days ago, I could have told you. Two days ago, I didn’t see these things or feel the burning in my gut. Two days ago, Jeb was dead and buried. We were attending that wedding, and the world was dangerous, but manageable.” He paused, squeezing the muscles on his brother’s upper arm, feeling the strength and power of this magnificent creature he was lucky to call brother. “But today my truth is a journey, a dangerous one, and something I hope I survive. Whether I go or stay behind, it is just as dangerous, Hugh. I can only tackle one mystery at a time. If I survive the first, I’ll come back to attend to the other one. In the meantime, keep the ones we love safe from harm.”
Hugh embraced him timidly, due to his state of undress. “Consider it done.”
Chapter 6
PHOEBE FELT ILL as the first light of morning fell into her room. Her legs felt like they were made of concrete, causing her to stumble out of bed and barely make it to the bathroom. Her attendant found her with her head in the toilet bowl.
“Oh, little one. I should get your mother. Are you ill?”
“I’m just sick. I have the flu or something.”
The room was spinning in all directions. The taste of her vomit was especially bitter, reflecting the deep brownish red contents lying in the bottom of the toilet bowl.
Her mother rushed to her side with a warm towel.
“Phoebe, oh honey. Let’s get you up and back to bed.”
She brushed her face with the warm towel, but Phoebe’s thirst drove her to the sink where she cupped her hands and drank water from the tap. She noticed her throat was raw and sore.
“You are warm again. Do you have a fever?”
She felt her forehead and confirmed what her mother deduced. “I have a sore throat too, and yes, I think I have a fever.” She examined herself in the mirror. Her eyes were rimmed in red, her nose was running. The acrid taste was still lingering in her mouth, so she brushed her teeth and began to feel better.
Her mother was fussing to pin her hair up and she stopped her.
“Quit. Just leave it. I need to rest.”
“Yes, I think that’s best. I’m going to call for the doctor. Here, let’s get you back and covered, but first a fresh nightgown.” she said, helping Phoebe remove the wet gown and replacing it with a freshly laundered one. She climbed back into her soaking sheets.
Under the circumstances, the coolness of the damp sheets was welcome, and while she listened to her mother and the attendant make plans to remake the bed, she drifted off.
IT WAS LATER in the day when she awoke at last. She could hear voices coming from downstairs, and then the door opened to her room. Dr. Luciano entered, his hat in hand, clutching his black physician’s bag. He’d always reminded her of a little mouse, with his small spectacles, grey frizzy hair, and long sideburns. Like a character from a Dicken’s novel.
“Bella, Phoebe. Your mother tells me you are unwell,” he said as he approached the bed. “May I?” he gestured toward the edge.
“Please.”
He sat, repositioning his glasses and taking her pulse. He examined her eyes, frowning, which made his glasses slip so he had to reset them across the bridge of his nose. “Is there any pain here?” he asked as he took her wrist and pressed the veins there.
“No.”
“Here?” he asked as he pressed the side of her neck under her ear.
She shrank away from his touch, uneasy to let him see the old bite mark there. “No,” she whined and moved away. “It’s my stomach.”
He turned to ask for help from Freya. He carefully lifted her nightgown to just below her breasts, adjusting the covers down so he could examine her midriff above her navel. He pressed two cold fingers down into her stomach cavity and she felt a sharp pain, followed by a gagging reflex. He listened with a stethoscope to the right of her belly button and then through her nightgown at her upper chest. He pressed his fingers again on the right, and again, she felt pain.
“So you are tender there? What kind of a pain is it? Sharp? Or dull?”
“Sort of in-between. Like I have gas. I feel bloated.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Dr. Luciano, you should examine the wound. It’s nearly healed, but perhaps this is related to some resulting infection?” Freya asked.
“May I, please?”
Phoebe turned her face and pulled down the eyelet lace around her neck to expose the old wound. She felt his cold fingers manipulating the puckered pink flesh of her neck beneath her left ear. He felt for a pulse and nodded.
“I’d like to see the cream you’ve been using,” he asked.
Freya returned from the bathroom and showed him the green vial of salve. He sniffed it and felt it between his two fingers and his thumb, sniffing it again.
“Is there something wrong, doctor?”
“No. Everything seems normal. The healing is remarkable, and there’s no issue of infection at the wound site, but something has gotten into her bloodstream and is making her sick. She was given an infusion?”
“Yes, her father’s blood.”
“Well, that would explain the quick healing. Did she receive more than one feeding?”
“Doctor, she is unturned, so we gave her only one.”
“I realize, Freya.” He replaced her nightie and drew the covers up to her chin. “I think there is a chance that it was too much for her system. Perhaps she’s more delicate than we often see.”
Phoebe was concerned. “I’ve been having strange dreams, too, and my—” She felt her breasts and discovered the swelling had reduced and beneath the cotton fabric of her nightgown her skin didn’t feel as tender. “I had other skin irritations, but they seem to be gone now.”
“Well, my dear, you’re a strong young lady, but not quite strong enough for your father’s pure bloodline, at least at this time. I think you overdosed a bit on your family’s love.” He stood, chuckling, and then addressed Freya. “I wish I could say the same of some others of your clan. Things are so watered down these days.”
“You wish to see the contents of what she threw up?” Freya asked him.
When he returned from the bathroom, he smiled. “I think my diagnosis earlier is spot on. You did the right thing by giving her a feeding, but I’d limit this if the need should arise again. I think she took on too much.”
Freya was distracted with some distant thought.
“I think you’ll be better tomorrow. I’d stay in bed and drink lots of liquids. You’re thirsty?”
“Yes, very.”
“All normal. Drink broth or something very bland. Herbal tea, if you like. Jell-O?” He grinned. “All the things you liked as a child, my dear.”
Phoebe smiled back at him. He’d remembered her favorite was lime Jell-O.
He handed the salve back to Freya. “And let’s hold off on this for a day or two until she feels more herself. It’s closed the wound and fought infection. Now we let the body do its natural thing.”
Her mother tucked the salve into her skirt pocket and nodded her agreement.
He turned to go, giving Phoebe a wink.
“Thank you, doctor.”
“Rest, my dear. Rest is your friend. Forget the strange dreams and just rest. That’s what you need.”
AROUND DUSK, PHOEBE awoke again. The fire had been stoked while she was sleeping and now felt oppressively warm. She pulled back the sheets to air them out and found a small spot of fresh blood on the bottom sheet no larger than the size of a silver dollar. She was frozen in place. As was common with Goldens, she hadn’t begun to menstruate since that was a s
ymptom of fating and not usually a natural event for young Golden girls.
She tore the sheets from her bed and scrubbed the remnants of the bloody stain on her feather mattress. But she couldn’t remove it entirely, so she flipped the mattress over, pulled fresh sheets from her closet, and remade the bed quickly. She scrubbed the dirty sheet with her hairbrush and got most of it out with soap and cold water, leaving them in a pile in the corner of her bedroom.
She added her soaked nightgown to the pile and stepped into the shower. The warm water soothed her nerves and took the chill from her soul. She scrubbed everywhere, including between her legs, relieved to find no further evidence of bleeding.
She put on her favorite pair of sloppy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. She pulled her wet hair up on top of her head in a clip, applied some lip gloss and moisturizer, and decided to head downstairs to spend time with the rest of the family. Her brother was due to come home soon, possibly today, and she didn’t want to sleep through the homecoming.
At the bathroom doorway, she nearly tripped on the flowered shawl that had comforted her and even protected her two days prior. She drew it to her nose and sniffed, detecting the pungent musky smell of the dark vamp who had saved her life. The hair at the back of her neck stood to attention as the familiar scent continued to bring her comfort.
But she decided to take another action. She threw the shawl on top of the pile of dirty sheets and exited the room, closing the door on that chapter from the wedding.
She was feeling like her old self. It was time to move on with the rest of her life.
Chapter 7
LIONEL TRACED ALONG the whistle sound, bouncing off the edges of the sonar vibration. He found if he stayed just slightly outside the strongest signal he was more conscious of his surroundings. At times, it was difficult to hold back his desire to make the trip at full tracing speed, but managed to slow down, since he wasn’t sure what he’d find when he showed up. If it weren’t for the fact that his brother’s health was at stake, he’d have taken the even more prudent route to go on foot and be preceded by an advanced guard. He wished he’d been able to bring some of the former SEALs his brother had trained.
He’d judged correctly that the night would be in full bloom once he arrived in the desert, where he traced between campsites, clumps of trees, and ancient ruins for cover. He was careful to watch the moon’s arc, so he would have time to find a dark space for his sleep requirements. He could push the envelope and go without sleep for one day, provided he didn’t use the extra energy to fend off light. But two days could leave him too weakened to make the return trip home.
He scouted caves in stony outcroppings along his journey. But judging from the quality of the beacon tone, he would be traveling across smooth sand, with nothing but man-made temporary shelters to protect him. That was an unacceptable risk under most circumstances. It required he calculate the distance and time factor to Jeb’s location first and then await a full dusk to dawn timeframe for his extraction and trip home.
At last, he came upon a cluster of brightly-colored tents lit by campfires. Herds of camel moved restlessly between a watering hole and the vicinity of their keepers. Though it was midnight, Lionel observed the crowd of strangers who moved slowly across sandy peaks and valleys, ducking under layers of heavy carpet. It was obvious they were getting ready to move while the night was still upon them.
He sent out a mental signal to Jeb and didn’t get a response. He was going to wait until the next moon when something wafted past him and caught his keen sense of smell. The hair on his arms began to stiffen, his preternatural warning sign. Again, he called to his brother with a low frequency, mental message, and this time heard a faint squeak that was familiar. The signal duplicated the length of his, but the sound was undefined in terms of words.
He drew closer to the source, which led him to a large red tent surrounded by bright orange and yellow flags and long purple streamers. A dozen dark horses nervously whinnied and pulled against their tethers nearby.
He cloaked himself and traced through the fabric, finding an outer tent housing several smaller animals tied to stakes driven in the ground. Wind moaned through the tunnels of the large tent and made his bones chill. He smelled blood—a mixture of vampire as well as mortal blood. He also smelled death.
Lionel was at a crossroads. He was concerned that the element of surprise was not on his side, so it felt dangerous to remain. But he knew Jeb was close by. The air was pregnant with a pattern he heard between the whistling of the winds over the sand as it splashed up against the walls. He risked sending a message to Hugh, with a warning he feared he’d fallen into a trap.
He listened, tuning carefully to the vibration while keeping his cloaking device from scaring the small animals. At last, he heard the plea for help from Jeb, coming like air through a small reed. It was mostly the sound of breathing but laced between were definitely vocal sounds. And then he felt the mind pattern, and his heart warmed to the knowledge that Jeb was indeed alive. But very weak and broken.
“Come in, traveler,” came the clipped voice of a stranger behind him. Lionel was sure the cloaking was still functioning, so he turned to find a giant of a dark man smiling down on him. His robed arm lifted a carpeted curtain, revealing a golden glow and warmth inside.
Lionel remained frozen in place. He tapped down his apprehension and tried not to react to the invitation given him. He could not afford to trust the man, even with Jeb nearby. Until he could make communication with him, he wasn’t going to move.
The giant began to laugh. “You think I talk to myself?”
Lionel traced to a space behind the dark shadow, who didn’t turn in response, seemingly unable to adjust to his movement.
He sent out another message to Jeb and recognized the answering silent scream.
“Run!”
Lionel immediately traced to the opposite side of the tent and stopped, controlling his breathing, his thoughts and even the speed at which his preternatural blood was flowing. He pressed out any of the images of his journey, images of his recent past. Instead, he concentrated on scenes from his childhood, visions of him and his brothers playing as mortal children before their turning.
He heard his brother sob as the visions reached him. That gave Lionel the coordinates he needed. He traced and found Jeb lying in a heap of bloody rags. Just as Marcus had told, Jeb had been draped in bandages, which were seeping with some mixture that included blood. The smell was foul.
Jeb was missing one lower arm, which was wrapped as far as his elbow joint, which appeared in working order. But his arms were thin, and several places revealed raw bone the bandages failed to cover. Both his legs were there, but cast at odd angles, and obviously not useable in their present state. Like leaves scattered in the fall, pieces of blackened flaky skin littered the ground all around him.
Lionel knew it was Jeb, because he felt his lifeforce, but the skull that angled up toward him was unrecognizable. He was missing eyes, the dark caverns hollowly staring up at him as if he could still see.
“No,” Jeb began to whisper. “Go away. Save yourself.” His lips could barely form words, and his speech was more slurred than spoken. But the danger in those words was impossible to miss.
Suddenly, a large silver cage dropped from the ceiling and trapped both brothers inside. While hearing the sound of evil laughter echoing throughout his cell, Lionel took stock of the room by dim torchlight and noted the source of the awful smell. Rotting corpses lay strewn about, most of them shriveled and burned to a crisp. Various metal implements and spears with silver tips eerily reflected the dancing flames.
Knowing the silver would prevent him from any type of action, Lionel stared down at the frame of his brother shivering at his feet. The trap had been sprung, and now the rescuer was the prey in need of saving. He could not help but feel his heart breaking at what could become of them both.
HE CALMLY ASSESSED his status. If he was lured to Jeb’s side to be executed, i
t would have happened by now. No, Lionel thought, he was being caught alive, not because of who he was but what he was.
He held Jeb’s face up off the bloody rags, sliced one of his own wrists open with his teeth, and dropped some of his blood inside his brother’s gaping mouth, rubbing it over Jeb’s gums and lips. Instantly, Jeb’s skin began to change color and then shape. Under the golden light of the torch, he watched as portions of Jeb’s bones were covered in muscle, veins, arteries, and then pink flesh protecting the network of nutrient delivery. His arm healed, restoring some of his muscle tissue, all the way to the elbow, and then ended in a puckering stump that broke free of the bandages.
Lionel knew time was not on his side, but he was hoping that just enough of it would help bring Jeb to a form able to help in his own escape, if the opportunity arrived.
Jeb’s thoughts were streaming past him. Lionel saw visions of the bonfire of Jeb’s entwined body, clutching Dag’s crispy form, even grappling with the mere skeleton of Dag as it tried to slither across the sand in the hot noon sun. He saw Jeb awaken, felt the terror and the pain that he was on fire. Later, he saw Jeb being tended to, huddled at the bottom of an ornate cage as if made for a large pet bird or monkey.
Or a pet vampire.
He sent out a healing message as the blood from his wrist dribbled down over his brother’s lips and onto his chest.
I’ve seen it, Jeb. Now drink. Be whole. I am here, Brother.
Eyelids formed, covering the vacant caverns where his tender brown eyes had once been. And when they opened, he saw that Jeb’s sight had been restored. The twisted smile from thin lips that barely covered his teeth and gums was one of the most beautiful things Lionel had ever seen.
The heavy laughter coming from overhead turned his veins ice cold. Jeb coughed up and attempted to right himself to sitting position, using his arm stump. Lionel left his wrist against his brother’s mouth but looked up at the evil face of his captor.
Christmas Bite: A Golden Vampires of Tuscany Novella Page 5