“So your feelings have changed then, have they? Is Charles more to your liking, then?”
I felt my chin raise defiantly but kept my mouth shut, refusing to respond. He exhaled hard, the sound of it making my stomach flip. I was suddenly reminded that he was someone whose exterior wasn’t nearly as impenetrable as it appeared. He’d shattered a glass, after all.
“Last chance, Miss Finner. Ignorance is an undervalued commodity.”
“To whom?”
He shrugged. “Fine. You said I saved your life. More than once. Once when you were a child on that cart,” he said, voice perfectly neutral. “And again by making you strong. Vaccinating you against diseases. You told me you loved me, you said I was…” he hesitated, as though searching for the right word, “worthy, I think that was the word. Worthy of not just love but bravery. And you said you’d never be afraid of me, no matter what I did.” He waited, watching me closely.
“That’s it?” I asked, my astonishment making me overly loudly, because my imagination had made it so much worse over the years. The relief was so immense that I giggled.
Lord Marchant clasped his hands behind his back. A gesture, I realized, that wasn’t random. He did it to contain himself. But if that was true, then why now? What about this exchange made him feel vulnerable enough that he was giving me his batten-down-the-hatches-pose? “Ah, youth. We rule through fear, Miss Finner. Order is maintained because no one dares to speak the truth. We even speak to each other in lies and half-truths because we are afraid of each other and the consequences. You know what I am, what my sister is capable of, and yet you don’t fear me. Do you know, it makes me afraid for you. If you don’t fear me, you won’t protect yourself, you won’t have self-preservation. It makes you vulnerable. This devotion you have for me is like a responsibility I’ve been given.”
“Couldn’t you have compelled me to have self-preservation? To be…afraid of you?”
A smile. Oddly genuine. It transformed his face from cold stone to warm man. “You would think so. In four hundred years I have never had to make someone fear me.” His gaze broke away from mine, scanning the room. “Who knew you’d be so tenacious in your devotion.”
“You’re wrong. I am afraid of you. I know you could kill me. Your sister especially wouldn’t hesitate.”
His lips pressed together in a firm, flat line and he took a step closer to me, leaning forward slightly as though he was going to tell me a secret. “Do you really think I would kill you? Harm you? Really think about it, Rebecca,” he asked, quietly.
I wished I had something to do, some task to perform so I could have this conversation be less…honest. I wished he weren’t so close, and yet I couldn’t touch him.
“So if I stop taking the tonic, will you make me fear you?”
A flush stained his cheeks. “I’ve never asked you to be afraid of me. I should have. Hetty wanted me to. But I didn’t.”
My breath stalled in my chest as I put the pieces together. “That’s why she thinks you want me. Because she asked you to make me afraid and you wouldn’t.”
His nod was almost imperceptible. Question after question raced through my mind, and I didn’t know what to ask, where to start, or if I had the courage to ask him the one question I really want the answer for—why not? Why wouldn’t he make me afraid of him?
“When a person is compelled, they go quiet. Calm. As if they are suddenly tired. They don’t hesitate or laugh, they don’t pull away, but are compliant. If you are to continue taking this concoction to resist compulsion, then you must know how to act when a vampire compels you.”
“Wait. Does that mean you want me to keep taking it?” I was shocked. This was a complete reversal from a few moments ago.
“I do not. But I can see that you’re going to.” He reached out to me, his finger touching my face lightly, the faintest caress. His eyes were dark, and I wondered what it would be like to let him compel me, to fall into his will and go under his control.
“Let’s practice then, shall we?” he asked, voice low, almost lazy. “Tell me what you know of Charles Latimer.”
My instincts were to step back and drop my gaze, but I stayed still, let the breath ooze out of me, and looked into his deep dark eyes. “He is in charge of the docks and the shipments that come to the island,” I whispered.
He nodded. Was that encouragement? “Has he made advances towards you?”
I flinched, and he raised a brow to correct me. “No, my Lord.”
“Do you want to be his Prime?”
“No,” I said, trying to keep my breathing even although my heart was pounding. “Can you hear my heartbeat? Will it give me away?”
“I can. No. It’s very stressful for people to be compelled. Heart rates typically accelerate.” A hesitation while he thinks. “Do you want to be my Prime?”
“No,” I said, breaking my gaze to the right automatically.
“Honesty is easiest,” he said. “Be honest whenever you can. You looked away.”
“Because I was embarrassed!” I turned and paced away from him.
“That’s why I asked. Come here and try again. Muscles relaxed, don’t tense. Continue to look at me. Look at my forehead if it helps rather than my eyes.”
“Your forehead?”
“I have a scar, right here,” he said, a smile playing around his lips as he points to a spot above his eyebrow. I couldn’t help but look. And so he did, just a small circle, faint and barely visible.
“I can hardly see it.”
“Oh, it’s terribly disfiguring,” he said, and my stomach flipped as I realized he was joking with me, trying to put me at ease.
“I didn’t know you were so vain, Lord Marchant.” It was hard not to smile back at him.
He laughed. “This is true. Alas, it’s one of my better qualities.” He was suddenly serious. “The goal of this exercise is not to save your pride, but to ensure you don’t die,” he said.
“Ask me again.” I resolved to do better.
He took a step closer, close enough that he could kiss me.
“Do you want to be Latimer’s Prime?”
“No.”
I felt the current then, like electricity arcing lightly between us as I waited for the question. He let the moment draw out, forcing me to wait in an agony of expectation. “Do you want to be mine?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered breathily. I felt my body react to him, my nipples beading, my flesh growing damp as I imagined what that would be like. Him coming to me with hunger, knowing I could give him something he needed to survive. He would need me, and I would give it to him. Of course I would.
“Why?” he asked, expression unreadable.
“You’ve saved my life. I owe you.” I felt the blush rising in my cheeks. But this was the only way to do this, I realized. Speak without thinking. Be as honest as I can, or they’ll know.
“Well, technically I was responsible for you almost losing your life at least once. You were in my dungeon, after all.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I waited. He nodded, a half-smile on his mouth. “Good. If you’re compelled you, will only answer direct questions.”
He was back to business then, his gaze locking on mine, his lips firm with his customary annoyance. “What is Charles Latimer to you?”
“Nothing. I barely know him.” I focused on inhaling as I stared into his eyes.
“Do you want to be his Prime?” he asked again, and I felt like I was falling, swaying forward into the power of him.
“No,” I said, a whisper.
He nodded sharply and took a step back from me, fracturing the moment. “Then I’d better find a way to dissuade him.”
“Why do you think he’s doing this?”
“The less you know, the better,” he said. He hesitated. “Although I really couldn’t say. It will reveal itself soon enough. For all our experience, we are not subtle creatures. If a trap is going to spring, we want the credit for the plotting.”
1
1
That should have been enough excitement for anyone, but then it got worse. A runner came and said that a body had been found on one of the beaches and that the inspector, what qualified as the police for our small island, was waiting for me. The beach was a lengthy walk away, and when I drew near, a line of guards was blocking the entrance, a few screens with their black sails flapping noisily in the afternoon breeze.
Inspector Hammond stepped forward at the sight of me, giving me a nod to approach. He was one of the most senior people on the island who wasn’t an Infinite. He reported to the Council and dealt with most human disturbances. He had a few men under his command and access to the guards so that discretion could be maintained whenever possible.
He worked for the Council but his loyalty, like that of all the people on the island, was to his own kind as much as it could be. Which usually wasn’t much.
His face was weathered, and his cornflower-blue eyes had a faded look that was slightly disconcerting.
“Miss Finner,” he said, with a nod. “I hear congratulations are in order.” His tone was carefully neutral.
“No,” I said instantly, wanting to tell him it was a misunderstanding and that Lord Marchant himself was going to get me out of this mess. Self-preservation stopped me from confiding in him. A sliver of sense made me realize that combining my name with Lord Marchant’s wasn’t good for my longevity. It was best to change the subject. “Thank you. Who’s down there? Do you know what happened?”
He frowned. “Let me show you,” he said, and the guards parted to let him pass. We picked our way down the rocks to the beach, the sound of the surf pounding against lava—one of the best sounds in the world. A stray seagull stood near the body, and I clapped my hands to startle it away.
Lying on the beach was a woman with red hair, her face buried in the sand. Her attire was odd, and even from where I stood, I could see that it was scandalous. “Is she wearing denim trousers?” I look despite myself at her behind and thighs, which were outlined clearly in the tight clothing. Her shoes were peculiar as well, of a strange fabric, bright blue and purple, with soles unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s the next step, I’m afraid. Figuring out who’s gone missing. But look at this,” he said, and dropped down into a squat next to the body, his large fingers plucking at her shirt. He lifted it off of her lower back, displaying a huge drawing in green ink. I leaned down, studying it closely.
“Is it in her skin?” I asked, feeling a little sick.
“I believe so. A dragon and some flowers. And here…” he hesitated while he turned the body over to her back, grunting softly at the effort. Her hair covered her features, and he carefully lifted a hank of it back, revealing her sand-covered face. Some part of me relaxed as I realized that I didn’t know her, either.
“I’ve never seen her before.”
“Hmm. Look,” he said, and he reached up to her top, pulling it down so that the top of her chest was exposed. More green ink was there, and along her arms as well. “How did she die?” I asked, even as I opened up my bag and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. I turned her palms over, checking her arms and wrists for cuts, but found nothing. And then I moved to her neck, shifting her wet, heavy hair out of the way. And there it was: one neat, small slice where her neck has been opened. “One of the Infinite, then.”
He was trying to clear the sand from her skin. I leaned closer to look at the hollow of her arm. Tiny little pricks were concentrated in that area. “Those look like needle marks. But I’ve never seen her at the infirmary. And we have no patients at the moment.”
“Well, I don’t know. Let’s get her out of here, and I’ll send an artist over within the hour to make a sketch. I want a picture to show around while we try to figure out where she came from. I have to open the beach back up, clear the body away before too many people get a look at her.
“This makes the fourth one.”
I’m confused. “Fourth what?”
“Fourth woman to be found dead, wearing unfamiliar clothing and with no relatives that we can find.”
“Wait. Do you think she came from somewhere else? How would she have gotten here?”
“I don’t know. I’m not going to reach any decisions yet. I just wouldn’t be surprised if no one knows her. It’s pretty difficult for someone to stay a mystery for too long. After two or three people, someone knows a family that has someone missing. But not lately.”
“Why have the bodies not come to the infirmary? How is it that I’ve not seen any of these people?”
“Hetty usually comes down. Sends them straight to the pyre.”
“Oh.” And she hadn’t mentioned it to me?
“Don’t worry, you’ll be seeing more of this one. I’ve got to open this beach back up, and I can’t wait for the artist to arrive. He’s on the other side of the island painting a Lord’s cat or something ridiculous. Once the drawing is done, you can send her on,” he said, and stood up, his knee popping loudly as he rose. “Good luck, Miss Finner.”
“I’ll try to figure out what I can,” I said.
A smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean for getting out of becoming a Prime.”
“Thanks.” And I meant it. He was like me, one of the few people who knew just how terrible it can be to be directly under the dominion of the Infinite, and to see their crimes on a daily basis. Like me, he saw the bodies. Hammond’s men moved the body to the stretcher, and I led the way while the men carried her off the beach and placed the body in the horse-drawn cart that would take her to the infirmary for examination.
When I arrived back at the infirmary, the first sounds I heard were voices. One was Hetty’s, and the other (easily identifiable because it sent chills up and down my spine) was Lady Cassandra. I looked around for her pageboy, and found him near the stable. “Quickly. Go find Lord Marchant. Go!” I whispered to him, and then I went back to the infirmary, heart beating with fear. Was I really going to go in there? After what she had done to me? My feet froze me in place as I listened to their conversation.
“I’ve checked all the books, my Lady. Just like you asked,” I heard Hetty saying. Her voice was confident, strong, something she’d told me over and over again was a necessity when dealing with the Infinite. Don’t show fear. “I’m not saying you couldn’t have been poisoned, my Lady, but I’m afraid I don’t know what it would be. Both my apprentice and I have searched extensively.”
I stood planted. I didn’t know Lady Cassandra had come to Hetty to investigate her being poisoned. Last I’d heard, Lord Marchant was going to investigate. “You must find something. My brother doesn’t believe me. The sanctimonious prig. I wouldn’t have killed my entire staff if I hadn’t been poisoned.” She made a noise. “Well, I might have killed a few of them, if I’m being completely honest. But what happened was excessive, by anyone’s standards. I can give you proof. One of the poor victims was my personal maid. She was the only one who could get my hair absolutely straight. If I’d been in my right mind, I wouldn’t have acted against my own best interests!”
A pause. I couldn’t guess what Hetty’s expression looked like. I could only imagine the struggle it would take to not show revulsion or fear. “Were there any other symptoms besides aggression?” Hetty asked.
“No, things were just…heightened. Blood was sweeter, my passions were stronger, I wanted…everything.”
“And did you notice it starting or ending at any particular point? Any days or after certain feedings?”
“Not feedings. I take most meals with Alley. And he’s just fine! To be safe, I threw out everything from claret to chocolates! And to no avail.”
“I’m sorry, my Lady. I will most certainly keep looking and if you experience anything else, my apprentice or I will attend you immediately.”
“The girl? No, I don’t want her. She’d poison me herself given half a….” And I could hear it in her hesitation that s
he was thinking it, trying to come up with some way that it might have been me who poisoned her. “Books,” she said, a terrifying cooing sort of tone entering her words. “What sort of books do you keep here for poisons and remedies? Let me see them.”
I heard gravel crunch behind me, and I whirled around. Lord Marchant stood there, a scowl on his face. “Three times in one day, Miss Finner. Are you trying to gain a reputation or lose one? Oh, damn,” he said, upon hearing his sister’s voice.
The horse-drawn cart was coming up the drive now too, containing the body from the beach and a few of Inspector Hammond’s men to unload it. Lord Marchant motioned for me to stay outside, and I practically fell over in relief.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Lord Marchant said, as he stepped into my small home.
“Well, you found me. I’m investigating the poisoning, since you aren’t taking it seriously,” Lady Cassandra huffed.
“Who says I’m not?”
“Me. I know you, Lee. Sometimes I think I might die and you’d be relieved.”
A heavy sigh. “I’ve been very busy, but I’ve been looking into it. No unusual shipments to the house, no different merchants. Your blood supply comes from the same source as was dispersed to all the other houses. But just to be sure, I had all the blood removed from the kitchen and replaced with new bags. And the new fabrics were delivered to the house. A present for you. I was waiting for the right time.”
“Oh, Lee! Really?”
“Indeed. Come home, and we will get the seamstresses working at once.”
And they left! Which meant that Hetty and I were left staring at each other with a how-did-we-get-here expression. I knew why I had that look—because Lady Cassandra was terrifying—but I had never seen Hetty be rattled by one of them before. Not even by Lady Cassandra.
Hetty looked me up and down slowly, cataloguing every detail, it seemed. “Where were you?” she asked.
“A body on the beach. Another one,” I said, and now it was my turn to watch her intently. She barely blinked. “Mr. Hammond said there have been others. I was surprised I hadn’t seen them.”
Remembered Page 11