* * * *
Hathor poured herself a cup of hot water, dipping the tea bag into the fine china cup. Mrs. Quaken had boiled the water for her, insisting that she drink some tea to chase away her rough night. Not wanting to be rude, but desperately wishing the cup held coffee instead, Hathor obliged.
Opening the cabinet beneath the sink, Hathor threw the bag in the trash. The maids had finished with the upstairs chores and were, the last time she checked, scrubbing the floor of the main hall. Taking a sip of the hot liquid, Hathor gazed out the window. Again her thoughts turned to the handsome vampire sleeping in the basement.
"Ahhh!"
Hathor jumped as she heard a terrified screech come up the stairwell. Her heart leapt into her throat. She hadn’t heard the maid venture to the basement. Tearing down the steps, she ran directly for Servaes’ room. The dark housekeeper’s widened eyes instantly found hers in horror. The other women raced down the stairs behind her. Hathor glanced around. The hallway lights were on, as was the light in Servaes’ room. The floor had been mopped half way up from the back. A vacuum sat close to the terrified woman.
"Are you hurt?" Hathor sharply inquired of the girl.
"No, Miss." The maid pointed a shaking finger to the bedroom. Her mouth worked without making much more than a squeak.
Hathor sighed in relief as she looked at the woman’s unharmed neck. The unfortunate maid hadn’t opened Servaes’ coffin, or else she wouldn’t have been standing there alive.
"What is going on here, Catherine?" Mrs. Quaken inquired from behind. "What is all that noise?"
"A c…coffin, Miss!" Catherine stuttered, still pointing her shaking finger to the bedroom.
"Oh," Hathor stated, feigning great relief. "Is that all?"
The girl’s rounded eyes were lit with fear as she looked at the strange woman in disbelief.
"It is a prop," Hathor explained airily. She walked past the frozen housekeeper into the bedroom. Seeing the coffin unopened on the bed, she forced an easy smile to her face. Crossing over to the bed, she placed her hand on top of the black lid to show them there was nothing to fear. Instantly, a shock ran up her spine. She could feel Servaes beneath the lid, his hand lifting within to lie next to hers.
It’s all right, she thought, directing the words at him. She didn’t have to wait long to know if he could hear her.
Send them away. She detected his gruff answer in her head. His swarthy accent sent chills over her. She cleared her throat lightly. Smiling at the three women who stared at her, she patted the coffin lightly to enunciate her words.
"I told you that my boyfriend was in the theatre --" Hathor began, carefully preparing more of her lies.
Boyfriend? Servaes’ voice mocked laughingly.
She tried not to listen to him, his deep sultry tone echoed in her mind, rich with amusement. The sound made her limbs shake with longing.
"-- and he needed to store a few things here. This coffin is a prop for a vampire he pretends to be."
Pretends mademoiselle? Do you need further proof? Servaes’ chuckling remarks irritated her, making her lose her train of thought. Crawl back in here and let me show you --
Quiet! Or I will lift the lid myself! she threatened back. The maids watched her face contort to a strange frown only to instantly turn back into a sweet smile.
"But, it is a coffin, Miss," Catherine mumbled. She eyed it in disgust.
"I know. I didn’t think to tell you earlier. I honestly forgot that it was here. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I will straighten up this room," Hathor offered. "I can see you are unsettled by its presence."
Servaes’ laughter grew quieter. Hathor tried not to make her smile too bright as she looked at the women in expectation. Her hand balled into a fist, desperately wanting to strike the lid to shut the irritating creature up completely and get him out of her thoughts.
Mrs. Quaken mumbled under her breath about having too much to do to be standing around gawking at a casket. She ordered the blonde girl to go upstairs and finish her work. As they left, Hathor heard the girl whisper, "Theater folk sure are fascinating."
"I just have to dust and vacuum, Miss," Catherine said carefully, after a strange silence passed.
"I’ll do it," Hathor smiled. "You go to the next bedroom or finish up whatever else you need to do down here. And don’t worry. I will explain everything to my aunt. She will not have any complaints."
"All right." Catherine gave a wary look at the coffin but did as the woman suggested.
Hathor sighed when the housekeeper was gone. She glared playfully at Servaes’ box. She could still hear him chuckling.
Cad! she shot at him.
What? You’re the one who said I was your boyfriend. Hathor could hear the innocent tease in his thoughts. Now, lock the bedroom door and come in here with me. I want to show you something.
There is no way I am getting in there with you. And if you open the lid you will be blasted with so much sunlight the house will explode! Hathor directed back.
Ma chère, he pleaded, please come in. I want to prove to you how real I am.
Walking over to the coffin, she tapped her finger on the black top, as she mumbled under her breath, "You owe me one, Servaes. Now I am stuck cleaning when I’d much rather be upstairs staring aimlessly out my window."
"Miss?" Catherine called, inquiringly.
"Nothing," Hathor sang back as cheerfully as she could muster.
Come back in here, chéri, and I will make it up to you, he offered. His accent grew thick and husky. She felt his hand stir beneath her palm.
She could just imagine his boyish grin as the words rolled out of his mind. But the eyes that she remembered were more human than vampire. She froze, realizing what she was doing. She was flirting with a man who didn’t exist. The Servaes she loved was dead. Or was he? She was so confused. Shaking her head, she shivered as she felt him run his finger underneath her palm. He lightly traced the pattern of her hand. She felt him as sure as if there was nothing between them.
Drawing her hand away, she grabbed the vacuum and plugged it into the wall with unsure hands. She then grabbed a dust cloth lying outside the door in a basket. Spraying some dusting spray on the rag, she hurriedly began to swipe the wood.
Are you frightened of me, ma petite? Are you afraid I will bite you? His words were still playful, but unmistakably full of promise. The thoughts were followed by silence. When she refused to answer, he directed, I will have you, one way or another, Hathor. You can’t hide from me. The sunlight will not last forever.
Come out here and say that to my face, she challenged. Her tone was a bit harsh as she swiped furiously at the wood. She couldn’t forget the life he had shown her. It tore at her chest. When he didn’t answer, she growled hotly at him, "That is what I thought, monsieur."
She grabbed the vacuum, turning it on. The noise drowned out anything he might say. She pushed it over the carpet haphazardly, doing her best to stay calm. It was disconcerting how close he was.
Inside his prison of darkness, Servaes glared at the lid. His fingers still traced where her hand had lain above him. He didn’t dare enter the sunlight to answer her, no matter how badly he wanted to.
Finishing the floor, Hathor grabbed the rag and threw it into the basket. She shut off the vacuum, pulling the plug out of the wall by the cord. Quickly, she pushed it from the room.
I’ll see you tonight, Hathor, he told her in promise. She gasped but refused to answer. There was a deep assurance in his words, but also a grave sadness. Hathor abruptly shut the door with a hard snap. With a few words to the maid ordering her to stay out of the room, she ran up the stairs, as far away from the vampire as she could manage.
Chapter Fourteen
The day crept along with a tormenting slowness, full of anticipation and worry. The housekeepers finished their work at Kennington House, leaving quickly with few words. Hathor knew they thought her strange, but she didn’t care.
During the day, Hathor t
ried to feel safe. She knew the vampires slept and wouldn’t come looking for her so long as the sun shone. If she stayed locked in the house she could assure herself that no human consort would be coming to get her. The assurance did little good. Shadows made her jump in warning, and the slightest movements of tree branches against the howling wind caused her skin to crawl in trepidation.
For all that the time appeared to slither along, when the sunset finally approached it was too fast for Hathor. She watched from the balcony as the bright orange and red glow of the sun fell behind the trees of the back gardens, turning more purple than red. Chills racked her body in little bumps.
The soft light fell over the trim grasses and flowing fountains, making the stone statues come alive as if they moved deliberately in the stillness. The statues reminded her of the attack in the alley. She stared so hard at them that, at times, she could convince herself that someone was there watching her. Again and again she would count their stony numbers to make sure no extras appeared.
Much to her own dismay, she spent the lighted hours applying lotion, rubbing it in with nervous fingers, and perfume to her skin. She then carefully straightened her hair and applied a light layer of makeup -- enough to highlight her face, but little enough that it was not obvious she put the effort in.
Picking her clothes was another great affair. She tried to find something simple, but not too sexy. She didn’t want Servaes knowing she thought about his promise all day. Though, in truth, she thought of little else. She forced her mind to remember that the man she waited for was dead, and the vampire who would come was only a walking shell of the man with whom she had fallen in love. She saw the coldness in Servaes’ undead gaze. She felt the power and danger he had within him, the capability he had for death.
But, damned as she might become, she couldn’t stay away from him. He would consume her soul with the black beast he hid so well, and Hathor knew that she would have to let him. The creature had her mesmerized. She knew what he was, and she couldn’t fight it. The vampires in the alley were right. He had her marked.
Finally deciding on a simple black dress, she slipped on matching hose. Her shoes were only slightly heeled, not too fancy. Satisfied that she looked casual, yet sophisticated, she poured herself a glass of wine to calm her nerves and continued to wait on the balcony. If anything, her clothes might give her the power to intimidate him. It was a long shot, but one she needed to comfort herself with.
Her heart raced faster with each falling inch of the setting sun. When finally the moon took complete control of the sky, her insides were a mess. Swallowing down the last bit of wine in her glass, she turned to go to the bottle. She knew Servaes would hunt first before coming to her. Part of her hoped it took him a long time. She tried not to think of the life he was taking in sustaining his own.
Pouring another glass, she felt him more than heard him behind her. She set down the bottle on the pewter serving tray with a clink. Lifting her wineglass, she turned. The red liquid swirled easily in its crystal. Her nerves whirled uneasily in her stomach.
She forced a bored yawn as she crossed over to the balcony. She could feel that he was there, waiting for her. Her feet were silent on the carpet. Coming through the doors, she saw that she was right. The sight of him hit her like a stout breeze.
Servaes leaned leisurely against the railing, watching for her. He wore his usual clothes, turn of the twentieth century in style. Tight slacks pulled against his legs, a loose fitted shirt blew unfettered in the night breeze to hug his pale muscled chest. His skin was supernaturally smooth, and his demonic eyes hushed her with a soft inner light. Already, within the potency of his prevailing gaze, she could feel the length of him crushed against her. Every one of his lightest touches was burned into her memory.
She endeavored to give him a polite smile, not too sweet yet not too cynical. She well understood why he had come. She knew in part what he wanted to do to her, though she didn’t know how much he would demand. Would he require her blood? Her life? Her soul? Lifting the glass to her lips, she said, "I would offer you some, monsieur, but I believe you would have already had your wine for the evening."
Hathor sipped the strong liquor. She walked to the rail as if she hadn’t a care in the world. He studied her through veiled eyes that flashed with green. She knew he was trying to read her thoughts. She didn’t let him. Instead, she kept her mind focused on the fountain in the distance. She stared at its pale purple lights shining in the waters. The cold stone brought with it no comfort.
"You are right, mademoiselle," he answered quietly. "I cannot drink of your wine -- at least not from a glass."
Hathor shivered, losing a bit of her composure as he glanced meaningfully at her neck. Taking a deep breath, she forced her chin into the air and willed her heart to slow. Her ruse didn’t work. He could hear the beating as it pounded fiercely like the beckoning call of a native’s drum.
Servaes studied her slender form. The dress she wore clung to her body, hugging the sway of her hips, the long line of her thighs. The skirt stopped at the knee, exposing the pleasing curve of her calves beneath seductive black hose. The shortened sleeves covered her shoulders, the neckline leaving her slender neck and collarbone exposed. He trembled with longing. She was captivating, enchanting. He could detect a faint line of blackness around her eyes, outlining them pleasingly, making them look big and wondrous as she stared at him.
She was alive, so mortal, so fragile and powerless. He could hear her heart, smell her blood. He had the supreme power over her. He could kill her, torture her, snuff out her life with a single gesture. But, that life which he could so effortlessly stop had become so precious to him.
For a brief moment, he couldn’t move, and in that eternal second she possessed the power--the power to awe and manipulate him if only she knew how to wield it. In that moment, she could have enslaved him to her. Within a blink, the moment passed, and Servaes was in control once more.
The vampire knew that he should leave her, knew that he should send her away for the whole of her short life. He couldn’t do it. The words wouldn’t form in his throat. It was too late for both of them. They were linked together in an ill-fated maze, at the end of which, there was only death and blood.
He slowly came up to her with the graceful movements Hathor knew him capable of. His hand lifted lightly to brush her jaw, fitting next to the creamy softness of her skin, the silken locks of her auburn hair. He turned her eyes around to meet with his. His gaze bore into her, searching, wanting. She trembled at the raw emotion he allowed revealed to her.
"I told you I would come tonight," he whispered with a glance to her lips. Her mouth parted in breath. He could smell the scent of wine on her tongue, intoxicating him as it swirled in her blood. But she didn’t lean to invite his kiss as he had hoped. Instead, she turned away from him. His hand fell to the side. He rested against the railing, waiting patiently for her to speak.
"Was it real?" she inquired softly. She studied the wine in her glass, the red liquid reflecting the silvery moonlight. She couldn’t bring herself to drink it, so she poured it over the side of the balcony. She waited, watching the liquor fall into darkness.
Hathor didn’t need to explain her question. Servaes knew she spoke of the dream he showed her. Quietly, he said, "Yes and no. It was real, long ago in the time that it was lived. But, to us now, it is a dream of a past. Do you understand?"
His words were gently spoken. Slowly, she nodded. "So I did travel back to the past."
"I believe you did in a way. Do not ask me how. I do not know. I myself do not have the power to journey through time at will. But I remember now seeing you on the ship as I crossed to America. I can’t even recall the name of that boat, and I had forgotten the journey until you. It was you there with me. I did not remember your face as the years took the fine curves of it from me. I remembered you only as a vague hallucination of a woman long dead."
"Then it was you in the gardens? It was you who talked and
laughed with me? It really happened? It was not just a dream?" She could barely believe it. It was the only thing that made sense. It had to be real. It felt real. She could sense the confusion in Servaes as he tried to answer her. He didn’t know how it was possible either. Looking down at her hands, she suddenly remembered the splinter she received in the boat. In her nervousness she had ignored the minor irritation.
Cautiously, she ran her finger over her palm. With a delicate wince, she realized it was still there. Servaes, seeing her discomfort, lifted her palm. He absently hovered his finger over the splinter, drawing it out. It disappeared into the wind.
"I remember now, the day in the garden. Jirí set me up that night to die. He wanted to go to the new land. He was bored. He wanted me with him. However, I was too widely known just to kill. If he had me shipped to America and changed there, then we would be able to come back to France and reclaim my title. And that is what we did just a few years later. By that time, King Louis married his mistress, Madame de Maintenon, and did not care about me. Nevertheless, Jirí and I both bewitched him with our power. He did not even remember sending me away. Those who did mysteriously ended up a victim of a strange plague that affected France that year." Servaes didn’t reach for her again. He waited for her next question. He did not have to wait long.
"So if it was true, then you did want me to marry you? You said you wanted to ask me that night. You told me on the boat." Hathor shivered. It might have happened several hundred years in the past, but to her it was only yesterday. Her heart pulled with a curious emotion, one that had not a thing to do with desire.
"Yes. I meant it then, but you know how things have changed. I am not that man. I am what you see. I will not lie or trick you. That man was killed. You saw my human death and what you see before you is all that is left of the man." Servaes stepped away from the railing. His eyes bore into her as his hands rose from his sides. He held still, waiting for her to examine him. She did, turning carefully to watch his every move.
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