III
Amelie jerked her head up from near-slumber as a quick rapping came upon her door.
“Come in,” she called.
The door swung partially open, and a rather muscular man clad in a long-sleeved navy blue shirt—standard attire for High Palace guards—stepped halfway inside.
“Your father will see you when you are ready, Miss Lamoureux.”
“Please, Christopher, for the last time, you may call me Amelie,” she said with a smile as she stood and crossed the room to him. She had never understood the notion that she should be looked up to simply because of the family into which she was born. The man was nearly twice her age. He shouldn’t have to refer to her as “Miss” anything.
Christopher chuckled as he stepped back, holding the door open for her. “Yes, Miss La…Amelie.”
“Miss Lamb-a-lee?” she giggled. “Well, it’s halfway there, I suppose.” She patted him affectionately on the shoulder and he smiled. The two parted in opposite directions, Christopher to go about his rounds and Amelie to visit her father.
Making her way down the hallway towards his bedchamber, Amelie licked her lips, finding her mouth suddenly growing dry. With each visit to her father over the last few weeks she had become increasingly anxious, knowing it was only a matter of time before she would have to say goodbye to him forever. Every time she walked in, she feared he was already gone.
Around the next corner, the hallway ended abruptly at large oak double doors. Next to one of these doors stood Michael Calderwood.
Michael had been married in as Amelie’s stepbrother four years before, less than twelve months after the sudden death of her mother. She did not blame her father for this, as she knew he had loved her mother, but his position demanded that he again take a spouse as soon as possible. The proceeding union had been born out of politics rather than passion. The Lord must have a wife; that was the church’s firm stance. Amelie never cared much for Marietta, her new stepmother, as she was an overbearing and demanding woman who expected far too much from her father, in the girl’s opinion. However, she was nevertheless saddened when the woman passed away from a brief and severe illness less than a year into the marriage. After his second wife had died, Richard refused to remarry once more, despite the church’s most vehement urging.
Michael was thirty months his stepsister’s senior, and had just turned eighteen the month before. He was a slim, wan young man, so much so that he often looked quite ill. The fact that he all but exclusively wore neatly pressed black suits did not serve to improve his almost ghastly appearance. He was nonetheless a reasonably handsome boy, always well-kept and clean-shaven no matter the occasion.
He looked a little startled when Amelie came around the corner, as though he had been lost in thought. “Oh,” he said. “Hello, Amelie. How are you this evening?” He offered her a tight smile.
Amelie returned his smile. “I’m well enough, given the circumstances.” For a moment, the second half of her sentence seemed to linger in the air. Between close family and friends, such a statement would have spurred conversation about the circumstances that had brought them both to this door. But despite having lived with Michael for nearly a third of her life, Amelie still felt as uncomfortable speaking to him as she would an acquaintance, and she suspected he felt similarly. Finally, after the awkward silence drew out longer than she could stand, she added, “And you? Are you well this evening?”
“I suppose so,” Michael said with a sigh. He often responded to such questions that way, and Amelie had never quite figured out what he meant by it. “Shall we?” he asked, reaching for the door, and when Amelie nodded he opened it for her, motioning for her to go first.
At the age of sixty-three, Richard Lamoureux was not an old man by any means. Amelie’s birth had been a gift to him and her mother late in life, long after they’d given up on the possibility of children when many attempts had ended in failure. Richard had always told his daughter that God was waiting for the right moment to place her in his arms, and that she had certainly been worth the wait.
Looking at him now, Amelie found it difficult to recall the energetic, life-loving father who had raised her. Lying there under his blankets, Richard was nothing more than a pale, emaciated ghost of the man he had been. His once regal, reddish beard now hung from sunken cheeks and his hair was matted from the sweat of near-constant fever. The leukemia had come on quickly, ravaging his body in only a few months. Staring at the man she had always adored so much, Amelie felt her stomach turn at the thought that his end was nearer than ever.
All of that seemed to disappear for a moment, however, as Richard’s crystal blue eyes slipped open and briefly revealed the younger man he once was. “Well hello, you two,” he said in a hoarse but cheerful voice. “Come closer, please. Don’t look so frightened.”
They both approached the bed and Amelie moved to the left side, closer to her father, whereas Michael lingered to the right. Pulling up a chair that had been placed nearby, Amelie sat down and slipped her hand into her father’s. She squeezed it lovingly and gave him a gentle smile. Michael remained off to the side, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
“All of your affairs are in order and taken care of, sir. You can rest easy knowing Chicane will be in good hands,” Michael reported, and while Richard looked up to him with a thankful smile and a nod, Amelie frowned, wishing he was more tactful.
“That’s a good boy, Michael,” Richard replied. “I’m glad your mother left me with such a dutiful son. Between your drive and Amelie’s compassion, I know you two will take good care of my city.”
Amelie felt her heart sink a little. Though she had never questioned her father’s love for her, she knew that he had always secretly wanted a son as well. But her birth had been miracle enough, one not destined to repeat itself. Because of this, Richard seemed sure that Michael was the perfect son he had always wished for. And while Amelie had no real reason to doubt that, she was nonetheless nervous about sharing such enormous responsibility with a person she could barely even hold casual conversation with.
“And how is my lovely daughter this evening?” Richard asked, looking to Amelie.
“I’m well, Father. It’s nice to be able to visit you before bed.”
“It’s nice to see you as well, darling. You know I’ve never spent a single night in the same house as you without giving you a goodnight kiss.”
Blushing in a way that only a parent can bring out in a teenage daughter, Amelie smiled and looked down. “I know, Daddy.”
A silence fell over the room, and Amelie could find nothing else to do but gaze upon her father, wondering how many more moments of this she would get before he finally passed out of her life. He returned her look for some time, a sad sort of smile on his face as he himself wondered how much time he had left with his beloved daughter. Michael shifted his weight, visibly uncomfortable. Noticing this, Amelie opened her mouth to break the silence for his sake, but instead all three turned their attention towards the sound of the bedchamber door opening.
A lovely woman in her mid-thirties entered, sweeping her curly black hair back behind her shoulders as she strode across the room carrying a small cup of pills and a glass of water. Reaching the end of the bed, she nodded to everyone and then smiled to Richard. “Sorry to interrupt the family gathering, sir, but it’s time to take your medication.”
“That’s just fine, Norah,” Richard replied. “How is Charles doing?”
“He’s doing very well, sir. He wanted me to apologize that he hasn’t visited in a while. The new semester is starting and he’s got a lot on his plate. He does send his best wishes though.” As Norah spoke, she made her way around the bed to Richard’s side, slipping past Amelie as she did. “Excuse me, honey.” Amelie nodded courteously and stood, pushing her chair back so she wasn’t in Norah’s way.
“Isn’t that just like Charles?” Richard said, his eyes taking on a reflective gaze. “If he wasn’t teaching someone something, I don
’t think he’d know what to do with himself.” The nostalgic look was quickly replaced with one of marked strain, however, as he tried to force himself into an upright position. He couldn’t even make it halfway.
“That’s good enough, sir. Here,” Norah said as she pushed up his pillows behind his head. She handed Richard the pills, and he tossed them into his mouth before graciously accepting the water. He swallowed just enough to chase the pills, but then suddenly fell into a terrible coughing fit.
By the time it finally receded, Richard’s ghostly face had turned deep red. He slipped back down in the bed, looking even more tired and haggard than before. Norah took his wrist gingerly into her hand, checking his vital signs. His flesh looked almost translucent contrasted against her dark brown skin. She sighed, offering a less-than-hopeful gaze to both Amelie and Michael, to which they both nodded solemnly.
Then the silence of the room was abruptly broken once more, but this time with far greater vigor as the bedchamber door flew open. “Mommy Mommy Mommy!” the little girl yelled as she bolted across the room and crashed into Norah’s leg, wrapping her small arms around it tightly. She was between three and four years of age, a cute girl with soft, simple features. Chestnut eyes matching her father’s and dark hair that mirrored her mother’s, only braided into two short pigtails.
Reaching down and picking up her daughter with an “Oof,” Norah hoisted the child’s buttock onto her hip and wrapped an arm around her waist. The little one reached up and circled her own arms around the back of her mother’s neck.
The arrival of the child brought instant smiles to Amelie and Richard, and some of the gleam even returned to Richard’s eyes. Michael, however, suddenly appeared very uncomfortable. He shifted his weight back and forth and wrung his hands behind his back.
“Charlotte, I asked you to stay in the parlor,” Norah scolded. “I said I would be back in just a moment, didn’t I?” Charlotte dropped her eyes.
Letting out a low chuckle that was rounded out by a slight cough, Richard said, “Oh, it’s quite alright, Norah. It’s nice to see her again.” Then, to Charlotte, “You’re getting big, child. How old are you now?”
“Three and three fourths!” Charlotte replied proudly.
“She’s a bright one, Norah,” Richard said admiringly. “Looks as though you may have another teacher in the family.”
“Just what we need,” Norah said sarcastically.
“Nuh-uh!” Charlotte cried. “I’m gonna be a doctor!”
“You should be a nurse sweetie. They’re the ones who really know everything,” Norah said, giving Richard a wink.
Michael stepped forward then and cleared his throat. “Nurse Winters, may I speak with you out in the hallway, please?”
“Of course, sir,” Norah replied. “Come on, Char. Let’s get you back where you belong.” With that, she headed towards the door. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “I’ll be back to check on you in a short while, sir.” She then nodded to Amelie. “Ma’am.” Richard and Amelie both smiled and nodded in return.
“And I will leave you two for the night,” Michael said, giving Amelie and Richard a nod as well. “I hope you both sleep well; especially you, sir.” He then departed after Norah, closing the door behind him.
IV
Out in the hallway, Norah set Charlotte down and turned to Michael. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I believe we have spoken in the past about bringing your daughter here with you, haven’t we?” His voice low but noticeably tense.
“Yes, sir, I know we have. But my nanny didn’t show up today, and I thought since Lord Lamoureux doesn’t seem bothered by her that—”
“Ms. Winters,” Michael interjected, “if we are to ease transition once my stepfather passes, it is imperative that I can count on staff members to follow orders under new leadership. Is that understood?”
“Sir…” Norah began.
“I said is that understood?” Michael repeated.
“Sir, you’re hurting me,” Norah said, alarmed.
Michael blinked and looked down to find that he had taken hold of Norah’s upper arm and was squeezing tightly. He immediately jerked his hand away and took a startled step back. “I-I apologize, Ms. Winters. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s been a very strenuous few weeks and I am very tired. Are you alright?”
Norah took a deep breath and nodded, rubbing her arm. “Yes, I’ll be fine, sir. I understand your tension. Lord Lamoureux’s illness has hit us all very hard. I apologize again for Charlotte. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hap—”
Michael held up a hand. “Your presence here is important enough for Richard’s care that we cannot risk your absence. If you absolutely must bring your daughter with you, I can have one of the maids watch her so she is not wandering the palace unattended.” Michael then looked down as he felt a tap on his leg.
“I get grumpy when I’m tired too. It’s okay,” Charlotte said, looking up at him. He responded with a thin smile.
“It’s true,” Norah said with a nervous laugh, “she really does. But anyway, thank you, sir. I’ll do my best to get in touch with my nanny, and will come see you right away if I can’t.”
Michael nodded. “Thank you. That will be all, Ms. Winters.” He watched as mother and daughter departed down the hall. As soon as they were out of sight, he closed his eyes and balled his hands into tight fists, then took three deep, shuddering breaths. When he opened his eyes again, they were glassy with tears. He wiped at them quickly, then straightened his suit, cleared his throat, and started making his own way down the hall.
He walked briskly, but in a dignified sort of way that was almost prissy. His shiny shoes made rapid, soft whispers on the plush hall carpet. As he rounded the corner to proceed the opposite way that Norah had gone, he retrieved a small gold watch from his pocket, paid it a quick glance, and then made it disappear again, never breaking his stride.
A short time and several nods to various guards and staff later, Michael was walking along the footpath that crossed the east garden and led to the front door of a small, private chapel reserved solely for the Lord and his family. Though the ruler did make occasional appearances at Sunday mass in the various large churches scattered throughout the city, most of his worship was done in this much more secure location.
Along the path, on alternating sides every dozen feet or so, small oil lamps burned atop slender metal poles. The palace itself had electric lights in every room, but walkways and outbuildings were all lit by flame. On either side of the chapel’s double doors, there was a smaller, handheld lamp sitting on a round metal shelf. Michael took up one of these and entered the house of worship.
The lamplight barely cut through the darkness inside, and Michael had to squint to find the pillar candle mounted on a pole at the end of the back right pew. Once that was lit, it was much easier to find each successive one down all six rows. There were matching candles on the opposite side of the aisle, but he didn’t bother with those. No other worshippers would be joining him at this time of night, and the palace priest had retired to his quarters hours ago.
Finding a seat at the far-right end of the second pew, Michael snuffed his lamp and bowed his head. He wasn’t there long before a large figure emerged from the shadows near the altar and took his own seat in the front row, his back to Michael.
“How are things progressing?” Michael asked quietly, his head still bowed.
“Behind schedule,” the man replied in a deep, gravelly voice. “The workers seem to think they won’t be able to complete the Construct in time.”
“You know that will not stand,” Michael said, raising his eyes. In the scant light, he could only make out a silhouette of the man’s broad shoulders and wide-brimmed hat.
“Agreed,” the man replied. “How would you like me to proceed?”
Michael felt his hand wanting to curl into fist, but he took a slow breath and instead forced that hand to reach for the small medal that hung from a thin chai
n around his neck. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, focusing on the feeling of the bumps and grooves that made up the words “Pray For Us” on the back and the image of Saint Monica on the front. Finally, maintaining a flat calm in his voice, he said, “I want you to motivate them. However one motivates a vampire, I’ll leave to you. I don’t care to even think about the fact that such a holy place is being built with their hands.”
“Yes, well, they’re stronger than humans and easy to keep captive under the right conditions. They won’t be a concern once the job is done,” the man said.
“Good. And what of your…” Michael cleared his throat, “…creature? Has it had any further luck?”
“The Visgaer is getting closer with each passing hour. He knows the Catalyst has been moved about Ayenee for the last week or so, but he senses it drawing closer to Chicane now. It shouldn’t be more than a day—day and a half at the most—before we’re able to locate it.” The man emphasized the creature’s species and gender with more than a touch of annoyance in his voice. He may not have chosen a proper name for his pet, but that didn’t excuse referring to him as some kind of thing.
Michael either ignored the emphasis or missed it altogether. “That cuts it nearly as close as the Construct, but I suppose it will have to suffice. As for your employee?”
“Procuring a specialist as we speak. Scheduled to arrive tomorrow night.”
“And you are sure we can trust his judgment? His kind are—”
“His kind have no bearing on my faith in him,” the man snapped. “He is the only person I trust to recruit in my stead. I would happily do it myself, but the additional layer of ignorance will strengthen your deniability. Believe me, you’ll want that after a job like this.”
“There are no jobs like this,” Michael sighed. “I only pray I am strong enough to shoulder the burden.”
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” the man asked, turning to look back at Michael for the first time.
The Crimes of Orphans Page 3