Poison in the Blood

by Robyn Bachar

  You don’t know…there is no coming back from grief like that.

  The vision dragged me away from my semiconscious state and pulled me down a long, dark tunnel into the blackness of unconsciousness. When I awoke I was standing in an unfamiliar library. The cool air was slightly damp, perfumed with the scent of dozens of candles. Librarians were surprisingly unconcerned about fire, for they covered their libraries in so many wards against the element it was a miracle that candles lit at all. I walked down silent aisles of bookshelves, noting that the leather-bound tomes were in varying states of decay. The books were very old, older than the books in Simon’s library.

  Simon. He had touched my hand and sparked this vision. This was Simon’s memory. Fueled by fresh curiosity, I hurried forward toward an area where the light was brighter, and emerged into the heart of the library. A massive wooden table dominated the center of the room, and a woman in a black gown lay atop it while Simon hovered over her. A ring of candles formed a protective circle around the scene, and even in the echo of the memory the circle thrummed with power.

  The woman’s face was turned away from me, her focus on the dying fire in a nearby hearth. It was fading to embers, just as the woman’s energy was fading into nothing. She was dying slowly, and the scent of blood wafted toward me through the haze of candle wax. I edged around the circle to get a closer look at her. Her long, golden hair fanned out around her in thick waves, and I was startled by the realization that she looked a great deal like Miss Justine Dubois. I wondered if Simon saw the resemblance as well, and what he thought of it. A large hourglass was perched atop the table next to her body, and the sand slipped through it inexorably, with only a small amount left.

  Simon looked the same as ever, though his expression was filled with such emotion that I would not have recognized him at first. Usually Simon was calm or scowling, but now he was panicked.

  “Darling, look at me. I need you to drink again,” he ordered. He rolled up the sleeve of his black robes and offered the woman his wrist. His wardrobe had hardly changed. I never understood his obsession with dressing like a billowing storm cloud. She barely managed to shake her head and turn away.

  “I can’t. It’s not working. You have to let me go.” Her voice was terribly weak, and I hugged my arms to my chest and shivered as though I could feel the embrace of death devouring her.

  Simon grabbed her shoulders and shook her, trying to wake her. “No. The spell will work, I know it will. Now drink.”

  “No. It’s over. I’m sorry. I love you.” Her pale lashes fluttered as her eyelids slid shut, and Simon shook her again.

  “Genevieve? Genevieve! No, don’t go. Don’t leave me,” he wailed, his voice filled with heartbreak. I would not have thought it possible before, but I felt sorry for Simon. He clearly loved his woman very much. She must have been his wife—

  Is that what you want? Your soul mate’s blood on your hands? It will drive you mad. Destroy you like a cancer until there is nothing left of you but a shell.

  Lord and Lady. This woman wasn’t just his lover or wife. She was his soul mate.

  Simon pulled Genevieve into his arms and held her, but it was clear that she was gone. He sobbed, begging and pleading with her to stay, bargaining with the higher powers to spare her, and as he wept I found myself shedding tears for Simon St. Jerome, which must surely be a sign of the end of days.

  The last grain of sand slipped through the hourglass, and the glass shattered. Simon flinched at the noise. He laid her body back down, picked the hourglass up and hurled it across the room into the fire. Filled with rage and grief, he tore through the surrounding room, smashing and overturning furniture. The vision vanished as a chair sailed through my spectral form, and everything was dark again.

  How dreadful it must have been for Simon to have lost his soul mate like that. One day Michael would lose me. Would the grief drive him mad? But he would have our children, and their children, generations of future descendants to comfort him and remind him of what we had together.

  Simon didn’t have anyone—except for Michael, the only student he had ever mentored. Had Michael brought him out of his grief, only to remind Simon of it again when I discovered that Michael and I were soul mates? No wonder he disliked me. I reminded him of everything he had lost.

  When I became conscious again I was able to open my eyes, and Simon was still seated at my side, though his attention was on the book he was reading. It was the book from my nightstand, a copy of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft that Justine had lent me from her library. Judging by his frown, he didn’t find the material as compelling as I did. I took a deep breath, preparing to ask him…something, and he looked up from his reading.

  “Feeling better?” he asked, and I nodded. “Dr. Bennett recommended that you have something to eat and drink. Let me help you sit up.”

  I nodded again, and was surprised by how much energy it took. I trembled, either from weariness or cold. Perhaps even a bit of fear. Simon eased me into a sitting position and then brought me a tea tray. He even poured my cup of tea, and I wondered if I was still dreaming.

  “Thank you.” I wrapped my hands around the cup, allowing the warmth to sink into my fingers. “How did you end up as nursemaid?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Everyone else is asleep. Plus I feel somewhat responsible for this situation, because Michael is under my supervision. I should have kept closer watch over him.”

  “Michael and I are both adults. I could have said no, but I didn’t. I am equally at fault here.”

  He sat back in his chair. “It is difficult to say no, after having been bitten. Some might say it is impossible to object to a bite.”

  “I suppose you would have more experience with such matters. I did see shocking things at the necromancers’ gathering.”

  “They are very different from the Order. They are hedonists, and we are scholars. That does not mean that you and Michael cannot…” He paused to clear his throat, and I thought I imagined a blush stain his visage. “The two of you can enjoy the more intimate aspects, after he has properly learned to control his hunger. You are very fortunate to still be alive.”

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “You may. I reserve the right to not answer.”

  I nodded, for that was reasonable. “Why have you never mentioned your wife?”

  His eyes widened with shock. For a moment he sat silent and still, but then he leapt to his feet and paced away. Simon held his face in his hands and croaked a bitter laugh. “I suppose it was inevitable, living with a seer under my roof. How long have you known?”

  “Just now. I overheard you arguing with Michael, and it triggered a vision. I don’t mean to cause you additional pain by speaking of her, but…” With a frown I trailed off, unable to find the right words to express my curiosity.

  “But you are a seer, and you want to know the truth in all its terrible details, because you cannot help it.” Simon returned to his seat but did not meet my eyes, staring somewhere near the foot of the bed. “Tell me what you saw.”

  I took a long drink of tea before I began, and I eyed the stale biscuits on the plate and dismissed them. Perhaps later. I launched into the details of my vision, keeping strictly to the facts and not my opinions. Simon was well aware of the fact that I didn’t care for him, and he did not need a reminder of it, particularly during such a tender subject. Though as I considered it, a good deal of my criticism of Simon had to do with his heartless nature, and now I knew that he wasn’t heartless at all. He was heartbroken.

  After I finished I helped myself to a biscuit and watched him closely. Several times he attempted to speak, but stopped and shook his head, at a loss for words. He rubbed his face with his hands again.

  “I met Genevieve long after I became a chronicler. She was a witch, and normally she would never have had any contact with the Order, but her father was a councilman, and I had been invited to one of their gathering
s to take a record of their coven’s activities. I was drawn to her immediately, as I had never been drawn to any woman before.”

  “Because you were soul mates.” I had felt the same way about Michael. He was special to me long before I learned that we were soul mates.

  “Yes, though it was some time before we realized that. It was the only reason her father allowed us to marry. Ours was an unconventional match. I imagine you know something of that yourself.” Simon cracked a small smile, and I nodded, sipping my tea.

  “But if she was a witch, how could she undergo the ritual to become a chronicler?”

  That finally turned his attention toward me, and Simon eyed me warily for a tense moment. “She wasn’t attempting to become a chronicler. Nor was she becoming a master necromancer. Had it been successful she would have been immortal, with allegiances to neither the Order nor the necromancers.”

  I leaned forward, my interest piqued. “How is that possible?”

  “It isn’t, as you saw for yourself. Genevieve died because the ritual failed.”

  “But isn’t that always a risk? Even to become a chronicler, the success rate is less than half.”

  “It is a needless risk, in your case.”

  “But I could stay with Michael—”

  “You will die, and it will destroy him. It took me a century to recover from losing my soul mate. Don’t do that to him.” Simon noticed my hesitation, and he clasped my hand. “Please, Emily. You have children to look after. Don’t abandon them in search of immortality. It isn’t worth it.”

  A rush of fresh concern and ancient anguish filled me at his touch, and I gasped. Realizing his error, he pulled his hand away, and I distracted myself with another biscuit. Josephine really needed to look into finding a new cook, for this one had no talent for baking. I rather missed our cook at home.

  “I don’t want immortality,” I assured him. “After having seen what necromancers consider appropriate behavior at a social gathering, I cannot ever imagine willingly becoming one. Besides, I prefer tea to blood. I just…I don’t want to lose Michael.”

  “I understand, and now you know how deeply I do. But this is not the way to keep him. I know it will be hard for both of you, but in this case, it is best to let nature run its course.”

  I snorted, for there was little natural about my husband’s current condition. “I think I would like to rest now. Will you please let Michael know that I am well, and that I’m not angry with him?”

  “Of course. Rest well.”

  He took the tea tray away and doused the lights before he left. I drifted into a fitful sleep in which I dreamed of what it would be like to sprout fangs and live forever.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was twilight, and I stood barefoot on the grassy bank, holding my shoes as I looked out over an enormous lake. A line of ships sailed close to the shore, each brightly shining with colorful lights that covered them from bow to stern. Raucous music filled the air, along with the chatter of happy families gathered around me, watching the display while seated on blankets spread over the grass. Everyone was dressed—or half-dressed, rather—strangely, including myself. I felt almost naked, but the air was warm and humid and merited the casual attire, and no one seemed scandalized by my display of bare arms and ankles.

  I studied the unusual attire, then turned and gasped at the skyline behind me. Buildings like slender mountains stretched toward the heavens, glittering with pinpricks of light. I had never seen anything like it before. Was I in Faerie? The people around me looked quite human…and then I spotted Michael approaching me with a broad grin.

  “Where did you disappear to?” I asked.

  “I wanted to buy you this.” Michael held out a single red rose with a strange, glowing string entwined around its stem, and I smiled.

  “Thank you, darling.”

  He slipped his arms around me, and we watched the parade of boats together. “I’m not sure it reminds me of Venice, but it is entertaining,” he commented.

  “If I remember correctly we barely saw Venice,” I reminded him, and he chuckled.

  “I would hope that you would forgive me for that after a century.”

  A century. I blinked, but it seemed so natural that I smiled as I looked up at my husband. “I wasn’t criticizing. I was merely pointing out that we saw more of the hotel than we did of the city. I had no complaints.”

  “Good.” He brushed an affectionate kiss against my hair and held me close, and I noticed that our skin was strangely cool despite the warm evening air.

  A chorus of children’s voices woke me, and I opened my eyes to discover that my room had been invaded by my boisterous brood of little librarians. There are days when I felt that an army led by Jasper and Theodore could conquer the world, as the twins were blessed with endless energy and voices that could be heard from anywhere on a battlefield.

  I was still weary from my blood loss, but there was simply no explaining that to them, so I hauled myself out of bed and chased them from the room so I could dress. Breakfast was a noisy blur that I barely remembered, feeling constantly two comments behind on the conversation, but I knew the basics well enough to be certain that Thomas was irritated, Josephine was disappointed, and it was all my fault, as usual.

  Aside from the mandatory extra helpings of guilt, I did feel better after eating, and I was brave enough to venture into the library. Not quite brave enough to do so on my own, but Robert solved that problem for me by gluing himself to my skirts and then screaming when I tried to remove him. One day we would cure his overattachment to me. Today was not that day. I picked him up, noting that my arm was much stronger, and marched into battle.

  The library was silent when I entered, but my seer’s senses picked up on the tension in the air as though it had a pungent odor. Simon and Michael were working at opposite sides of the room, but when he spotted me Simon crossed to my side, looming over me like a spindly gargoyle.

  “Why is the baby here?” he asked.

  With a sigh I handed Robert to Simon, sure that my son would burst into wails and prove my point more solidly than any other explanation would. Much to my shock, Robert stared up at Simon with placid interest, and then reached for a lock of the chronicler’s hair, as though fascinated by the color.

  “That’s amazing,” I whispered, afraid that my voice would break whatever spell Simon had cast over him.

  “What is?” Simon asked.

  “He isn’t screaming. He always screams when someone else holds him. How are you doing that?”

  “I am not doing anything.” Simon rescued his hair before Robert was able to discover if red hair had a ginger flavor, and I smirked as the baby squealed in protest.

  “Well you must be doing something, otherwise we would all be deaf by now.” Deciding to test the phenomenon further, I walked away and sat in the chair on the other side of the small writing desk Michael was crouched over. He was very intently scribbling notes into a ledger, avoiding my gaze, and I folded my hands in my lap.

  “I’m not angry with you,” I announced.

  Michael paused in his note-taking but then shook his head. “I am angry with myself.”

  “That is probably for the best for now,” I replied. “But I want you to know that I bear you no ill will. It was an accident, and I take equal blame, for I should have objected more strongly.”

  “Yes, you should have,” Simon agreed from behind me. I turned around to glare at him but giggled instead at the sight of Robert tugging on his hair.

  “Give him here before you end up with a bald spot.” I held my arms out. Simon handed the baby over without argument, and Robert turned his attention to attempting to grab shiny objects from the top of Michael’s desk. “At any rate, now we know better, and we can be cautious until the prohibition is lifted.”

  “It isn’t that simple,” Michael argued.

  “Actually, it is,” Simon replied, surprising us both. “Feeding is perfectly safe when you are in control of your hunger.
Once you have proper control, you won’t make the same mistake again. Now that you are under the same roof, we can continue your training with Emily as a donor in a safe, supervised environment. The two of you can experiment with more intimate aspects after we’re all confident that you are ready to do so.”

  I eyed him with surprise, for I had been expecting another lecture instead of what was a very reasonable proposal. Perhaps we had come to a turning point in our relationship after last night’s revelation—or perhaps I was still dreaming, for a world where Simon St. Jerome was reasonable, pleasant and good with small children was surely the stuff dreams were made of.

  “After I’ve recovered,” I stipulated. “I’m not ready to give any blood at the moment.”

  “Are you sure you wish to do this?” Michael seemed surprised, and I didn’t blame him, for I was rather startled by it myself.

  “To be honest, I am not eager to be a donor, and I couldn’t do it every day, but I want to help you. I would be more comfortable with you feeding from me than from a stranger.”

  Michael began to argue, but Robert upended an inkwell and its contents spilled over Michael’s notes. Robert giggled at the ensuing mess, and I wondered if he wasn’t a little librarian after all, but a seer like his mama. He did seem to have an acute sense of timing.

  I chose that moment to escape and leave them to their work, and I returned to the chaos of the nursery. I politely declined my sister’s invitation to join her at tea, as I knew it would come with a lecture of some sort and I wasn’t in the mood. It seemed unfair that I was to blame for Josephine’s irritation, considering how much admiration my family had for the Order of St. Jerome. Surely accidents were to be expected when dealing with blood drinkers, even those of an academic nature.

  At the end of the day I attempted to separate myself from Robert, but he would have none of it. He outright refused to be settled into his cot, so I brought him back to my room to save the sanity of the other residents of the nursery and sat in the rocking chair. Matters would be simpler if we were at home, or at least simpler where the children were concerned. I had not heard from Miss Dubois or Dr. Bennett, and I assumed that there were no new developments to report.