I start to say his name, and he points at me.
“Shut it, Andrew.” He stands tall between us. “Now, listen, both of you. I will not stand for your petty jealousies. I think we are all a bit old for that.” He chuckles and turns to Brien. “Christ, you were probably helping the Egyptians build the pyramids, and here you are, acting like a jilted eighteen-year-old lover.”
Brien lowers his chin.
“For the time being, we need to live in some sort of harmony. Brien, when we reach London—which will be very soon—you can do whatever you please.”
“It would please me to stay with you.”
“Fine, but…you and Andrew have to be friends.”
I scoff.
Edmund grabs my arm. “Can’t you do this for me?”
“Why?”
He steps closer, so close I can almost taste his lips. “I need him,” he whispers. “I need to understand the full extent of what he’s done to me.”
“It’s called influence, Edmund.” Of course, the Elder would hear every word.
“Influence?” He turns his back on me, and God, I want to wrap him in my arms.
“It will start with objects. Perhaps, in time, you will be able to influence people, as well.”
Edmund runs his hands through his black hair. “Any other surprises I should know about?”
Brien steps closer, and I have to tense the muscles in my legs to keep from stepping between them. “The only limitation to your abilities is you. I will help you hone your skills, one day at a time.” He smiles and is almost handsome. “Now, would you give me a moment alone with your beloved?”
Edmund nods and squeezes my hand as he leaves the Elder’s room. Now, I am alone with Brien, and it occurs to me that this ancient monster could probably tear me limb from limb singlehandedly. This Elder could kill me if he wanted and have Edmund to himself. Perhaps my animosity has been a rather idiotic emotion. I wait, watching for some violent move, but instead, Brien puts his hand on my shoulder. He is not quite as tall as me, but he still looms large.
“Your love for him is impressive. I see it in every gesture, every look. I was wrong to claim ownership. Forgive me.”
I search for the lie on his face but do not find it. “You will help him?”
“As long as he needs.”
“And then you will leave.”
“If Edmund requests it.” He drops his hand from my shoulder, and I swear I smell the wet, rotting scent of the sea. “He is extraordinary, I think. I had believed him beautiful—and he is, as are you—but it is more than that. He is more.”
“Yes.”
Brien wanders toward the wall and puts his hand on it as though he can see outside. “You loved him quite easily, did you not?”
“I did.”
“Then, I shall be of help to both of you.”
“Thank you.” The words curdle in my mouth.
“My utmost pleasure.” He laughs once at something I cannot see, so I leave the room. In the hallway, I find Edmund and drag him to our room and pleasure him until he makes loud gasping, begging sounds I am sure the Elder can hear.
Chapter Three
THIS IS NOT the time to laugh at Edmund, but his childish annoyance is almost as amusing as it is adorable. We’ve been on the sunny deck for hours—all of us. Most of the humans, as well as our vampire crew, refuse to go below because the Elder is helping Edmund master his abilities and they’re desperate for entertainment. It’s not going well, however. I should have expected as much. Edmund’s mind has always been all over the place; why would it be any different now?
He buries his head in his hands and groans.
“Edmund. Try again.” Brien is the picture of patience. His face shows not a wrinkle of irritation as he stands ten feet in front of my sailor with a hand extended, pointed toward a heavy metal ladle from the galley. “Focus.”
“Focus. Fucking focus,” Edmund mutters to himself. Standing behind him, I can’t see his face, but I watch him lift his hand toward the ladle. It vibrates and moves. Suddenly, it flies toward us, completely off course. I twist around in time to see it make contact with Felipe’s face with a comical thunk.
Felipe howls while Michelle laughs.
“Shit, Felipe, I’m sorry, mate.” Edmund sighs toward his feet. “Damn it.”
Felipe, for his histrionics, picks up the ladle and extends it to my love. “Your weapon, sir.”
Edmund chuckles, but I can tell he’s not amused. His forehead is wrinkled, and he chews on the inside of his lip.
“Again!” Brien demands.
Edmund closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“You can take a break,” I say.
“No.” He shakes his head before tossing the ladle back to Brien who catches it easily. Edmund removes his jacket, and Flynn rushes forward to take it. My darling unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his white sleeves as if about to wash dishes.
“Might help if you take it all off,” Felipe shouts.
Half the ship crows their approval.
I don’t even think he hears them. He steps up to his place across from Brien—across from the dreaded ladle—but before lifting his hand, he glances back at me. “Andrew?”
I linger at his side.
“Put your arms around me.”
“Hmm?”
“I always feel stronger in your arms. Come on.”
I step up behind him and wrap him in an embrace. I kiss the side of his neck. “You know your mind races too quickly,” I whisper. “Think of your morning stretches. The way you breathe. Can you use that here?”
He leans back against me. “Maybe.”
Brien watches us. He waits.
“You can do this. You can do anything.”
“Liar,” he mutters, but he lifts his hand. I feel his chest expand on a long inhale. When he exhales, the ladle vibrates and moves. He doesn’t breathe—he doesn’t have to—as the ladle lifts and floats toward us. It lands silently in Edmund’s outstretched hand, but the silence doesn’t last. The deck erupts in cheers as Edmund drops his chin to his chest and curls his fingers between mine.
“You all right?”
He nods. “It’s…odd, but yes. I feel as though we’re characters in some fantastical penny dreadful. Monsters on the high sea.” He lifts the ladle in his hand. “Mystics. Does that make sense?”
“Can’t it be a love story instead?”
“Oh, you romantic fool.” He leans farther into my embrace, and I kiss any skin I can reach.
When I open my eyes, Brien stands directly in front of us. He taps a long fingernail against the big spoon. “Again.”
“Let us take but a moment to celebrate.” Personally, I’d enjoy a few private moments to ravage my sailor, but Brien shakes his head. His long black hair blows free in the sea breeze.
“Land is already in sight.” He gestures toward the far, faraway coast we spotted yesterday. “On the captain’s word, we will see the coast of Great Britain any minute now. His abilities must be honed before London. It would not do to have an accident,” he hisses, “in public.”
Edmund pets the hand I have wrapped around his stomach. “He’s right. Thank you, Brien.”
“Anything for you,” the Elder murmurs and bows his head.
Edmund inches farther toward me, back into my embrace, and again, I get the feeling he might be just a little bit afraid of Brien. I cannot see why. Brien has been nothing but adoring of Edmund since his rebirth. Brien would never hurt him.
When Brien walks away, Edmund relaxes and spins out of my arms. He shouts, “If we’re going to be stuck up here all day, we should at least be drinking rum!”
The sailors laugh and erupt in a chorus of, “Here, here!”
Soon, we do have rum and chairs and cards—all on deck. I allow myself the pleasure of a few sips and even a cigar while I spend equal amounts of time watching Edmund and watching the sea. Despite my time trapped on this infernal vessel, I have learned to appreciate the ever-moving wa
ves and the tall expanse of blue, blue sky: a blue that, when bright, reminds me of Edmund’s eyes. It will be strange to be on dry land again. And what awaits our arrival?
I will not mourn the woman, but for Edmund’s sake, I hope his mother is not dead. Her illness was never specified in the letter, so there’s no way to guess what state she will be in. Then, there’s the issue of business. Edmund must meet with his trading company and do his best to explain why their ship wrecked off the coast of South America. But business must wait.
We have discussed his plans already. Depending on the hour of our ship’s arrival, we will either rush to his family’s country estate, where his mother awaits us, or remain in London for a single night before hiring a carriage and making the trek. As far as I can tell, Michelle, Felipe, and Brien plan to accompany us wherever we go—for the time being. Flynn keeps trying to make his case, and although Edmund initially said no, I believe Flynn’s constant arguments are beginning to wear through my sailor’s resolve. Flynn adores us both, and it would be convenient to have a hot meal readily available. Especially since Edmund is still but a child in this and needs to feed often. A hungry young vampire is a dangerous vampire indeed.
By the time I’ve finished my second mug of rum, the ladle flies effortlessly into Edmund’s hand. He takes a startled step backward when the ladle flies back to Brien, and Brien smiles that wicked, wide-toothed smile of his.
Of course, Brien would have the ability to move things with his mind; he gifted it to Edmund, after all.
The gray cravat around my throat slithers like a snake. I drop my rum and grab at the material, but it flies free, dances through the air, and wraps itself around Edmund’s throat, tying in a perfect knot.
The side of his mouth quirks up. “I don’t wear them.”
“You should.” Brien points the ladle at my darling. “The temptation of your skin is liable to cause others to sin. In their minds, at least.”
“Sounds like a challenge.” Edmund winks, and dear God, I think Brien actually blushes? He looks away at least.
Edmund unties the cravat and walks toward me. He tucks it back around my neck and ties it before running his hands down my chest as if adjusting my waistcoat. My waistcoat is perfect, so I assume he just wanted an excuse to touch—which is always welcome. He stares at me with shining eyes but is soon distracted by something over my shoulder. His small smile blossoms into a grin, so I turn around.
I see land ahead, different than the land we saw before. I see land and know, based on Edmund’s expression alone, this must be England.
Somewhere, someone screams, “Land, ho!”
I sling my arm around his waist. “When was the last time you set foot on home soil?”
He takes a breath that raises not only his shoulders but his eyebrows too. “Seven years, and it was for but a moment: business and lunch with my mother and one of her friends, Lady Patricia. An awful bitch of a woman. Here’s hoping she’s dead.”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
“Flocks of devils would probably welcome her to hell, and Satan himself would cheer, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’”
I laugh, half bent with amusement, and stand to find Edmund watching me with unbridled glee. I grab him by the back of the neck and kiss him. “I adore you.”
“For my sacrilege or my exposed throat?”
“Both. Yes. All of it.” I kiss him again. “Are you ready to return home?”
His expression darkens. He ducks his head and fingers the buttons on my shirt. “No. I keep thinking she might be gone already, and I never got to say I was sorry.”
“What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”
He shrugs. “For not being who she wanted.”
I take hold of his shoulders and give him a little shake. “You can’t be sorry about that. Right now, this minute, you are surrounded by a ship full of people who love you just the way you are.”
“But she’s my mother, Andrew, and I destroyed her.”
“Then, she will not be dead.”
He rests his forehead against my chin. “How do you know?”
“Because she’s still waiting for your apology.”
He chuckles a little at that and leans into my chest. I hold him and run fingers through his hair.
“Whatever we face, we’ll face it together.”
He nods against me and holds tight.
Chapter Four
WE RUSH TO pack our things, and by the time we’ve tucked everything back into trunks, our ship already floats quickly up the Thames. The waterway is crowded, although ours is one of the more impressive vessels making its way toward London. The port is different than New Orleans—dirtier, more people, louder—but I see the city when we disembark, and I am excited to explore this unfamiliar country. Even if it does appear covered in smoke.
On the dock, I glance at brown-black water as Edmund speaks to a man about a carriage. “And you said my harbor was disgusting,” I mutter. The world tilts below me, so accustomed am I to the sea. I plant my feet and focus on standing straight. I will not take a tumble into that water.
It has been agreed: the crew will remain in London for a time while we travel to the country to check the state of Edmund’s mother. We’ll eventually return to take care of his business dealings in the city. Michelle, Felipe, and Brien will be our companions, as will young Flynn, whose sweetness finally won Edmund over.
As the crew unloads our belongings, Edmund takes hold of my arm. “I’ve hired a carriage. I have a few errands to run, but you go to the hotel.” He pauses as if he has more to say as he gazes over the water.
“Are you well?”
He nods. “I’ll be back within the hour. Tomorrow morning, we ride for Heavenhill.”
“Heavenhill?”
“My family’s country estate.” He buttons his coat. It’s colder here, wetter. “It’s a half day’s ride north.”
“Doesn’t your family own property in London?”
He hesitates. “Yes.”
“Yet, we stay in a hotel?”
He scratches his neck and finds sudden interest in the ground. “I don’t know where I’m going to be welcomed, Andrew. At least I know my mother’s doctor will let me in, considering he wrote the letter asking me to come. Our family servants might not be so…” He winces.
“Okay.” I stop him from having to say more. “Is it a nice hotel, at least?”
He smiles. “The best.”
Edmund directs me to our waiting carriage and, with a wave of his hand, disappears into the harbor mob. Luckily, the driver knows where to go, as I am lost in this massive city. The ride is bumpy, loud, and reeks of horse dung, but we eventually arrive at a place Edmund called Brown’s.
Felipe steps out first and cusses immediately. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
I glance out. He’s ankle-deep in what appears to be shit.
“Welcome to London.”
“Shut up, Andrew.”
With the help of Felipe and the driver, the rest of us avoid the worst of the muck and are welcomed into a lobby with a high, white ceiling and walls covered in dark wood. We’re lucky our clothes are so expensive because we surely look disastrous, fresh from the boat. Then again, Edmund walked into our New Orleans hotel barefoot, so I suppose we’re not so bad.
Michelle pays for our lodgings. We end up with a suite—a group of interconnected bedrooms with a common area in the center. Everything is simpler, less gaudy than New Orleans. As opposed to gold, the rooms drip with luscious dark wood, silk pillows, and wooden floors that creak in places. I stand by a tall, thin window, admire the wrought iron balcony outside, and try to ignore the hubbub of the street, crowded by carriages.
The hubbub in our rooms is almost as bad, as Felipe demands a bath, as do Michelle and Flynn. Frankly, we all need baths, but we’ll have to take our turns in the grand porcelain tub wedged in the washroom.
As hotel staff runs in and out with hot water, soap, and copious towels, Brien
sits quietly by the door.
“We’ll need to get you to a tailor,” I say.
He nods but doesn’t respond. He seems to be listening for something. Perhaps, as I expected, the noise of a modern city is too much for him. We exist together over the sound of splashing water for some time. I think it must have been an hour at least when Brien suddenly sits up straight mere moments before Edmund comes through the door.
He walks in as though his feet are heavy, and something in his gait, the look of his eyes, makes me run to him.
Brien stands too. “Dead man?” he asks.
Edmund chuckles a bit at the Elder’s nickname but stares up at me. “I went to see my family solicitor.” He pauses. “She’s alive. My mother’s still alive.”
I put my hands on either side of his face. “That’s what was worrying you on the dock.”
“Well, it was a long journey. I didn’t know…”
“But she is still alive?”
“Yes. Unless she died an hour ago. He wouldn’t tell me anything more. I know Lady Patricia is indeed with her, but I know nothing of Mother’s condition.”
“We’ll know by tomorrow night.”
He leans forward and gives me a quick kiss. “I miss New Orleans already.” He steps past me as Brien returns to his chair by the door like some sort of watchful gargoyle. Edmund pulls a paper-wrapped parcel from the inside of his suit coat and tosses it on a marble-top table.
“Currency?” I ask.
“I’m tired of Michelle paying for everything. It’s not as though I’m lacking.” He takes off his jacket and begins unbuttoning his waistcoat. “I don’t care who’s in that bath, I’m getting in with them.”
“Flynn will be thrilled.”
“At least we’ll both fit. Which room is ours, love?”
I point. “Second from the right.”
“Ta.” He disappears inside but reappears in nothing but a blanket. “I’m tired of clothes,” he says, but he does carry some breeches and a shirt under his arm. He sweeps across the common area and disappears into the washroom. I hear Flynn make a delighted squeak and pour myself a drink.
Escaping Mortality Page 3