A Vampire's Bohemian

by Vanessa Fewings

  Dr. Hauville stared off. And I stared at those cups of jello that weren’t.

  Whose blood?

  “Beatrice came through your A & E,” Anaïs said. “She was your patient.”

  Hauville nodded. “It was a busy night. We’d spent hours sobering up drunks and a few drug users. The nurses were run ragged. I was left alone with Beatrice to pronounce her dead.” Dr. Hauville’s face was a mixture of defiance and wonder. “I’d never seen anything like it. She was dead. No pulse. Beatrice shook violently and at first I thought she was seizing...”

  “How did you realize Beatrice’s blood would help your daughter?” I asked.

  Dr. Hauville lowered her gaze. “I was preparing the paperwork to send her body to the morgue. She started breathing spontaneously. All her contusions dissipated before my eyes.”

  “And then you brought her here?” I said.

  “I told her I was bringing her back to let her make a full recovery. Beatrice liked that. I told her I had horses and she could ride them. At first she wanted to help Olivia, but after a few days she wanted to leave.”

  “You drugged her with laudanum?” I said.

  Dr. Hauville looked surprised.

  “And Eden?” I said. “What went wrong?”

  “An accident,” she said. “I was drawing her blood to feed it to Olivia...”

  “You didn’t realize she wasn’t a vampire?” I said. “You drained her thinking she’d survive? Didn’t you see her deteriorating?”

  “Eden had that circled brand,” Dr. Hauville said, looking confused. “Like Beatrice.”

  “They get the brand before they are turned,” I said.

  “I know that now,” she said.

  “When did you find out about your husband’s illegal activity?”

  “A month ago,” she said. “At first the plan was to get him imprisoned so he wouldn’t interfere here. Wouldn’t stop me.”

  “The camera in that fox is yours?” I said.

  “You found it then?” She looked puzzled. “You faked your death, inspector? Why?”

  I waved off her question. “You made sure the police found the evidence that would convict your husband?” I said. “You uploaded the photo of Beatrice bound to a wall. You knew it would put all the attention on him.”

  “Yes, I set him up,” she said. “Rupert cared more about that castle then our daughter. He sold counterfeit goods for years without me finding out. All our savings went on inheritance tax when his father died. We were close to bankruptcy. My salary with the NHS didn’t help. He was trying to save us from financial ruin. Social embarrassment.”

  For the first time, I saw her waver.

  Dr. Hauville continued, “When I found Rupert’s secret room in the Bainard Building, I realized what he was up to. I begged him to stop. Told him it threatened what we were trying to do here with Olivia. He wouldn’t listen. I assumed he’d go to prison for a few years. Give me the time I needed to perfect all this.”

  “What made you change your mind and kill him?” Anaïs asked.

  “He threatened to put a stop to what I was doing here.”

  “How did you kill him?” I asked softly.

  “Laudanum overdose.”

  “Where’s his body?” Anaïs asked.

  “I buried him out there.” Her gaze slid east of the house, her lips trembled.

  “I’m so sorry, Imogen,” I said, but I wasn’t sorry for her. My sorrow was for Olivia and Beatrice and Helena, and the loss of Eden.

  “Where’s Helena?” I said softly. “She’s not a vampire, Imogen.”

  Her eyes widened. “She has the mark too.”

  “She’s not a Gothica,” I said. “She got the brand to help find Beatrice.”

  Dr. Hauville frowned. “And Beatrice must feed.”

  Bile rose in my throat. “Is Helena still alive?”

  “Mummy?” Olivia stirred, peeking above the bedsheet. “Who are these people, Mummy?”

  “They’re leaving now, darling,” Dr. Hauville said.

  “Can I have my drink now, Mummy?” Olivia said.

  “In a moment, darling. Let me see these nice people out.”

  The child looked possessed, veins bulging, her glare full of fury. Those fangs bared and ready.

  “In a moment, darling,” Dr. Hauville said calmly, waving the gun at us. “Out.”

  Anaïs and I preceded Dr. Hauville out into the corridor.

  Anaïs knocked the gun out of Hauville’s hand, sending it flying, and she pressed her up against the wall, trying to control her flailing.

  I picked up the gun and pointed it at Dr. Hauville. “Where are they?”

  “I have to finish my work.” She struggled against Anaïs’ grip.

  My hair was yanked painfully and I staggered back, feeling Olivia’s fangs puncturing my throat. Struggling against the attack, I fell.

  Anaïs dragged Olivia off and away from me. I felt a trickle of blood snaking down my neck. Olivia turned on Anaïs, screaming wildly, her eyes feral, her irises as black as night. Anaïs tried to hold her back, hold her off, but the child was strong.

  I tried to help Anaïs.

  Orpheus pushed me out of the way. Never had I been so happy to see him. He grabbed Olivia by the shoulders and yanked her off Anaïs. With his fangs bared, Orpheus’ rage looked bestial. His strong hands squeezed the child’s throat, choking the life out of her. Olivia flopped in his arms like a rag doll and slipped from his grasp. She lay still, dead.

  Dr. Hauville flung herself at me, screaming, thrusting me against the wall. She held a pointed wooden dagger to my chest.

  Another shot rang out.

  Dr. Hauville’s eyes widened and her face reddened and her cheeks puffed. She slumped to the ground beside me.

  Jadeon had shot the fatal bullet. “Ingrid, are you all right?” He knelt beside me.

  Olivia raised her head, her eyes blinking.

  “Oh hell no,” Orpheus said.

  Olivia flew toward him like a wild phantom, her eyes full of fury, her fangs bared, her fingernails scratching him. Jadeon picked up the wooden stake from the floor, flew at her, and rammed the tip into Olivia’s back. She gawped and slipped to the ground.

  “That should work,” Orpheus said calmly.

  Fighting the dizziness, and this nauseating realization we’d killed a twelve-year-old, I tried and failed to get up. I was too weak to argue, and too stunned by a child lying dead mere feet away. Her mother too. A sob tore from me that I’d failed them. Not handled this right. Not gotten through to Imogen.

  “Oh God…” The only person who knew where Beatrice and Helena were lay dead.

  “They’re here,” Orpheus said, his glare directed into the dark.

  Jadeon rose and offered me his hand. He pulled me to my feet. Half distracted, my stare found Olivia.

  “She wasn’t human,” Jadeon said. “I know it doesn’t make it any easier.” He ran his hand through my hair, trying to comfort me.

  “We have to find them,” I said, shaking off this angst. I’d fucked up again.

  Together, Jadeon, Orpheus, Anaïs and I went in search of them. Only this moment mattered. Everything that had gone before became a blur. Ignoring this trembling, feeling battered and bruised, I used the adrenaline surging through my veins to give me the strength to keep up with them.

  My sigh of relief echoed.

  Helena lay in the corner of a locked cell, curled up in a ball with her back to us. She was clean at least, clothed, seemingly well cared for, despite the cruelty of her capture. Jadeon easily broke the lock to her prison and quickly entered. He scooped her up in his arms, offering words of comfort that she was safe now.

  From somewhere down the corridor came the cries of relief from Anaïs at finding Beatrice. Freedom for them was a few steps away and my heart finally eased a little.

  Jadeon carried Helena out of the basement and up through the house and out into the night. I so wanted to embrace her, but she couldn’t be allowed to see me. I coul
dn’t burden her with the secret I was alive. Helena still had to learn of Riley’s death and she’d already been through so much.

  From the front lawn, we watched Orpheus leap behind the wheel of the Viper and set off fast with Helena lying in the back passenger seat. Wexham Park Hospital was only six miles away in Slough. They’d be there in minutes. I knew Helena would receive the care she needed. Her paleness indicated she’d need a blood transfusion within minutes of arriving.

  It amazed me how I truly believed Orpheus could be trusted and that he’d do what needed to be done. He really was a changed man—vampire.

  I could breathe again.

  Anaïs refused to let Beatrice go. She sat upon the grassy bank holding her in her arms, rocking with her, refusing Jadeon’s offer to help. There was something beautiful about the way Anaïs held Beatrice, her wrist pressed against her lover’s mouth to nourish her as the laudanum wore off.

  Standing beside Jadeon I waited, not rushing Anaïs’ reunion with Beatrice, giving them both the time they needed.

  “You really are an extraordinary woman,” Jadeon said. “Do you know that?”

  I shook my head in disagreement. My heart ached that Olivia and her mother hadn’t made it.

  “Olivia would never have survived,” he said.

  “She was child.”

  “Her suffering was prolonged. Her death was inevitable.”

  “How do you cope with everything life throws at you?” I said. “For centuries without end?”

  Jadeon wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me to him in a hug. “You fall in love.”

  “You soothe my soul, Jadeon Artimas,” I said. “I’ve lost count of the times you’ve saved me.”

  “You don’t need the immortals. It is we who need you.”

  “Will there ever be a time when I’m welcome in your world?”

  “You always find a way.”

  “When we were in the morgue, you told Riley that if you turned him he might lose his soul?”

  Jadeon gave a slow, assured nod.

  “You have a soul,” I said. “I know you do. I feel its warmth, its vitality.”

  “There are times when I believe I do...”

  “What?”

  “Consider what I am.”

  “I love what you are.” And I did. To me, Jadeon was the most beautiful man I’d ever met, and the threat of living without him was impossible to bear. It felt good to be in his arms again, and as I nestled into his chest I realized that wherever Jadeon was meant home.

  “I love you, Ingrid.”

  “I know.” I nuzzled in farther. “Meet me tomorrow night.”

  “Of course. Where?”

  “The Athenaeum.” I braced for his response.

  Jadeon took in a deep, cleansing breath and reached into his jacket pocket. I recognized the Scirpus, the metal key. I’d left it at the flat that night when I’d gathered my belongings in a haze drenched panic.

  Jadeon offered me the key. “Then you’ll need this.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Highgate Cemetery had this way of making death feel so romantic.

  The grandness of the place, the way it elegantly paid homage to those who rested here, was truly inspiring. Tombstone after tombstone rose out of the ground with their dramatic statues watching over them. Some were of stone angels, others were animals, and there was even a life-size grand stone piano inscribed with the name Harry Thornton. The shrubbery provided a comforting green backdrop to the graveyard, interspersed with the loveliest flowers. Winding pathways proceeded in every direction, leading off to even more elaborately carved tombs.

  The mood was calm. There was a residual imprint of mourners who’d strolled by a few hours ago, and remnants of their emotions mixed with the flotsam left behind by foreign tourists who’d come to admire how we honored our dead. This gift to read the history of a place had still not left me. I had mixed feelings about whether it ever would. The cool evening air filled my lungs and I breathed it in.

  The stillness here gave me hope that one day I’d find it for myself. Despite all my suffering, peace lay on the other side of my struggle. My life would never be the same again and my mind went round and around in circles trying to come to terms with the fact.

  I’d survived, unlike my dearest Riley.

  This arched tombstone honored his life. He’d never have wanted anything decadent. The dates between his birth and death were cruelly short. My throat tightened as grief welled over losing him. Wiping away stray tears, my attention drifted to the plot beside his, as though he might care about such a thing. Mary-Anne Webster was buried next to him. A sixteen year-old, her tombstone dated June 12th, 1860. Jadeon had made sure that Riley’s resting place was at least peaceful and in a quiet corner.

  Jadeon had also told me that somewhere amongst all these tombstones lay mine. I wasn’t ready to pay a visit, not yet. Seeing my name on a gravestone may very well have sent me spiraling. The wretchedness of finality.

  I must have looked strange, this young woman standing at the graveside dressed in black leather trousers and a black silk shirt; high heeled books rounded out my homage to goth. An Edward the III sword was strapped to my back. I’d snuck back to Jadeon’s flat, the one I’d once called home, and removed it from his spare bedroom, lifting it from the back wall with the reverence the weapon deserved.

  Paradom had warned me the bridge beneath your feet will crumble.

  And it crumbled still.

  “It’s unlike you to be morose.” His tone was deep, cultured.

  I turned to see Orpheus standing a few feet away, dressed warmly in a black woolen coat, his hands tucked into his pockets as though the cold might have any effect. He went to unbutton it but I raised my hand and gestured I didn’t want it.

  The pinch of cold was keeping me sharp, keeping me focused. “Orpheus, are you still following me?”

  “I imagine you’d like that,” he said. “What are you intending to do with that sword?”

  I faced Riley’s tombstone.

  “I know a thing or two about revenge,” he said. “It’s never worth it.”

  “Surely the great Orpheus’ heart hasn’t softened?”

  He arched a brow. “Jadeon will protect you to the end of the world. Which I suppose is what true love is all about.”

  I shuddered with the full impact of what I’d done to put Riley in harm’s way. I’d visited that place, with all its secrets. If I didn’t have such a respect for books, for history, I’d burn the bloody place down. Whatever was hidden in the Athenaeum wasn’t worth Riley’s death. Closing my eyes, I went within, though found no refuge.

  Orpheus stepped forward to comfort me, but I motioned for him to keep his distance. I didn’t deserve his sympathy.

  “Let’s go back to Cornwall,” he said. “Sebastian will take good care of you.”

  “I don’t need taking care of.”

  “You need time to heal, Ingrid.”

  “I’m not ready to go back.”

  “If you were mine—” He flashed the sharpest fangs. “I’d lock you away in that castle until you promised to comply.”

  I raised my chin, defiant. “You’d soon bore of me.”

  He glanced at the sword. “I doubt that.”

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with the old guard.”

  He gave a nod, conceding that nothing could be done to stop me. “See you on the other side then.”

  “You doubt I’ll survive this?”

  “You’ll be the first.” With a tilt of his head, he conceded.

  “I never did thank you,” I said, “for keeping me alive all this time.”

  “I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

  “Does that make us friends?”

  He gave a roguish smile and dematerialized as swiftly as he’d appeared. Autumn leaves tumbled in the place he’d stood.

  Beneath this headstone rested a perfect man who had dedicated his life to science, to the betterment of mankind. He
would be mourned for eternity.

  I knelt before his grave. “Riley, I commit the rest of my life to doing good in your name. This I promise you.”

  The stillness paid homage to all he had given and all he had been.

  Withdrawing from the graveyard under the cover of darkness, I headed out toward Pall Mall. Not being stopped by anyone, for the sword strapped to my back was both reassuring and alarming at the same time.

  I headed on in.

  Within the Athenaeum I surveyed the empty foyer, again admiring the immenseness. This grandeur that served to intimidate any visitor. But not me. Not now. And never again.

  I soaked in the elegance, marveling at the marble flooring that I now felt worthy to walk upon. Sensing unseen eyes that traced my every move, I stood in the center and withdrew my sword from its sheath, the blade breathing its way to freedom. The scrape of metal against metal.

  And I waited for him.

  Even here in this vampire’s lair, I sensed a residual trace of those who’d visited. Though unlike the mood that mortals left behind, I picked up on energy like no other. An unwavering confidence, a surety, a sensuous semblance that drifted by; a dark luring me into the very heart of the underworld. The Athenaeum was the center of the elder’s domain.

  Adrenaline forged through my veins, setting my nerves alight and heightening my senses. A shadow loomed in the distance and I readied myself, widening my gait for balance. He rose into the air and scurried along the frescoed ceiling, heading closer at an alarming speed. Turning, I traced his movements.

  The monk leaped to the ground before me. His eyes burned with hate as he flipped back his hood. The only sound was that of my breath. The only sensation that of my racing heart.

  He lunged at me.

  I aimed the sword at his chest and he flew over me. Spinning around, sensing him behind me, I thrust my sword at his throat, but he dodged the strike and flew into the air and landed a few feet away.

  He sent me hurtling. My head bashed against the stone staircase, dazing me, blurring my vision and sending a blinding pain into my skull. Clutching my sword before me, I braced for another attack.

  He halted feet away. His grimace frozen. His eyes wide in terror.