My consciousness bobbed like a cork breaking the surface of reality, in and out. When I was awake, everything was faded, far away. When I was not, there was peace.
“The wolf did that to her?” Was that Valerian speaking? I had not dreamt him? “The gashes are many, but not terribly deep.”
The woman’s voice answered. “Her nails were clotted with blood. She did it to herself.”
A beat of silence. “Why would she do such a thing?” When the woman did not answer, he continued, “Is there risk of fever?”
“But little. I will make her a draught to ward off infection.”
“You are a healer then?”
There was a low laugh. The woman’s reply, however, bore no amusement. “Have you not heard? They call me witch.”
I heard breathing even before I opened my eyes.
She was there, in a chair drawn up close to my side of the bed. A lamp on the table between us cast shadows on her lap where she’d laid her sewing. She was watching me, and when my gaze lifted to hers, she leaned forward. “I am Serena Black,” she said.
“I remember. The witch.”
She smiled. Her mouth was full-lipped and her eyes, the same coal-black as her hair, were perfectly almond-shaped. Her look was very Slavic, with flat, high cheekbones and a small, sultry mouth. She was breathtakingly lovely. “Some say.”
“Are you the Cyprian Queen?”
Her smile froze into a rictus. “No. I am not that.”
I settled back. “I do not feel any pain.”
She nodded. “It is best.”
“Do you know . . . ? Do you know what happened to me?”
She stared at me, and fatigue pulled me back into the void before I got my answer.
When I woke again, she was still there. I sat up and asked for water, which she gave me from a pitcher and glass she had ready at my bedside.
“Your man will be back for you in the morning. I sent him away. He was underfoot, and I had no patience for it.”
“He is not my man,” I said in a rough voice. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“A day, perhaps.” She lowered her gaze to where her hands were working swiftly with her needle. “What were you doing at the Woodcock cottage?”
I blinked, confused. “Where?”
“Rose, and her baby. James said that the man who abducted his wife and child came back for them and now they are gone.” She gave an expressive shrug, and did not seem overly sympathetic. Her gaze was sharp on me. “But I know what you did. I saw you. You and the other man, the one who came to me for the draughts to help his friend.”
Cold dread flowered in my chest as I digested this. “You mean . . . you saw us?”
“Do not worry, for I know what you are. I am familiar with the Dhampir. In my country, such things need not be secret. But here . . .” Another shrug, and her needle began to move again.
“Your country. Where are you from?”
“The Ukraine. I am from the city of Odessa.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what happened to you?”
I tried to think about the forest, but my head hurt too much. “I could see nothing. I can always see vampires when they are invisible to others, but there was nothing there.”
“But you did see it. The wolf—you kept talking about the wolf in your sleep.”
“The . . . attack . . . was different. It was like . . . it was as if an incubus were . . . Could it be some demon—?” I cut off, recollecting the book on witchcraft I’d found in Margaret’s room.
“I did not see much. I did not get close. I cannot afford to be caught there. There is already too much superstition about me, because I am foreign.”
“Why were you at the cottage?”
“The same reason as you. No, I am not Dhampir. I would not have killed it—what she had become. I thought perhaps the baby had not been made over, so I went with some protections for it, in case it was still living—garlic, salt, these things.”
I winced as a clear image of the child came into my mind. “He had been.”
“Yes. I know now.”
I sighed, my thoughts slowing. I thought suddenly of Miss Sloane-Smith, who would be angry wondering where I was. “Did anyone send word to the school?”
“That other man, the little one with the fussy curls who knew to bring you to me. He came to me before, for tonics to help the opium sickness. He said to tell you that you are not to worry and that he will take care of everything. You are only to rest. Your man will be back for you soon.”
I relaxed, but I said again, “He is not my man.”
Her lush mouth pulled into a wry, knowing smile, but she said nothing. Picking up her sewing, she began to hum a lullaby. Despite my efforts not to, I slept again.
Chapter Thirteen
Valerian was there when I woke again. It was a new day, and the sun was just clearing the eastern horizon.
He did not smile at me. The sun fell on his face, casting the angular chin and pointed cheekbones in crude shapes of light and shadow. He slowly leaned forward and took my limp hand in his, then stayed there, head bowed over it as he stroked it gently.
I looked down and saw the scratches on my arms. My nails had been cleaned, but I could still see traces of blood. I remembered Serena saying I had done this damage to myself.
Valerian did not speak, and neither did I, not for a long while. Finally, he said, “You were to study in Denmark for the winter.”
“My plans changed.”
“I . . .”
I what? What would he say? I am sorry. I should have written you. I should have given you a place to contact me so that you would not be here alone without me?
I should have never left you?
“I thought you safe,” he said at last. “But apparently you have not been, not at all. Sebastian has caught me up on what brought you here, and all that has been happening since.”
“Good. I’ve not the energy to explain.”
There was a long silence again. He wanted me to look at him, but I would not.
“If anything had happened to you,” he said, his voice like gravel, harsh and strained with emotion, “I would never have forgiven myself for leaving you.”
I clenched my teeth together and slipped my hand out of his grasp.
He bowed his head. “I owe you an explanation.”
“No.”
He cut a dark, blazing glare at me as emotion played on his sharp features. “Too much stands between us for it to be as I would have it.”
“I do not care,” I said, trying to appear convincing. “Your life is your own to command.”
“But my will is not.”
“You think that is enough?”
“You speak as if I am free.”
I said, “You are speaking in riddles,” although I knew what he meant.
“It is no riddle. You know my condition. I am in constant danger of the transformation. While the stain of Marius’s blood lies in my veins, I am not free, not to choose what I would if I were to live as my own man.”
“But you have chosen. You’ve been hunting Marius.”
He was incredulous at my lack of understanding. I was surprised myself at how hard my heart was against him. Up until now I had not realized the depth of the betrayal I felt.
“No, that is not what I have been doing. If you will let me, I will tell you what was so important to take me to the other side of the world. I would have gotten word sooner, but there was no way to send a message to you.”
“There is always a way,” I said, and heard the sullenness in my own voice.
He gave a humorless laugh. “Yes, I suppose that is true. I confess I feared you might follow me.”
“Your conceit is astonishing,” I countered, although it was not such a far-fetched idea. “Nevertheless, I can see you are itching to tell me where you went, so do so.”
“To Anatolia. I went to Naimah.”
I gasped in shock and disbelief, and not a little jealousy. “But Naimah cannot st
ill be alive!”
Hundreds of years ago, when Valerian had first been bitten, it was Naimah who had taken him under her wing and taught him the ways of the vampire. She’d been his nurse, his mentor. His lover. She’d been Dhampir, like myself.
“She lives no longer, but she did live for hundreds of years, Emma. How she did so was her great secret. I never knew it, until now. She would never tell me, not in all these years.”
I tried to assimilate this, but my mind was sluggish. It could have been Serena’s draught, for my body felt light and still blissfully free of pain. Bless the woman, I silently prayed. If only she had something in her medicines to take away the anger that simmered in my veins. It numbed my hand that would reach for him, caress his skin. It kept me motionless when I wished so much to fold myself into his arms, lie there just as I had when he’d brought me out of the woods. I could see earnestness in his face and yet I was unmoved.
“This is precisely why I had to go,” he continued. “Just after that business at Avebury, I tracked Marius, as you knew I would. All that business with the Dragon took me East, to the old kingdom of Wallachia.”
I narrowed my eyes. “To the Dracula?”
“That was where I was headed, but I never arrived. I got as far as Buda-Pest, then began to follow Marius’s trail south when I received word that Naimah was dying.” He reached for me, touching my shoulder. “Surely you understand that I had to go to her.”
As resentful as I had been for his absence, I was not in so unreasonable a state that I could not understand the importance of her death to him. I spoke tightly, hating to admit my sympathy. “I understand Naimah needed you.”
“She was dying, Emma. All these many, many years she has been with me. Now she is gone.”
“It is always difficult to lose someone you love.”
His eyes flashed for an instant before he lowered his lids, covering the surge of emotion. “Yes. My love for her was at times the one and only good thing in many years of solitude. I did love her, Emma, but not in the way you think.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It is true we were lovers, but that was long ago. We became friends. More than that, we were family. It might seem strange to you.”
Not really. When I thought of the loneliness of living two hundred and sixty years, I could not hold his bond with Naimah against him.
“There are things about her you do not understand,” he said. “Things I never knew until the end. I hope to discover much more in her writings. You see, over the centuries, Naimah put her accumulated wisdom and experiences into journals, which she bequeathed to me.”
I found myself somewhat unwillingly intrigued. “So how was it she existed as a true human for so long?”
He made a vague gesture. “I know only a little of that story. It turned out to be a curse as well as a gift. Long life such as she had is unnatural and it comes with a price. A terrible price. Let me explain it this way: do you know of the Sibyls?”
“Vaguely,” I said. “They were wise women—even prophets, correct? I only know about them from the frequent references in literature . . . Are you telling me Naimah was one of these? A Sibyl?”
“No, I am merely trying to explain by example, knowing how well versed you are in literature and mythological references. You may remember a particular tale of a Sibyl out of the city of Cumae.” I shook my head and he went on: “She was a priestess for Apollo. The story has it she asked the god to grant her as many years of life as there were grains of sand in her hour glass. Apollo granted her wish, but she neglected to ask also for eternal youth. And so, as the years passed, she aged and shrunk so that she became very, very small, so small that she was kept in a jar, and eventually all that remained was her voice, which continued to prophesize. In Petronius’s Satyricon, he writes that when she was asked what she wished for most of all, the Cumean Sibyl replied, ‘I would die.’ And that, you see, is the story of Naimah.”
“And so Naimah first got what she wished for—to live. But in the end what she wanted most was to simply die?”
He nodded. “I was happy for her that she at last got her wish.”
He was sad, though. I knew that despite his acceptance, even rejoicing, in her passing, he was still experiencing a profound loss. “What reason did she give you for never divulging the source of her longevity?”
“She didn’t. It was the only time she was unreasonable, even irrational. At the end, she told me a little, of an alchemist living on the island of Santorini, in Greece. Have you read in your studies of this place?”
“I know it, yes of course. It is said to have the greatest population of vampires, although I have never found a decent explanation as to why.”
He nodded. “Nor have I. In any event, this man is a devoutly religious Jew who has dedicated his life to the study of vampires. Naturally, he would conduct his studies in Santorini. It was from him that Naimah was able to obtain that which gave her long life.”
“But I do not see why she would not tell you about this before.”
He swallowed with difficulty. “I think she feared to do so, knowing I would want to find the man. Indeed, that is exactly what I want to do as soon as I am able. I suspect there is more to Naimah’s story, and that the part which she kept hidden is . . . unsavory, something very dark. It would have to be for her to have kept this secret all of her life. You did not know Naimah. She was clever, instinctive, and ruthless when she wished. I suspect her method of gaining the elixir of extended life was not something she was proud of.”
Sebastian interrupted us with a soft knock as he entered the room. “There you are. Let me see you. My God, Emma, you look wretched.”
I gave him a huff of a laugh in response. “You are too honest, Sebastian.”
“There is no such thing,” he countered, and cast a malevolent look in Valerian’s direction. If I was angry at Valerian, then Sebastian was twice so.
“Father Luke is all right?” I asked.
“Oh, he had to spend some time in bed, roaring like a bear the whole time as if I were responsible. I nearly brained him with the fire iron to shut him up. But just in case there really is a God, I thought He might not look with favor on my abusing one of His priests. So I restrained myself.”
I smiled. “Good for you.”
“Indeed, I am swollen with pride at my accomplishment. But to answer your question, he is fine and in a foul temper, so let us say all is normal.”
Serena entered. I glanced from her to Sebastian. “When can I go home . . . well, back to the school?”
“Serena says you will be strong enough by tomorrow. Oh, by the by, I told them you were out walking and got caught in a bog. The only means of dragging yourself out was some thorny bracken, and you were scratched. It will explain the . . . ah . . .”
He indicated my appearance in a swirl of his finger. I had not yet seen my face, but I guessed it was scored with scratches similar to what I’d done to my arms.
“That sounds preposterous,” I said mildly. “Especially after I supposedly fell into a gorse bush not long ago. That was the story I put out to explain the rat bites.”
“Well, we cannot by rights tell the truth, can we?” He pursed his lips. “On which, as it happens, I am not completely clear.”
“She was attacked by the vampire,” Valerian stated impatiently.
“I am not certain of that,” I corrected. “I did not see it.”
“It was the vampire,” Serena said with a definitive nod, “but some spell kept you from seeing him.”
Sebastian was visibly upset by this. “Fabulous. Just what we need—a vampire who does not follow the rules.”
“There is always a rule,” Valerian countered. “That is not to say we always understand them.”
I cut off the conversation. As valuable as our typical debating sessions proved to be in sorting out the mysteries we frequently faced, I could not bear to have one right now. “I feel a bit fatigued,” I told them. “Serena’s medicines are wonders, but they make me slee
py.”
They left without delay, Sebastian first. Valerian lingered at the door, and I thought he wanted to say something, but I closed my eyes, wishing fervently for him to leave me alone.
At last I heard the door click shut, and I let out a breath of relief. Outside my door, voices drifted to me in muffled tones. Valerian and Sebastian were arguing. I could make out enough of what they said for me to understand it was about me.
I sighed. I wondered if Valerian regretted coming back. And I wondered again what had brought him to me.
The memory of my assault manifested in my dreams. First, the sweet smell, like a harlot’s perfume, tickled my nose. Then the memory of those relentless hands, and the most horrible of all—the helplessness—rose up until I was sweating and thrashing in futile efforts to get free.
I was blind. All around me was black. I could not see to fight my attacker.
I awoke with a gasp in the night. After lighting a candle, I slowly lay back down. Serena was beside me moments later.
“It was just a dream,” I told her. “Go back to sleep.”
“Your man is here, sleeping outside. Should I wake him?”
“No,” I said, easing back onto the downy pallet. I was going to add that he was not my man, but I did not bother.
The vividness of the memories worsened as I prepared to return to Blackbriar. She sent me back with a vial full of powder and explicit instructions—along with a warning on carefully watching the size of the dose—and I did not argue with her although I had no intention of drugging myself. I could not afford to chance being caught off guard.
I had been receiving letters from my sister all during my stay at Blackbriar. Alyssa was entering the end of her confinement; her baby was due in a month. Upon arriving back at school, I found awaiting me a particularly nasty missive accusing me of abandoning her, for she had been after me for some time to attend her as she prepared to give birth. Although Alyssa had plenty of people around her, including her doting husband, none but me would do, it seemed, to be by her side for the big event.
I sighed, feeling disturbed as I folded the letter and put it away. I could not, of course, tell her the truth of what I was doing in Blackbriar, so my replies had until now been vague. Now, with her temper rising beyond tolerance, I had to think of something to placate her. Our relationship was not an easy one, but it was precious to me. I drew out a fresh piece of expensive parchment I used for correspondence and wrote her back immediately, positing a date during my term break when I might, if all complications subsided, travel to Derbyshire. I hoped this half-promise would be enough to hold her until I could spare some time for the maintenance of our sisterly affections.
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