by Nancy Morse
Nicolae’s heart groaned in his breast. For one treacherous moment all he could do was kneel beside the dead woman, frozen like a wolf in the forest. The window was shattered. Shards of glass were strewn across the floor, glistening like a thousand tiny stars in the moonlight.
Slowly, he rose to his feet. Each step seemed to take a lifetime, when in fact it took less than a heartbeat for him to reach the window. He was mindless of the splintered glass that raked across his face as he thrust his head out into the night. His stomach heaved at what he saw.
There, on the cobbled street below, partly concealed by the fog, a figure lay face down in a rain puddle. Through the mist he could see dark stains on her linen shift, and he knew they were blood.
Before Nicolae could even will his body to move, he leaped from the window. He landed on his feet with the agility of a cat and rushed to her, throwing himself down by her side and drawing her up into his arms. A wild wail pierced his core, a sound of agony and rage and despair all in one.
No, no, no, no!
Don’t leave me!
I cannot go through eternity without you!
He clutched her to him, pressing his face to hers. She was cold as marble. Not dead, but nearly so.
His astute sense of hearing detected the faintest of heartbeats.
Thump…thump…th…th…thump.
Dimming.
He could not lose her like this. She had given him the capacity to love, made him believe that he might actually possess a soul.
Slowing.
“I won’t let you go!”
Dying.
In that instant, he knew what he must do.
He looked skyward. His lips curled back and raindrops glanced off the tips of the fangs that were bared in a hideous grimace.
“Forgive me, Prudence,” he implored, as he brought his face to her neck and sank his teeth into the tender, almost dead, flesh.
The blood he had craved since the day he first met her now filled his mouth, sliding over his tongue and down his throat like nectar. It was as sweet as he had imagined it would be, as flavorful and tantalizing as any he had ever tasted. All he had ever wanted was within his grasp. She was his. His and no other’s.
The thirst raged within him, tearing at his insides. But it was more than the mere drinking of blood to survive. He drank as if it were his salvation.
Dark, wet strands of her burnished hair spilled over his face as he sucked the blood out of her. He could smell the scent of rosewater that emanated from her skin. He could feel her heartbeat diminishing. She was dying, and he was killing her.
At the precise moment when he sensed that her heart had beat its last, he tore his shirt away, ripped open the flesh of his breast and punctured the muscle down to the heart.
Drawing her face forward, twining his hand in her tangled hair, he whispered, “Drink from my heart.”
At first, hanging drenched and limp in his arms, she made no movement at all. But then her heart began to beat again, and her hands lifted to cradle him and hug him close against her face.
Nicolae closed his eyes to the sweet excruciating pain of it—the lips sucking at his open flesh, gently at first, and then becoming harder, greedier, hungrier.
“Oh Prudence, forgive me. Do not hate me. Love me as I love you.”
For the second time this evening he offered his blood. He had given the music master only enough to be brought back from the brink, to become a creature of the night, yes, but with limited powers. But Prudence, drinking his blood now like wine, in great swallows until it ran out of her mouth and down her chin, mingling with the rain to stain her shift pink, Prudence with her fingers locked around his neck, unwilling to let go even when he tried to pull away, drinking far more than she should have. And still he let her, knowing that his blood would strengthen her beyond her own comprehension.
His chest heaved and a sorrowful moan escaped his quivering lips. “No more. No more.” He grasped her by the shoulders and forced her away.
He looked at her through the rain. Her eyes were bluer than he had ever seen them. Her skin looked like porcelain with tiny cerulean veins showing just beneath the shimmering surface. The wounds he had inflicted on her neck were already closing. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and with trembling hands wiped the blood from her mouth, and then from his own.
Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the house and brought her to her room on the top floor, where he placed her down on the cotton-stuffed mattress. He worked swiftly to remove the blood-stained shift, and tucked her naked body beneath the cover.
Her hair was a wet tangle against her pale face. After many anxious minutes she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Nicolae?”
“Yes, my love.”
“She was here,” she said weakly. “Lienore. Oh, Nicolae, it was terrible.”
Worse than you know, he thought. “Don’t think about that right now. You must rest.”
“I know now it was she who killed my mother. And Papa. Oh!” She struggled to rise, but he coaxed her gently back down.
“Your Papa is fine,” he said.
Sudden understanding flooded her eyes. “Did you—?”
“I have kept my part of the bargain.”
She turned her head away and pressed a fist to her mouth, stifling her tears.
“Do not weep for him,” he said. “It is as you wished it. He will play his instrument again”
“Will he become like that…that…”
“He will not become like that thing you witnessed on the wharf,” he said, guessing her meaning. “He did not drink enough to become that powerful.” But you, he could not help but think, you drank more than you should have. God help the world when you come into your own.
“Nicolae.” She reached for his hand and grasped it tightly. “Aunt Vivienne is really Lienore. What will we do? We must find a way to stop her.”
He drew in a breath, and replied, “I’m afraid there is nothing to be done. Lienore has fled, taking Vivienne with her. It is doubtful you will see your aunt again.”
“Oh no, it cannot be,” Pru wailed. “She told me that when she leaves, Aunt Vivienne will die.”
“Now, now, there’s nothing to worry about. Apparently, Lienore is quite happy to inhabit your aunt. I’m sure she will continue to do so for a very long time. Trust me, Prudence, your aunt is quite safe.”
The lie slipped easily from his lips and seemed to quiet her.
“Now, close your eyes and go to sleep. When you awake, you will see the world…” and me, he dared to hope, “…through different eyes.”
The feather pillow cradled her face when her head sank back onto it. “I am tired. So very tired.”
He touched her cheek. She was warmer now, pulsing with an infusion of his immortal blood. “Sleep. I will take care of everything.” He thought of the woman lying dead on the floor below and of the neat little grave he would make for her in the forest.
“I had the most distressing feeling,” Pru said. “Of falling. And then, I don’t know, something more, something frightening was happening to me. Oh, I wish I could remember.” She turned her face toward the window. “What was that? Did you hear it?”
It’s only the rats in the alley, he wanted to say, amazed that her ability to hear what the human ear could not was already so pronounced. But then, she was no longer human, was she?
CHAPTER 25
The cobbled streets were still damp, but there was not a breath of rain in the air when Pru awoke the next morning. Far beyond the city the countryside was sweet with summer blooms. She yawned and stretched her arms up over her head and breathed in the fragrance of daisies and buttercups winking in the warm sunshine. For a moment she thought she was dreaming. Never before had she smelled the flowers like this, almost as though they were blooming right outside her window. She blinked her eyes. She was quite awake. But there came to her nose the scent of honeysuckle and moss, and to her ears the buzzing of insects and the rustle of leaves from s
ome far-off meadow.
Pru sat up and glanced about the room. Everything looked exactly the same, only something—she didn’t know what—was different. Throwing off the linen coverlet, she swung her legs to the side of the bed and got up. Looking down, she realized she was naked. Hadn’t she donned her shift last night? She tried to see through the cobwebs that shrouded her memory and sighed when she could not remember. These past days had been strange indeed. She shook her head and walked across the room to the dressing table. She had traversed this floor untold times over the years and had never realized how smooth the hardwood planks were beneath her feet. Funny that she should notice something like that now.
She sat down before the carved gilt mirror and began to run the brush through her hair, her thoughts scrambling to make sense of the strange sensations she was experiencing, for it seemed that she could smell and hear every little thing. The brush moved through her hair with greater effort than usual, and looking at her reflection in the mirror, she was surprised to see that her hair looked to have grown longer and fuller overnight. And her skin. When had it taken on that translucency that made it look like fine silk? Why was her face so pale that it looked like she had dusted it with powder? She leaned forward and peered deeply into the mirror. Her lashes were longer and darker and her eyes seemed bluer and brighter than they had ever been. Yes, it was all very strange indeed.
Pondering whether it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, she went to the wardrobe. Reaching past the prim gray and brown Indian cottons, she chose instead the Mayfair shop silk, the one she had worn that first night with Nicolae, repaired to its former elegance. She wriggled into a shift, donned her stays and hoop, and without a second thought, slid the brown silk dress over her head.
At the window she drew the drapes aside and instantly threw her hand up to shield her face. The brightness hurt her eyes. She backed away, blinking and bewildered.
She left her room and descended the narrow staircase to the middle floor. At her father’s door, she grasped the knob and entered quietly so as not to disturb him. The drapes were still drawn. The bed was empty.
Just then, the sound of the violoncello erupted from the music room, streaming upstairs and throughout the house. Someone was playing Papa’s piece. Was it Nicolae? She had no real memory of what had happened between them. Last night’s events were a mystery to her, locked away somewhere in a memory that was as fog-filled as a London alley. But something told her it had not gone well between them. What was he doing here now? What was he up to?
Her spirits were in precipitous decline when she reached the music room. Upon entering, her voice sounded strong and disapproving. “I’m sure that after last night—”
The words screeched to a halt on her tongue. The room was just beginning to brighten as the first traces of dawn seeped through a separation in the drawn drapes. Pru’s mouth fell open. There was Papa, seated behind the violoncello, playing his beloved instrument as though he had never ceased to do so, his face calm and serene as she had not seen it in a very long time. For several moments she was unable to move as she watched and listened and prayed it wasn’t a dream.
“Papa.”
He stopped playing and lifted his head. His face was still seamed and worn, but there was a brightness about it, quite as though it were lit from within. The complexion that had been leprous white was now ruddy with color. The eyes that smiled back at her were no longer saddened and fearful but sparkling and bright.
Pru rushed to him and sank to her knees at his side. Great tears shimmered in her eyes that looked up at him.
He placed a hand on her head and stroked her hair. “Pruddy, my dear, isn’t it wonderful? I am well. I can play again.”
“Oh, Papa.” She buried her face in his lap. How could she tell him that she had bargained away his mortality? “I have done a terrible thing.”
“He told me you would blame yourself, but you must not.”
She drew in a long shuddering breath and looked back up at him. “He?”
“Our young friend. He was here last night. He sat with me for a very long time after you were asleep and explained everything.”
“Then you know what he is?” she asked tremulously.
“Oh yes. At first I thought his story was preposterous. You must admit, it is quite a tale. But as he spoke, it all started to make sense. My illness began with Vivienne’s arrival here. Each night when she came to my room, I knew without knowing that something was not right. Of course, I never could have guessed that the poor woman had been taken over by…by…well, I’m not entirely sure what it was, but I know now it wasn’t of the natural world. Our friend tells me that your aunt and whatever it was have disappeared, probably never to be seen again.” A wave of sadness washed across his face. “It is all for the best, I suppose.”
Pru sniffed back her tears. “You don’t hate me for what he has done to you?”
“Hate you? My dear Pruddy, you are my child, I could never hate you.”
“But you said that immortality would come as a gift from Satan.”
He cradled her face in his hands and wiped a glistening tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. “I have always held hope that there is something after death,” he said gently. “Remember the words Moses spoke to Joshua. ‘The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.’ If this is what I have become, then God willed it so, and who am I to question His judgment?” His gaze traveled lovingly over her face. “Our friend’s faith has been tested and he has lost his way, but Pruddy, who among us is without sin?”
She stifled a chill at his cold touch and choked back the memory of the sinful nights she had lain with Nicolae, reveling in the shameful pleasure. “Has he told you what it will be like for you, now that you are a…” She could not voice the word. “…like him?”
“He has counseled me. It will take some getting used to.” Glancing toward the drapes, he sighed, and said, “I think the thing I shall miss most is the light of day.” His expression brightened when he turned back to his daughter. “But I have you, my sweet Pruddy. And I have this.” He nodded toward the violoncello. “And an eternity of music to sustain me through the dark hours that are to come.”
She wanted to cry out to him, what about me, when I grow old and die? Will your music sustain you then? Oh Papa, what have I done?
“You know, Pruddy,” he said, “it’s really not bad at all. On the contrary, it’s quite extraordinary. I can hear things from far off. And I can smell things I never smelled before, like wild strawberries and buttercups.”
He kept speaking, but she had ceased to hear. His words faded as she recalled having experienced those very sensations upon waking this morning. Even now she could smell the baskets of fish hoisted onto the wharf and the sea-coal brought to the landings and the mud of the riverbed at low tide. From far away a slow, sad roar began to pierce her consciousness. She rose on shaky legs and walked to the door.
“Draw the drape tighter for me, would you Pruddy dear?” her papa was saying. “The sunlight hurts my eyes.”
She moved mechanically to the widow and pulled the drape, shutting out the little ray of sunlight that filtered into the room. The sound of the violoncello resumed, colliding with the terrible, desperate thoughts that were flittering like surprised bats in her mind. She walked numbly down the hallway, past the tall chiming clock, and stopped before the door to her aunt’s room. Something, she knew not what, tugged her toward it. She placed her hand tentatively on the knob, and with fingers trembling, opened the door.
The room was quiet and still. A morning breeze billowed the draperies. Pru crept cautiously closer to the window. With one hand she drew the drape aside, and gasped. The glass panes were shattered.
Like a cold, dark wind a rush of memories suddenly overtook her—of Lienore admitting with gleeful cruelty what she had done to Margaret and Vivienne, and of her horrible transformation into some cadaverous, hideous thing. Of the fee
ling of being strangled and the panic that came at being unable to draw breath. Of being hurled across the room toward the window. Of the sound of breaking glass. Of falling. And then…nothing. What happened between the time she went through the window and when she found herself in her bed with Nicolae standing over her?
Pru felt sick as she left the room. For several incomprehensible moments she stood in the hallway, afraid to put her suspicions into cogent thought. And then she began to run, as fast as she could, up the narrow staircase, to the room that had belonged to her mother and which was now hers. She raced to the dressing table and leaned forward to view herself in the mirror.
Her skin was as white as a goose feather and so transparent she could see the tiny blue veins that snaked just beneath the surface. Her eyes were as clear as glass, the blue pupils rimmed with black, making them look otherworldly. With trembling fingers she lifted her hand and touched her face. It was like ice to the touch, just like Papa’s hand had been when he caressed her cheek, and Nicolae’s hands when they made love and Lienore’s merciless grip at her throat. Cold and dead. The terrible truth of what happened last night slammed into her with the force of a thousand runaway carriages.
As she looked, her reflection began to fade, until no image at all shown in the mirror. Oh God! It couldn’t be! Oh God! No!
She screamed, and the world went black.
CHAPTER 26
Pru accepted the glass of sherry Nicolae offered, and sat back on the sofa.
“It’s funny, but I never really noticed much about this room before,” she said. Her gaze traversed the dark wood walls, the heavy broadcloth draperies, the curved settee, a high-backed, winged armchair, a French oval tea table, the collection of pictures and prints that hung about the walls, the bric-a-brac of alabaster and marble that adorned the mantle. When her eyes fell upon the fireplace poker, her heartbeat quickened.