by Ciar Cullen
“Miss Elizabeth Wheeler,” Lillian said, “I have the great honor of presenting Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle.”
Bess allowed him to take her hand and then let out a loud squeal. He jumped back a full foot.
“Oh! Excuse me, but are you…?” She looked back and forth between Lillian and Mr. Doyle.
“Yes, he is, Bess. I told you that I knew him.”
“I am honored. And a bit perturbed, to tell you the truth.” Her tone said she spoke in jest, but Lillian knew that she took the meeting quite seriously. “Because you completely entranced my dearest friend, I was forced into some very awkward situations, Mr. Doyle!”
“Bess!” Lillian protested.
“Do tell.” Doyle’s smile was nervous as he kept running his gaze about the parlor. Phoebe had noiselessly slipped out.
“Let us sit,” Lillian suggested. They surrounded the card table.
“About a year ago, wasn’t it, Lil? I was forced to follow an innocent Chinaman all over town, as Lil thought he was a criminal in disguise. I’ve had to pretend to be at least five different women, have snuck out of my house at all hours, given up on having a normal social life with my friend here, and I have you to blame. I mean, thank.”
“Ah-ha! A veritable Watson, I see.” He’d relaxed a bit in Bess’s company, as most everyone did. “I hope it wasn’t all odious work?”
“Mostly. But I also think that Lillian has taught me a great deal of what she knows, and that is far more valuable than what I could offer her.”
Lillian shook her head. “Nonsense. Miss Wheeler underestimates herself in every respect. Bess, Mr. Doyle knows about me, about the Orleans brothers. He has agreed to help us.”
Bess shook her foot under Doyle’s scrutiny, as if her deformation proved her mortality. “I am not a ‘creature,’ if that is what you are trying to ascertain.”
The author blanched. “Oh! I’m very sorry. I…I’m not often made speechless, but I am new to this entire idea of… Well, of course you are not. I can see that clearly.”
“Because of my foot?”
“I don’t understand.”
“If I were a creature, my foot would heal properly. Lillian and George will not admit it, but that is to spare me from attempting anything foolhardy.”
Doyle looked aghast. “That would be quite a poor bargain, Miss Wheeler. Given everything I’ve heard, I must agree with your friends. Frankly, I’m not sure what I think about any of this.” He ran his fingers along his mustache and let out a great sigh. “Our bargain, Miss Holmes?”
“Yes, I will locate Johnnie, I promise.”
The author gathered himself and patted Bess’s hand. “Might I see your foot?”
“See it? Everyone can see it. I walk on my toes.” She lifted her worn, deformed shoe slightly.
“I am a physician, my dear. Very little upsets me, and very little disinterests me. Now, you do not have the worst kind of affliction. There is a man in Germany who has had some mild success, although usually with children, in lengthening this tendon, called the Achilles…” He manipulated her ankle and pushed against the ball of her foot. “Tsk. If caught earlier, this would not have been a very bad case at all.”
“We lived in a small town near the border of Delaware when I was born. My parents…they did not know, you see. We were not in a big city.”
“Oh, well, times are different now. But I do not think this a hopeless case.” He sat up and patted Bess’s hand again as a few tears of hope escaped down her cheek. “There, there, I offer no guarantees, but I will correspond with my friend and see what might be done. Now, don’t cry, this is nothing. I am a physician, it’s my sworn duty to help.”
“I do not think…I do not think I can go to Germany.”
“Nonsense,” Lil said. This had to end. What had all her money brought her? No happiness, no sense of peace or pride. Here was a way to change that. “When things have calmed down, I will accompany you to Germany, pay for our trip and any charges for your treatment, and take care of you while you recover. I have been learning German in any case, so I will be a great help, indeed!”
Doyle nearly smiled. “Most admirable, Miss Holmes.”
“Now,” Lillian said to Bess, “give up this ridiculous notion you have of becoming a ‘creature,’ as you would say. Mr. Doyle, if you would excuse me for a moment, I must find George and tell him of your presence and what you have told me so far. And I will send someone off to fetch Officer Moran.”
She left Bess and Mr. Doyle in the parlor and climbed the stairs to her room, each step feeling higher than the next. Her head pounded from hunger and exhaustion, and she prayed George had fed and brought her back a vial or two from his victim, which was his habit if he was worried about her sustenance. She would chase down a few pills with that or have to venture out again.
What would he say, though? She’d brought Mr. Doyle home. Did makers ever punish their children for being wayward? She was sorely testing George’s devotion.
He was not in her room. Perhaps he hadn’t returned from his meeting with Phillip. She sat on her bed and took off her hat and jacket, untied her street boots. As she went to her desk to find her bottle of Mrs. Winslow’s, she saw an envelope addressed to her in a strange ornate hand next to a velvet jeweler’s box.
She froze. Not again! What tidings did Madam Lucifer have for her this time?
She sat and opened the envelope, and smelled the peculiar woody smell that George’s blood had, that his clothes carried, that she loved so much. Realizing this, her hand shook. He had changed his mind. He had fled, was saying goodbye. She had pushed him too far by bringing mortals into the mix and had gone off alone. He had run off to save himself. He—
Her heart slamming against her chest, she unfolded the single sheet.
My love,
You will never forgive me, so I will not ask forgiveness. I have not done a single good thing in my life, and it has been a long life, as you know. I now have one last chance to redeem myself, at least in the eyes of my brother, if not yours.
Sullivan has told me of some remarkable, nearly unbelievable visits from one of our Elders. It seems that Marie has been targeted, and he is the intended weapon of her destruction. More disturbing is that our Elder would like all of Marie’s family killed, and of course that includes me, her maker, and anyone I love. You and Phillip are thus in grave danger—but not from Sullivan. I believe him. He sacrifices himself for Phoebe, and I can do no less.
My goal is to return to you with Jacques. If not me, Sullivan. He had no real interest in rescuing a child but has agreed to help if he can. He believes he goes to his death, but I like to believe at least one of us will survive. He is the stronger.
I could not face you with my plan, for one look, one word from you and I would have weakened. It is imperative that you and Phillip, Kitty and Bess, perhaps even Johnnie Moran, leave the city quickly with the boys in tow. Sullivan would be grateful if you took Phoebe with you. Perhaps Mr. Doyle, if you were able to come to an arrangement, can act as some counsel, as I know how you admire his intellect. But do pay close attention to whatever Phillip advises over all others. Please share this with him, as he must know about the threat from our Elder.
I pray that Jacques will become your fourth Musketeer.
You are a wonder, a miracle.
I would taste your lips again, Lil.
Yours,
G.
PS, The money is for Bess. It is one small thing I would like to do for such a brave woman. Please tell her how I admire her.
Lillian’s tears mixed with the red stains on the parchment. She opened the smaller envelope numbly and thumbed the small fortune in notes. Bess’s family would have their respite from financial ruin. George had thought of everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Old lovers reunited.
“You haven’t changed in the least, George.”
He stood at the bottom of the stairs. The voice came from the far end of what seemed, in the da
rkness, to be a full suite of rooms. How long had she lived here? Annaluisa had said she was in Europe; gossip had put her in New Orleans.
“Au contraire, Marie. I am a shadow of the man you knew. Old enough now to have a pale reflection, to have done everything there is to do. No wonder, no surprises.”
“And just as full of self-pity. You never felt a bit of pity for me, did you? Or for my husband?”
“Phillip does not need my pity. He is superior to any man I know, despite the misfortune of being my brother and child. For you, no, I will give you that.”
A rustling of skirts and scuff of shoes sent chills through his veins. She walked toward him. He’d hoped to battle wits with her for a bit longer, to stall and give Sullivan time to find Jacques. Was Marie the sole vampire in the house besides them? Were there others to fight Sullivan? George couldn’t tell. Her power overwhelmed his senses.
Candles flared to life as if by her mental force alone. At first he couldn’t find her amidst the brocade and velvet couches, pillows, and chairs. The room looked like an ancient Eastern marketplace. The woman’s taste had always been excessive.
Then she moved.
George suppressed a gasp. Madame Lucifer indeed. So, this was what came of a life of cannibalism, of building blood power, of fully embracing one’s darkest nature. Sullivan must be a newborn among cannibals compared to Marie. He showed no such signs of deterioration.
A glimmer of a pretty woman still resonated somewhere beneath the black veins, red-pupiled eyes, decayed-looking fangs, and nest of coarse hair. She’d done what she could with women’s pastes and potions, he supposed, but the result was frightening. Marie’s dress revealed much of her copious figure, but her bosom was also scarred with rivulet-like black veins that covered her in a cloak of spider webs.
Marie brushed her long fingers along her white gown in a practiced provocative fashion, but George knew it to be a sarcastic gesture. She laughed at his expression and seemed not at all insulted or surprised.
I created this horror.
“You don’t like what you see, mon chéri? At one time you could not keep your hands off of me. Tsk tsk.”
George itched to shoot her, reminded of the chance by the burning of the pistol at his back. But she was on guard, alert, expecting him to act. She could move faster than the blink of an eye, much faster than himself. How to throw her off her game?
He spread his arms out. “I am here, surrendering. It is what you wanted, no? I truly didn’t understand the depth of your feelings for me, Marie, but Phillip reminds me that my self-absorption blinds me to such things.”
Her laughter echoed off the stone walls and made the lamps flicker, made ghostly shadows dance on the floor. “You are nothing to me, George. You never were, and never shall be. Is that really what you thought? That I pined away for three hundred years over our brief liaisons? Your ego almost equals mine! Perhaps I inherited the trait from my maker?”
“I think not. Phillip does not share the trait, and he was my firstborn.” But, Philip was wrong and I was correct. Her resentment for her maker made me a target, not unrequited love.
“And I your second-born. What a proud papa you must be!”
Do not mention the boy. Give Sullivan as much time as possible. “What is going on, Marie? Why this revenge on my friends? What is this place, and how are these mortals involved?”
The vampiress eyed him before speaking. “I’m a bit disappointed, Georgy. I envisioned this meeting differently, expected a bit of a fight from you. So, that makes me believe all is not as it appears. Your surrender is disingenuous.”
“I am sincere. I offer myself to you, for whatever satisfaction it might bring. Take me and be done with this city. I don’t for a moment believe you are happy here.”
Marie took one stride that moved her many feet, noiselessly. In all his years, George had never seen a vampire capable of such a feat.
“Happy?” She was more hideous up close and smelled of rotted flesh. Would that he didn’t need to stall and she could put him out of his misery immediately. The sight of her was nauseating. “What happiness have I found since you took me? What happiness have you found since your mother took you? No, I am not happy in this wretched place and will be gone from it soon. I am, however, intrigued.”
“By what?”
“Why didn’t you run?”
He shrugged. “I’m tired.”
But the statement was a lie. While he’d always told himself and others how tired of this life he was, it no longer rang true. He had been tired enough to turn his back on everything before he became Lillian’s Leaping Man, but now he wanted to live, wanted to live with Lillian and Jacques. Life seemed different now, a chance to experience emotions he’d never before imagined. He wouldn’t mention it, of course, not to Marie, but he was no longer a self-loathing vampire seeking a convenient way to die.
Could Marie be taken down somehow? Perhaps he’d miscalculated badly. Should he have tried to conquer her with Sullivan, not let them split up? He’d wanted one of them to find the boy, though. Maybe he should have found the boy and then fled Baltimore. But it was too late now. And having watched her cross the room in a blink made it clear that she was more dangerous than anything he’d ever seen.
“I can believe that. Have a seat, Georgy. It doesn’t need to be like this. Father and child should have a nice little chat before I dispose of you.”
Where is the insanity I expected? he wondered. She is calm and studied in her words. The pistol burned, the dagger burned, and still he worked for more time before the final confrontation. How long had it been? Moments, only.
“What do you gain from this revenge, then, Marie? If it is because I turned you, you could have done this eons ago. Why now?”
“Can’t you see with your own eyes? I’m dying.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look at me. Smell my flesh. I am like the dreach foula of old.” She smiled, and her ghastly face became more horrible. “You drink only mortals, and that sustenance refreshes you, body and soul. When you drink from our kind, I have found there is no renewal. Only a very slow decline. And the process appears irreversible, though I have tried to gain strength in recent months from mortals.”
She smiled again and stared into his eyes. George fought hard not to look away but could not stand the sickness emanating from her. He shut his eyes, and her voice became a hissing whisper.
“I have finally found a way to die, much as a mortal would. Quite naturally. Doesn’t that sound appealing?”
George shook his head. “At one time it would have. No longer. And I have no interest in feasting on vampires.” He shrugged. “So you want to destroy me before you die. I see.”
She laughed again. He expected her to say something, but she didn’t.
Fury bubbled up in his chest. “Couldn’t you have simply taken me without murdering Annaluisa and Aileen?”
“Annaluisa was a talker. She rather annoyed me. Who is Aileen? Oh, the chit who was maid to your lover.” Marie shrugged, as if she could barely remember. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time. I get bored, Georgy.”
“And this group of silly men and their secret society. What role do they play?”
Marie ran a finger along her grotesque cheek, coy. “They have served a purpose. Never underestimate what a man will do for money or power, Georgy. A political post…a profitable company…the promise of immortality at the perfect age. It is funny what they consider to be their best age: men wait about ten years too long, women stop about ten years early. You killed the best of my mortal followers, of course.”
“The best? A rapist and a demented physician?” George cursed himself, for he had led them to the topic of Lillian, which he’d wanted desperately to avoid. But he was so angry for Lil he could barely hold his tongue; it seemed she had been Marie’s pawn for ages. He could just hope that Mr. Doyle had nothing to do with the other scoundrels.
“Someone had to watch over her,” Marie said. �
��At least I provided for her. Give me that much.”
Her horrible grin made his stomach turn. She was talking about his Lil. But, how had Marie provided for Lil? How long had she truly known her?
God, no.
“You orchestrated the rape of a woman? You are more abhorrent than I could ever imagine!”
“Of course I did not.” Marie looked affronted. “I would have eventually destroyed Pemberton for that, but I had other uses for him first. He was to simply abscond with any child of hers, not to create one. That is the difficulty with mortals, is it not? Completely unreliable.”
“What is Lillian to you? Why such an interest in an orphan?” But an awful possibility appeared, crept closer and squeezed the breath from him. Was it fact?
“When was the last time you heard of a vampire giving birth to a mortal?”
George didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Or giving birth at all?”
Now the pistol burned his back, but he had to know, had to understand the Truth of Lillian Holmes.
“I waited, watching, wondering when one of the Elders would come. I’ve broken each of their commandments, and still they left me alone.”
George nodded but thought, Ah, there you are wrong. Your days are numbered far fewer than you think.
Marie inspected her rotted nails, as if they were discussing the weather. “She was an accident, of course,” she volunteered. “A mistake. Who would have expected my union to be fruitful? I thought there must be something special about her, but it seems I was wrong. I have watched, though, and wondered. At times I’ve spoken to her, and I almost believe she heard me. The effect seemed detrimental; I saw her deteriorate.
“My endearments to her—and yes, you may not believe it, but I did care about her in my own way—they seemed to…torture her. You’ll never understand my feelings, and I barely understand them myself. But I found her rather charming the few times I saw her. Enchanting. She looks a great deal more like her father. A pity, that.”
“Her father was mortal, then?” George wanted to scream, to tear the grey flesh from Marie, to torture her into saying this was a false story. This horror in the flesh could not be Lillian’s mother.