Bodies lay scattered about, and the Vikings were still there, drunk and carousing, as though a whole night and day had not passed. One young Viking sat by the fire, peeling burned flesh off a roasted pig—of which there was plenty, now that the community was mostly dead. Swine for the swine. The thought made her chuckle, and the chuckle made him look up. He smiled. The leader had said some of the hiding girls would return once they became hungry, and here one was. A slim blonde who might be beautiful under all that dirt and grime. A body of infinite possibilities. Glittering eyes. A bath and an hour or so with a comb, and she’d be quite the tasty tidbit.
“Well, pretty girl, you must be starving.”
A shifty smile played across her mouth. He was taken aback.
“You don’t actually understand me, do you?”
She did, although not quite as he meant. Still, it was all she needed.
He held out the meat to her.
“Have some. It’s fresh. Go on, take a taste.”
And she did.
The dig. The meal. The name. These were the formula. Not all vampires chose new names on rising, but even that was a choice, to keep your human name. Your maker might give advice, but only if you asked. This was not like parenting. You were partner to your maker, and that was a different thing altogether. The name you chose marked you, helped you as you grew into yourself. Hatchlings who wanted their makers to name them rarely lasted long.
Some knew this by instinct, but most because their makers explained on the way back to the lair. She knew by instinct, which Aelric ought to have sensed. He suggested she be called Fleta, because of her speed.
She stopped, and looked him in the eye. Now that they were equals, and that she had fed, she could truly assess him. He was weak. Headstrong, sweet, and foolish. His occasional good instincts—and she had certainly been a good instinct—were as nothing to his poor ones, and they were dominant. He had made her in loneliness, for there was nothing in him that invited the trust and friendship, much less love, of the others. He was a member of the tribunal because he was a vampire, because no vampire would ever be forced to range alone, but that was as far as their protection went. She pitied him, but she could see how he would be a hindrance. Her knowledge and self-awareness were expanding by the minute, as though now that she was stripped of the need to take in oxygen, she was instead inhaling the wisdom of the world. It introduced her to a new feeling—giddiness. She felt big, and all-encompassing. She felt like a shout.
“My name is Brigantia.”
“What?”
She answered automatically, because it wasn’t his voice she heard.
“Brigantia. Our local goddess. You will call me by no other name.”
And he would never have dared to try.
To be made was an intimate act, and it was expected that yours would be an intimate partnership. It was meant to be a symbiotic relationship. Perhaps, in time, one would move on from the other, but this was rare. The dark kiss was meant to open the door to deeper, hotter kisses. Just because the blood no longer coursed through veins did not mean it couldn’t boil. As surely as maker and made shared blood, they were meant to share bodies.
Brigantia knew her duty, felt her obligation, and wondered, too, if it might make a difference. She suspected not, but thought it would be unfair not to give it a chance. Being a virgin didn’t have the same mystical weight for a vampire as it did for a human girl, so there was nothing to make her feel any particular regret for the lack of fervor in her as she rose from her warm bath and threaded her way through the caves to Aelric’s nest. No one asks for the dark gift, but once bestowed, it is usually welcomed and received with gratitude. She knew she’d entered something special, and was grateful to Aelric for having chosen her. She just couldn’t help wishing someone else had done the choosing.
One lonely candle burned on a table in the corner of the poky cave. Aelric, wearing only a short tunic, took her hand when she entered and pulled her into the candle’s light. It took a few tries, but he managed to unfasten her cloak at last and ogled her, his mouth hanging open.
She looked into his eyes and tried to see herself through them. Her only interest in her body had ever been what it could do—its appearance seemed a pointless thing to notice. Now she traced the long sinewy muscles of her legs, the satiny skin, the droplets of water still clinging to the few delicate golden hairs that covered her body and made it seem as though she glittered in the pale light. A flat stomach. Full, high breasts. A long neck. Sturdy arms, powerful shoulders, nimble fingers. His hand reached around and cupped her bottom appreciatively. For his sake, she was pleased her body was enjoyable, but as he inexpertly explored it with first hands and then mouth, a chilling sting ran its way through her like a wasp.
The pain that seared her on his penetration was not a human virgin’s pain, not the mixture of hurt and happiness that marked such an occasion when it was its best. What Brigantia felt went far beyond the physical, tugging her skin from behind. She knew what this ought to be, knew it was a sacred, special thing, that her heart should open as readily as her legs, and with the same warmth. But her legs opened only because Aelric wanted them to, and her body forced warmth against her own inclination, as protection from further pain. Brigantia thought she would have welcomed more physical hurt so as to anesthetize her from the torturous places her mind was journeying. Once again, Aelric stirred fear in her, and this was greater, because she knew her fate was sealed. Every predawn would mean this, mean a giving over of her body that should be a delight and instead only remind her how alone she still was. Alone, and maybe deservedly so.
He nipped at her several times, gently, with his human teeth, a kind of atonement for the other bite, bites that were meant to inflame her passions rather than suck out her humanity, but she noticed none of it. She needed this to be over, before he saw her tears.
After fifteen minutes that felt interminable, he climaxed, groaning across her in ecstatic defeat. The weight of his body, both warm and cool, was not such an unpleasant thing, and she stroked his damp hair with unforced gentleness. Even still, she suspected he knew, or at least sensed, that this was not a coupling of hearts. He was a fool, but he could not be so wholly insensible.
Aelric raised his head to look at her. He’d been so eager. Those curves, that hair … he’d thought she was a creature in which to get completely lost. But for all her inner heat, she was inexplicably cold. And yet, when he rolled onto his back, she looked down at him and smiled, and the smile was warm. It was the first tender expression he’d seen on her face, and it made her look so beautiful, he thought he felt his heart beat. Perplexing creature. She brushed his sweaty hair from his face, patted his cheek, and swept a cloak over her shoulders.
“Where are you going?”
“I want to feel the air.”
“It’s nearly daylight. You have to be careful. Don’t go.”
“I will be back.”
At the main entrance to the network of caves, she sat, tucked her knees under her chin, and stared out at the dark wilderness. The stars were gone, but the sky was still black. Finally, a chance to think, to absorb all that had happened. There were some whispers of regret. Had she known that the dull morning of two days ago was the last glimpse of the sun she would ever have, she might have paid it more attention. For as long as I live, I must remember that daylight is a beautiful thing. It frightens me, and it will kill me, but I must remember it is beautiful. She knew she would miss seeing blossoms turn toward the nurturing sun, seeing all the true colors of every plant that thrived under her hands, the rainbow gift of nature. And yet, she had always loved her nighttime gardening, touching buds that chose the blackest hours to unfurl. She wondered if something in her human life had known this was coming, was intended, and had prepared her. She had never heard the lore of vampires, but felt curiously unsurprised at her fate. From this realization, her mind played out the monologue of all new vampires, although none of them knew it was a sort of script.
> My human self is dead, is gone. Parts of it are still in me, perhaps always will be, but there is a demon there, too. Humans are my lifeblood now, my livelihood and prey. I am solely of the night, from now until always. Until never, whenever that will be, and I hope it is thousands of years away. I would not have chosen thislife, but ithas chosenme and / embrace it. I will make not have chosen this life, but it has chosen me, and I embrace it. I will make this a good life. These are my people now, my family. I am cleaved to them.
But from there, her thoughts took a turn unique to her, and down a path she wished she didn’t have to follow.
I have no love for Aelric, though he is my maker. I am grateful for the gift, and even his desire, and I pity him in all his well-meaning and foolishness, and certainly I never pitied anyone as a human, but he is not the one onto whom I can pour all this love that lies so heavily in me, like waste. No. I cannot love him, and I never will. And he …he has no love for me. He thinks he does, and that is sweet, but he only loves an idea. He’ll never see me, whoever I am now, and whomever I’ll grow to be. Have I slipped from light into eternal dark, only to be kept from love? Isn’t love the only genuine light in this darkness? Or perhaps that is just my mark. As girl and now as creature, I’m not made for love.
The sky was turning navy. It was time to go. Aelric was keeping the bed warm for her, and that would be pleasant. This was important. Still, as she turned her back on the rising sun and slipped down the tunnel, she wondered how it was that a heart which was no longer beating could feel as though it might break.
Eamon roused himself, wiping his wet face. He hadn’t tumbled down the rabbit hole of Brigit’s history in centuries, but that world was more vivid than some of his own memories. Her pain pricked him. He wanted to break through the hourglass and rearrange the sands.
He had no envy of Aelric, of the bond he had shared with Brigantia, of the years they shared a bed. Perhaps it would have been different if she’d loved him, but the only thing Aelric had that Eamon would have coveted was the chance to look in her human eyes. And since that would never have been possible, he dismissed it. He knew, too, that it wouldn’t have been the same. The deep blue eyes that met his nearly three centuries later had been shaped by life. They were marked less by that hunger and fiery rage than by loneliness. There was a vast knowledge of humanity in them, and a seductive intelligence, and a scintilla of something like terrified hope. Aelric had seen the glow of human life, but Eamon had seen something more. Something which, under his hand, had evolved.
Don’t lose that, Brigit. Don’t come back without the sparkle.
“Eamon? Are you all right?”
Padraic had come up the stairs and was looking at him, worried.
“I’m fine, thanks. Just musing.”
Padraic nodded and held out his hand to help Eamon up. Eamon didn’t meet his eye and said nothing as he turned and hurried to his own tower. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to feel a friendly hand on his, even for a moment, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could bear it.
Chapter 7
Berlin–Basel train. August 1940.
A heat wave had rolled over the land. Brigit could feel her hair starting to go limp. She couldn’t remember ever being so hungry and uncomfortable. The demon was restless, anxious, clawing away at her tissues. There was nothing else for it. The time had come to take a risk.
The water in the tiny bathroom remained stubbornly warm, but she flicked some over her neck and arms anyway, telling herself it provided relief. There was the problem of leaving the cargo unguarded yet again, but that could not be helped. The time was long past when she could space her meals. Any more of a drain, and she’d be as delicate as the cargo. Tucking her hair in a snood and sticking a defiant silk camellia behind her ear, she strode out of the compartment.
Had she not been feeling so unwell, her knees probably wouldn’t have buckled so visibly when the blast of light from the sunset hit her right in the eyes on exiting. The blinds were usually lowered this time of evening to prevent glare, but someone had raised the one outside her door. The light seared her skin and the demon roared, nearly popping out her fangs. She ducked her head and groped for the blind, lowering it quickly.
Dabbing her brow and trying to regain her composure, she sensed a faint odor but saw no one nearby. She felt sure it must be the doctor, but she had no idea why. These people prided themselves on logic, and where was the logic in sending a doctor after her? If that was what they were doing. There were other possibilities. Who could have described her well enough to make her a target with such unerring precision, she couldn’t imagine, but it seemed safest to think they had guessed and were trying to garner absolute proof before closing the trap.
Well, where are you then, little cowards? I have just shown a great weakness, aren’t you pleased? Don’t you want to dance round me like a funeral pyre?
She stalked down the corridor, fury and hunger pounding in her ears, her fingers twitching, wanting something to rip. Kurt was not in his compartment, and she suspected him of being closeted with that Eberhard swine, happily planning their meteoric rise through the art world. Deciding that caution could be carried only so far, she added their deaths to her list of things to accomplish before finally getting off the train. There would be leisure for a plan, once she could think properly. Once she …
“Fräulein!”
Maurer strolled up to her, grinning. A stuffy woman in an absurd hat sniffed as she shuffled around Brigit, and cast a glance at the sergeant that suggested he should not waste his time paying attention to such trash. Maurer took no notice; his eyes were firmly fixed on Brigit. They glittered.
“Are you enjoying your journey?”
His voice was polite and genuinely interested. Brigit was thrown. She had no idea what to make of him. She decided it was best to play along, and play up her assumed role: a spoiled, silly girl. The sort he was bound to get bored of sooner rather than later.
“I am, but it’s taking quite a bit longer than I had thought. These stops are awfully long. Shouldn’t we have reached Switzerland already?”
“Indeed, indeed, deepest apologies, but you must realize how much caution must be taken, how carefully papers and even luggage must be checked. There is a war on, you know, and there are spies amongst us. We cannot be too careful. And I’m afraid those British have managed to damage some rails with their bombs. That is slowing us considerably.”
Brigit found herself in the odd position of cheering her native country and being cross at the timing of its prowess.
“Yes, but I thought surely the German trains would be efficient, even during a war. I might as well have cycled to Bilbao!”
“That would have been something to see.”
“Another time, maybe I will. But really, it’s so miserably hot, I can’t think about such a venture too long, even as a joke.”
“Yes, the heat is bad. Wouldn’t we all be happier if we could wear less clothing?”
Brigit had no more energy to create a blush, but she spoke with proper outrage.
“Sergeant Maurer! I’m afraid that’s really no way to talk.”
“Come now, Fräulein. Girls who dine with artists are known to be open-minded.”
A giggle threatened to burst from her cheeks, and she quickly twisted it into a snort.
“Perhaps in Germany, but that’s hardly the case in Ireland.”
Her modulated tone lessened the insult and made it sound instead like an apology for her poor, benighted island nation. There was, however, still a warning glint in her eye. To her shock, it seemed to arouse him—he grasped her wrist and jerked her up against him, hissing in her ear.
“You should let me in your compartment, let me take a bath with you, that will keep you cool, if indeed you’re not cold already.”
“How dare you!” She made to pull from him and he wound his other arm around her back, gripping her hip.
“You should be careful, you know, you and your little friends.
Perhaps if you’re nice to me, I can take care of you. Wouldn’t you like that? Wouldn’t you like me to take care of you?”
“I can take care of myself well enough, thank you. Myself and others, I’ll have you know.”
“I know that’s what you think. But you may think wrong.”
“I’ll take that under consideration. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”
The sound of running feet and giggling children startled them both, and he pushed her away from him. They stood, glaring at each other as a small cluster of boys ran past them, followed by their flustered nurse, who was feebly calling to them to stop and please behave like nice children.
When the ruckus had safely descended into the next car, Maurer caught Brigit by the chin, jerking her head so she looked in his eyes.
“You are being watched. You’re intelligent enough to know that, I think. So perhaps you should be asking yourself whom you want watching you: them, or me?”
“Oh, so I have options?”
“Things can be arranged.”
With a greedy sneer, he ran a finger down her throat, dangerously close to where, by all rights, a pulse should be pounding. She bore her eyes hard into him, struggling to keep his concentration on other possibilities. He winked, pulled away, and strutted down the corridor, whistling off-key.
I swear, if I stayed in the bath for a year, I would never wash off the feel of all these monsters.
Shaken and nauseous, Brigit limped toward the observation car, desperate for fresh air, hoping that the platform’s awning would provide enough shade from the lingering sunlight. She found the nurse and the rowdy boys waiting impatiently for a table in the dining car. One boy set up a shout as Brigit passed, making her jump. The other boys laughed with gleeful malice and the nurse smiled a grim apology. Brigit could see that the woman hoped to engage her in conversation, yet no matter how sympathetic she might feel, she simply could not marshal the strength or wits to equal the effort. Luckily, another of the boys shouted, hoping to see the pretty lady jump again, and the nurse set about rebuking them all.
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