What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
She tore her eyes from Alma and back to Leon. It was impossible that he should know, but it didn’t matter. She was his chosen one.
“When do we leave?”
The bath was glorious. Brigit closed her eyes to better enjoy the water, and to think.
They tracked us. We failed.
The Nazis were advancing by the hour. Meaghan and Swefred were dead, Cleland missing, and Mors walking into suicide. The Nazis may as well have known all along, considering how little the vampires had really accomplished. Brigit supposed their initial certainty was simple hubris, and the expectation that they were above such follies was more hubris.
We need humans, but they don’t need us. Human nature will always be stronger than anything we can muster. They rule the land. We simply roam it.
If they’d known about Leon, they might have joined forces with him. Human allies might have made all the difference. But it was something they had never thought of, not even for a moment.
Brigit wiped her eyes and dried herself, slipping on pajamas and a robe. They were not to leave till tomorrow at dusk, and she was looking forward to some more food and rest.
Leon spent the whole of supper detailing the operation, showing her the papers he’d carefully prepared, the maps, the schedules. He apologized for the need to go through Ireland but expected they would be there only an hour at most and this was not enough time to alert hunters, let alone one who could handle a millennial. Brigit sat numbly, letting it sink in.
After supper, Leon put Lukas to bed and Brigit and Alma regarded each other across the table.
“Is it true vampires don’t prey on children?”
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
Brigit grinned.
“Because they’re in bed when we go hunting.”
She could feel the girl fighting a smile and suspected she didn’t want to be put at a disadvantage, which any sort of warm relations might be. Brigit studied the fierce young human, rather liking that she didn’t want to be obedient. Alma clearly knew what she had to do, knew the family was at the end of its options, but that didn’t mean she had to be friendly. The girl was obstreperous at heart, and Brigit liked her for that, even though she could feel they were more adversaries than not.
In any case, it was true, vampires did not eat children. A child’s blood had no scent for them. It was like a raw ingredient. A human had to be nearer sixteen to become appetizing. To eat a child would not only be tasteless, but also a violation, an intrusion into the development process. There was a sanctity in the coming of age, and to feed on an unformed creature would be as improper as to eat fowl still in the shell.
When Leon returned, he showed Brigit his masterwork, a telegraph system he’d set up when things began to be bad and communication tricky. She hated the thought of Eamon and Otonia receiving the information she now had to send, but it was a relief to know they would be thinking of her, and that Eamon, in return, would be sending her everything she needed to accomplish this one last mission.
All that strange day, in that strange house, Brigit slept fitfully, seeing the faces of Mors, Cleland, Meaghan, Swefred, and Eamon circling her head.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” they whispered. “You’re going home.”
Home. Yes. Please, Eamon. Please let me get there. With these children.
The good-byes were hurried; it wouldn’t do to linger and tears were out of the question. But Brigit took Leon’s hand in both of hers and looked him in the eye.
“They will be my family, beyond what you’ve falsified in these papers. I will protect them and I will see them to safety. I swear it.”
He kissed her hand. She took each child by a small hand and, her head high and eyes glowing, boarded the train.
Chapter 21
Ferry to Ireland. August 1940.
Eamon’s fingers were bleeding, but he didn’t notice. They remained nimble, dancing over the strings, coaxing out every melody he’d ever had in him. A cloud of song to comfort, to fill, to shield. He could feel it working. The only question was when he would have to stop so that he could travel. Brigit and the children would have to be met in Ireland, whatever the risk. She would need his corporeal self there, and she would have it.
He had a few more hours before the train left for Wales. The sweat mingled with his blood and made a puddle at his feet. He kept his eyes closed, concentrating only on the music, ignoring the sprains creeping up his wrists, the skin rubbed raw from the chin rest.
Otonia drifted in silently, laid an ice bag on his neck and stuck a straw in his mouth so that he could swallow a mug of warmed-up blood. He barely noticed.
It was only later, when he was sprinting for the train, that he realized she’d saved him a step. Two days of nonstop violin playing with no sleep would have forced him to hunt, and there was no time to lose.
Brigit decided the only safe course was to stay on the deck so that they might be in someone’s sights throughout the journey. It would look odd, a guardian keeping children awake and outdoors all night, but even on the open water, the air was sticky and humid, and she could argue the children would sleep better outside.
Lukas she kept in her arms. He was still frail, even a bit warm, and she wasn’t going to let anyone see that. She also hoped it gave him some comfort. At least he got to sleep, which was more than could be said for herself or Alma.
“Try to at least close your eyes,” Brigit urged Alma, tucking her up in a deck chair, but Alma was adamant.
“You’re staying awake and so am I.”
Brigit was grimly pleased to note that they weren’t the only ones lurking on the deck as the night wore on. This part of the sea hadn’t been disturbed by U-boats, but that didn’t mean people weren’t uneasy. It was a long night’s journey into day, and many of them wanted to stay awake, as though that somehow guaranteed safe passage.
The doctor and his posse set up camp on another set of chairs across from Brigit and the children. They pretended to play cards and smoke, their eyes tight on their quarry. For their part, Brigit and Alma looked only at each other, the sea, and the stars.
Shortly before midnight, Owen left the group and headed inside. Ten minutes later, he came back, taking care to catch Brigit’s eye and wink as he passed.
“I’m so looking forward to getting home, aren’t you?” he asked, without waiting for a reply. He rejoined the other men and soon they were all laughing.
Alma shivered. Brigit patted her arm.
“Courage. Perhaps I’ll get the chance to see he doesn’t get home.”
Alma nodded, staring out at the black water, her arms wrapped tightly around her. She looked at Lukas, who was sleeping peacefully, hesitated, then climbed into the chair with Brigit and leaned against her lightly. Brigit started to put her arm around Alma, then changed her mind, pointing to the stars instead.
“Look, look at that. That’s Leo. He was a very powerful lion, but Hercules killed him. They had to honor him, though, so he was put in the sky. He’s fierce, which is why he dominates the hottest summer nights. A fire sign, and very brave.”
“Fire?” Alma asked. “That’s bad for you, isn’t it?”
“If it was only fire, yes, but Leo governs the heart and spine, so I have no fear under Leo.”
Alma thought about that awhile.
“What about Orion?”
“Oh, Orion. Orion has a whole universe to protect. I think he’s learned to accept me. No, it’s a brave o’erhanging firmament up there. It’s been my friend a long, long time.”
Her murmur turned into a low hum and Alma’s eyes fluttered, then closed.
A chill wind rose and the boat swayed. The sea was growing choppy. Owen produced a bottle of whiskey and took a long drink, then offered it to the others. The doctor frowned, but Brigit thought she heard Weber tell him that a drink was medicinal on a rough night. She smiled, remembering ancient drinking songs, wondering why
it was that men back to the beginning of her time so loved to extol liquor and its quixotic powers in song. She hummed one of the old tunes and watched as many of the tired, anxious men waiting out the night fetched bottles from inside and started up a party.
Two hours later, the wind was colder, the waters choppier, and every man on deck save the doctor was drunk. Their carousing had awakened Alma, though Lukas still slept. The three were huddled in a dark corner and Brigit had warned Alma to stay silent and alert. She herself was delighted. With faculties so dazed, her enemies were becoming prime targets. The demon was dancing a jig.
The irritated doctor was also becoming seasick, much to Brigit’s amusement. A very drunk Spaniard offered his assistance. The doctor tried to shake him off, but was promptly overwhelmed. He was given a wide berth as he lurched over the railing and stayed there a long time, the Spaniard patting him and speaking bracingly.
“Come on, gents, let’s get inside and wake some ladies!” another Irishman cried, and the others trotted after him. Brigit grinned.
Men just never do change.
The three hunters didn’t notice the indisposed doctor, or the absence of the others. They had their arms around one another and were singing a hunting song in German and Gaelic. Brigit had heard it before.
The world sleeps sound, but we stay awake
Tracking the scent of the vampire’s lust
We lure him in, we wield the sharp stake
And dissolve the monster into dust.
Brigit stood up slowly and told Alma to close her eyes and try not to listen.
A gust of wind and a wave crashing against the ferry muted the sound of Lange falling into the water, his neck broken. Weber, assuming his friend had only fallen, shouted into the water while Owen scouted for a life buoy. But when the Irishman returned, Weber was gone and a drop of blood slid off Brigit’s finger and onto the damp deck.
Without a word, Owen drew his sword. Brigit braced for battle, but felt the defeat even before she heard the triumphant voice.
“Leave her, Owen. Leave her for now.”
Doctor Schultze, still very green, was holding a knife to Alma’s throat. He smiled. As horrified as Brigit was, she could yet feel some pride that Alma looked less frightened than contemptuous of her attacker. She kept Lukas’s head pressed tightly to her chest.
“Now then, Vampire, we can speak freely at last,” the doctor said, gesturing her closer. She approached him reluctantly and the frustrated Owen joined her.
“You are certainly an impressive specimen.” The doctor nodded to Brigit with professional appreciation. “Although of course we were always going to win. I admit, I thought our last recourse was going to have to come later, when we landed, but this is far preferable. I will look most brave indeed.”
“Hang on,” began Owen, but the doctor interrupted him.
“You can share the plaudits, of course. Germany values its Irish friends. The vampire can be killed in Ireland. All I ask is to study the creature.”
“Study me?” Brigit was cold, but perplexed.
“They are promoting Mengele above me,” the doctor said, and Brigit detected a whine. “If I bring them detailed knowledge of vampire physiology, they may reconsider. They are very respectful of scientific research.”
Brigit had no idea who Mengele was, or what position Schultze was after, she was only interested in distracting him.
“I can save you the trouble of dissection.” She improvised. “Except for my fangs, talons, and the viscosity of my blood, I will look like any dead human inside.”
“I will see for myself.” The doctor snarled. “I shall not touch your heart, but simply explore until I am satisfied. One assumes you can endure pain.”
“A live dissection. Of course. How charming. But I’m more concerned about your plans for the children.”
Both Schultze and Owen appraised her.
“I do believe you mean that,” said the doctor at last. “Why would a vampire care about little rats? Are you hoping to keep them as pets?”
“Obviously, whatever my hopes were, they’re now dashed. What are yours?”
Schultze shrugged.
“They go back to Germany as an example. Their father was quite the troublemaker, even after the Reich tried to be kind to him. What waste. And trying to send his dirty spawn to Britain in care of a vampire, disgraceful. Perhaps he did some good in his time, but a vampire-free Germany no longer has need for vampire hunters.”
“Leon Arunfeld is a great hunter, though.”
Brigit didn’t dare turn. There was scorn in Owen’s voice, and she sensed it was for the German attitude, rather than Leon.
Schultze shrugged again.
“So a rat can hunt vermin, well and good, that is no excuse to reward it.”
“You speak a bit too light of the art of vampire hunting.”
Brigit inched back, feeling the space she would need.
“Great respect, great respect,” Schultze intoned, though the condescension floated under his words. He was bored. “Now, I shall have to lock the rats in our cabin and notify …”
“The girl is a firstborn. She’ll be a hunter. We don’t waste good hunting stock.”
“You may take that up with the Führer if you like, but I have my orders.”
Brigit laughed, a tinkling melody that dazed the two men.
“I never thought I’d hear such a thing, the Irish being so desperate to get a German hunter in their mix.” She fixed Owen in a sweet, sympathetic gaze. “So the rumors are true. The Irish are losing their vampire-hunting vigor. What a shame. Undoubtedly it’s all the drink that does it—”
The drink and the fury certainly did it for Owen. He launched himself upon her, but the deafening battle-wail he meant to emit never worked its way past his intention. His own sword lopped his head clean off and sent it soaring into the sea. Its tip was under the doctor’s chin before the latter could even blink.
“Drop the knife, Doctor.”
He wasn’t going to, he wasn’t going to relinquish his prize, but the sword slipped under the knife and slung it into the air just as he sliced into the girl’s neck. Alma’s skin was only grazed, but the demon was fully roused.
Pressed against the railing, thin trickles of blood wending down his neck from each of Brigit’s talons, the doctor still tried to wield an upper hand.
“What do you think will happen, once we are all missed from the ferry? Do you really think you will be allowed to continue on your journey?”
“You fell overboard. The sailors who would normally be watching for such incidents are now watching for potential U-boats,” Brigit reminded him, winking a red eye. “These would be the hazards of traveling in wartime, you see.”
Her confident, lilting tone unhinged him further. He scrabbled at the claw holding him so firmly, with so little exertion.
“We are being expected in Cork. When they see we are not there, you will have signed all your death warrants.”
“And here I thought you’d taken care of that for us already. Isn’t that what you Nazis are renowned for? Efficiency?”
He was sweating now, twisting in her grip. Brigit was strongly reminded of a wolf chewing his leg to get free of one of those horrid traps humans liked to set. She didn’t want to keep him alive, but she did want to know what exactly was awaiting them in Cork. She smiled to urge him on.
“All right, Vampire, perhaps we can arrange a bargain.” He hurried on, taking note of her gleaming fangs. “I can call off the posse at the dock, you can go free, just let me take the children back to Germany.”
“You were about to kill Alma.”
“No, just hurt her. I only wanted to subdue you. So, it is a bargain?”
“How large is this posse?”
He didn’t answer. She poked a talon under his ear. His breath came out in one long exhalation of astonished pain.
“What will you gain, killing me?” He meant to sound defiant, but the demon drank in his fear.
&n
bsp; “Very likely nothing at all,” she conceded, “except hopefully the lives of these children. What will you gain, taking them back to their deaths?”
“Reward. And the assurance of doing well for the master race.”
That phrase again. The doctor was short, rotund, with mouse-brown hair and piggy eyes. He had conviction, though, Brigit had to allow him that.
Schultze was smiling now, tasting a bright future as though Brigit was going to release him.
“In a world without Jews or vampires, or other undesirables, there will be so much good. And we will prevail. You see how you tried to stop us and did not succeed. Good triumphs over evil. It is the way of the world. Your England shall not stop us invading. You British will soon see your king on his knees, bowing to our Hitler. It is only a matter of time.”
She shook her head, smiling.
“No. No, you’re quite wrong. That precious stone, set in the silver sea? You think it’s small and weak and can be tamed, like Napoleon did before you. But no. My England never did, nor never shall, lie at the foot of a proud conqueror.”
The doctor was bemused, but relaxed. That he was still alive meant that Brigit was surely playing him, was going to accept his offer. She had too much to live for. She wasn’t going to sabotage it.
“Let me have the children, Brigit. They were never meant to be. We are simply righting wrongs.”
“Is that what you think you are doing?”
“I think of myself as curing a cancer.”
“How benevolent. But I do not understand you. You would see them dead, they, who have souls, and you would think yourself a hero for it. It’s a tale you would tell your grandchildren, dandling them on your knee. You could douse their light and feel strong, and yet somehow, I’m meant to be the soulless, evil one. No, I do not understand you.”
Dawn was breaking, and the Irish coast was in sight. It was an overcast, misty morning, and Brigit was happy for it, even though safety was still such a long ways away. Death might be standing on the shore, beckoning her to his side again, and this time forever, or perhaps to snatch the children from her grip. Death would accept the doctor but take the three of them as well; it had no qualms and no quotas, just its steady stroll through the sentient world, collecting as it went.
The Midnight Guardian Page 31