Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Feeling the caress of soft breath next to his skin, he looked over to Hathor. Her worn body rested in slumber. Her thick lashes fanned over her rosy cheeks. With a light, feminine sigh, she nestled closer to him, seeking warmth where there was none.

  His arms urged him to hold her. His body was too weak to try. His energies were drained, his blood thin and cold. Showing the past to Hathor had taken much out of him. It wasn’t as it should’ve been. It shouldn’t have been so real. But it was. By the feeling of day that surrounded him outside the coffin, it had almost killed him, but for Hathor.

  Servaes closed his eyes, unable to deny himself the rest he needed. Hathor moaned slightly, her fingers absently curling into the front of his shirt above his heart. She sighed in contentment when she found it beating. He fell back to sleep, pondering how Hathor could’ve gotten him into his coffin without his knowledge. And for the undead life of him, he couldn’t understand why she would’ve bothered.

  Chapter Thirty

  Hathor slowly opened her eyes. She yawned, noticing that Servaes was still by her side. Feeling him in the darkness, she lightly ran her fingers over his face. His eyes were closed. His body was unmoving, just as it had been when she’d arranged his limbs comfortably next to her.

  Stretching her fingers, she felt that most of Servaes’ power was out of her. Her limbs no longer felt as strong, her body a bit weaker than before. Her head was clear as if she’d just broken a terrible fever—weak but joyously no longer ill. The dark tomb of their bed started to close in on her. She pulled away from him.

  Reaching her hand to the side of the coffin, she watched his face for any sign of movement or pain. When she lifted the lid, the room was completely devoid of sunlight. A light she had left on in the hall gave her enough to see by. Servaes’ face didn’t move as she watched him. She reached her hand out of the coffin to test her reaction to the day. When she felt the same, she quietly crawled out.

  Servaes still didn’t move. She shut the lid quickly, not wanting to hurt him. Servaes didn’t lift a hand to stop her. He again closed his eyes to sleep.

  Hathor made her way up the stairs, pausing as she looked at a ray of sunlight crossing over her path. With a deep breath, she reached her hand out to touch the light with the tip of her finger. Fearfully, she jolted back. When she realized the sun didn’t hurt, and she was not on fire, she grew emboldened. Again she tested the light. The warmth of the sun hit her palm, caressing her with its easy kiss. She smiled, relieved that she was once again herself.

  She glanced at a clock as she jogged up the stairs, seeing it was already noon. Yawning, she scratched her belly underneath her T-shirt. With a frown, she noticed the spot of blood on the edge. She scraped at it absently as she walked.

  Suddenly, she froze. Footsteps sounded steadily overhead. Hathor held her breath. Little by little, she made her way through the formal dining room to the front hall. The hall was empty. Her heart pounded in fear, the organ jumping in her throat. She wondered if the other vampires sent their human cohorts to come after her during the day when Servaes couldn’t save her.

  With a ragged breath, she edged her way toward the door. Her bare feet slid over the cold marble tiles as she moved. Again, she heard a noise. Hathor jumped, running for the large front door. Her fingers grasped at the handle, about to throw it open.

  “Miss Hathor? That you, deary?”

  Hathor sighed in overwhelming relief. Looking up, she saw Mrs. Quaken, her aunt’s housekeeper. She let go of the front door.

  “Are you just getting home, love?” the elderly woman asked with a smile. Her round face shone with curiosity, though not accusingly so. Her spherical hairdo was a darker shade of her aunt’s style—round and puffy. Over her slender body she wore the old style dress of a maid’s uniform.

  “Ah, yeah. Yes, I am. I’m sorry. I meant to leave you a note that I would be gone,” Hathor lied. She absently counted the days in her head. Yes, it was Tuesday, the day for the housekeeper to be there. That meant the cleaning crew would be all over the top two floors. Suddenly, she thought of the mess she’d left in the hall, and the bloodied shirt on the bathroom floor.

  “Have you been here long?” Hathor asked carefully. She tried to act nonchalant as she climbed the stairs.

  “Just got here a few minutes ago. I had trouble with some of the staff and was only able to bring a couple of the girls with me,” the woman answered. As Hathor drew nearer, she saw the worried lines on the housekeeper’s face that she tried to hide. “I must admit, I was a bit alarmed when I came up here to start directing the girls.”

  Hathor looked down the hall. She saw the drawn faces of two women in matching black and gray uniforms. One was dark, with skin the color of mocha, the other a blonde woman with freckles across her taut face. They hung back as Hathor stepped forward. Thinking quickly, Hathor exclaimed, “Oh, my goodness. The house must look a mess.”

  The two maids nodded, their ponytails shaking vigorously in confirmation.

  “I wasn’t sure if we should touch the bloody shirt.” Mrs. Quaken stepped forward to Hathor as if to see if she was indeed not murdered as they first suspected.

  “I tried to get home in time to pick up. You didn’t call my aunt, did you? I wouldn’t want her to worry about me.” Hathor waited while Mrs. Quaken shook her head in denial. “Oh, good, she has so much on her mind. I know how bad it must look.”

  Hathor managed a smile. She leaned easily against the railing. Her eyes darted to the floor where she and Servaes had lain during their dreamy journey. Hurriedly, she looked for blood. There was none.

  “So you are all right then, love?” Mrs. Quaken inquired, her tone probing. The woman’s green eyes begged Hathor to explain.

  Hathor turned her gaze downward, hoping they wouldn’t detect her lie. “You see, my boyfriend is in the theatre—very new age, avant-garde stuff. Well, last night one of the actresses quit right before they were to begin, and I was compelled to fill in for her. To make a long story short, this machine they used to pump red dye that looks and feels like blood went haywire. The thing spurted blood-like gunk all over my new white linen shirt.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Quaken put forth, nodding her head at the strange explanation.

  “Everyone was upset, and it ruined the whole production,” Hathor continued, her lies coming easier as she got going. “So, to smooth things over with the manager of the club, we agreed to do a late night performance for free at this other club he owns. I asked one of the girls to drive me home. I took a fast shower and changed, leaving that awful-looking shirt on the bathroom floor so it wouldn’t stain the carpets. Then, in our rush to get out the door, this same girl knocks over that vase. In truth I think she was drinking when I was in the shower because I saw a flask fall out of her purse later.”

  “Well, that is quite something,” Mrs. Quaken said. “But I suppose it does explain things.”

  “I’m just sorry I didn’t remember to leave a note. I hate to think what you thought was going on. I mean, to find the house a mess, with a bloody shirt on the bathroom floor and no one around.” Hathor shook her head in mock pity. Mrs. Quaken’s nodding turned solemn. Hathor smiled at her, relieved the maid so readily believed her.

  “Yes, it was quite disconcerting. Though I do confess, I didn’t find the shirt. But this vase…I was very close to calling the bobbies,” Mrs. Quaken said, thinking of London’s police. “But it’s explained and over with now. Come, girls, we have work we must tend to.”

  Well, it could have happened, Hathor thought with only a bit of guilt. Besides, it is more believable than the fact I was bitten by a vampire, and then saved by another who is asleep in the basement. But please leave the sweet creature alone. I love him and would hate to find a stake in his heart when I go to wake him up. Oh, and by the way, would any of you like to be his supper tonight?

  Hathor tried to hide her sarcastic laugh as the words filtered through her head. Mrs. Quaken turned, ordering the two girls about like a gentle drill
sergeant. Hathor made her way past them to the bathroom.

  “Miss Hathor?”

  Hathor wearily pasted another smile to her lips as she turned.

  “Would you like me to try to bleach out your shirt?” the housekeeper inquired.

  “No, thank you. I’ll tend to it later. You have enough work to do.” Hathor sighed with relief as the woman disappeared into one of the guest chambers, a basket of cleaning supplies clutched firmly in her hands.

  Hiding herself in the bathroom, Hathor sank to the floor. She buried her face in her hands. The bloodstained linen shirt lay where she’d left it, beyond repair. With a small, weary sound of defeat, she grabbed it.

  “What am I to do now?” she whispered in despair. No one answered.

  Servaes knew the moment Hathor awoke. Her breath had caught in her throat. His body lurched as she ran her fingers over his face in a tenderly searching caress. He longed to open his mouth to bite the sweet flesh of her wrist. He wanted to press kisses up her arm, make love to her in the confines of his coffin where she wouldn’t be able to escape.

  Disappointed, he watched her leave through barely opened eyes. Her beautiful oval face searched his for signs of pain as she opened the lid. When she closed him in, he caught a brief glimpse of her slender form as she turned away.

  Servaes let her go, not trying to stop her. He couldn’t chase her through the day if she ran. She was a creature of the daylight, her mortality restored to her. She could again walk in the sun, free of his limitations.

  Come the night he would be able to find her. Hathor would never be able to escape him. It was too late for that. He needed her. He wanted her. She was his and, for better or worse, she would remain as such. Closing his eyes, he ignored the pain and the guilt that consumed his chest and possessed his soul, as he fell back into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Hathor poured herself a cup of hot water, dipping the tea bag into the fine china cup. Mrs. Quaken had boiled the water for her, insisting she drink some tea to chase away her rough night. Not wanting to be rude, but desperately wishing the cup held coffee instead, Hathor obliged.

  Opening the cabinet beneath the sink, Hathor threw the bag in the trash. The maids had finished with the upstairs chores and were, the last time she checked, scrubbing the floor of the main hall. Taking a sip of the hot liquid, Hathor gazed out the window. Again her thoughts turned to the handsome vampire sleeping in the basement.

  “Ahh!”

  Hathor jumped as she heard a terrified screech come up the stairwell. Her heart leaped into her throat. She hadn’t heard the maid venture into the basement. Tearing down the steps, she ran directly for Servaes’ room. The dark housekeeper’s widened eyes instantly found hers in horror. The other women raced down the stairs behind her. Hathor glanced around. The hallway lights were on, as was the light in Servaes’ room. The floor had been mopped half way up from the back. A vacuum sat close to the terrified woman.

  “Are you hurt?” Hathor asked.

  “No, miss.” The maid pointed a shaking finger to the bedroom. Her mouth worked without making much more than a squeak.

  Hathor sighed in relief as she looked at the woman’s unharmed neck. The unfortunate maid hadn’t opened Servaes’ coffin, or else she wouldn’t have been standing there alive.

  “What is going on here, Catherine?” Mrs. Quaken inquired from behind. “What is all that noise?”

  “A c-coffin, miss,” Catherine stuttered, still pointing her shaking finger to the bedroom.

  “Oh,” Hathor stated, feigning great relief. “Is that all?”

  The girl’s rounded eyes were lit with fear as she looked at Hathor in disbelief.

  “It’s a prop,” Hathor explained. She walked past the frozen housekeeper into the bedroom. Seeing the coffin unopened on the bed, she forced an easy smile to her face. Crossing over to the bed, she placed her hand on top of the black lid to show them there was nothing to fear. Instantly, a shock ran up her spine. She felt Servaes beneath the lid, his hand lifting within to lie beneath hers.

  “It’s all right,” she thought, directing the words at him. She didn’t have to wait long to know if he could hear her.

  “Send them away.” She detected his gruff answer in her head. His accent sent chills over her. She cleared her throat lightly. Smiling at the three women who stared at her, she patted the coffin lightly to enunciate her words.

  “I told you my boyfriend was in the theatre—” Hathor began, carefully preparing more of her lies.

  “Boyfriend?” Servaes mocked. She tried not to listen to him, his deep, sultry tone echoed in her mind, rich with amusement. The sound made her shake with longing.

  “—and he needed to store a few things here. This coffin is a prop for a vampire he pretends to be.”

  “Pretends, mademoiselle? Do you need further proof?” Servaes’ chuckling remarks irritated her, making her lose her train of thought. “Crawl back in here and let me show you—”

  “Quiet, or I will lift the lid myself,” she threatened. The maids watched her face contort into a strange frown only to instantly turn back into a sweet smile.

  “But, it’s a coffin, miss,” Catherine mumbled.

  “I know. I didn’t think to tell you earlier. I honestly forgot it was down here. Just tell me what needs to be done. I will straighten up this room,” Hathor offered. “I can see you are unsettled by its presence.”

  Servaes’ laughter grew quieter. Hathor tried not to make her smile too bright as she looked expectantly at the woman. Her hand balled into a fist, desperately wanting to strike the lid to shut the irritating creature up completely and get him out of her thoughts.

  Mrs. Quaken mumbled under her breath about having too much to do to be standing around gawking at a casket. She ordered the blonde girl to go upstairs and finish her work. As they left, Hathor heard the girl whisper, “Theater folk sure are fascinating.”

  “I just have to dust and vacuum, miss,” Catherine said carefully, after a strange silence passed.

  “I’ll do it,” Hathor smiled. “You go to the next bedroom or finish up whatever else you need to do down here. And don’t worry. I’ll explain everything to my aunt. She won’t have any complaints.”

  “All right.” Catherine gave a wary look at the coffin, but did as Hathor suggested.

  Hathor sighed when the housekeeper was gone. She glared playfully at Servaes’ box and made a face he couldn’t see. She could still hear him chuckling.

  “Jerk,” she shot at him.

  “What? You’re the one who said I was your boyfriend.” Hathor heard the innocent tease in his thoughts. “Now, lock the bedroom door and come in here with me. I want to show you something.”

  “There is no way I am getting in there with you. And if you open the lid, you will be blasted with so much sunlight the house will explode,” Hathor directed back.

  “Ma chère,” he pleaded, “please come in. I want to prove to you how real I am.”

  Walking over to the coffin, she tapped her finger on the black top as she mumbled under her breath, “You owe me one, Servaes. Now I am stuck cleaning when I’d much rather be upstairs staring aimlessly out my window.”

  “Miss?” Catherine called, inquiringly.

  “Nothing,” Hathor sang back as cheerfully as she could muster.

  “Come back in here, chéri, and I will make it up to you,” he offered. His accent grew thick and husky. She felt his hand stir beneath her palm.

  She imagined his boyish grin as the words rolled out of his mind, but the eyes she thought of were more human than vampire. She froze, realizing what she was doing. She flirted with a man who no longer existed. The Servaes she loved was dead. Or was he? She was so confused. He ran his finger underneath her palm, lightly tracing the pattern of her hand. She felt him as sure as if there was nothing between them.

  Drawing her hand away, she grabbed the vacuum and plugged it into the wall with unsure hands. She then grabbed a dust cloth lying outside
the door in a basket. Spraying some dusting spray on the rag, she hurriedly swiped the wood.

  “Are you frightened of me, ma petite? Are you afraid I will bite you?” His words were still playful, but unmistakably full of promise. The thoughts were followed by silence. When she refused to answer, he directed, “I will have you, one way or another, Hathor. You can’t hide from me. The sunlight will not last forever.”

  “Come out here and say that to my face,” she challenged. Her tone was a bit harsh as she swiped furiously at the wood. She couldn’t forget the country life he’d shown her. It tore at her chest. When he didn’t answer, she growled hotly at him, “That is what I thought, monsieur.”

  She grabbed the vacuum, turning it on. The noise drowned out anything he might say. She pushed it over the carpet haphazardly, doing her best to stay calm.

  Finishing the floor, Hathor grabbed the rag and threw it into the basket. She shut off the vacuum, pulling the plug out of the wall by the cord. Quickly, she pushed it from the room.

  “I’ll see you tonight, Hathor,” he told her in promise. She refused to answer. There was a deep assurance in his words, but also a grave sadness. Hathor abruptly shut the door with a hard snap. With a few words to the maid ordering her to stay out of the room, she ran up the stairs, as far away from the vampire as she could manage.

  Inside his prison of darkness, Servaes glared at the lid. His fingers still traced where her hand had rested above him. He didn’t dare enter the sunlight to follow her, no matter how badly he wanted to.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The day crept along with a tormenting slowness, full of anticipation and worry. The housekeepers finished their work at Kennington House, leaving quickly with few words. Hathor knew they thought her strange, but didn’t care.

  During the day, Hathor tried to feel safe. She knew the vampires slept and wouldn’t come looking for her so long as the sun shone. If she stayed locked in the house, she could assure herself no human consort would come to get her. The assurance did little good. Shadows made her jump, and the slightest movements of tree branches against the howling wind caused her to stiffen in trepidation.