He shook his head. “All lies, my sweet, lies Elizabeth planted in your memory. She shared the power of the Brisingamen necklace with me. But she was so very angry, because she could not steal back my heart . . . from you. I’m alive and well. Come to me, my love.”
“Ambrose,” Vivian cried, falling into Victor’s embrace, holding him tightly. “You’re alive and well.”
He stroked Vivian’s hair and kissed her head, whispering gentle words in her ear. Mercy’s stomach turned at the sight of their joined bodies. The nightmare was not over. Not unless she found the strength to kill Vivian. She would covet Victor, as Elizabeth had done. Mercy met his gaze over Vivian’s shoulder, and he nodded.
His eyes glistened with tears, filled with the anguish of someone who fully comprehended what it meant to kill against one’s will. He trusted her to save them, as she trusted him.
“Everything will be all right,” he cooed, offering her strength through his steady gaze.
Tears streamed down her face as she raised her arm, taking aim. Please forgive me, Freya. She drove the stake through Vivian’s back, straight through her heart. The vampire’s body shuddered, and she fell limp in Victor’s arms. He laid Vivian’s lifeless form aside and pulled Mercy into his embrace.
“It’s over,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Our nightmare is finally over.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Vapor whirled from the cauldron, filling Victor’s nostrils with the sweet, floral scent of passion flower and chamomile. He inhaled the soothing mixture while handing Mercy a teapot.
“You’re certain this will eliminate Cora’s nightmares?” he asked, rubbing his weary eyes. “My poor sister hasn’t slept more than a wink in the past forty-eight hours. She cannot continue this way indefinitely.”
Mercy ladled her concoction into the container, careful not to spill a single drop. Passion flowers were a rare find in Scotland, and they’d been fortunate to discover the treasure growing in the conservatory.
“I promise Cora will sleep like a babe,” she said, peering at him. “The tea will also calm her nerves while she’s awake, so please don’t worry anymore. Your sister was so brave in the crypt. If she hadn’t fed Vivian the blood . . . Well, best not to think on it. Offering her an elixir is the least I can do. You might benefit from a cup or two.”
Victor cradled her from behind, resting his chin on her head while he rubbed her belly. He wanted to memorize every curve, experience every little change in her body as their babe grew.
“You’re a talented woman,” he said. “I’m glad we have a workroom already set up for your pleasure. Perhaps someday you’ll teach me more about all of these gadgets. But in the meantime, would you accept Vivian’s scrying bowl as a gift? Yours was destroyed. I want you to have it. My mother and father agree it is yours to keep.”
She looked at the bowl and shook her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. The bowl belongs here, in this room. When we come to live here in the future, I will use it from time to time. But for now, I have no great desire to practice witchcraft beyond my herbal remedies.”
He nodded and transferred the full teapot onto a tray before following Mercy out of the chamber. “Either way, consider it yours to do with as you wish. And what of the necklace and the stone? What shall we do with those?”
She looped her arm through his and steered him through her closet and the Golden Room toward the hallway. “I’m undecided, but I’m of a mind to at least hear your family’s opinion on the matter, even if only to make them feel as though they have a say.”
He chuckled, and they wound their way down the staircase. “Intelligent woman. I knew there was a reason I wished to marry you.”
They entered the parlor and discovered a cozy scene. His mother and father sat on one sofa, directly opposite Cora, Stuart, and Aidan, who were perched on another sofa. A jewelry box lay open between them on the coffee table.
After setting the tray on a side table, Victor gazed upon the Brisingamen necklace while Mercy poured Cora a cup of tea. The heirloom was displayed in its velvet-lined case for all of their party to admire while they debated what to do with the treasure.
“Ah, you’re finally here,” Cora said, lifting the box for close inspection. “You’ve avoided the worst of the debate, and I don’t wish to rehash the particulars. Well, I vote we donate the necklace to the Hunterian Museum. Even if we do not divulge the history of the piece, it is more than four hundred years old and worthy of showcasing.”
His father stood and paced in front of the fireplace, his face pinched in disbelief. “This matter is not up for discussion. That jewel is a family heirloom, and as head of the Blackburn clan, the decision lies with me. We’re keeping it in the family vault along with the amber stone, and that’s final.”
Victor caught Mercy’s gaze, and her brow lifted.
“Father, you may decide the fate of the amber stone,” he said, sighing. “That I grant you. But the Brisingamen necklace was to be passed down Elizabeth Thorne’s family line. As such, it belongs wholly to Mercy. We only opened the matter to discussion because we value everyone’s opinion, and you’ve made your thoughts quite clear. I should like to hear what my brother-in-law thinks.”
Stuart cradled his son on the sofa. “I’m in agreement with my dear wife. Some treasures, like the people you love, are invaluable and belong at home, while others are best suited for museums. Family heirloom or not, there is too much bad karma associated with the necklace. I wouldn’t care to keep it on my property.”
“Bad karma, indeed,” Victor said.
He was of the same opinion, but it wasn’t his decision to make. Still, the idea of the necklace falling into the wrong hands sent a shudder through him. One thing was certain: they must never let it be known they possessed the fabled treasure.
“And you, Mother?” Victor asked, putting her on the spot. “Which side of the coin do you favor?”
She rubbed her neck and peered at the diamond centerpiece. “I’m in favor of wearing it,” she said, smiling. “Jewelry is meant to be worn, and a piece that offers both youth and beauty? Yes, I say it should be worn.”
Mercy giggled and shook her head. “Well, we are no closer to a decision than when we started.”
“What say you?” Victor asked, wrapping his arms around Mercy from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. “It’s your necklace.”
She leaned into his embrace and hummed. “Perhaps I should consult Cecelia’s wishes when she arrives for the wedding. She is also a descendant of Elizabeth. And until I make a decision, I would appreciate it if you kept it safe in the Blackburn family vault.”
Father grinned and bowed. “As you wish.”
“Well, I’m grateful to have my brother back again and finally safe,” Cora said, standing. “And we look forward to celebrating your nuptials in two weeks together with Aidan’s christening. But we leave early in the morning for our home, so we must seek our beds.”
“We will join you in retiring,” Mother said, holding her hand out to Father. “Good night, all.”
When the parlor door closed behind his family, and he was alone with Mercy at last, Victor pulled her close, nuzzling her ear. “Tomorrow, Stuart will take his family home, and it occurs to me that we have none.”
“Wherever you are is home,” she said, finding his lips. “Are we very poor, then? We might choose to sell the Brisingamen necklace, if you wish. Or I can open a shop in London and sell my potions.”
Laughter rumbled in his chest as he nibbled along her jaw. “We are far from poor. I only meant to say I’ve never invested in a property. My father is in excellent health, so Blackburn Castle will not be ours for quite some time. Where shall we raise our family?”
“There is Woodland Hall, my childhood home,” she said, lifting a brow. “My uncle rented it out years ago. But I still own the estate. We could build a home there if you wish it.”
He breathed deep and shook his head. “Only if you feel strongly,” he said, cradling
her face. “I love you and wish you to be happy. But, for my part, I would much prefer we start fresh. Woodland Hall holds only sad memories for me.”
She pecked his lips. “There are many properties to let in Devil’s Cove. You would be near Dominick, and I could be close to my aunt and uncle. Eveline has also become a dear friend of mine.”
“A fine idea,” he said, sweeping her into his arms. He gazed into her beautiful eyes, so full of happiness, and smiled, feeling happy himself. “But no more talk of homes. I’m famished and wish for a slice of apple tart.”
He strode through the parlor door and continued up the main staircase. Mercy giggled and held on tightly to his neck.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said, “but the kitchen is on the main floor. Though difficult, I managed to hide two slices of your birthday tart in the pantry, far away from Milton’s sweet tooth.”
Victor laughed as he pushed the door to his bedroom open then kicked it closed. “I’m more interested in eating another kind of apple tart altogether.”
Her eyebrow arced. “Are you referring to me?”
“I am.”
He set her down and unbuttoned her gown swiftly. She shimmied out of her clothes and turned in his embrace. Her cheeks flushed red, and she worked his shirt out of his pants with alarming efficiency.
“But you cannot eat me,” she said, her voice husky. “You said you were famished.”
He backed her up to the bed and lowered her against the coverlet. She scrambled away, and he gave chase. “Oh, but I can eat you. And I most certainly will.”
She squealed and giggled and slapped his hands away as he spread her thighs. He laughed and crawled up her body, kissing every delectable inch until he reached her mouth. His tongue dipped inside, and he tasted her sweetness, groaning with the sheer pleasure of it.
“Shall we make some magic?” he asked, cupping her cheek.
She nodded. “Every night of our lives.”
Epilogue
One month later . . .
Mercy skipped to the end of the dock and waved goodbye to Eveline’s and Dominick’s receding figures as My Saving Grace departed Devil’s Cove wharf. Their wedding had been a simple but lovely affair, and now they were off to Italy for their honeymoon.
“Well, Mrs. Blackburn, soon to be mother of my child,” Victor said, hugging her from behind. “Have you decided where we might honeymoon before you become too fat? The Savior is at our disposal. Say the word, and we shall be off for faraway lands.”
Giggling, she turned her face to the sky, soaking in warm rays of sunshine. The world was a vast playground, and she had visited none of it outside of the mainland. Perhaps if Victor would help direct her decision, they could have departed today as well.
“I’ve yet to decide,” she said, sighing. “How am I to choose only one destination when I’ve seen nothing of the world?”
Victor kissed her head and chuckled. “You’re a greedy wench.”
“Then it is good you’re rich and own three ships.”
He swatted her bottom. “Is that why you married me? Well, I’m sorry to report that I don’t own a single one of them. They all belong to Dominick. Though he’ll be selling The Red Lady as soon as he can find a buyer.”
Mercy looped her arm through Victor’s, and they strolled down the dock, in the direction of The Black Serpent, where they were to lunch with Henry and Cecelia.
“Why does he want to sell the ship?”
Victor glanced down at her and hesitated. “Because it was previously named The Bloody Mary.”
Oh, goodness. Her uncle’s ship. The one Victor was bound to for years in the Butcher’s service.
“Dominick kept it as a reminder of his mother’s betrayal—to fuel the fire, so to speak. But all is forgiven, if not forgotten. The ship has served its purpose. It is time to let it go.”
“That is where you met Dominick and Hatchet?” Mercy asked. “While serving together on The Bloody Mary?”
Hatchet fell into step with them, flanking Mercy’s other side. “That’s a genteel way of describing our years aboard the ship,” he said. “Dominick and Victor were already fast friends before I enlisted as part of the crew.”
She could not have heard him correctly. “Enlisted? Daft man! Why would you voluntarily join my uncle’s crew?”
“Because it offered me the best opportunity to murder the bastard,” Hatchet said, meeting her gaze. Anger burned bright in the depths of his eyes. “Unfortunately, Dominick beat me to the task. Begging your pardon, I know he was your kin.”
“You needn’t apologize,” she said, patting his arm. “The man was a swine. What did the blackguard do to earn your ire, if I may ask?”
Hatchet’s jaw tightened, and he stared straight ahead. “He plundered one of my father’s merchant ships en route from Boston to New Orleans.”
“Horrible man,” she said, shuddering. “Did he ruin your father’s shipping business? Is that why you wished him dead?”
Hatchet’s gaze flickered to Victor in a silent plea. He wasn’t telling her the whole story. What could be so terrible that he wished to keep it a secret? But knowing her uncle . . .
“Tell me,” she said, swallowing past her fear. “After witnessing the death of my parents at his hands, whatever it is you have to say will not shock me.”
Victor regarded her closely before nodding his assent. He gripped her hand tighter, offering his quiet support.
“My betrothed was on that ship, making the final journey from her home to mine. After emptying the ship of its cargo, the Butcher raped my betrothed and then set the ship on fire with everyone still aboard.” Hatchet’s voice wavered, and he paused to clear his throat. “A few men survived and shared the tale. The Butcher doused my beloved’s dress with kerosene and used her as kindling to set the fire.”
Mercy’s stomach lurched, and she held her hand over her mouth. She should’ve known better than to inquire. Firsthand experience had taught her everything she needed to know of her uncle’s character. “If I could undo the past and kill the bastard myself, I would. No one deserves to be subjected to such misery.”
“Whether I deserve it or not, it seems to be my plight,” Hatchet said, trudging on with a bowed head. “It appears Victor isn’t the only one suffering under a family curse.”
Victor dropped hold of Mercy’s hand and came to a stop in the middle of the dock. “What are you saying? I’ve never heard you speak of a curse before.”
“That’s because I didn’t choose to believe in it,” Hatchet said, staring out to sea. “But with two of my intended brides dead, I can no longer ignore the possibility that it is true.”
Victor tilted his head, regarding his friend closely. “Are you serious, man?”
“Dead serious,” Hatchet said. He rubbed the base of his neck and met Victor’s gaze. “Ever heard of Marie Catherine Laveau? She’s infamous in my hometown.”
Mercy’s pulse quickened. Hatchet hailed from New Orleans. Marie was well-known in the world of witches; stories of the woman’s abilities had reached London years ago. Mercy had read an article on the witch once in the Chatterbox. “More commonly known as the Voodoo Queen.”
“The very one,” Hatchet said. “I’ve heard whispers she cursed my family, but I never took it seriously. Ignorant, selfish mistake.” He handed Victor a letter. “Anyway, I must beg a favor of you. My father has written that my mother is ill, and he requests my return to New Orleans. With Dominick away on My Saving Grace, I would like to depart on The Savior. If you haven’t settled on a destination for your honeymoon and would not mind postponing it until I return, that is.”
“You purposely waited until Dominick and Eveline left to divulge this bit of news,” Victor said, pinning his friend with an ominous glare. “He’ll be furious when he finds out.”
“Don’t look at me that way,” Hatchet said, glaring back. “Yes, I waited. They have been through hell and deserve to enjoy their honeymoon. I’m only going to visit my ailing mother. My lif
e isn’t in danger.”
A sudden, chill wind whipped up, and Mercy shivered. Where had the warmth of the sun gone? She looked skyward to find clouds rolling in.
Victor lifted his brow. “Are you sure, mate?”
“It’s the women in my life who die,” Hatchet said, gazing down at his boots. “Not me. My fate is to suffer the pain of their loss.”
Victor glanced at Mercy, and she read his intent. He wished to accompany his friend home. As he should. Hatchet had stood by him through his ordeal with the Blackburn curse, and now Hatchet was facing hard times. She nodded.
“Still, I would join you all the same,” Victor said, clasping Hatchet’s shoulder.
“No, we will join you,” she amended, smiling. “New Orleans sounds like a wonderful city to visit for a honeymoon. I’ve never been to America.”
“Do I have a choice in the matter?” Hatchet asked, his mouth turned down in a grim frown.
Victor laughed, and they resumed walking. “None at all. Let’s go drink to a safe voyage and New Orleans.”
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my editor, Julie Sturgeon, for her guidance and exceptional ability to navigate the maze of complicated plots I devise. She trims away the fat so the heart of the story can shine through. Though painful for an author, the end result is fabulous. Many thanks to those who invested their time to beta read my story and provide excellent insight and suggestions, especially my critique partner, Sawyer Belle.
About the Author
R.C. Matthews was raised in the Metro Detroit area along with three sisters and a brother by deaf parents. Her father is a voracious reader, and that gene lives on in all of his children. Now the reading gene is sprouting in her own two sons, who love to read J.K. Rowling, Rick Riordan, and many others. She enjoys traveling with her family (loving husband, two sons, and a stepson), reading, downhill skiing, and playing board games.
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