A Vampire's Rise

by Vanessa Fewings

  “I kind of like the new me.” I smiled. “Always being right has its privileges.” I leaned in and kissed her. “Take Rachel out and teach her.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Marcus and I are going out.”

  “Perhaps it’s Marcus I should be jealous of.”

  I spun Sunaria round and spanked her. “I’m watching you.”

  Chapter 45

  I ENTERED MARCUS’ BEDROOM and he turned to face me.

  I climbed onto his four poster bed and lay beside him. “I’m considering purchasing several more properties,” I said. “Safe houses around the city.”

  Marcus nodded, half-distracted.

  I lay on my side. “Perhaps you could help me find appropriate residences?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Are you?”

  “If I’m going to help you find Jacob.”

  I moved closer to him and pressed my wrist against his mouth. “This is what he looks like.”

  Marcus’ bite felt gentle, lapping, he took just enough to envision Jacob, the purest images passed on through my blood. He fell back and gazed up at the ceiling.

  “Are you all right?” I asked softly.

  He looked shaken but blissful. I sucked on my wrist, licking the remaining drops as the fang bites dissipated and my taste buds tingled. I glanced over, but Marcus avoided making eye contact.

  I studied him. “Did you see enough?”

  He nodded and sat up, having not only glimpsed my son, but also experienced me. Disquieted, his desire for more left him blushing, aroused. He shifted away from me.

  Trying to make it easier for him, I subdued a smile, all the while listening to him stumble over his thoughts. An endearing crush, cravings ignited. I’d stirred a vampire’s nature. I offered him my wrist again.

  “I should be going.” He let out a deep sigh.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your blood, it makes me feel . . .” He pressed his hand against his chest.

  “Makes you feel . . . ?”

  He climbed off the bed and stared back at me, full of desire.

  I arched an eyebrow. “As good as that?”

  Marcus quick footed it out the door.

  * * * *

  Waiting for Sunaria, I sat in the living room, warming myself before the roaring fireplace, though it had no effect.

  Despite the fact that Marcus had taken my place tonight, making good on his promise, I couldn’t help but feel that I should also be out there scouring the city streets. Melancholy lingered like an unwelcome guest.

  Sunaria entered. She’d dressed in a gentleman’s attire, handsome, but masculine.

  I rose to greet her. “I’m taking you out for a romantic night and you dress like that?”

  “I thought you’d like it.” Hands on her hips, she studied me. “You won’t tell me where we’re going.”

  “Your blue dress, wear that.”

  “It’s safer to dress as a man.”

  “You’re a vampire for God’s sake. It doesn’t get any safer.”

  “If we’re going to be flying over roofs!”

  “We’re not. Change, now.”

  “I saw Marcus before he left,” she said sharply. “What went on between you?”

  “I know I’m a flirt but that’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. Come here.”

  She stood her ground.

  “Look, I just showed him Jacob, that’s all. Marcus is out there searching for him so that I can be with you tonight.” I approached her. “Come here.” I wrapped my arms around her.

  “Why do you close your mind to me?” She stiffened. “I should be able to probe the secret out of you, but no, you’re keeping all sorts of things from me.”

  “One of the benefits of sucking a Status Regal dry is that you learn new tricks. Now get changed.”

  “Not until you tell me the surprise.”

  “That’s why it’s called a bloody surprise, woman.”

  Sunaria stormed out.

  I shouted after her, “You have ten minutes.”

  * * * *

  Sunaria reappeared wearing her blue empire line gown, with elegant sweeping floor-length sleeves. Her seamstress had designed the dress to complement her small waist and emphasize her breasts. A European twist on the English fashion, enhanced by the deep bordeaux lined cape, bestowing a classic style. I’d donned my dark trousers and luxurious velvet jacket. Black on a man provides an air of mystery, but also ensures ease in mingling with the crowd and disappearing into it if needed. London’s streets were at times so choked with shadows that if I stepped back into a doorway, I’d become invisible.

  At night, Fleet Street teemed with well-dressed pedestrians, and along the newly constructed roads rumbled fine-looking carriages, taking their wealthy passengers home after a day of wheeling and dealing, or for the lucky few, after an afternoon of frivolous entertainment.

  Sunaria and I strolled hand in hand, taking in the fresher air found in this part of town. We experienced many lingering stares from passersby, though we proceeded on regardless with our heads down, ignoring them all.

  I resisted pulling Sunaria down a dark alley, wanting nothing more than to pleasure her. Aware of my long strides, I slowed my pace. She enjoyed me taking the lead, as only a strong woman can. Our lessening arguments were a sign she’d stopped vying for dominance.

  We turned down Bouverie Street, heading in the direction of Temple Avenue, and the breeze from the Thames reached us. We stopped before an English townhouse. The exterior brickwork was interlaced with wooden beams, and upon the roof rested the tallest chimney. Judging by the dark windows, the residents were not at home. Just a little way back from the house on the estate stood a smaller structure, a white-washed, one-room building to the side of the property, that looked over the Thames.

  I guided Sunaria around to the side entrance and shoved her up against it. “Don’t move,” I whispered.

  I withdrew a small strip of black velvet material from my inner coat pocket and used it as a blindfold on her. I spun her round to face me, savoring the excitement I’d stirred in her, delighted by her quickening. Sunaria was breathing fast, her bosom rising and falling with arousal.

  “Stay here,” I ordered her.

  She nodded.

  The room was pitch black. At the center of the farthest wall was the only window. I approached and drew back the curtain to let in the moonlight. I found a box of matches and lit the first of twelve candles, trying not to be drawn in by the striking display.

  Sunaria was where I’d left her, and she’d obediently kept the velvet strip over her eyes. Taking her hand, I led her into the center of the room and then waited, feeling her excitement building.

  I nuzzled close, and then loosened the blindfold, and it fell.

  Sunaria let out a sigh.

  We were surrounded by thirty or so paintings of sunsets and sunrises. Sunaria stepped forward, awestruck, admiring the large canvas before us, a rendering of daybreak over the Thames, with its lush yellows, oranges, and deepest golds, an exuberant mixture of colors and textures, a glorious array, a magnificent depiction.

  She suppressed a sob.

  The painting shimmered, reflecting light from the quivering candles.

  “I don’t know anything about art,” I spoke quietly. “But this is like seeing it for real.”

  Sunaria’s fingertips hovered near the canvas, respectfully not touching, but lingering close. We marveled at the way the artist had duplicated the finest details, and we both sighed in wonder.

  “Let’s commission him,” I said. “His name’s Alberto Ceravassio.”

  “He’s Venetian?”

  “I believe so.”

  Sunaria was joyful.

  Sharing this moment with her made me burn with pride. “I knew you’d like it.”

  “The family in that house provides this studio for him?” she asked.

  I nodded. “In return, he paints.”r />
  “They sell his paintings?”

  “Yes, and I imagine he gets hardly anything for them.”

  “That’s a shame.” Sunaria sighed. “Still, the high paying aristocracy probably double what the Vatican offers.”

  “The Church considers painting for them a privilege, therefore they pay little.”

  “How did you find him?”

  “Marcus visited artist’s row near the Strand. He met the painter and admired his work. Cervassio told him about his studio here.”

  “I love my surprise.” Sunaria reached up and planted kisses on my cheek.

  I smiled at her. “And I love you.”

  “Even after everything?”

  “Lucky for you I’m obsessed with you.” I squeezed her into me. “Can’t get enough of you.”

  “I promise that I’ll never disappoint you again.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  She snuggled into my neck and then leaned up and kissed my lips. “I’m rather enjoying London.”

  “If you’re willing to brave the unknown,” I added, “it’s certainly not boring.”

  Chapter 46

  THE FULL MOON LIT UP the night sky, making up for the few low lying clouds. A storm threatened to break at any moment.

  The carriage lumbered along London’s well-worn streets, providing its passengers, Marcus and I, with a dramatic view of the shifting landscapes as we both gazed out of the window, deep in thought.

  My mind was on Jacob. I hoped that my son had found somewhere warm and safe to shelter. It was still difficult for me to think of him somewhere out there, alone. The sprawling city was an impossible place to find a small boy.

  Marcus sensed my melancholy, and broke the silence. “I’ve always wondered what it felt like to be in one of these.”

  With his hair tied back and his new attire, he’d completely transformed his appearance and, like me, he now passed for a wealthy gentleman.

  “Do you think we’ll ever see the Creda again?” he asked.

  “I’m more concerned about Archer.”

  “Why?”

  “He warned me to get out of London.”

  “That’s strange.” Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “I thought they wanted us all dead.”

  “Must have impressed him with my charm.” I sighed. “What if Jacob doesn’t recognize me?”

  “A son always knows his father.”

  The homes had gone from small shacks to luxurious residences in a matter of minutes. The tower of London loomed large in the distance.

  “Sunaria’s not happy that we’re living with you, is she?” Marcus watched my response.

  “She’ll get over it.” I avoided his gaze.

  Our carriage swerved to miss a small, black dog. The animal yelped and bolted down a back alley, and the horseman quickly regained control of our spooked horses.

  “You didn’t even flinch.” Marcus still clutched the seat.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Do you really believe we’re immortal?” he asked. “Come on.” He laughed. “I mean really?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how old are you?”

  “Thirty.”

  “How long have you been . . . thirty?”

  “About six years.”

  “I’m not half as impressed now.” He smiled.

  I focused on the pedestrians, and tried to extract a thought, or some sense of who they were before they disappeared from sight. My mind braved revisiting a disturbing memory, one that I’d buried deep, but now felt compelled to reveal to Marcus. A monstrous recollection that I hoped he could cope with as I now disclosed it to him.

  Marcus’ smile faded as he picked up on my ruminations. “You drank from Lilly and . . .” He sank back in his seat, devastated.

  “I assumed if I told you in a speeding carriage, you wouldn’t jump out, and you’d have no choice but to hear my side.”

  “Delacroix forced you to do it?”

  I nodded. “Still, I deserve your hate.”

  He reached forward and rested his hand on my knee, and in that moment, we shared something unexpected, a mutual understanding that went beyond the physical.

  He looked away, embarrassed that he’d revealed such affection. “I still can’t quite believe that we can avoid . . .”

  “Death’s sting.” I tilted my head and smiled at him. “The Stone Masters believe that we can reform from ash.”

  “Really?”

  “Outlandish, I know.”

  Marcus stared out of the window again.

  I followed his gaze. “The self-discovery seems unending.”

  “Will God ever forgive us?”

  “Probably you more than me.”

  “You didn’t choose this life?”

  “No, but I revel in the dark.”

  “You like being this?” He looked surprised.

  I shrugged. “I find that I do.”

  “How old is Sunaria?”

  “You better ask her.”

  He chuckled to himself.

  “I want to open an orphanage,” I said.

  “Where did that come from?” Marcus leaned back. “And why?”

  “For all the right reasons.”

  “And the money?”

  “Not an issue.”

  “I’d like to help in any way I can.”

  “Good.”

  “We’ll have fun tonight, eh?” Marcus asked. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

  I rested my feet on the seat opposite. “You look good.”

  “This shaving three times a day thing is bothersome, though.”

  “As you’ve discovered, when we’re turned, we keep the same look, and as stubble is considered passé . . .”

  “I’m feeling awfully dapper.” He pulled at his shirt collar. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

  “King’s court.”

  Marcus’ jaw dropped.

  I slid down in the seat and closed my eyes.

  “The king’s court?” He sounded utterly amazed.

  I opened an eyelid. “Blue blood, I hear, is a delicacy.”

  Chapter 47

  Circa 1500

  I AWOKE TO THE most awful noise.

  An unearthly screeching resonated throughout the manor. Half-dressed, I flew out of bed, closely followed by Sunaria.

  We found Rachel in the living room with a violin positioned under her chin. “Hello.” She grinned, seemingly unaware of the terrible sound she had made.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Hello.”

  “Look what Marcus bought me.” She raised the instrument triumphantly into the air.

  “Remind me to thank him.” I suppressed the sarcasm.

  Sunaria stifled a laugh.

  “Perhaps you could find somewhere else to practice?” I said, “Like France?”

  Rachel dropped the violin to her side. “You don’t like it?”

  “Let’s get you an instructor.” I winked at Sunaria. “I’m sure we’ll find one across town.”

  Sunaria strolled over to the window and peeked out the side of the curtain. “It’s dark already, but it’s still so early.”

  “It gets darker earlier in winter,” Rachel said.

  I joined Sunaria by the window. “So England does have its benefits.” Outside was the usual hustle and bustle of Belgravia—carriages rolling by, children playing catch and annoying the street merchants. I turned my attention back to Rachel. There was something familiar about her instrument. I gestured for her violin.

  Clutching the neck, I tweaked the peg box, strumming the strings to check the pitch, and breathed in the woody fragrance. I admired the walnut form and ran my fingers along the delicate shape. Music vibrated through me. I rested my chin on the black rest and the fingers of my left hand positioned naturally on the fingerboard. With my right hand, I slid the bow.

  The violin rejoiced, responding to my touch, a violinist’s interpretation as music flowed with the perfect se
quence, moving past what I’d heard and straying from the familiar, articulating timbre and texture, composing notes, and conveying emotions, a voice beyond words, a cadence of extraordinary intimacy. Swaying now, I disappeared inside the melody and became the music.

  Savoring the final note, I came back.

  An eerie quiet descended on the room.

  “Will you teach me to play like that?” Rachel eventually whispered.

  Sunaria frowned. “I didn’t know you could play the violin.”

  I held the instrument at arm’s length, trying to ascertain what had just happened. “I can’t.”

  “He played the violin, didn’t he?” Sunaria’s tone was edgy.

  The bow slipped from my fingers.

  An awful memory stirred of being shackled to the wall, deep within the dungeons of Blackfriars, below where we stood now, haunted by the music of this very instrument, awaiting my next torture, and full of fear that it would never end.

  “Delacroix.” His name caught in my throat. I swung the violin and smashed it against the wall, sending splinters flying.

  Rachel’s face fell and her tears welled. I stared down at the scattered pieces. Sunaria stared back at me incredulously.

  I cleared my throat, and tried to reclaim some decorum. “I’ll um, get you another one, Rachel. This one appears to have a flaw.”

  Rachel gathered the walnut fragments and Sunaria assisted her. The tip of my shoe tapped the discarded bow and Sunaria pulled it out of my reach.

  I was dazed.

  Marcus crashed through the door and stared at me wide-eyed. He gazed down at what had once been a violin.

  “I’ll get her another one,” I said.

  Marcus neared me. “I’ve found him.”

  “What?”

  “Jacob.” Marcus nodded. “I know where he is.”

  * * * *

  If I could have willed Marcus to go faster, I would have done so. We flew over the rooftops, quickly arriving at Number 12, Petherton Road, nestled in the hamlet of Newington Green.

  Marcus and Sunaria waited for me across the street, shielded in a shadowy alley. Using darkness as my cover, I approached the townhouse, and peered into the half open window. Meager candlelight vacillated within the sparse room.

  I’d found Jacob.

  I bit into my hand, stifling a sob. I wanted to burst in and grab him. Jacob, now nine-years-old, appeared well. He sat before a wooden bench, pummeling into the base of a small basin. Close by sat a man in his fifties, studying the contents of several books that he’d balanced on his lap. He had a wise, kind face and a serene demeanor.