Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) (52 page)

 

Pink clouds cast a reddish stain over the mountain as Abdulla led the couple down the path to St. Catherine's. The sudden drop-offs made Caro dizzy. One wrong step and she would plunge over the edge.

“How much longer?” she asked.

“We've gone one hundred steps. Only two thousand nine hundred to go.”

“How did we make it up here without falling?”

“You trusted that you would not stumble,” Abdulla said.

By the time they reached the outer walls of St. Catherine's, the sky had turned muddy blue. They walked past Bedouins selling trinkets and herbal cures. Tourists sat on the low walls by the center tower, waiting for the monastery to open.

“What time is it?” she asked Abdulla.

“Eight A.M.”

The camels blended into the sand, their legs tucked beneath their massive girth. One beast lunged forward, showing crooked yellow teeth, and bit another camel. It hissed, flinging out a rope of saliva. The Bedouin man said something to the animals and they settled down.

Abdulla pointed to mountains behind the monastery. “Tomorrow, I take you to the caves to see the wall paintings. It is very dangerous terrain. Bandits and weapon trafficking. But worth it.”

“How far are the caves?” Caro asked.

“A thirty-minute camel ride. Just beyond the palm trees.” Abdulla steered them past a guard in a black beret and led them across the quad. They moved through a dark corridor that smelled of freshly baked bread.

“Are all of Saint Catherine's monks vampires?” Caro asked.

Abdulla laughed. “No, no. Most of the fathers are human. The blood drinkers shave their heads and have tattoos. They are devout, but in an extreme way. They call themselves
the brethren
and belong to a cult. Very elite and high-born.”

Jude pressed his lips against her ear. “The Princes of Darkness,” he said.

She pinched his cheek and grinned.

Abdulla's
keffiyeh
billowed as he led them to another courtyard. He pointed to a ragged bush that jutted up from a bowed rock wall.

“I present you the Burning Bush,” he said. He plucked a leaf and held his lighter beneath it. A broad grin spread across his face when the leaf did not ignite. He escorted them to the guest quarters. Jude handed him the beaded bag, and the guide reached into his pocket and pulled out the leaf.

“For luck,” he said, then hurried across the veranda and disappeared around the corner.

A note was taped to Caro's doorknob. She reached for it.

“Why so late?” She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

“Vampires don't keep banker's hours,” Jude said.

“I suppose not.” She laughed, then tucked the note in her pocket and opened her door. “I'd invite you in, but the monks haven't allowed a woman inside these walls in centuries. We should probably sleep in separate rooms, right?”

“Yes, absolutely.” He nodded. “I'll fetch you a little before midnight.” She hadn't realized how tired she was until she flopped onto the bed and tumbled into a place that smelled of blood and dirt. The dogs were closing in, their red incisors clicking. She clawed her way out of the dream and sat up. Perspiration slid down her backbone. Moonlight cut through the thin curtain and fell into her eyes. The basilica was outlined against a dark lapis sky. Was it dawn or dusk? How long had she slept? She was forgetting something. But what?

From the courtyard, she heard a gagging sound. She strained to listen, but she heard nothing else but faint chanting from the basilica. The four A.M. mass. Damn. She'd slept through the midnight meeting with Raphael. She pulled on a dress, grabbed the pashmina, ran onto the veranda, and opened Jude's door.

“We overslept,” she said.

“Bloody hell,” Jude sat up in bed and pushed back his hair.

“Maybe I can still catch Raphael.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I'll catch up with you in the library.”

“I'll be waiting.” She draped the pashmina over her head and shut his door. The sky had darkened and the narrow moon was starting to set. She walked down a corridor, stirring the petrol lights as she hurried toward the library.

“Caro?” a voice called.

She tilted her head and listened, as if straining to hear music. Was Raphael sending her a message? No, this wasn't his voice. It was feminine and eerily familiar.

“Come to the Burning Bush, Caro.” The words held in the air like a clap. “Hurry, my darling girl.”

Vivienne had called her
my darling girl
. Caro's heart thrummed like a cello string. No, it wasn't possible. Her mother hadn't survived the fire. Caro felt dizzy and placed one hand against the rough wall. But what if her mother had escaped? What if she was
here
? That wasn't crazy, was it? Everything that she had believed about herself had been a lie. In this new, fantastical world, anything was possible.

Caro followed the voice into a courtyard. The Burning Bush fanned out against the stones, the leaves trembling as the monks' voices rose and fell on the other side of the wall. A man squatted beside the bush, his face hidden beneath a brown hood.

“Are you all right?” she asked and stepped closer. The man raised his head, and the hood fell. Curly red hair tumbled out. A broad, masculine face looked up and grinned, his canines pressing into his bottom lip.

She ran toward the corridor, but icy hands pulled her back. A rough palm clapped over her nose and mouth. His sweaty flesh reeked of ketones. Vampire. She stamped at his feet, but he shifted out of the way.

“Be still.” He wrenched her elbow, and pain throbbed into her injured shoulder.

“You're hurting me,” she said into his palm. How had he known what her mother had called her?

He mewed. “I sound like Tom Kitten himself, don't I? Your flatmate thought so.”

Caro breathed in his sour-sweet smell. He'd murdered Phoebe? Her lungs contracted as she struggled to draw in a breath. If he didn't loosen his grip, she'd suffocate.

“I've got you now, ducky,” the vampire said.

“Don't hurt her, Moose,” a man said, his cut-glass English accent echoing. He stepped out of the shadows and smoothed his cropped gray hair. “Lovely to finally meet you, Caro. I'm Harry Wilkerson. Your father.”

Father? He'd been Vivi's husband?
Caro whipped her head from side to side.

“Yes, I was rather shocked to find out about you, too.” Wilkerson pulled duct tape from his pocket. He picked at the roll with his fingernail, then tore off a strip and stepped toward her. She barely had time to draw in a breath when he pressed the tape over her lips.

“Scream, if you like.” He smiled. “But not too loud. Moose hates screamers. He's already killed one loudmouth tonight.”

A tear slid down Caro's cheek. She wasn't listening. Had Raphael or one of the monks come this way? What was that shadow by the far wall? A body? She twisted her head, trying to see. She tried to pull away from Moose, but his grip tightened.

“I never wanted a child. Yet here you are.” Wilkerson's smile widened, but it didn't touch his eyes. “Vivienne broke my heart. I gave her everything she wanted, and she left me for a dead man. She took a few things that belonged to me. She took my artifacts. And she took you.”

Caro shook her head. No, Philippe was her father.

“I would have found you sooner if I'd known that Vivienne had relatives. How clever of her to stash you with Sir Nigel. But not that clever.” His eyebrows went up. “Do you have any idea how much I paid for those bloody pages? One point two million pounds. Think what they're worth now. At least ten times that amount. And I don't even need them anymore. My scientists are worth twenty books. But it's the principle of the thing. I paid for the book, I might as well keep it.” His eyes shimmered. “You don't know what I'm talking about, do you? Your Greek monk stole your ten pages. Then he tried to keep me from them. A big mistake. He won't be bothering me again, will he, Moose?”

“Not bloody likely, mate.”

“Those pages were rightfully mine—and so was the icon.” Wilkerson leaned closer. “Do you have it?”

Caro flinched as the smell of whiskey hit her face. She shook her head.

“A pity. But I'm sure you won't mind if I take a little of your blood.” His eyes held a glint of wildness.

Oh my God. He's going to bite me.
Caro focused her thoughts to a pinpoint.
Raphael, help me.

“Don't pull a face.” Wilkerson laughed. “Moose is the vampire, not me. I want your blood for the DNA—to see if you are Grimaldi's bastard. You
do
know that your mum was a world-class slut? She had a weakness for vampires. Your father could be anyone, alive or dead.”

Wilkerson snapped his fingers. “Moose, hold her down.”

The vampire pushed her against the wall and flattened her right arm against the stones. She screamed and screamed, but the tape across her mouth muffled the sound.

“Hold her steady, Moose.” Wilkerson tied a tourniquet around her arm, then slapped the inner curve of her elbow until a blue vein popped up. She barely felt the prick when he jabbed a needle into her flesh. Blood swirled into the Vacutainer, a flash of red. Wilkerson was a madman. Off the rails.

“There we go.” He withdrew the needle and released the tourniquet without bothering to bandage the nick. Blood streamed down her arm, curved to her wrist, and splattered against the stones.

“Don't look, Moose.” Wilkerson chuckled.

The vampire cursed. Caro released a lungful of air, and the harsh breath loosened a corner of the duct tape. She ran her tongue on the inside of the tape, trying to undo the adhesive.

Wilkerson's eyes glittered. “Do you remember the night your mother died? My Bulgarians let Vivienne watch as her immortal beloved was decapitated. Not so immortal, after all.”

“They told me how Vivienne begged for his life,” Wilkerson continued. “Funny, but she didn't mention
you
. Not a single time did she ask for your life to be spared. So much for maternal love. But she burned. She burned with her fanged lover.”

Two veins appeared on Wilkerson's forehead. “Come now, my darling daughter. We can make this easy or hard. Where is the icon? Don't be bashful, or I'll start taking lives.”

“It's gone,” she yelled into the tape.

“Didn't quite catch that.” Wilkerson tilted his head.

“Want me to rip off her gag, mate?” Moose glanced up. The sky had lightened to that colorless time between night and dawn, the clouds gray and rippled like an oyster shell.

Wilkerson knelt beside her. “If I remove the tape, you promise not to scream?”

She nodded.

“Good. Because I'd hate for Moose to break your arms. That would really make you yell.” Wilkerson ripped off the tape and rubbed his thumb across her mouth. “You have Vivienne's lips. She left without telling me she was pregnant. The bloody bitch. She took everything.”

“I'm not your daughter,” Caro said. “Run your tests. You'll see.”

“Vivienne and I were never divorced, so legally, you
are
my daughter. I don't want your DNA to prove paternity.”

“If you
are
Philippe's spawn, you've got the R-99 gene,” Wilkerson said. “I'll lose a daughter—well, of a sort—but I'll gain a guinea pig.”

Moose stepped forward, dragging Caro along. “What's this about genes, mate?”

“You'd be bored with the science.” Wilkerson flipped his hand. “In a nutshell, I suspect Caro might be half vampire. My researchers are testing the blood of hybrids. They're working on a biological agent.”

“For what?” Moose's forehead wrinkled.

“To stop aging. Imagine living forever without having to ingest blood. No light blindness. Walking freely in daylight.” Wilkerson turned to Caro. “And your genes may be at the heart of it.”

“I'll have a go at it,” Moose said.

Wilkerson shook his head. “Sorry, that drug will be contraindicated for vampires.”

“You're lying,” Moose said. “You just want to keep it for yourself.”

“Don't be wet. If you concentrate the blood of a half vampire and inject it into someone like yourself, it's fatal. Of course, concentrating hybrid blood requires a state-of-the-art lab. Which I have, of course. Sorry, old chap. I guess you shouldn't book a trip to Bali just yet.”

Wilkerson stroked Caro's cheek. “You are lovely, but it's hard to look at you. Because you resemble
her
. Maybe you are Philippe's child. Just think, he gave you life, and I shall take that life and destroy all of his kind.”

“You're mad,” she said.

“And a wanking liar.” Moose released her arm. “What a load of cack.”

“I wasn't speaking to you,” Wilkerson told the vampire. “I wouldn't be in this godforsaken desert if you hadn't botched your assignment. All I wanted was a blood sample, not a bloodbath. Besides, you aren't my confidant. You're a plonker from the East End.”

“Shut it, you toffee nose.” Moose sprang onto Wilkerson and bit a plug out of his neck. They fell to the ground and rolled. Wilkerson fumbled in his pocket, blood streaming down the front of his shirt, then dragged out a small pistol. He pulled the trigger. Moose jerked back. A spot of red bloomed on his shirt. The vampire watched it a moment, then laughed.