Immortal With a Kiss (16 page)

Back in my room, I felt safe. Secure. The faint trace of the orchid’s perfume eased me.

The Cyprian Queen, the incubus . . . these things were dark, twisted perversions of love. On the other hand, there existed around me bonds of friendship strong enough to bring us together: myself, Father Luke, Sebastian, and Valerian. That was a form of love, was it not? The best kind, the kind that was no stranger to sacrifice, and did not shrink from the ugliness of the dark world surrounding us.

What tied any of them here? For the first time, I realized it was me. I was the anchor that kept each and every one of them in this place when all three wanted desperately to be about very important business elsewhere. That included Sebastian, I mentally noted with a smile. To him, carousing was serious business.

Valerian had Marius to find. Father Luke had a reckoning with life, with his church, and with himself. And yet they were here.

My devotion to my mother, to learn all I could about her, to perhaps help her, had brought me here. Perhaps she was a vampire, perhaps (God forbid it!) no better than the fiend that stalked the Cumbrian fells and lakes. But I was her daughter, and love bound me to her. To find her, to save her.

Love. Both pure and foul.

Sister?

I lay on my back, staring at the square of gray light framed in my window, disoriented. Lassitude held me fast to the bed. I moaned, and uttered a denial. “No.”

Yes, it is I, your brother, Ruthven.

I was shocked. A name. He’d given me his name!

It is our father’s blood that makes us kin. Did you know? You are made from Lliam, as am I. His blood is diluted in you, and somehow changed, but it is there. I felt it from the first.

I was somehow enchanted by this voice. Tendrils of sleep—or some spell—lashed me to a half-dozing state. I saw him there, a coil of shadow just by the window, but I could not bring myself to rise. My heart thumped in terror. I was paralyzed.

Pride rang out as he spoke again.

You are from noble lineage, not like the other, the half-made brat of Marius’s.

He meant Valerian, I thought with a start.

Marius knows the war is coming, and he thinks to seed himself in many so that when the time comes, he will call upon his army.

An army? A war? Fighting my instinctive repulsion, I opened my mind and welcomed the voice. I knew—some part of me knew—this was the thing that had violated me, that sent the rats against me.

“What do you want with me?” I quailed, my voice not quite as brave as I would have had it.

I did not understand you at first. When you called to my enemy, I thought I’d been wrong and that you were Marius-made. I thought you had come to destroy me. But now I see, and I forgive you. Oh, sister, the possibilities for us! Do not be afraid. I am not angry with you for resisting me. I am glad I did not give you to the Irish boy. You battled bravely, the blood of our father—our great, noble blood—gave you surprising strength. How it thrills me to know you are my equal!

“Tell me more,” I begged, inspired by the knowledge that he was eager to talk.

Pleasure quickened his voice.
Ah, sister, if you only knew how desperately I want to talk with you, to share all that I am. My father Lliam—our father—is one of the sons of the great Dragon. If you but knew how he has favored our clan over that Cain who would usurp our favor. How proud you will be when you know of how the Dragon Prince has fostered our line, exalted us.

Yes, I will tell you of our lineage, but there is something else, something so much greater that I am longing to show you. For it is now, when I am in my prime, that all my beauty is here for you to see.

The air around me seemed to pulse as his voice grew in intensity.

My blood calls to yours, and I think you will see as none of them ever could. You will understand. How wonderful it is not to be alone! Oh, at last! In time, you will know everything of me, and my works. I am giddy, as I have not been in ages. And you . . . you want me to tell you. Yes?

I sensed his uncertainty in a slight pause. I whispered as fervently as I could manage, “Yes!”

I felt the joy in him as he exclaimed:
Blood calls to blood. Lliam’s line is strong. Oh, Emma, it is magnificent, what I will show you! And you already understand so much about the Cyprian Queen.

My mistake was how I pounced on that—born of my frustration and fear, I strained forward, overreaching. “Are you the Cyprian Queen?”

I felt it recede a little. Before it could respond, I realized something else, something deeper and of far more consequence, which my sluggish mind had been slow to grasp, and I demanded, “What does the Dragon Prince have to do with any of this?”

The vampire’s anger gathered around me. I had been too harsh, and I had trespassed where I was not welcome.

Patience.

The warning bit cold into the air around me, and the presence began to withdraw.

“Do not go!” I cried. There was so much at stake. I steeled myself and reached, ignoring the way my flesh crawled as I sought him.

You do not demand!

“Ruthven? Please.” I choked, and made myself say it: “Brother?”

Silence stretched out for a long time. I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest, and wrapped myself into a tight ball. The scratches I’d inflicted on myself throbbed anew.

I wanted Valerian so badly then, I thought seriously of dressing and flying to the village, casting all my resentments aside and burrowing into his embrace, letting him take care of me. Then I spied the orchid, which was not faring well under my inexpert care. But it reminded me of Lord Suddington, and I thought perhaps I should bring the dying orchid to him. The idea of seeing him again was calming.

But I could never confide in him, not the way I could in Valerian. And there was much to discuss. My thoughts spun with what I had learned tonight.

Through my mother, through some vampire named Lliam—was I truly tied in blood to the Dragon Prince? Was I somehow of the line of the great and terrible Dracula?

Chapter Fifteen

I
went into my first class with the heavy, leaden feeling that I remembered from my nineteenth year, when I had, in a supreme act of rebellion, snuck into my father’s study and consumed a large amount of the quality gin he kept in a cut-crystal decanter. I had paid a dear price the next day, after a night spent over a chamber pot, sporting an abused head and two pits of fire where my eyes had been.

I could not let my physical state slow me down, however, and I had set a mental agenda for the things I needed to accomplish. I had so many questions: How much were the girls aware of what they were dealing with? Had they been promised eternal life? Were they, even now, made by Ruthven into a harem of companions? Yet, if the vampire created them as
strigoii vii
, then how was this related to what had happened before, to Dora and the others Madge had told me about?

If I could get to Eustacia, I might be able to find some answers—if I could get her to trust me. Margaret and the others knew she was their weak link, however. They surrounded her as soon as my class ended, ushering her out with a tight escort. Margaret lagged behind and smirked at me. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Andrews?”

Pushing aside the unsettled feeling Margaret gave me, I strode up to her. “I met your Cyprian Queen,” I told her with quiet confidence. “His name is Ruthven and he likes me quite well.” I allowed my smile to grow sly even as hers went slack. “
Very
well indeed.”

Rage gathered on her features. Lilliana, who stood behind Margaret and had heard me, grabbed at Margaret’s arm as if she were afraid of what she might do.

“You best go,” I said pleasantly.

Margaret allowed herself to be pulled back. Lilliana was talking to her, trying to calm the anger that was noticeably boiling behind her shock.

“Oh, Margaret,” I called. “By any chance do you know what happened to Janet, who works down at the Rood and Cup? She’s gone missing.”

I immediately saw I had hit my mark. Apprehensiveness sprang to her wide eyes.

“I thought so,” I intoned mysteriously. “Go on now, get out,” I commanded, not bothering to glance to see if they obeyed.

My triumph, sweet as it was, was shallow and short-lived. No sooner had I quit the girls than I spied from my window a familiar and disturbing face that doused my momentary triumph. Outside, a man I recognized as the fellow who had berated me yesterday at the Rood and Cup was walking purposefully toward the front entrance of the school. My immediate—and panicked—thought was that he was here to make good on his threat to complain to the headmistress about me.

I had not long to wait to find out. Miss Sloane-Smith walked through the door of my classroom not an hour later, her face pinched with irritation. “A word, please, Mrs. Andrews,” she said.

I waved her to a seat. She remained standing.

“Sir Charles Morton paid me a visit today, bearing a story that was quite unbecoming to a representative of Blackbriar School. I received a complaint that you were seen engaging in an unbecoming display of gossip.”

“That is not true.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “That is not what Charles told me.”

I cocked my head, a rush of temper making me rather reckless. “And I object to having my behavior characterized as unbecoming.”

She was clearly shocked by my change in tactic. “Pardon me?”

My reply was sharp. “I am not in the habit of having to defend the quality of my behavior, and I will not do so now, and certainly not on the basis of a cowardly tale told by someone who is a stranger to me. I have conducted myself at all times in a manner that not only befits a teacher at Blackbriar but exemplifies it.”

“The stranger you refer to,” Miss Sloane-Smith said tightly, “is my cousin, and I trust his word.”

“That does not change the fact that he mistook the situation,” I replied defensively. “Old Madge and I were having a private conversation, which is hardly subject to the approval of anyone who might decide to eavesdrop.”

Her shock was so great—and her anger as well—that she could not speak for a moment. “I was told you were easily overheard conversing on the topic of the Cyprian Queen, which is a dangerous and unpleasant subject in these parts. And I know you were talking to Mrs. Boniface about it the other day. What is the reason for this obsession?”

“It has to do with the students. I have observed their interest in this thing, this Cyprian Queen. They are somehow involved in something unsavory and I think the two are connected.”

A contemptuous look came over her features. “You are beginning to sound like Victoria Markam.”

That was a low blow. I notched my chin up mutely as she took a step toward me.

“I hope you are not getting ridiculous ideas in the same manner as she did,” she said. “It is true there is a certain hysteria in these parts about an old, rather lurid legend. It is tempting to the baser interests of girls of this age, and very dangerous for their reputations, as well as the reputation of this school. Be warned: people in these parts dislike such talk. It is incalculably harmful. It opens old wounds that respectable families would rather not have subjected to lascivious consumption.”

“Then explain it to me, this legend.” My heart was beating rapidly.

“I certainly will not.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I have to wonder, Mrs. Andrews, if you even belong here. Term break is coming up. Many of the students will return to their families and the staff is allowed a holiday as well. At that time, I will assess your performance here. I admit you are an excellent instructor, but these other matters make me question whether you are a good match for the school overall.”

“If that is a threat, then perhaps I can save you the bother. I might have to withdraw my employment.” The words spilled out of me—foolish words, but my temper was so riled I could not stop them. If I had to leave Blackbriar, I would find another way to battle Ruthven and Cyprian Queen, whether or not they were one and the same. “I cannot tolerate employment where the administration is preoccupied with preserving the reputation of the school at the expense of the girls’ safety. I wonder what the trustees would think of your neglect of these matters.”

She was taken aback by my thinly veiled threat, and I was surprised to realize that she appeared nervous. Then I remembered how Lord Robert Suddington had shown me favor, and I thought he might be the source of my empowerment.

I had no wish to humiliate her, so I said, “Of course, the best interests of the school are uppermost in my mind, as they are yours. But I will not ignore something I think might pose danger, not even on your orders.”

Her jaw worked, but she could see I would give no other quarter. “Then do me the courtesy of informing me before you go about the neighborhood stirring up nasty and possibly slanderous untruths about the good families in these parts.”

“But I did nothing of the kind,” I objected.

She did not answer, just gave me a glare. Then she left me.

Though I was more confused than ever, I had a pressing meeting to get to. I had snuck out a message to Valerian and Sebastian to meet me during the luncheon hour, and I was going to be late. I hurried through the woods, my senses on heightened alert, but I encountered nothing as I made my way to Serena’s cottage.

It was a crisp, sunny day with a temperature that was far lower than I’d supposed. Winter was locked down, and I wished I’d worn something warmer. The men were waiting for me outside, I was surprised to see. Father Luke had made the journey as well, seated on a mounting block, hunched over with his troubled face staring into space.

Sebastian waved when he saw me come into view. “Here she is. We can now call this meeting to order. These fools refused to wait inside, and I am freezing.”

Valerian, all sinew and masculine grace as he paced the small yard like a caged panther, cast a dark look of irritation at Sebastian. “The priest needs the outdoors if he is to recover.”

Sebastian snapped his head to Valerian. “And I suppose you trained with Nurse Nightingale in the last war, did you? Really, you have to stick your hand in every matter. I have taken perfectly good care of him since I—I!—fished him out of the sewers.” He did not see Father Luke wince as he tossed his head pointedly to signal he was done with Valerian, and looked instead at me. “I wish to go inside, now. I am not dressed for the cold.”

The men were grating on each other’s nerves, it was plain to see. It must be hell on them being cooped up like chickens in their rooms at the inn, Mrs. Danby’s fine cuisine notwithstanding.

Valerian said, “Perhaps it will be more . . . discreet if we remain out here where we are sure not to be overheard.”

“Serena can be trusted,” I said. “She already knows much, and I do believe we would be more comfortable indoors. I, too, am not prepared to be out in these temperatures for too long.”

As I guessed, each man’s chivalry overrode their present disagreement, and we filed into the cottage, where Serena was waiting with steaming mugs of cider.

I embraced her affectionately and, in reply to her inquiries, assured her my health was improving quickly. “You should be resting,” she scolded.

Smiling at her, I said, “The matter is not one that can wait.”

She frowned and nodded, and I appreciated how easily she accepted all of this. In the cultures of Eastern Europe, the dark superstitions were not ridiculed as they were in England but rather respected. On impulse, I gave her another hug. “Thank you for what you did for me and for what you do for us now. You do not even know us, yet you have helped us so much.”

Pulling away, I saw she was blushing. “I made
tortul casei
,” she said. “It is a kind of chocolate cake. It is very good. You will like.”

Sebastian called to me, and I quickly thanked our hostess before joining my friends. “I have much to tell you,” I said, and related the encounter I’d had with the vampire the night before.

It was Valerian who pounced on me when I mentioned the name it had given me. “Did you say Ruthven?” He shook his head, incredulous. “But do you not remember?”

“I know it is familiar, but I haven’t been able to place it. Do you know this vampire?”

He laughed. “The vampire does not exist. It is the name of the main character in the story ‘The Vampyre,’ written by a Doctor Polidori.”

“Of course!” I cried, making the connection now.

“Who is Polidori?” Sebastian demanded.

“He was a friend of Lord Byron’s,” I explained. “They summered together in Geneva, with Percy Bysshe Shelley and his wife, Mary Shelley. You will recognize her as the author of
Frankenstein
.”

“I told you I do not read,” Sebastian groused.

“Well, it is not necessary, to understand the significance of this story. You see, it was a rainy summer—a ‘wet, uncongenial summer’ Mary called it—and they were confined indoors, so they challenged each other to write a supernatural story of some kind. That was when she got the inspiration for her great novel. And Polidori, who was not a writer of any merit, wrote ‘The Vampyre.’ ”

“So the vampire has taken the name Ruthven,” Valerian mused. “Unless this vampire is, in fact, Ruthven—that is, he actually exists—and was there that summer of 1816. Perhaps they came to know him in some manner.”

I raised my index finger. “An interesting way to say it—to know him. I could tell he was obsessed with being known, with sharing his greatness. He is very proud, and was positively ecstatic that he had found someone to whom he could reveal himself.”

Sebastian shook his head in consternation. “He wants recognition?”

Raising my eyebrows, I emphasized, “He craves it.”

“So,” Valerian said, “perhaps he was Polidori’s inspiration.”

“It is possible. You know, of course, how nomadic the vampire is. Perhaps one of his hunting grounds is there, near the Swiss lake. And, if I recall correctly, Polidori committed suicide.”

“Suicide,” Valerian reflected. “Vampire legends in almost every culture contain the idea that a suicide rises as the undead. This might be attributable to the fact that often those who have been made
strigoii vii
wish to immediately transition to
strigoii mort
and elect to speed that process along by taking their own life.”

Sebastian said, “So Polidori . . . ?”

Valerian shrugged. “Who knows. But it is suspicious.”

“And relevant for us because this Ruthven wishes to be associated with a rather famous story.” I looked from man to man. “This is very different than normal. Consider Marius, who always seeks anonymity. He has even used many names to avoid being tracked.” I nodded toward Valerian. “You met him when he was known as Emil.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “It claims kinship to me, through this Lliam, which he says is Marius’s enemy. Have you ever heard of him?”

Thinking for a moment, Valerian slowly shook his head. “I have not, and I agree we must learn as much as we can about Lliam, and about this feud. It may give us some clue to Ruthven, understand what he wants and how he may be related to the Cyprian Queen. Emma, did he give you any hints?”