Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) (29 page)

Father Aeneas caught the gesture and frowned. “Leaving by bus or train will be difficult. The military police can be unpredictable—and they will have Caro's picture. The Serbian borders are stringent, too. But you might have luck with a ferry.”

“Caro and I will think about it,” Jude said.

“Do not ponder too long,” Father Aeneas said. “You'll need reservations. Demos has connections, but he will need your passport numbers and the names you are traveling under. If you do not trust him, you may borrow his car, or he can drive you.”

Caro reached for her bag. Jude's mouth tightened as he rummaged in his backpack and produced a passport. The cover was dark red, just like Caro's.

“Father, thank you,” she said, pushing her passport across the table.

“Don't thank me yet.” The monk poured brandy into his cup. “The night is not over. And we must discuss a troublesome matter.”

What now?
Caro thought. The French doors rattled, and an icy draft seeped into the room. The red candles flickered, and spiky shadows flashed on the wall. The monk fixed Caro with a penetrating stare. “I know why Sir Nigel sent you,” he said. “All those years ago, when he brought you to Varlaam, he wanted me to examine pages from an illustrated manuscript.”

Caro's heart thrummed.
Vellum Venice. Monk Icon. Yes, it's all connected.

“The title was
Historia Immortalis
,” Father Aeneas said. “You've heard of this book?”

Caro shook her head.

“During the Albigensian Crusade, copies were ruthlessly ferreted out and burned.” The monk lifted his eyebrows. “With their owners.”

“Over a book?” Jude's forehead wrinkled.

“Many believe it is a history of the immortals. But it is so much more.”

“Immortals?” Caro's hand flew up to her neck. “You mean
vampires
?”

Father Aeneas lifted his hand. “Before you question my sanity, let me clarify. I believe in things that cannot be explained. It is called faith. For a myth to exist in so many cultures, it must have truth. I
know
the immortals exist. I have seen them. And I have read their book. To them,
Historia Immortalis
is a sacred text. But for us, it has the power to shake Christianity, and humanity itself.”

“You're off the rails,” Jude said.

“Not about this,” Father Aeneas said curtly.

Caro's mouth went dry. “Tell me about this book.”

“It was translated during Charlemagne's era. That's why it is called a Carolingian manuscript. You, dear Caroline, were named for it.”

“Me?” She clasped her hands to keep them steady.

“I am surprised Sir Nigel did not tell you.” Father Aeneas scraped his fingers through his beard. “Your icon dates from this period. When the triptych is complete, it shows the location of the complete
Historia Immortalis
. At one time it had one hundred vellum leaves. But they vanished. Except for ten.”

Jude rose to his feet. “Caro's icon is mixed up with a book about vampires?”

A cold finger scraped down her spine. She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head.

“Your parents were murdered for it,” Father Aeneas said, his eyes dark and sorrowful.

Lies. Nothing but lies.
All the blood drained from her head, and she felt dizzy.

Father Aeneas leaned closer. “Was your mother's name Vivienne?”

Caro just stared.

“Your mother was a manuscript curator for the British Library,” Father Aeneas said. “The year before you were born, Sotheby's auctioned ten pages of
Historia Immortalis
along with the center panel to a triptych. Vivienne's husband collected vampire memorabilia. He sent her to bid on the artifacts. Collectors from all over the world came to the auction. The bidding was reckless. Another collector started bidding against Vivienne. A Frenchman named Philippe Grimaldi. He fell in love with your mother before the auction ended. By the way, the winning bid was one point two million pounds—placed by Vivienne. Shortly after the sale, the book and the icon went missing. So did your mother and Monsieur Grimaldi.”

“Wait, I'm confused.” Caro pinched the bridge of her nose. “You said Vivienne's
husband
sent her to the auction. My father was Philippe Grimaldi. How could he send her to the auction and bid against her?”

“Vivienne was not married to Monsieur Grimaldi. She was married to someone else.”

“This is ridiculous.” Caro pushed away from the table. “You're saying my married mother picked up a man at an auction and ran off with him?”

Father Aeneas's eyes wobbled. “Monsieur Grimaldi wasn't a man. He was immortal.”

Caro bolted from her chair, and it crashed to the floor. Terror exploded in her chest. “My father wasn't a—” She broke off, unable to say the word.

“He was a vampire,” Father Aeneas said.

“This is a bloody outrage,” Jude cried. “Where's your proof?”

“I have none.” The monk lifted his hands, fingers splayed.

“Of course not.” Jude balled his hands into fists. “What are you playing at?”

“It was Sir Nigel's destiny to explain
Historia Immortalis
to Caroline. Not mine.” Father Aeneas's voice shook. “Now he is gone, and I am the only one who knows the truth.”

“How convenient,” Jude said. “And cruel.”

“Truth and cruelty are bound together.” Father Aeneas glanced at Caro. “Before I took my vows, I was a physician in Athens. I learned about the immortals. They freely mate with humans, but it is nearly impossible for them to reproduce. True, mortal women can conceive children by vampires, but the pregnancies usually end in miscarriages. In less than half a percent of cases, a baby is carried full term. These rare offspring are called hybrids—half vampire, half human. And they possess unique traits.”

“Traits?” Jude's face hardened. “Biting? Blood drinking? Regeneration?”

“Hybrids do not consume blood,” Father Aeneas responded.

Caro couldn't catch her breath. She sat down in Jude's empty chair and squeezed her hands, forcing herself to gulp air. She wasn't a hybrid. The monk was lying or crazy. Why had Uncle Nigel sent her to Meteora? Maybe he hadn't. Maybe the anagrams had been a warning to stay away.

“In the old days, when a vampire bred with a human, the offspring was called a
Dhampir
,” Father Aeneas said. “
Hybrid
is a modern term. They have unusual speed and strength, with an ability to heal rapidly. Most possess a hyperawareness of danger. Some can read minds. Others can sense when immortals are near—that is why hybrids often make successful vampire slayers.”

“Why should I believe you?” she cried.

“I am something of an expert on the immortals. That is why your uncle sought me out. I traveled the world, searching for
Dhampirs
. In my whole life, I only found a dozen. But I am well aware of their characteristics. Also, Sir Nigel and I have both studied those ten pages of
Historia Immortalis
. He would want me to explain your hybridism, Caroline.”

“I am
not
a hybrid.”

“No? Do you sometimes know what people are thinking?”

“Never.”

“When you were small, did you run faster than the other children? Were you immune to viruses that swept through the classroom? If you scraped your knee, did people marvel when your lesions healed at an accelerated pace?” His gaze sharpened as he stared at her throat.

Her hand flew to the bite marks. The wounds had scabbed over, but the flesh beneath felt warm and prickly.

Father Aeneas fingered his belt and the beads clicked softly. “I know what is written in
Historia Immortalis
. It is prohibited for a vampire to love a mortal. Yet they do, of course. Their libido is as powerful as their thirst. They are irresistible to humans. I like to compare them to cone shells. Their brown-and-white patterns are intricate as a mosaic.
Conidae
are toothed. Pick one up, and you shall feel their bite. They impale their prey and fill them with venom. They are hunters. Built for survival.”

“What's this leading to—
vagina dentata
?” Caro glared at him from under her eyebrows.

“I do not mean literal teeth.” The monk's cheeks reddened. “But you exude some type of pheromone that attracts, then repels. Halflings like yourself cannot form lasting romantic relationships with any human.”

Caro swallowed, and her throat made a precise click. She remembered the mural in her nursery—a corridor of locked doors, a key on a table, the Cheshire cat, the Caterpillar, the Dormouse. She felt like Alice, curiouser and curiouser.

The monk released a feeble breath. “It is awkward to speak of it. But I will try. Have men always wanted you? Chased you? Like bees following sweetness. But after they taste you, the sugar turns bitter and the men fly away. No man can satisfy you.”

Jude flinched, his eyes rounding.

Caro's throat tightened unbearably, and her lungs contracted. In a choking voice she said, “Jude gives me great pleasure. The most I've ever felt. And he isn't a vampire.”

“You've been bitten.” Father Aeneas gestured at her throat. “Hormones flooded your bloodstream—estrogen, progesterone, and even testosterone. You've become hypersexual. A doorknob could give you pleasure.”

Her pulse throbbed against her temples. She shut her eyes and saw blood red, a color symbolizing menses, a woman coming of age. A tear ran down her cheek, and she brushed it off. How did the monk know about her Lost Boys? Their lust had dampened when they hadn't pleased her in bed. Even when she'd faked it, somehow they'd seen through her and moved on to more accessible women. Jude was the only man who'd left her weak and shaking, begging for more. She'd been easier to arouse lately, but she refused to believe that the bites had heightened her sexual response. She was falling in love with Jude. That was why she'd responded.

Now he pushed his hand through his hair, his face pale and troubled.

“I have upset you.” Father Aeneas reached for her hand.

She jerked away, her eyes filling. Something cold and barbed streaked through her heart.

“Try to be strong, Caroline. Because you must hear why your parents died. A vampire who falls in love with a mortal is cast out of his or her clan. Your father violated this tenet. Your mother became pregnant and somehow carried you to term. You are a miracle, Caroline, but a dark one.”

Jude splayed his fingers against the table. “You're saying Caro's parents were put to death because they fell in love?”

“No.” The monk shook his head. “This miscegenation is a moral offense rather than a mortal one. It is not punishable by death. Monsieur Grimaldi and Vivienne were killed because they stole an icon, along with ten pages to
Historia Immortalis
. Vivienne's husband wanted those artifacts and had her murdered.”

Jude pushed away from the table and stood. A vein ticked under his jaw. “Explain how
you
ended up with part of this bloody triptych.”

“Many of my patients were vampires. A hybrid child contracted meningitis. Penicillin saved the boy, not I, but the parent was so grateful, he gave me his most prized possession: an icon. He'd stolen it from a German soldier. Presumably, it was part of a triptych. I believed the other panels would find each other.”

Jude slammed his fist against the wall. Bits of plaster hit the floor.

Caro scrambled to her feet and grabbed his hand. He pulled it back. “Don't touch me,” he said.

A black, sucking silence descended. Her stomach knotted, and bile spurted into her throat. She ran out of the room, her shoes clapping on the floor, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. Behind her, Jude and the monk began to argue. As their voices rose and fell, she hurried down the stairs, into the cloister, and leaned against a rock pillar. She looked down at the twinkling lights of Kalambaka. If only she hadn't come to Varlaam. She rubbed her arms. The friction over her breasts sent a wave of pleasure through her, but she didn't enjoy it. Now it only reminded her of all the painful things the monk had just told her. Her icon was linked to vampires.
Because her father was one.

She stared up at the black sky, tears gliding down her neck, stinging the bite marks. When she was a small girl, her uncle had taught her to navigate by the stars. He'd lectured her about night-related things: comets, dusk-blooming flowers, and nocturnal animals, skipping over the immortals and their penchant for drinking blood. Yet he'd known about her connection to
Historia Immortalis
. He'd opted for nature lessons instead of Vampire 101, and he'd almost taken her secret to the grave.

A scuffling sound echoed behind her, and she turned. Jude walked out of the shadows, his backpack slung over one shoulder. She started toward him, but he held up one hand.

“If I don't come back, will you do something for me?”

She gaped up at him, her stomach clenching. Not coming back? Not ever?

His gaze flickered over her. “It's a big ask, but please don't mention the anagrams to the monk. Don't show him your uncle's passport.”

Caro tilted her head. He was just like her uncle, whose motto was
Trust no one
.

“You distrust Father Aeneas?” she asked.

“You could put his life in danger. A Bulgarian man tracked you to Kalambaka.” Jude's eyes hardened as he stared at the winking lights in the valley. “What if he's the vampire who kidnapped you?”

“You're scaring me.”