Blood Marriage (36 page)

"Elizabeth." Nicholas took her hand, helping her to stand. "Father Vlad must unlock the chains. It is time."

Elizabeth stood well back as the locks were removed, the chains released. She held her breath when the men lifted the lid of the coffin. Her mother's body lay as it had last night in the duke's parlor: her hair beautifully coifed, her wedding dress artfully arranged, her eyes closed as if she slept. But thick rope now bound her wrists and ankles and knees. This time Father Vlad had taken no chances.

Bergen and Nicholas lifted the earthly remains of Amelia Smith onto the funeral pyre. Vlad opened his book. As he had with Grubner, the priest went to stand at the head of the stone oval. When the body was in place, Nicholas picked up a barrel different from the blackfish oil barrels that had been used on the wood. This was finely scented whale oil. With quiet reverence he poured the nearly clear oil over her mother's wedding gown, drenching the lacy material in the thick fluid, but carefully avoiding her hair and face. 

Vlad began to chant in Latin. Bergen wrenched the torch from the ground and held it high. Beneath the light of its dancing flame, Amelia Smith’s oil soaked flesh and lacy gown glistened, seeming to undulate in rhythm with the torchlight. From across the stone oval Nicholas nodded to Bergen to light the pyre.

A cry of anguish tore from Elizabeth's throat. Before Bergen could lower the torch she rushed forward, arms stretched high, and wrapped her hands around the torch's base. The doctor's solemn blue eyes met hers.

"I am her daughter. Her blood. I will do it."

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The smell of blackfish oil traveled downwind quickly, penetrating the thick cover of the forest. Fielding used a handkerchief to cover his mouth and nose. The fumes made his eyes water. Nevertheless, he kept them on the woman speaking to the doctor beside the stone oval. The torch that blazed between the two lit her face, showing the cold determination there.

"She's part of it, then," Fielding whispered, unable to keep regret from his voice. He'd liked Lady Devlin. He'd wanted to believe her an innocent party.

"I'm not so sure yet." Lennie's voice was muffled by a wool scarf. "She left the house alone. Walked through the woods by herself. Doubt Devlin would have allowed that had he planned on her being here. She waited at the crypt alone for more than an hour before they arrived."

"She's going to light the fire, burn her own mother," Fielding pointed out. "Hardly the actions of a woman who doesn't know what's going on."

"Could be the actions of a woman who doesn't know everything," Lennie said. "Burning a dead body is strange, but it's not illegal. Doesn't prove she's part of the murders."

Fielding squinted at his man. It wasn't like Lennie to argue the innocence of anyone.

"No, Lennie, it doesn't prove she's aiding and protecting her murderous husband. But it does tell me she has the iron will to do so. Not an ordinary sort, that woman."

"No, sir, not an ordinary sort," Lennie agreed.

"Regardless, we'd better put a stop to this now before one of them lights that fire. If a killer wants to burn a victim's body, I'm guessing there's a reason. I don't know what evidence he's trying to destroy, but I don't intend to hide in the bushes and watch him destroy it."

Guns ready, the men sprang from concealment. Fielding's girth made him slow. Fortunately, the attention of those around the funeral pyre was focused on the doctor and Lady Devlin. Lennie moved faster. The doctor had just released the flame to the lady and was bowing in an almost ceremonial fashion when Lennie pressed his gun to Lord Devlin's back.

"Good evening, Lady Devlin. Gentlemen," Fielding said as he stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket. He stepped gingerly over the low remnants of the castle wall, then hurried to join Lennie with as much dignity as his bulk would allow. He motioned at the priest with his gun. Father Vlad closed his book and moved closer to Lady Devlin and Dr. Bergen. With a few suggestive pistol jabs in the back, Lennie encouraged Lord Devlin to join his friends.

The night breeze, which had been gentle and pleasant, began to pick up. It rustled Lady Devlin's black skirts and caused the flame of the torch she held to dance and flare. Lennie took the torch from her while keeping his gun trained on the group. 

Fielding peered into the stone oval, frowning. Torchlight played over the oil-drenched lace of Amelia Smith’s wedding dress, causing her body to shimmer, to appear to shift. The illusion was so strong, for an instant Fielding thought the body actually had moved, ever so slightly. He blinked to dispel the odd fancy. Then noting the bound wrists, ankles and knees, he rounded on the group, scowling. "What in Hades are you-?"

The shriek that rained down from above was bone-jarring, full of death and triumph. It stabbed through Fielding's mind, seeming to pierce his very soul. Terror he thought he'd become too jaded to feel reeled through him. As one, the group beside the stone oval spun toward the castle and looked up. 

It stood at the edge of the roof, its arms thrown wide, its legs planted in a stance of supreme arrogance. The voluminous scarlet cloak it wore streamed in an unnatural wind. Yet that same wind did nothing to disturb the cowl hiding its face. It tilted its head toward the night sky and arched its back. A second shriek issued forth, louder than the first, its evil percussing through Fielding's bones. 

Father Vlad made the sign of the cross. Lord Devlin cursed beneath his breath. Lennie raised his gun, taking aim. Bergen reached out a hand and pushed the gun back down with a derisive snort. The shriek died away, along with the unnatural wind, and the cloaked figure melted into the shadows of a crumbling chimney. 

"No...please no..." Lady Devlin's voice was faint. 

Fielding pulled his gaze from the roof to follow the direction of her outstretched hand. The oil-soaked pyre lay stark and empty. Amelia Smith’s body was gone.

Chapter Forty

The empty pyre swam before her eyes. Elizabeth fought against the waves of dizziness threatening to overtake her. Nicholas's arm came around her waist and he pressed her to his side. She didn't cling to him; though neither did she move away. His strength steadied her. The dizziness faded, leaving behind a queasy feeling of mingled horror and disbelief.

Detective Fielding moved closer to the oval, peering down into it as if expecting to find Amelia's body hidden among the wood patterns. "Where the hell did it go?" 

"Hunting," Bergen said.

Lennie sprinted to the tumbledown castle wall and held the torch high, scrutinizing the dark forest beyond. He turned back to Fielding and shook his head. Something on the ground seemed to catch his attention and he squatted, examining it. "I've got a trail of oil spots," he called.

Fielding joined Lennie to inspect the ground. Bergen gathered the chains that had bound Amelia's coffin, removed the keys from their locks, and stuffed the keys into his pocket. 

"We need to find it before it tastes first blood, while it's still weak enough to destroy," the doctor said, draping the chains over his shoulders like a metal shawl. Their shiny links stood out in stark contrast against his dark clothing.

Fielding and Lennie returned to the group. The runner tucked his pistol into the waist of his trousers. "But if blood is what it needs, why leave? There's plenty of blood here." Lennie's gesture encompassed the group. Fielding's eyebrows shot up.

"It's wearing an oil gown." Bergen pointed to the torch Lennie held.

Nicholas's attention was on the castle, his head cocked to one side as if listening. "We need to get word to the village and as many of the surrounding farms as possible," he said. "Warn everyone to remain indoors, to invite no stranger into their home."

"I'll take care of that," Lennie said, apparently oblivious to the increasingly thunderous look on his superior's face.

Elizabeth wasn't surprised by the runner's willingness to play messenger. Though she judged Lennie the sort to always want to be in the thick of any action, he had his own reasons for wanting to warn the village. Over Bergen's objections the runner had carried Margaret from the house shortly after Grubner's death. She was staying in the village, being cared for at the vicarage by the vicar's wife. 

Nicholas dipped his chin once to the runner. "Father Vlad will explain the best ways to protect yourself. Can you come up with a story to keep people indoors?"

"I can," Lennie said.

Vlad had been retrieving blackfish barrels, salvaging as much oil as he could and combining it in barrels that he then placed on the wall of the stone oval. Lennie joined him and they moved off to one side, their heads bent close together.

"What the hell is going on here?" Detective Fielding roared. The others ignored him.

"If it's with Randall and the
diavol varcolac
," Bergen said, "it may be the handful of servants left at Heaven's Edge we need to worry about. Those two have already been invited across that threshold. Easy hunting."

He reached down into the stone oval and took a thick, relatively dry stick from the pyre, then pulled a knife from his boot. Wood chips showered the ground at his feet as he sharpened one end of the wooden shaft with amazing speed. Reluctantly, Elizabeth left the solid warmth of Nicholas's embrace. She wasn't tall enough to reach into the oval as Bergen had, but two open blackfish barrels -- one empty, the other half-full -- sat on the oval's stone wall. She took the empty one and turned it upside down on the ground. Though her legs felt rubbery and her shoulders shook, she stepped up onto the barrel and began selecting sticks of similar length and thickness to the one Bergen had taken, rubbing them against her skirt to clear as much of the slick oil from them as she could. She handed each in turn to Bergen, who continued his amazingly fast whittling. Nicholas had also pulled a knife from his boot. Elizabeth handed sticks to him as well and he turned them into stakes with sure rapid strokes.

"Leo was tracking the
diavol
. My father was supposed to keep an eye on Randall." Nicholas's voice was tight with worry.

"Leo knows better than to confront the
diavol
by himself. And it'll have no interest in his blood," Bergen said.

"We'll still need to find him, make sure he's all right. And my father--"

"Probably forgot all about Randall and is drunk in the arms of some pretty female right now, safely counting petticoats." Bergen's voice was an odd mixture of compassion and animosity.

"Is Leo a vampire as well?" Elizabeth managed to keep the tremor from her voice, despite the fact the vision of Nicholas beneath the oak last night rose in her mind. She handed the doctor another stick from her perch atop the barrel. 

"No." Bergen grinned. "Leo's nothing so common." 

He'd finished the last of the stakes and signaled Elizabeth to hand him no more. Nicholas also shook his head. Elizabeth bent over the oval's wall and carefully set the remaining sticks on the pyre. She'd been careful to take no wood from the seven symbols, leaving them undisturbed. Now she made sure the sticks she returned did not alter the symbols in any way. She placed the last, then straightened too quickly. The barrel beneath her feet, which had seemed so solidly planted a moment before, tilted. Elizabeth teetered. She reached out to the stone wall to steady herself. Her hands clasped the lip of the half-empty oil barrel and she was falling, blackfish oil sloshing thick and wet over her skirt. The men lunged forward, but Nicholas was closest. He skidded behind her on his knees, catching her in his lap before she hit the ground.

"Are you all right?" His words were gentle, his thighs and chest solid and warm against her bottom and back. 

"Yes, fine, I'm fine." Feeling like a complete fool, she scrambled up, holding her skirt out, letting as much of the foul-smelling oil roll off it as possible. It did little good. The dark fabric was saturated from a few inches below her waist to the hem. 

Vlad and Lennie had hurried to her aid with the other men. Now the entire group stood staring at the mess on the front of her dress.

"It's fine," she said again. After what had happened tonight, another ruined dress seemed unimportant. The men seemed to realize it as well. Nicholas brushed the dirt from his knees and picked up the stakes he'd dropped while coming to her rescue.

"These are no real defense against the
diavol varcolac
," Nicholas said to Lennie, tossing both the priest and the runner several wooden spikes each. "And it'll take more than simply staking Amelia's body," he cast an apologetic look at Elizabeth, "to destroy the
diavol
inside. But severing the head, or a stake to the heart will slow it down."

"If the damn thing doesn't tear
your
head off first," Bergen inserted.

"We believe Randall has been bitten twice, that he isn't completely vampire yet," Nicholas continued. "If we're right, and he hasn't yet received the third and final bite, you can kill him with one of these as you could any man." Nicholas demonstrated a two-handed technique for thrusting the stake. "If we're wrong, and he is a true vampire, a stake to the heart will stop him, though not permanently."

"I can attest to that," Bergen grinned.

Elizabeth looked at the doctor and wondered, not for the first time, if his cheerfully sarcastic manner hid some deeper emotion. He caught her looking at him and his eyes sobered. Then he winked and his mask was back in place.

"Have you all gone quite insane?" Fielding asked. "Lennie, what is wrong with you? You can't believe in vampires!"

Lennie weighed the stakes in his hands before answering. "Sorry sir, but I believe whatever I encountered a few nights ago in that castle, and," his eyes flicked briefly to Nicholas, "in the forest afterward, wasn't human. No man is that strong. No man can drop from a second floor window and land as light a feather. No man takes a bullet and keeps coming as if it's nothing. I don't know what we're fighting, but I guess I've chosen a side in the fight."