Blood Marriage (39 page)

"Bergen?" Elizabeth said. "Sebastian Bergen, the doctor, was Lucretia's husband?" Suddenly the doctor's jealous behavior toward Lucy and Randall made sense. As did the sorrow she'd so often glimpsed beneath his jovial mockery.

"Yes," Vlad said. "But now I see it isn't Sebastian or me that has drawn it here. It's Nicholas. He was Lucretia's final act on this earth. He is what vampires call her
childe
."

"Her
childe
?"

"Not in the sense of her son. But she made him vampire, or half-vampire anyway.

"Half?" Elizabeth was startled.

"Nicholas has some, but not all of the traits of vampirism because Lucretia died before she completed the transmission. She'd initially intended to kill him, drain his blood. But she must have changed her mind. Nicholas had already received two previous bites in Sebastian's surgery. Before she died, Lucretia bit him a third time. I killed her before she could finish, but she managed to give him the power to heal himself and so survive. He also received the ability to see at night as in day, unusually acute senses, and a few other things."

"What didn't he get?" Elizabeth asked, suddenly afraid Nicholas was about to enter battle with the demon vampire not as fully armed as he ought to be.

"He didn't get that trick of voice and eyes that puts humans in a trance. And though, if he concentrates, he can achieve some degree of the quiet that is common to Sebastian's Clan, he does not create the shroud of silence and strange calm that cloaks Sebastian and effects all he touches. And since we've never had occasion to test it, we don't know if he can retain that tiny spark of life at the edge of death that allows full vampires like Sebastian to come back from injuries that appear fatal. There are a few other things as well."

Vlad had taken a brush and comb from a basket on the floor. He began to brush Princess with smooth even strokes. Elizabeth left the door and pushed the little trap from the center of the room to a place against the wall. It belonged at the other end of the stable, but taking it there would mean leaving the glow of the torchlight, something she couldn't quite bring herself to do. Once it was out of the way, Vlad motioned her over and handed her the brush. 

"Shouldn't I go to the house and warn the servants?" Elizabeth asked. The idea of crossing even the short distance from the stable to the house alone was frightening, but Vlad seemed in no hurry to leave Princess and, as Nicholas's wife, the safety of the servants was her responsibility.

"We'll go in a few minutes. Princess has had a hard night, but she brought us through like a true heroine. She deserves a good brush and a sweet." He patted the pony's side and then began to comb out her mane. "Besides, the servants shouldn't be in any danger. There are only a handful remaining -- Cook and two maids, the gardener and a footman. The maids have cots in Cook's room. The men are sharing a room as well. I instructed them to lock their doors and not leave their quarters between the hours of dusk and dawn, for any reason. They're not to come out and they're not to allow anyone in, me included, no matter what happens, no matter what they hear. They're safe enough for tonight."

"It...it can't go in and get them?" Elizabeth began dragging the brush across the pony's back as she'd seen Vlad do. The shaggy warmth of Princess's hair beneath her hands and the slow smooth movements of the brush were deeply comforting.

"Into their homes uninvited? I suppose Randall could. Though I'm guessing he'd find himself facing a bullet if he tried. He's not vampire yet. At least I think not."

"Then Lucy or my, my..."

"Your mother is gone, child." The old priest's voice was as gentle now with her as it had been with Princess earlier. "The
diavol
that has stolen your mother's body, never touched her spirit. Her spirit was safely gone before the thief arrived." Vlad picked up one of the pony's hooves and examined it. Princess seemed not to mind. "Unlike a true vampire, who moves around as easily as any man, easier in fact, a
diavol varcolac
cannot cross a threshold over which it has not been invited. So the servants are safe."

"But Lucy has been invited into Heaven's Edge," Elizabeth said.

"You think of Heaven's Edge as a single home. Yours. But within that house, as within one of those large apartment lodgings one finds in London, there are actually many homes. Each person experiences their own room or rooms as a personal sanctuary. To the servants, their quarters are their homes, their sanctuaries, quite separate from yours. It is the truth of that fact that keeps the
diavol varcolac
from crossing their thresholds. Otherwise the creature wouldn't have needed to lure Margaret out into the night to attack her. It could have attacked her in the privacy of her own room, her home."

"But my mother was killed--"

"In her room. Yes. Someone, perhaps one of the maids that stayed the night with your mother, at some point must have invited Lucy across that threshold. It happens often enough. It is such a common courtesy it isn't even noticed. The
diavol varcolac
knocks on the door.
May I?
it says to the person who answers. They need not even speak. They have simply to step aside and indicate with a bow, a curtsy, a simple hand gesture that the creature may enter. Once invited, the invitation is an open one. It can come and go at will from then on."

"On the night my mother died, I was asleep in the next room."

"But it had never been invited into your room, so you were quite safe. We thought your mother safe as well. You were in your rooms. Randall and Lucy, the
diavol varcolac
that has stolen Lucretia’s body, were with us at Grubner's wake. Until, of course, they slipped away." Vlad shrugged his regret. Seeming satisfied with the condition of the Princess's hooves, he began carefully combing tangles from her tail.

Elizabeth put the brush back in its basket and wandered over to the trap. She pulled the burlap sack from beneath the seat, then sat on the end of the cart. Holding the sack in her lap, she rubbed her finger over the ornate hilt of the sword protruding from it and wished Vlad would hurry. 

She was restless, worried. 

She was home. In a few minutes she would be safe in her room. But what of Nicholas? He was out there in the darkness somewhere. And so was
it
. Unable to sit still, Elizabeth left the trap and began to pace the short distance from cart to stable door and back again, the burlap bag clutched against her chest with both arms. She needed to move his things back into their room, prepare a warm bath for him, change her ruined dress and ready herself to welcome him properly when he returned. She needed to be busy. Otherwise, waiting, not knowing if he was safe, would drive her insane.

Vlad finished brushing the pony. He put her in her stall and made sure she had hay and water. He stepped out of the circle of torchlight and returned with a carrot. When Princess had finished the last bite, Vlad turned back to Elizabeth. He regarded her for a long moment, then smiled as if satisfied. 

Suddenly Elizabeth wondered if Vlad had been taking his time in the stable as much for her benefit as for Princess's. The priest could hardly follow her to her room and keep her company. Had fussing over the little horse been his way of giving Elizabeth a chance to recover from the terrifying flight through the forest? Had he been calming and soothing her with his gentle words and actions just as he had the pony? 

"It's time to go to the house," the old man said. "You need to sleep, child. When you wake in the morning, Nicholas will be by your side again and this problem will be sorted out." He unlatched the stable door and plucked the torch from the cart, careful to hold it well away from the blackfish oil that soaked her skirts. Then he offered her his arm with a fatherly smile.

Elizabeth shifted the burlap bag to one hand and placed her other on his sleeve. Together they stepped out into the night.

Chapter Forty-Two

Fielding frowned as Lennie passed out of sight around the side of the castle with Father Vlad and Lady Devlin. The runner's defection unsettled him in a way he wouldn't have thought possible. He'd never known Lennie to be anything but stoic and sensible. Now he was putting his career at risk, taken in by some Banbury tale of vampires and demons. 

Fielding shook his head in disgust and returned his attention to Devlin and Bergen. The two stood back to back beside the empty funeral pyre, Devlin facing the castle, Bergen the woods. Both dressed in black from neck to toe, they were as still as twin statues, their heads tilted slightly to one side as if listening. Fielding was struck again by how similar the men were in height and appearance. 

Without warning, Devlin took off toward the castle at a run, Bergen right behind him. The chains about the doctor's neck danced wildly against each other, like writhing silver snakes, yet strangely made no sound.

"What is it?" Fielding tucked his gun into his waistband and followed at his best trot, but the younger men easily outdistanced him. 

They disappeared into a dark hole in the wall of the castle kitchens. Fielding hesitated at the gaping blackness, wishing for a torch. But curiosity was greater than caution and he ducked inside. He shuffled his feet along the uneven floor while keeping one hand to the wall to orient himself and using the other to probe the air before him. He blundered through the darkness, his ears straining for some hint of the direction the others had taken, his nerves sharp for any hint he might not be alone.

The talk of vampires was ridiculous, of course. But the thing on the roof had been real enough, as were the murders of Grubner and the other victims. Fielding had worked many odd cases in his career, but this one made no sense at all. Devlin was obviously a madman; one who'd concocted a violent fantasy of such power that he'd been able to draw all those around him into it: his new bride, his priest, even a seasoned runner like Lennie Hodges. 

A vision of Dr. Bergen beside the pyre brandishing razor-sharp fangs flashed through Fielding's mind. Nonsense. A parlor trick of some sort, surely. But was Bergen deep in league with Devlin? Had the two men led him into this ruin of a castle to ambush him? It seemed unlikely given they could easily have overpowered him outside, but Fielding patted the gun tucked in his waistband. He knew better than to stumble about in the dark with his hand on a trigger; he'd be as likely trip and shoot himself as an attacker. All the same, at intervals as he moved through the darkness his hand sought the consoling feel of the pistol grip.

A murmur of voices ahead made Fielding adjust his direction. The voices grew louder and his hand brushed fabric. Pushing it aside he entered the castle's chapel. Dim moonlight glowed through stained-glass, painting multi-colored geometrics over three men in the center aisle. The doctor and Devlin knelt over the third man who lay on the stone floor.

"The arm is certainly broken," the doctor said. "And he's taken a nasty blow to the head. It'll require a needle and thread."

Fielding made his way down the aisle, stopping just short of the other men. A pool of blood created a dark halo on the gray stone beneath the blond head of the Duke of Marlbourne. 

"Randall must have known I was following him. Not in my usual skill set, stalking -- at least not stalking
men
." The duke tried to laugh, but the sound was more warble than chuckle. "I followed him in here. He was waiting. He sprung at me from between the pews. Knocked me cold. Likely he thought I was dead."

The doctor was examining the duke, paying particular attention to his neck. "Well, this answers one question for us," he said. "Randall isn't a vampire. No wounds out of the ordinary. The head wound has bled a good deal, as they do, but sadly his skull seems intact. Worse, the arm's merely broken, not torn off."

"How serious?" Devlin was holding one of his father's hands.

"Serious enough," the doctor said. "It'd be best not to move him too far. At least not until I've had a chance to tend that head wound properly and splint his arm."

"Give me a bottle of something friendly and leave me. You've more urgent business." The duke tried to sit up. His sharp intake of breath ended in a strangled yelp and he lay back against the stone floor.

"There's a comfortable bed in the tower room." Lord Devlin rose to his feet and moved toward the back of the church. "It's been a Devlin home for centuries, a sanctuary for Devlin brides and grooms. He should be safe enough there, for now." 

Lord Devlin lifted his boot and slammed it into the backrest of a pew repeatedly. The back tore loose from the seat and arm rests. He carried the plank up the aisle and set it on the floor next to the duke.

"Sorry, Father," he said as he and Bergen transferred the duke to the makeshift stretcher. The duke clenched his teeth, but didn't cry out. 

Fielding held back the tapestry as they carried the stretcher from the chapel, then he latched onto Devlin's cloak so he wouldn't lose the others in the darkness. When they began ascending stairs he released the cloak in favor of moving more cautiously upward. That Devlin and Bergen moved through the darkness with such speed and confidence astounded him. A vampire trait? Fielding snorted. There were no such things as vampires. He shrugged a creeping feeling from between his shoulder blades.

The duke was laid on a bed in a room at the top of the stairs. Bergen lit a lamp. It illuminated a room as different from the rest of the castle as night from day. Where elsewhere the castle was a ruin, this tower bedroom showed signs of great care and frequent use. The huge bed was decadently attired in a lush fur spread and silk-covered pillows. Wood had been laid in the fireplace. A clean cloth covered the room's single table on which sat a bottle of wine, a bowl of nuts, and two elegant glasses. It all looked clean and inviting, as if they'd been expected. A sanctuary for Devlin brides and grooms, his lordship had said. A lover's nest is what Maria would have called it.

"The last time I lay in this bed was with Sarah," the duke said, as if what Fielding had been thinking had been written plain on his face. "We spent our honeymoon nights in this room. And quite a few other nights as well through the years. All Devlin brides do. Happy days. Gone too fast. But Nickie, I want you to know something."