Blood to Blood (25 page)

"Then we are not so different after all."

"And the force you believe gives you life?"

"Took a part of my soul, but not all of it. Not as long as there are memories." For the first time since she'd come to him, she took his hand and held it as they drove.

Once home, he helped her from the carriage. They walked a time in the garden, her hand still in his. Finally she turned to him. He saw that she was smiling, delighted. I was dead," she whispered to him. "For centuries, dead. Now I remember life."

"I saw the whore's expression as you drank from her. Take from me," he whispered.

She drew in a slow breath. "I would not want to rule you. Trust is better." Her hand brushed the side of his face, and though her hand was cold, his body responded to her touch.

For the fourth night in as many, Colleen roamed the narrow, dark alleys of London's East End, looking for an ideal victim. They were all around her, leaning dazed against dark lampposts, sleeping in windowless hovels and putrid dormitories.

She carried a carving knife with the blade broken off and the tip ground to razor's sharpness. All she had to do was cut and take, such a little bit to quell the hunger and return her to normal for another few days.

As her need grew, she found the courage, coming across a drunk sleeping off the gin behind a broken wooden gate leading into an empty courtyard. The area was lit only by the faintest sliver of a moon and a single lamp burning in an upstairs window. It seemed safe.

She nudged him with the toe of her shoe; he did not stir. As she crouched above him, she held her skirt well away from his filthy clothing. Licking her thumb, she cleaned a spot on the side of his neck, then keeping her finger there to guide the knife, she cut.

Not deep, just deep enough. She could smell the blood even before it touched her finger. Holding her breath against the reek of sweat and oily hair, she pressed her lips to the wound and began to drink. Mercifully, he did not stir until she had taken nearly enough. Then, with the sudden move from sleep to waking of all desperate creatures, he gripped her arm.

"Robbing me, are you?" he said with a growl, then coughed.

"No, kind sir. I was merely making sure you were all right and to give you this so you could find somewhere safer to sleep." She pulled a few coins from her pocket and held them out, shaking them so he could hear.

As she hoped, he let go of her to take them.

"Well and well," he said as he fingered the coins. "Maybe you'd best come with me… and keep me company so's we both—"

But, once freed, she had gone, running down the dark street, tripping once and falling hard, then finding her feet again.

The rush was unnecessary. By the time she'd reached the corner, he'd fallen back into his stupor, with only the coins to remind him that her presence had not been a dream.

As soon as she arrived at the cottage in Chelsea, Colleen stripped off her dress and scrubbed her lips with soap and water so hard that they bled. Only then did she allow herself to feel the euphoria the blood gave her. Smiling at her courage, she turned up the light on the table and saw the lace gown draped across a chair.

Nearly a fortnight, and Joanna had finally returned to find her gone. Colleen sat at the table, and in spite of the glow the drunk's blood gave her, tears came to her eyes. She fought them. Joanna was still thinking about her, still nearby. Colleen had not been abandoned.

Knowing this made the change easier to take. Perhaps her ordeal was even some sort of test to determine if she were worthy to become one of those nocturnal creatures. If so, it seemed she was doing well. She had fed three times and had not fallen for the obvious—and unthinkable!—method of stealing helpless infants from their cradles or children from their mother's side.

She lit another set of lamps, put the gown on, and studied herself in the mirror. The high neckline that Joanna preferred to hide her pallor demanded a cameo. She had one of those and pinned it on. The long sleeves, which tapered over the backs of her hands, were perfect alone. Her hair needed a bit of work, though, perhaps pinned up? She played with it and achieved a disheveled but potentially elegant look.

The effect was pretty, more modest than she liked, but perfect for a night at the theater or dinner with a beaux.

Having neither, she heated some water and fixed a cup of tea. With the blood in her satisfying her most primal needs, her appetite returned. She trimmed the moldy edges of some rye bread and cheese and feasted, wiping her fingers delicately on a kitchen rag, pretending it was a linen napkin.

Just before dawn, she went into Joanna's room and, as had become her habit, lay in the box of earth. It seemed so soft against her, so comforting as she drifted off to happy dreams.

She woke late in the afternoon, with enough time to slip a dark cloak over the green lace and venture out for a copy of the
Times
, a pint and a bit of bread and meat from her favorite pub. Human hungers satisfied, she concentrated on the newer, stronger ones. The blood she had taken still warmed her, enough that she would have a day or two more before she needed to hunt again. She marveled at Joanna's control on their long journey from the East. But perhaps once the human half shut down, the vampiric half would be less demanding as well.

No matter, she would adjust.

The following afternoon, her slumber was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door, a messenger bringing her a sealed ivory vellum envelope. She broke it open, noted the signature on the enclosed letter and read as quickly as the unfamiliar hand would allow, the salutation convincing her that Joanna had dictated it.

Draga Colleen,

I am safe here in Kensington. As I had hoped, my host has been good to me and I am happier than I had ever hoped to be in this strange and crowded land.

Last night I went to the opera, and while I listened to it, I thought of you and had to visit. But I had no way of communicating with you except to leave a gift. Now Lord Arthur is writing this for me, as I think someone will always have to. I have no skill with letters, and am likely long past the age when I could learn.

Sora, I want you to want for nothing. With this note comes a letter from Lord Arthur, a duplicate of one he sent to a local bank where a fund has been set up for you. Arthur assures me that £20 each month is more than sufficient for your needs, since there will be no rent on the house. It is yours for as long as you are alive, and perhaps after.

Next time I come, it will not be on a woman's whim. I will write you first. Cu drag, Joanna

When Colleen finished, she looked down at the paper and laughed. A creature who did not know how to write had thought to send her a letter. Yet it had never occurred to her to contact her mistress in that most ordinary fashion.

She pulled out pen and ink and paper; the last not nearly as grand as Lord Arthur's, but it would do. She paused, thought and began to write:

Dearest Joanna,

When I found the gown, I did not know whether to laugh or cry but decided on happiness because, though you missed me, you did keep your promise and come back.

No, I have found no one nor will I ever, it seems. Sadly, the change you had hoped would not come until after death is now on me. I sleep by day and am wakeful at night. I have fed three times, all without detection, and will have to hunt again tonight.

I do not know how long I will remain between two worlds. I pray it will only be a little while and that you will be here when the final change occurs. Cu drag, Colleen

She posted it immediately, then made another quick trip to the baker's, stopping for flowers on the way back. She might not have a garden for her mistress, but she would give her what she could.

Since Arthur Holmwood had learned of Van Helsing's visit, he had been waiting for the old man to storm the walls of the Kensington estate. Instead, the onslaught was far more sub-tie, coming as it did in the bright afternoon light in the hands of a postman.

First there was a brief note from Van Helsing saying that he was going abroad and returning Arthur's key. Arthur had no doubt that the man was moving, but doubted it would be even as far as Dover, let alone Paris or Vienna.

The second was a letter postmarked in Exeter. He recognized the writing immediately, tore it open and sat in the music room, taking in every word.

My dear Arthur,

Van Helsing has written me and told me that he believes you have managed to find Joanna Tepes and that she may be living under your protection in Kensington. He, of course, wants me to come to London immediately, to help him with his stakes and mallet. I've refused because I know you too well to believe that you would harbor a murderer in your home.

I remember our conversation of just a few short weeks ago
—
how you would give your soul for a chance to speak to one of those creatures. You seem to have gotten your wish. I presume your soul is still in your keeping and that you have learned much
.

But like Van Helsing, I am concerned. So please, Arthur, spare me a tedious trip to London. Drop me a quick line telling me that you are indeed all right. Better yet, send me an invitation to call on your guest. I should like to meet her under calmer circumstances than those terrible hours in Castle Dracula. Mina

Now, that would be an interesting meeting. He wondered what Joanna would say if he suggested it. and decided to wait a bit longer before asking her.

In the meantime, however, he had to return Mina's letter or risk having her—and probably Jonathan and Van Helsing and, if he were particularly unlucky. Jack Seward—prowling outside his gate. He decided to reply in the same spirit she had, and tell her exactly how he felt.

Dear Mina,

You are correct. I have gotten my wish. I have found my houseguest to be civilized but usually shy to the point of being reclusive. She has shared her thoughts with me, and her life.

Yes, I have seen signs of the strange hysteria you spoke of when you told me about your journey east, but I think much of it came from her own life in the castle. I gather that she and Karina were all but prisoners there and she lived in constant fear.

So far as I know she has not killed since coming to London, but did admit to slaying a sailor on board the ship that brought her here. Understandable, since my own investigation assured me that he was trying to rob and rape her at the time.

She has not answered the questions I've asked about Lucy quite as directly as I had hoped. But I gather that the vampire is under the control of the one who made him. In her case, your killing of Illona and Dracula freed her from his control, as it might have freed my Lucy. Would that we had known that. Do you suppose Van Helsing did and thought it made no difference?

That question troubles me even more than the ones about Lucy. Oddly, knowing all of this has been a comfort rather than a source of renewed guilt. At least my only sorrow is that it is too late to change the past.

When the time seems right, yes, I will invite you here. Arthur

He read the letter over and decided it was enough to keep her away. The fact that it was the truth made it all the better.

But he hadn't told her everything, for that would have sounded insane. The blend of timidity and power in the woman was more arousing than any mortal woman could ever hope to be. Arthur wanted her—physically, though he guessed that would be disquieting at best. But he could live without that if he could merely give her happiness, make her grace him with one of her broad, fleeting smiles.

He almost threw out the last letter. The scrawled hand led him to believe it was merely another request for funds from some bold, poverty-struck clerk or cleric. But there was a decisiveness in the strokes that made him think it might be important, so he opened it.

Inside was an envelope, thankfully unsealed, addressed to Joanna. A quick note to him made the contents clear.

Dear Lord Holmwood,

My mistress wrote me and I need write her back. I have news that she must know and soon. Please see that she gets this. Read it to her and tell her I ask nothing but that she come to me soon if only for a little while. There is much I need to know. My thanks. Colleen O'Shaunnasv

He stared at the envelope a long time before opening it and reading the contents. He felt a stab of pity for the girl, mixed with a surprising envy. She would know things he never would, would see a future beyond him. Her request was so humble, so hopeful and so full of hidden need. He knew that once Joanna went to her, it was likely Joanna would never return to him.

He read the letter again, noting that the girl was doing well on her own. Judging from how slowly Mina's condition had progressed, a week would make no difference to her, but for him it might be enough to assure that Joanna would return for a visit only.

No, he would not lose his prize.

And so he said nothing that day, nor the next. By the third. Colleen was rarely on his mind. Yet once, with no warning, he saw Joanna's brow crease, her eyes grow troubled. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing," she mouthed, a breathless, silent dismissal.