Descent Into Dust (24 page)

Each morning, I played with Henrietta, up in the nursery under Miss Harris’s watchful eye. Each afternoon, and then each evening before dinner, I checked on her. I was obsessed with her security, and spent much time attending to the various appointments of garlic and holy water to protect her in the night. I also made time for my sister, more to fend off her making complaint to Mary than all else. However, the normalcy of those hours was a balm to me. We sewed together, strolled the garden. Not infrequently we went to the village for a little shopping and a visit with Uncle Peter.

However, my favorite time of day was the time I spent in the library with Mr. Fox, where we engaged in long discussions, even debates at times, on the nature of revenants and other malefactions. Much of the past discomfort between us seemed to have abated, and we were a lot easier in each other’s company.

“He appeared beautiful.” Gaslight played games of light and shadow over the surfaces of the room. Soft on velvet, sharper on the grainy faces of the wooden furniture. “Elegant. And yet, terrifying power seemed to come from within him.”

“That is merely a charm.” He reclined on a long divan, looking as if he were at an idyll. He had divested himself of his frock coat, and he had hung his waistcoat on the back of a chair as he often did, so that he lounged in a full-sleeved shirt of unusually fine lawn. It was a shockingly casual appearance, but I did not mind. “The real Marius is monstrous, a creature so terrifying and unsightly, that a glimpse often throws a victim into catatonia. This is what I saw on the midnight street in Montmartre. When a vampire feeds, it rarely bothers with appearances.”

I considered this interesting fact. “I glimpsed that at first when he attacked you, but I did not see him clearly. When I
did look at him, he was as I described. He must wish to charm me.” I reached for another biscuit from the tea tray.

Fox sat up. “I trust you wear the protections the priest gave us. You may be a diversion from his true purpose here, but a worthwhile one, should Marius set his sights on you. You are an opponent of consequence to him. You understand?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “I am never without my small crucifix and the vial of blessed water. But…I confess, I have not kept up with garlic. I simply cannot abide the smell. And, by the by, I have never understood exactly why is it purported to be effective.”

Fox grinned. “An old man I met in a fishing village on the Bosporus once lectured me at length on the healing properties of garlic, as well as its effects in preserving health and prolonging life. It is also thought to purify, as does salt and silver.”

My eyes widened as I nibbled the biscuit. “Silver? I was not aware that was of significance. Do you not recall? I threw the silver candlestick when we were at Mr. Hess’s house. But my hand first found the larger one, heavier, made of iron. It would have made a better weapon, but I instinctively rejected it.”

He cocked his head in disbelief. “I thank God you trusted those unerring instincts, Emma. That thing was about to take me when you intervened.”

“But this is so terribly vexing!” I stood suddenly. “Am I not supposed to have singular gift, extraordinary powers? But I do not know what they are, and between you, myself, Uncle Peter, and Father Luke, I know the least of anyone.”

“You will learn. The qualities buried within you will reveal themselves. These instincts require you trust in yourself. Be patient, Emma.”

I looked at him, realizing he’d spoken knowledgeably. “Have you known another who was Dhampir?”

His eyebrows lifted. “I have.”

I shot out of my chair. “I must meet her.”

“That would prove impractical. I found her many years ago when I followed Marius to the court of the Ottoman Caliphate.”

“But you must tell me of her. Who was she, what was her name?” I resumed my seat, perched on its edge like an eager pupil.

He lowered his gaze, and when he spoke, it was a quiet reverence. “Naimah.”

“Nye-ee-mah,” I repeated. “It is a beautiful name.”

“She was the child of a vampire male, a
strigoi vii
who did not hide his nature from her. Thus she always knew her power. Then, as a young slave girl, she fell in love with her master. When he was attacked by a great vampire lord, she drove it off. She was given her freedom as reward.”

“She knew her father—a vampire?”

“The coexistence of the undead in the living world is much different in the Near East. The undead know their place, and the population understands how to control them, for the most part. In my time with her, I learned much of value on the nature of the revenant world.”

“Tell me,” I urged excitedly.

“The most surprising to me was to understand how the nomadic, solitary life the undead lead leaves the vampire lonely, frustrated. There are blood ties that run through their numbers, and among them are enemies as well as allies. They play out their power games and coups. Assassinations are not uncommon and minions, like armies, are won and lost.” He swallowed hard, and I did not understand the bitterness that I
saw come over him. “From time to time, they create companions for themselves.”

“Yes, you told me this. But it is rare, is it not? It takes much of their strength to accomplish this.”

“We must conclude they do so only when a mortal man or woman captures their attention to such a degree, they cannot resist. It is a kind of falling in love. But, you see, they are so jealous of power, and so viciously competitive and cruel in their nature, they can never coexist for long without rivalry. But the blood will always connect them, as siblings of sorts, or a sire to its offspring.”

I shivered. I was disgusted at this idea of twisted families. Then I recollected something that snapped me to attention. “Do you think that is what the dragon symbol means? Could it be a sign, a heraldic arms of sorts, for a certain family?”

“Indeed. A clan, then? Most certainly, it is.” His features gathered into a dark look. “I know very little of these things, just enough to recognize that the dragon is a mysterious symbol that strikes terror into the hearts of living and undead alike. More than that, I have not been able to uncover. There are some matters into which the glib lower orders of vampires, among whom I’ve managed to gather most of my intelligence, will not venture. No one will speak of the Dracula beyond the most furtive mention of his name.”

“Could Marius be one of his?”

“I would say it is quite possible, even likely.”

A disturbing thought pressed me. I distinctly recalled there had been something seductive, almost cherishing in the way Marius’s mind had touched me. He’d seemed to have been intrigued, almost as if he’d discovered an interesting pet, or…Or
a kinship. If he were related in some way to the Dracula, did that mean that I was as well?

I turned my thoughts firmly away from that direction.

“Naimah knew more than anyone I met in all of my travels,” Fox said. There was a trace of a smile on his lips, a hint of memories much more personal. It was clear the woman had meant a great deal to him. Had she been his lover? “She was both revered and feared in her land, but left to live undisturbed. She occupied a small palace, given to her by the sheik whose life she’d saved. It was a veritable zoo. There was a magnificent bird—an uncannily intelligent hawk. She’d had a tiger once, who had given its life to save her when she’d been attacked by a band of revenants. There was also a small, crafty monkey who seemed to read her orders straight from her mind. And she always knew when an animal was evil, for the vampire commands certain creatures, and the Dhampir can sense this.”

This was fascinating, but it did not help me. I myself had not felt any affinity with Roger’s hunting hounds or the sleek barn cats I’d come across. I sighed with longing. “I wish I understood all that I am capable of.”

“It cannot be taught, but rather discovered. Naimah would often preach on that, for while there is wisdom in folklore and tradition, there are ridiculous claims, as well, and they can mislead one into false strategies that will get you killed. You must always beware. For example…let me see, ah!” He raised a slender finger and grinned at me. “I have it on good authority that a reliable way to thwart the undead is to scatter millet seeds about the grave, as vampires are obsessed with counting.”

“That cannot possibly be true!”

“Yet it is not infrequently employed. I do so myself; it is tradition. Ah, yes, and a tolling bell is reputed to enchant them.”
He chuckled, rubbing his long fingers over his bottom lip. “But by far the silliest thing I heard was the technique of removing the vampire’s sock, placing a rock in it, and throwing it in running water.”

I laughed, and he joined me. I’d never heard his laughter before. Never saw him like this, lightened, unburdened. It changed his entire appearance. The ghostly cast to his eye was gone, the drawn lines and hollows in his cheeks smoothed out. It was like looking at a different man. “I warn you,” he said in a teasing tone, “I have not tried it. It could be quite effective.”

I smiled at him. “Did you just make a jest, Mr. Fox?”

“I suppose I did. I imagine it is your effect on me, Mrs. Andrews.”

This time, the formal address was spoken as something of an endearment. “I cannot see you much affected by anything,” I said quietly.

“Then you are not looking very closely. I confess, I marvel at you sometimes. You are unspoiled by the ugliness that has intruded on your life. The things you have seen with your own eyes in the last weeks would have twisted anyone. I know they did me. Learning what you have of your mother is devastating. But you have not abandoned your life nor fallen into melancholy, as one might expect. I admire your resilience.”

I flushed, deeply flattered. “I do not see I have much choice.”

“There is always a choice.” He sobered, and I knew he was thinking of himself. Mr. Fox’s world was only the darkness, only the hunt. “There is goodness in you.” Speaking with thoughtfulness, he regarded me peculiarly, as if he were seeing me for the first time. “The sort I had not thought existed. Or perhaps I’ve forgotten what it is to live outside of this war. I have been on my own for too long.”

“Why, Mr. Fox,” I said when I found my voice, “we are neither one of us alone. Not any longer.”

He blinked, and something flashed, caught in his eyes for a glimmer of a moment before he could dispel it. It was merely a fleeting moment of significance, but I knew—perhaps with the instincts of the Dhampir, perhaps simply with that way of knowing by which women are attributed a special intuition—but I knew without a doubt that Mr. Fox
was
ever alone. I could swear to it—he harbored a very deep, very terrible secret.

“But Mr. Ivanescu has left, Mrs. Andrews,” the old innkeeper told Alyssa and me the following afternoon. “I am sure he must have informed you of his plans.”

Standing in the drafty common room of the Avebury Inn, I was disconcerted by this news. “But he was expecting us! Did he leave a message for me?”

“He did, yes, ma’am.” He patted his pockets. “Now, where did I put that letter? I hope I did not set it out with the post.”

“And could you build the fire up, please,” Alyssa requested, her cloak grasped tightly about her. The innkeeper, familiar with Alyssa’s temper, rushed to see to it.

She was in a mood today. “This is the chilliest spring I can remember,” she groused, as if someone were to blame. Walking to the hearth, she sank down on a bench. “Perhaps tea would do me good. And a little something to eat. A sandwich, perhaps. Please, Emma, a shaved-ham sandwich! With smoked cheddar cheese, if you would.”

I went to request Alyssa’s meal. I was not terribly worried by my sister’s condition—I knew from experience that something to eat would be immensely restorative. But Uncle Peter’s abrupt departure left me shaken. It could not be a portent of good.

I happened to notice a salver sitting on a table and saw it was the tray for the post. I rifled through the letters to see if my note from Uncle Peter had gotten mislaid there. It had not, but I saw another missive in Uncle Peter’s hand, written to a Dom Beauclaire in Amiens, France. It might well be this was completely unrelated to Uncle Peter’s sudden departure, but I had ceased to believe in coincidences.

The innkeeper reappeared, handing me a page folded and sealed with my uncle’s baroque flourish. “Here you go. It was left with my wife.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the folded sheet he gave me. But when I read it, the message was impersonal, brief, and frustratingly uninformative. There seemed to be a diplomatic crisis brewing in the Crimea and he had to leave immediately. I was well aware of the tensions in that part of the world. Many people were concerned that if Russia did not abate its aggression, we would be drawn into war. Uncle Peter’s note said nothing of his particular mission, merely explained the nature of his absence, and ended with the words: “Do not worry, my dear Emma. I will not desert you.”

The door to the inn swung open with a bang and Sebastian lunged inside. “Emma, thank God I’ve found you!” he shouted upon seeing me. “Henrietta is missing. Fox sent me for you.”

I do not recall any of my actions, only that it was with dizzying haste that my sister and I rushed to the trap Sebastian had driven to collect us, leaving the conveyance we had used to come to the village for a servant to fetch. We were underway back to Dulwich Manor within moments.

“She seems to have slipped away sometime this morning,” Sebastian explained. “Mary is searching the house with the servants. The men are to ride out and search the forest. Fox said
for me to tell you he believes you might be of particular help.”

He fears Marius has taken her, I realized. It was what I thought as well.

It seemed to take forever to reach Dulwich Manor. When we arrived, I turned Alyssa over to her husband, and Sebastian dismounted, leaving me the trap. “I will do better on horseback,” he explained. “Head for the forest.”

I snapped the reins as soon as I was situated in the driver’s box. The horse took off like a shot, and I leaned into the speed, veering away from the direction Sebastian had given me. I urged the lively mare to go as fast as she could, and we two raced over the downs, up to the meadow where the thorny branches of Marius’s tree scraped against an ugly gray sky.