Hunter's Moon (16 page)

There was, of course, no trace of whatever it was that Drago had drained out of Simeon's body – it had evaporated long ago. I still had no idea what the liquid could be. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. It wasn't blood, that was clear. But it was also clear that it came from the victims. The newspapers had spoken of vampire attacks. But if my stepmother was a vampire satisfying an unnatural hunger, then she was like no vampire I had ever heard of. She did not carry out the attacks herself, as vampires who enjoyed the blood-lust did. And she did not take blood, as thirsty vampires did – although she did attack at random, as rampaging vampires did …

Going into the third room, I took some more photographs – of all the vials and other equipment. I didn't know what much of it was for, but perhaps someone else might.

I couldn't help feeling uneasy as I glanced into the fixed stare of the Belladonna mannequin. There was no sound from it this time, no vibration, but the painted eyes glared in a way that made me feel so uncomfortable that I had to turn away.

I was just returning to the first room, ready to make my way back down the corridor and into the elevator, when I heard a groan behind me. Drago was coming to! I spun around. His eyes weren't open, but he was stirring. Would those ropes hold him, once he was fully awake? I was not at all sure of the strength of the knots I'd tied. The iron bar still lay on the floor where I'd thrown it after hitting him. I picked it up. Should I hit him again? If I hit him hard enough, in the same spot as I had the first time, I would probably kill him. And he would never be able to tell Belladonna what had happened. But instinctively I shrank from it. He was trussed up, helpless. I'd be doing it in cold blood. To do that would be to become just like Belladonna.

No, I had to find some other way. Rushing out through the door, I closed it behind me and scrambled through the bunch of keys, trying to find one that would fit. There didn't seem to be one. I looked around wildly for an object I could use to hold the door closed. The abandoned machinery was mostly too big to lift and was probably bolted to the floor, anyway.

The iron bar! It was still in my hand! I used it to wedge the door handle shut. It would take some time to shift.

I ran down the corridor, went up in the elevator, and sprinted up the stairs. Out in the alley again, I locked the door behind me. I needed, now, a place to hide and wait, in case Belladonna came to investigate why Drago had not answered her summons. I walked down to the end of the alley and looked up and down the side street for a place where I could hide, where I would be able to watch the entrance to the alley and wait for Belladonna.

I glanced up to the end of the street that joined the main road where I had walked that day after visiting the offices of the
Mirror
, and as I did I saw two people stop at the corner, pausing for a moment to talk. It was a man and a woman. The woman was Sommer Malling, the famous journalist. And the man … Though he had his back to me, I could see his tall figure, light-brown hair, and the grace of his bearing … My God, I thought, astonished and thrilled. It can't be! It surely can't be!

I watched from a distance as the pair finished their conversation, then shook hands in farewell. I watched as Sommer Malling walked back in the direction of the offices of the
Mirror
, while the man crossed the road and walked in the opposite direction. All thoughts of hiding from Belladonna forgotten, I ran up the side street, turned and raced down the main road to catch up to Sommer Malling's companion, my heart racing with hope.

I reached him and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. But before I could say anything, he spun on his heel and grabbed me by the arm. His grip was like iron. His eyes were hard as stones yet with a strange light within them. His nostrils were flaring and for an instant, I felt real fear that his wolf-side would break through, even though it was still light and not hunter's moon anymore, either.

‘Lucian,' I said, ‘it's me.'

‘Who are you?' he said. ‘I don't know you.' His voice was huskier than it had been in the haven, as though he'd come down with a cold.

I was hurt, wondering why he did not recognise me. Did I mean so little to him? Had I just been imagining that
he felt the same way towards me as I did to him? Then with a jump of the heart, I remembered that I must look very different to when he'd last seen me in the haven – and certainly different from the night of the ball. In relief, I gabbled, ‘It's the haircut, and the walnut juice Verakina gave me. Lucian, it's me. It's Bianca Dalmatin.'

‘Vera–? Wha–?' He went very pale. Released his grip. Stared at me. Said, in a low voice, ‘Bianca? But you were supposed to be dead …'

I stared at him. ‘But you knew I wasn't! When you saw me in the haven …'

‘I'm sorry,' he said, shaking his head. ‘I just mean – everyone thinks you're dead. It's not safe to –'

I broke in. ‘I know; you told me to be careful and keep my head down. But Lucian, here's the thing –'

‘Don't,' he said. ‘Don't use my name. Not here. You never know if Belladonna's spies might be watching …' He looked up and down the street, a little anxiously, and led me into a doorway, so that we would be hidden from anyone walking past.

‘Sorry. Of course.'

‘What … How did you escape? What are you doing here?'

‘Didn't Master Kinberg send you a message? He said he was going to.'

He paused for a moment, then shook his head.

‘It doesn't matter. The thing is, he's arranging for a passage for three to the haven, and he wanted me to wait too, but I couldn't, because we need evidence, you see?'

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don't see. You have to understand. I didn't get Master Kinberg's message. I don't
have a clue what's happened. Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.'

‘Sorry. Of course.' And I told him, very quickly, what had happened, while he stood there looking at me as though he could not quite believe his ears. When I finished, he said, shaking his head, ‘My God. You took a huge risk.'

‘No more than you do every day.' I met his eyes. ‘I know what's at stake for you.' I paused. ‘You see, I know what your secret is; I know why you hide behind your mask.'

His face went quite still. ‘Do you now?' he said softly, and something in his tone made me feel suddenly that I'd said the wrong thing, said something that he had not wanted to hear.

I said, haltingly, ‘Please, just listen. Because I feel that what you do as the … as the Prince of Outlaws, saving those people … It's even more heroic, because the … your … affliction … it could have turned you into a … a creature of darkness – but instead you are of the light.'

Something flickered in his eyes. His body, which had been tense, relaxed slightly and he said, ‘You are kind. Much too kind.'

‘No! I'm just telling the honest truth. And I'm trying to tell you that I … that I think … our paths lie together. Not apart.' The last had come in a rush and I could feel my cheeks flaming as I spoke, but I had to say it. I had to tell the Prince how I felt.

Our eyes met for a moment. He said, ‘Tonight they do meet, clearly.' There was a note of warning in his voice, which stung me.

Drawing myself up, coolly trying to mask the deep hurt that pierced my heart, I said, ‘Yes. I know it's not really your concern, I know that for you, the outcasts come first. But I had hoped we could work together to expose Belladonna –'

‘You're wrong,' he said at once. Then he paused, as if he had said something he hadn't meant to say. ‘It's very much my concern. You have no idea why I was here in the first place?'

I looked at him, a little startled. I hadn't thought about it really, not until that moment, for I'd been too happy to see him. ‘I suppose you're in Lepmest because of the beggar killings and that dead man Mattias found. And you thought the
Mirror
might have some useful information, perhaps?'

He shrugged. ‘Hardly. Sommer Malling is the fashion editor after all, not the crime reporter. I thought I might find out something about your stepmother. A secret or something I – we could use.'

‘Now that
was
a risk, for Miss Malling is one of my stepmother's closest friends,' I said, lightly, my heart lifting. Up until then, I'd had the uneasy sense that somehow his feelings towards me had changed – or had never existed as I'd thought. But I could see now that it was simply that I had surprised him, popping up unexpectedly like a jack-in-the-box. His words made me understand that he wanted the same thing I did – to make Belladonna pay. It meant so much to me that we wanted the same thing.

‘You'd be surprised,' he said, with a crooked smile, ‘what people really think about Lady Belladonna Dalmatin, even so-called close friends.'

I returned his smile. ‘I'm glad to hear it. Did Miss Malling have a secret to tell?'

‘Nothing of importance, unfortunately. Just a touch of common spite. The lady does not exactly have the sweetest nature.' He looked at me and flashed a white-toothed smile. ‘Forgive me if I've seemed … strange. It was just a … a shock, seeing you here. But now I've recovered. And there's no need for the police, Bianca – we'll do it together, just you and me. What do you say?' There was a bright lightness to his voice now, and a warm quality to his glance, which made my pulse race.

‘I say I think it's about time we started, then,' I retorted, trying to keep the happiness from showing too plainly in my voice.

Everything was different now. I was no longer alone. Lucian Montresor, Prince of Outlaws, was with me, and together we would take on the world – starting with my wicked stepmother.

‘First things first,' said Lucian. ‘You are sure that Drago did not see you at any stage?'

‘Quite sure.'

‘Good. Then we must keep it that way. They must not know that you are still alive. You cannot risk going back to that place, under any circumstances.'

‘But we need to wait for Belladonna, to see if she'll come back to see why Drago didn't answer her summons!' I said. ‘We have to catch her and we have to make sure Drago doesn't have a chance to get away.'

‘Of course. And what I propose is that
I
do that – I will wait at that place while you go to my apartment – my family's apartment, that is, which is nearby – and you can wait in safety for me there.' He gestured towards the camera. ‘Plus, if they are to be used as evidence, those photographs will need developing. My father is a keen photographer and there is a small darkroom at the apartment that you can use. I assume you know how to develop photographs?'

I nodded. ‘My father taught me.' I was about to leave – we had been standing there a while and I did not want to waste a single more second in case Belladonna came by – but I couldn't help but ask shyly, ‘But Lucian, what about your servants?'

His mouth twisted humorously. ‘I didn't think you would be afraid of a
scandal
of all things, Bianca.'

I flushed. ‘I'm not! It's just … It's just that if by any chance they recognise me …'

‘Florian and Clara, the only staff we have in town, have worked for my family for decades – and their parents before them. They won't ask any questions. Believe me, they are utterly trustworthy.' He drew his signet ring off his finger and gave it to me. ‘This will prove to them that you are my friend, to be protected at all times.'

‘Do they … Do they know you are the Prince of Outlaws?' I could not help asking.

‘Nobody knows who does not need to. And you must not tell anyone,' he added quickly, and our eyes met. ‘Now, Bianca,' he went on, ‘we'd better be on our way. Let's meet again at my apartment.' He gave me directions to the apartment, and I gave him the key to the door in the alley.

Now I knew that the Prince was doing everything he could to help me to expose Belladonna, I felt so much better as the burden of loneliness slipped off my shoulders. I hadn't realised until that moment how great the burden of that had been. This must be what the outcasts felt like, safe in their haven at last, I thought, safe in the knowledge that they were no longer hunted, secure in the feeling that the Prince was protecting them.

We parted, then, and as I headed off, I looked back once and saw him walking towards the alley with a long, loping stride and a kind of wary alertness to the set of his shoulders that reminded me of a hunter on the trail. I was glad to have such a strong person on my side.

It was just as Lucian had said. As soon as the old man Florian saw the ring, the suspicion on his face disappeared, and he ushered me inside. When I explained I needed to use the darkroom, he did not ask any questions, but only led me through the apartment till we came to a door that was screened by a heavy black curtain. Beyond was the darkroom. There was everything in it that a photographer needed. Florian left me there, saying that if I needed anything, I only had to ring the bell.

I got to work at once, carefully extracting the small glass plates from the camera and gently putting them one by one into the developing fluid, then onto photographic paper, then into developing fluid where the images actually appeared. When I was a child, I had never tired of the magic of seeing the images slowly appear, and even now I held my breath as they manifested. There was Drago, lying motionless. There was his victim. There were the cages. One thing that I couldn't see was the two-pronged weapon: the photographs I had taken of that hadn't worked; the negative was black. Similarly, the photos I had taken of the Belladonna dummy had not worked. Why? Are they made of some other-worldly material? Or had I just not taken the photograph properly? But it doesn't matter, I thought. We have enough evidence with the rest of the photos.

After developing, the photographs would have to dry, and that was the part that would take the longest, for
they needed to be left in the dark for quite a while. There was no point in hovering over the process – it would get on very well without me. I emerged from the darkroom and was about to ring the bell to summon Florian when I thought that instead I would take the opportunity to explore the apartment and perhaps get to know a little more about Lucian. All I wanted was to feel closer to him. And to perhaps begin to understand how he had become the Prince … So I prowled through first a dining room and a drawing room, then a library, where I looked at the pictures on the walls and the books on the shelves.

There were reminders everywhere of the mountains. For example, in the library there was a framed photograph of Nellia's Spring and beside it, a painting of the feya herself. The artist had painted her as small and delicate, with a cloud of silver hair, yet with an unwavering dark gaze that seemed to follow me around the room. It was as though she were watching over not only this room, not only this apartment, but the family itself. Yet I remembered what Mistress Tomzin had said, about Nellia being unable to break the curse that had been put on the Montresors by the witch. What good did it do, having a good fairy to watch over you, if she was unable to protect you from such evil? A profitless notion, I thought, as I turned away from the painting.

A little to my disappointment, there was not a sign of Lucian's other life as the Prince of Outlaws. But then, was that so surprising? He'd said, ‘Nobody knows who does not need to.' That must mean even his parents and his servants did not know. It is a shame, I thought, that they would know about the curse – that Lucian was a werewolf,
just like the first cursed Montresor, Hector, had been – but not about the honourable way he had chosen to rise above his fate, by reaching out to and protecting all his fellow outcasts in Noricia.

I left the library and headed down the corridor to another room. But I had only just put my hand on the door handle when someone appeared at the end of the corridor. It was a small, old woman with a stern grey bun and a pair of steely eyes.

‘Can I help you, Miss?' she asked. Despite the polite words, there was not a hint of deference in her voice, and I flushed.

‘I'm … I'm just looking for the … for the bathroom facilities,' I said, lamely.

‘This way then, Miss,' the old woman, who must be Clara, said. I could sense the disapproval emanating from her as I followed her meekly down the corridor. I'd been caught poking around. I knew it; she knew it. Like most old and faithful servants, she was protective of her master's affairs. I wanted to say I wasn't doing any harm, that I would never betray Lucian, that I only wanted to find out more about the man I loved. But of course I said nothing at all.

The bathroom was a pleasant sunny room with a window that faced over the street. I was washing my hands when I happened to glance out the window. It had begun to grow dark but I saw a vehicle drawing up under the streetlights just opposite the house. It was a light cab-like carriage, only it had ‘Police' painted on the side. I watched as two men in the black uniforms and balaclavas of the Noricia Special Police stepped out of the vehicle.
The Special Police were deployed only for dealing with the most dangerous of criminals: traitors, spies, terrorists, and the worst kind of murderers. They worked in the shadows, out of the glare of publicity. Many people feared them, for they had extensive powers and could hold you for long periods without trial.

My first feeling was relief: Lucian must have sent them here to interview me about Belladonna's crimes. But then, as the men crossed the road and headed purposefully towards the house, unease began to fill me. Hadn't Lucian said that we shouldn't contact the police? And if, for whatever reason, he had decided to do so anyway, wouldn't they still be at Drago's house of horrors? Why wasn't Lucian with them? And why were they wearing balaclavas if they had just come to interview a witness? They looked more like they were planning to conduct a raid or arrest a criminal …

I had begun only a few days ago to learn not to trust appearances, and I must have learnt quickly, for the unease I felt would not leave me. What if Belladonna had caught Lucian in that dreadful room and turned the tables on him? I already knew she had members of the City Police in her pocket – why not members of the Special Police, too? Together they could spin all sorts of stories. Why not have Lucian arrested as the beggar killer? Why not arrest me as his accomplice? Had she tortured him into giving up my whereabouts?

As the men knocked on the door, I made my decision. I had to leave. Now.

I hurried back to the library, which I remembered had a window that faced out to an alley behind the house.
I threw open the window and looked out. There was a steel fire-escape stairway leading down. I swung myself over the window frame and began to climb out, then suddenly remembered the photos, still in the darkroom. I cursed myself for having to leave them, but I had no time to go back – already I heard the sound of loud voices downstairs.

Out in the alley, I didn't waste a moment but ran like the wind. I had to get back to the safe house as quickly as possible and warn Master Kinberg and the beggars that Lucian might be in the hands of our enemies and that they must get away at once.

But when I got to the safe house, I found Master Kinberg, by himself, looking as nervous as his usual phlegmatic features would allow. ‘Thank God you're safe! I told the Prince you were a resourceful girl but he –'

‘The Prince? He's been here?' I interrupted, relief flooding me as I realised he must have evaded Belladonna's tame police.

‘Yes. Briefly. He's sending the beggars to the haven this very night.'

‘How?'

‘Night coach. From Grand Dome. But he said you must stay here and wait till –'

I didn't wait to hear any more. Ignoring his protests, I hurried away.