Incarnation (10 page)

“Does humanity really count so much with you?” he asked.

Before I could reply, he went on, “As we speak, the Greeks and Turks are killing each other. The Spanish and Americans are pounding their chests and baring their teeth at one another. As though all that weren’t enough, there are rumblings that we have a second Boer War to look forward to in Africa before very long. None of that is unusual. Humanity has been in a state of perpetual war for centuries, if not longer. Is that something to be proud of?”

“Of course not,” I said, “but there is much more to being human.”

“Indeed? Look in the skies above you,” he said. “With each passing day, we are under ever more surveillance for no better reason than that men live in fear and suspicions of one another. Our technology outstrips our ability to reason or even to care. Walk the shortest distance beyond the better areas of this city and you will find degradation and suffering that defy description. The inhumanity of man is also part of being human.”

“You astonish me. I could almost believe that you would prefer to be something else yourself.”

A look I could not decipher passed behind his eyes. After a moment, he said, “Perhaps that explains my fondness for occult studies.”

“You have such a fondness?” That, at least, would explain why he was not shocked by me.

“I do, as does Mr. Bram Stoker.” At the mention of the Irish author and playwright’s name, I stiffened.

Marco ignored my reaction and said, “We are both members of an organization known as the Golden Dawn that is dedicated to exploring such matters. That is why Bram was charged with helping to conceal your fate.”

So they were on a first-name basis—Stoker, who had sent me to the Bagatelle, and Marco, who had found me there. More than ever, I was convinced that Marco’s appearances the previous night and again that morning could not be coincidence.

The most prudent course would be to walk away then and there. I would be far safer on my own, but I would also be no closer to finding the one I sought. What was it Stoker had said?
Ignorance is no fit state for anyone.
On that at least, the Irishman and I were in agreement.

“I can be of assistance to you,” Marco said, as though he had sensed what was in my mind. “If you will allow me.”

“And if I will not, what then?”

He hesitated but only for a moment. “It is your choice, of course. I will do nothing to hinder you. But if I am right about what is happening, we are—human and vampire alike—at great risk. Unless you and I cooperate, the outcome is likely to be grim for all concerned.”

His urgency echoed my own and went a considerable way to persuading me. But one concern remained.

“You are asking me to trust you,” I said, “when I have no idea who you are other than an associate of the man who played a key role in the conspiracy to conceal my fate.”

Regret flitted across his face as he said, “Then may I suggest that we become better acquainted?”

The Lucy I was before my transformation would have been swayed by this man’s quiet strength, the soothing timbre of his voice, and above all by the mixture of pleasure and anxiousness that his presence evoked. I was determined to ignore any such human considerations. Nor were they necessary, for the plain fact was that I had no good alternative.

Slowly, not taking my eyes from him, I nodded.

CHAPTER 7

H
aving left the environs of the Bagatelle, Marco and I proceeded to the headquarters of the Golden Dawn Society. Located in an elegant townhouse, the organization maintained an outward posture of discretion. The entrance, through double polished oak doors set with inlaid glass panels, was marked only by a simple plaque inscribed with the letters
GDS
. The ubiquitous eyes—magnifying periscope lenses ever more popular in government office buildings but beginning to make their appearance in private homes—were absent. Yet I could not help but sense that we were being spied on by means not immediately apparent.

At first glance, the interior appeared similar to those of the more exclusive gentlemen’s clubs—Oriental rugs, crystal chandeliers, leather smoking chairs, and the like. I half expected an ancient butler to appear and remind us that ladies were not permitted. Instead, we were greeted by the aroma of burning sage and the pounding of drums accompanied by chanting.

“What on earth is that?” I asked. Vampire though I was, the occult was still very new to me.

Marco grimaced. “We have a bit of a demon problem at
present. It’s being dealt with. Shall we go through to the library?”

We continued down a long, oak-paneled corridor lit by wall sconces set within inlaid glass shades that cast shadows in the shapes of runes across the ceiling. As we neared, double doors at the far end opened, and a tall, slim man emerged. Elegantly dressed, he had a full head of silver hair and a long, hawkish face. Seeing us, he stopped. His gaze flicked from Marco to me and back again as his nostrils flared.

My heightened senses captured a flood of impressions—the rigid set of his shoulders, the tightening of his mouth, the elevation of his heart rate, even the sudden alteration in his scent—a combination of musk and copper that I associated instinctively with violence.

Yet he inclined his head with apparent civility. “Di Orsini, nice to see you again. Keeping well, I hope?”

So smoothly that he scarcely seemed to move, Marco blocked me from the other man’s view. With icy courtesy, he said, “I thought you were still in Berlin, de Vere.”

“I’ve only just returned.” Attempting to peer around his shoulder, with very limited success, he said, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure . . .”

Without stepping aside, Marco volunteered, “Miss Devinia Blanderkamp is assisting me in an inquiry.”

“Indeed . . . ?”

“A bit urgent, I’m afraid. You understand.”

Before de Vere could reply, Marco ushered me into the library and shut the doors behind us.

“What was that about?” I asked when we were alone.

His face tightened. For a moment, I glimpsed how very
daunting he could be when he was so inclined. The impression passed quickly enough but it lingered in my memory.

“I would prefer that Sebastian de Vere not be aware of your presence here,” he said.

“Why? Is he a danger of some sort?”

“He is a renowned Darwinist and an expert on human cell structure.”

“Surely that must be counted to his credit?”

“As it would be if that were all he is. De Vere is a member of the Golden Dawn because of his obsessive interest in all things occult and his connections to powerful people in the government. But he has skirted close to the wind on more than one occasion in matters regarding his research. Under no circumstances is he to be trusted.”

His vehemence surprised me, but I gave it little thought except to be amused by the notion that he needed to protect me from the likes of Sebastian de Vere or, for that matter, anyone else. The library was large, stretching the full length of the building on the ground floor overlooking the garden. Despite its spaciousness, it was dominated by a larger-than-life-size portrait of a stern man with a long white beard and glittering eyes that hung directly opposite the doors, commanding the attention of all who entered. The personage wore a black velvet robe in the Elizabethan style, with a heavy silver chain of intricate design hung around his neck. Silver rings also adorned his fingers. Even the buttons of his robe and the subtle patterns of embroidery on it appeared crafted of the same metal.

“Dr. John Dee,” Marco said when he saw the direction of my gaze. “Our sixteenth-century founder. He was a mathematician and astrologer, as well as a magus of rare talent.”

“I’ve read about him, but I did not realize that his interest in the occult extended to founding a society for its study.”

“A great many learned people of his time recognized the need for a better understanding of the unseen realm. Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, supported our founding. Indeed, she went so far as to generously endow the society.”

I had long been fascinated by Elizabeth Tudor, whose ability to reign in her own right went against all the traditions of her age, but I had never suspected her involvement with anything as esoteric as the Golden Dawn.

Still gazing at the renowned magus, I said, “He favored silver.”

Marco nodded. “Dee was morbidly afraid of vampires.”

“He encountered them?” I had accepted that Lady Blanche was likely older than any human could be, but I had thought no further than that. Now, struck by the notion that vampires had been in England for centuries, I was taken aback. How had two species—humans and vampires—both so powerful in their own ways and so at odds with each other, managed to coexist for so long?

“Vampires have played a significant role in this realm,” Marco said. “I think it would be helpful if you had some understanding of their—your history.”

Impatience stirred in me. All I truly wanted was to find the singer and discover why he had done what he had to me. The need to do so was growing stronger with each passing moment. Even so, I had come to the Golden Dawn to learn. Schooling myself to patience, I said, “If you insist.”

Marco drew a large, leather-bound volume from a nearby shelf and laid it on the table. “This is a history of the vampires in England as compiled by Queen Elizabeth’s Dr. Dee
over several decades of intensive research,” he said. “Dee had access to”—he hesitated—“unusual sources of information, with the result that the work is very detailed and highly accurate.”

I scarcely heard him, for by then my attention had been captured by the illustration on the first page of the dusty tome. With growing disbelief, I studied the drawing of a mighty warrior riding beneath banners emblazoned with the image of a bear and carrying a great sword beside which was penned the name
Excalibur
.

Slowly, I said, “That cannot possibly be—”

“Arturus Rex,” Marco said. “The king who was and who shall be. At least that’s what the legends say.”

“What could King Arthur possibly have to do with vampires?” I demanded. Arthur was the very heart and soul of fantasy, the chivalrous knight seen through the kindly mists of vanished time. Even his death, tragic though it was portrayed, held within it the promise of redemption and rebirth. Darkness could not touch him. Could it?

Marco turned the page. Quietly, he said, “There is your answer, as recorded by one who saw all and had every reason to understand it only too well.”

I bent closer and read what Dee had transcribed in his own hand but in another’s words.

The vampires came into England when I was a child. Their leader was Damien, not a bad sort, kingly in his own way. The Christian priests spewed spittle at sight of them, so frightened were those men of God by what they called devil spawn. You would think they would have had sufficient faith in their own deity to be unworried, but no. The Druids took the vampires
much more in stride, understanding as they did that the real danger came from the Saxons.

With the fading of Roman order, the way lay open for rapacious tribes to fall upon our fair isle. The old Anglo-Roman families—my father, King Arthur’s being first among them—banded together and held off the invaders for a while, but the floodtide that washed up against Britain could not be long repulsed. We were overrun and in danger of extinction when King Arthur raised his banner. My royal father swore that he would do all that was needed to protect our families, our fields, and our hearths. He vowed to leave no measure untaken, no effort unfulfilled.

He lied.

When Damien proposed an alliance with his kind, King Arthur—under the influence of the Christian priests—refused it. In his arrogance, he said that he preferred to die, and have all his kingdom die with him, rather than make common cause with demons.

I was with the king’s ward, Morgaine, in the great hall of Camlann when the High King announced his decision. In a fury, I challenged him, demanding to know by what right he could choose death for all of us. We quarreled bitterly. My royal father called me a faithless son and sent me from him. I went gladly, vowing that if he would not save us, it fell to me to do so.