Incarnation (21 page)

Y
ou met,” Amanda said, “last spring at Lady Davenport’s ball. Up until then, you had shown no interest in anyone, but that changed when Marco appeared. You and he began to go everywhere together. He scarcely left your side.”

“I see. . . .” In fact, I was still reeling from my sister’s revelation. We were sitting together on her bed, all pretense of my “ghostly” nature having been abandoned. It felt like old times, except that I had become a halfling who dwelled in the hidden world, drank blood, and might live forever, while Amanda was still . . . Amanda. Sweet, lovely, kind, and incredibly enough, sincerely overjoyed to see me, no matter who or what I was.

“Father liked him well enough,” she went on. “But Mother didn’t quite know what to make of it even though he comes from a very old and honored family that certainly doesn’t seem to lack for wealth.” My sister smiled wryly. “If he’d had an English surname, she would have been booking the church.”

“What did you think of him?”

“I . . . also liked him, most important because he truly did seem to care about you.”

“And yet . . . you had concerns, didn’t you?” I could hear
them in her voice, so well did we still understand each other despite all that had happened.

She hesitated. “It’s just that he seemed very mature. Not that the difference in your ages is all that great, it isn’t, but you were still very young in so many ways and he . . . wasn’t.”

There had been a time when I would have hotly disputed being characterized in such a way, yet further evidence of how very young I truly had been. That I had learned better to my sorrow but not entirely to my regret was one more contradiction of my new state.

“But I was in love?”

“You certainly seemed to be. I don’t think I’d ever seen you so happy.”

I could just barely remember what human happiness felt like, that lightening of the spirit that comes when suddenly the world seems a better, finer place where all good things are possible. Had there been any foundation for such happiness apart from Marco’s instinct to protect me as he was sworn to protect all humans from vampires. Any at all?

“Mother wanted you to spend some time apart from him. She believed it would help you to be surer of your feelings. Father agreed and we returned to Whitby.”

“And Marco?”

“He stayed here in London. I don’t know exactly why. To be honest, I thought he would follow you, but instead—”

Instead, fate had been waiting for me on a lonely moor. I could not blame Marco. Even hovering on the edge of extinction, Mordred was able to bend space and time to bring me to him in the dream memory of his manor house. The previous year, when he still possessed his full strength and power, how much easier it must have been for him to deceive Marco as to
his intentions and make him believe that I was safe at Whitby when I was anything but.

At any rate, it was done. Nothing could be gained by tormenting myself with thoughts of what might have been. The future, however, was an entirely different matter.

“I must go.” I stood and moved quickly toward the windows.

Startled, Amanda followed. “You can’t leave! I’ve only just found you again. Mother and Father—”

I stopped abruptly. Seizing both her arms, I said, “You cannot tell them anything. Were any of you to show any sign of knowing that I had been here, you would draw attention that, believe me, you do not want.”

“But you cannot expect me to pretend this did not happen! You are my sister and—”

“Have you read Stoker’s book?”

“I wasn’t supposed to, but Father had a copy of the typescript and I—”

“The way he described Dracula is a pale reflection of the reality. The truth is vastly worse. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of such creatures. They exist in a hidden world but they can reach into your own whenever they wish.”

Her face, already so pale, turned ashen. Shock turned her irises almost black. “What are you saying? It is a novel. He made it up. It isn’t real!”

“Is that what you think, really? Then think of this.” Without daring to consider what I was about to do, I unsheathed my fangs. Moonlight, pouring in through the windows, flowed over us both. At the sight of me, Amanda screamed and tried to pull away but I did not release her.

“We feed on humans, Amanda.
Feed.
We drain the blood
from you, taking your humanity and your lives. You are nothing to us except a means to an end.”

My nostrils flared. I smelled the coppery fragrance of her blood and realized with a spurt of horror that although I had fed recently, my hunger was returning. Repelled beyond bearing by my own nature, I pushed her away so hard that she fell to the floor. While yet she lay there stiff with terror, I wrenched open the windows and fled. Behind me, I heard her call my name, but surely I was mistaken, for how could anyone, even the most loving sister, feel other than disgust for one such as me?

The night swallowed me. I raced on without thought, heedless of direction or purpose. Roofs flew beneath me until I realized that my feet had ceased to touch them. I moved through the air damp with rain that had just begun to fall, held aloft by a surging wind out of the west, no longer a creature of the earth but reborn instead in the sky. Under other circumstances, I would have been delighted, but my newfound power only served to emphasize how great the gulf between me and those I loved had become.

When I alighted finally, I saw that I was near the passage leading to the Bagatelle. The snake uncoiled and reared its head as I approached. Not slowing, I snarled and brushed past it. My only thought was to find Lady Blanche and impress upon her that she was never to approach my family again. How exactly I would persuade her not to do so or what risk I was taking in challenging her was of no significance. The anguish I felt at being forced to expose myself to Amanda drove out every other consideration.

Coming from the darkness, the light and noise momentarily knocked me off stride but I recovered quickly and looked
around. In the aftermath of the brawl, the club was more crowded even than before. Some of those in attendance appeared to have arrived recently, windblown as they were and splattered with raindrops. No doubt they were drawn by news of what had happened at the foundry. The older among them would remember when it had been the site of Mordred’s court, while the others would have heard of its connection to their kind. Speculation would be rampant as to what had caused the catastrophe.

Everywhere my gaze fell heads were bent together, eyes flitting, too-bright smiles appearing and disappearing with such speed that it seemed only a middling sharp knife would be needed to slice through the tension in the room. There was no sign of Lady Blanche, but Felix was at the bar. Although he appeared relaxed, I was not fooled. The moment he saw me, he hurried to my side and grasped my elbow urgently. “Finally! I’d just about despaired of you. Where have you been?”

“We can talk about that later,” I said. “I must speak with Lady Blanche.”

Felix shook his head. “Wild rumors are circulating. If they are even partly true, this isn’t the time to approach her.”

Determined though I was to confront her ladyship, his warning gave me pause. “What rumors?”

Bending closer, he ticked them off one by one. “That she is behind the destruction of the foundry. That she did it to prevent Mordred from ever returning. That she is moving now to claim power for herself.”

I leaned back a little, the better to see him. His long face, so well constructed for melancholia, was strained. He appeared tired and deeply worried. “If that is true,” I asked, “wouldn’t you know?”

“I should but I don’t.” He shrugged, as though that was of no particular importance when we both knew what it truly meant. “It seems that I am no longer a part of the inner circle.”

A stab of guilt darted through me. I had done what I had to do and would do the same again. My strange new existence left no room for self-recrimination. But by involving Felix, I had placed him in very real danger.

“I am sorry, truly, but—” I said.

He waved aside my feeble attempt at an apology. “It doesn’t matter. The point is that neither of us should be thinking of anything other than surviving the next few hours.”

I searched his face for some sign that he was exaggerating but saw none. “It’s that bad?”

“I’m afraid so.” He glanced around at the crowd. “No one here has the least concern about what the humans will do if all the restraints that Mordred imposed on us come off. They are so convinced of our superiority that they cannot believe there could be any reason to fear humans. The dirigibles keeping constant watch, the factories at work night and day, the steam contrivances of every sort, the Faraday transmitters that make distance irrelevant. Humans are changing everything, and we persist in ignoring it all. We are the fools, not them.”

“There must be some others who believe as you do—”

“Don’t count on that. I fear I am quite out of step with current thinking.” He managed a faint smile. “But there is still hope. Half of them will betray Blanche at the first hint of weakness. The others will wait for a whisper of Mordred’s return, then they’ll line up to do the same.”

“If they are so treacherous, why does she want to reign over them?” I asked. “It seems more trouble than it could possibly be worth.”

“The lust for power is in her blood.” He leaned a little closer. “Her human blood. All the way back to when her family rose against a king and earned only death for their pains.”

“Do you think she remembers that?” It had been so long; centuries.

“I think she will still remember it when she has forgotten her own name.”

I was considering that when the sensation of being watched crept over me. I turned to meet the gaze of a young male vampire standing nearby. With a start I realized that he was the golden-haired, blue-eyed male who had accosted me my first night at the Bagatelle.

“Who is that?” I asked Felix.

Following the direction of my gaze, he said, “Edward Delacorte. He’s from one of the oldest families. Lady Blanche has been courting their support ever since Mordred disappeared.”

Seeing our interest, Delacorte inclined his head and smiled. A moment later he had made his way through the crowd toward us.

“Miss Weston,” he said with a bow. “May I say that you are lovelier than ever? And may I also beg your pardon for my atrocious behavior the other night? I cannot ask you to forgive me, that would be far too much. But I can entreat you to consider that I am not, all evidence to the contrary, quite the boor that I appeared.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Felix roll his eyes and resisted the urge to do the same. No doubt there were those who found Edward Delacorte charming in the extreme. I, however, thought he was worse than the boor he so disingenuously denied being. He was, in my regard, a bully who masked the ugliness of his nature behind a false gentility. I had known his kind
as a human and I had no difficulty recognizing the species even when it came equipped with fangs.

Nonetheless, I smiled and offered my hand. “It is I who should apologize. I was quite lost and confused, but that is no excuse for my poor manners.”

Felix frowned in surprise and would have spoken had not I continued quickly, “I am afraid that I am still very much in the same state. I have so many questions . . . so many concerns.”

“Do you? Well, then, you must let me help.” As though he had only just noticed that we were not alone, Delacorte added, “You don’t mind, do you, Deschamps? I’m sure you have other matters to keep you occupied.”

“You can’t begin to imagine.” As he spoke, Felix shot me a warning look that I had no difficulty interpreting. One wrong step with Delacorte and my position would be even more precarious than it was already. Even so, I did not see that I had a choice.

As I took his arm, my mind turned over and over, seeking a means to learn from him what I had to know. Was Lady Blanche really about to make her bid for power, quite possibly precipitating a war that no one could win, and was there anything that Marco and I could do to stop her?

That I thought of Marco at that moment should not have surprised me. I had, after all, only just learned that young, naïve, oh-so-human Lucy had loved him. Even as Morgaine’s blood coursed in her veins and fate rushed toward her.

In my new incarnation, I was not capable of love, or so I wanted to believe. Love was a weakness, an impediment, and perhaps most important, a distraction that I could not afford and did not want. Yet it still existed in me rather like the dream-memory of Mordred’s manor. Love for my sister, my
parents, for the Lucy I had been in all her clumsy vulnerability. And for the man I had so briefly known when I was still only a young woman who walked in moonlight and gave no thought to what lurked in the darkness.

I knew what was there now, knew it all too well, for I was one of those beings who cause humans to cry out in the throes of nightmares from which they wake trembling and afraid, only to swiftly forget what it was that so troubled them. Not so for me. With each step I took at Delacorte’s side, I knew that I was walking deeper and deeper into a nightmare that would never end for me until existence itself ceased.

I held my head high and I did not falter. That, and only that, I can say with pride.