Incarnation (6 page)

“Even so, tell me how to find it.”

“Or ye’ll what?” She laughed harshly. “Believe me, if ye ever tasted what flows in my veins, ye’d never want to do it again.”

The mere thought was enough to send a wave of nausea through me, momentarily overwhelming even my constant hunger.

Little Alice chuckled. “Maybe yer not so dumb after all. Right, then, on yer head be it. Go past the temple and find the griffin. In its shadow, ye’ll see a narrow passage that gives on to a wee court. Look for the amber light.”

Hope, so recently all but extinguished, brightened once again within me. I was sincerely grateful to her. “Thank you.”

“Let’s hope ye still feel that way once ye’ve found what ye seek. If ye take Little Alice’s advice, ye’ll go carefully. I’ve nothin’ against yer kind; they always have a penny for me. But I’m not fool enough to ever turn me back on one of ye neither.”

I nodded and bid her a good night. Before the words had left my mouth, she vanished into the darkness. I moved on through the hushed streets, retracing my steps yet again until I stood once more beside the gated entrance to the ancient church of the Templars set in an oasis of medieval courtyards
and gardens that were now sealed for the night. Not far beyond, I looked to the left and saw, rising on top of a tall stone pedestal, a winged lion with the head of an eagle. This griffin kept watch on the boundary between the old city and the outer borough of Westminster. The sprawling growth of London had long since merged the two, but the ancient barriers and the traditions associated with crossing them still existed. The monarch herself was expected to pause at the boundary and ask permission of the mayor of London before entering.

I felt no such constraint. But as I stepped toward the pillar, I stopped abruptly. In the glow of gaslight diffused by the fog, I saw a sight that I could scarcely credit. Half a dozen extraordinarily large, powerful wolves circled the pedestal, their golden eyes gleaming with intelligence that looked human and more. They paced, muscles rippling, round and round, giving every appearance of being on guard.

The hairs rose on the back of my neck. The fear I felt was primal, but the hatred . . . that was something new. Blood lust rose in me. I wanted nothing more than to attack without reason or purpose except to kill. Never, even with the worst of the hunger, had I felt anything like this.

The wolves sensed my presence. They turned as one, their teeth bared. Their growls made the ground tremble. Their leader, the largest and most powerful, lifted his head and stared at me. I only just managed to hold myself in check. Not moving, I met his gaze.

We stood for what seemed an eternity but likely was mere moments. Contradictory impulses warred within me. I wanted to kill and I did not. I wanted to surrender entirely to what I had become and I was determined to fight that temptation with all my strength.

The other beasts pawed the ground impatiently. One made a move toward me. The leader turned his head and growled a warning deep in his throat. The first hesitated but did not retreat until the leader lunged, driving him back. The pack startled, clearly shocked by such behavior.

I stood, rooted where I was, as the leader turned again and stared at me. I bore his scrutiny until I thought that I could endure it no longer. In the instant before my control shattered, he threw back his noble head and howled. The sound echoed down the narrow street, reverberating against the stone walls. Before it had faded completely, the wolves were gone. I stood once more alone in the dark.

CHAPTER 3

N
ot far from the griffin, I found the passage. It was lined in brick with a low ceiling. As the troll had said, beyond lay a small court so lost in shadow as to be easily overlooked. To its rear, barely visible through the fog, I could just make out the amber glow of a small lamp. I moved toward it slowly, mindful that the night could hold yet more surprises.

No other light was visible, nor did I hear any sound until I was almost in front of a small wooden door surmounted by an arch. At first I thought my ears were playing tricks, but I halted all the same. A low hissing filled the air. Steam escaping from a generator? Did such great grinding, mechanical monsters exist here in the very heart of London?

I took a step closer and halted again. The arch appeared to be . . . writhing?

I was tired, exhausted even. It had been a tumultuous few hours. My eyes could not be trusted.

The hissing grew louder. What appeared to be two burning coals shone from the shadows above the door. I heard . . . slithering?

A forked tongue flicked out of the darkness. I gasped and jumped back. The head of an immense snake, its skin an
iridescent armor of black, purple, and green, darted toward me. Its vast, sinuous body coiled all around the doorway, blocking the entrance to whatever lay beyond.

I had seen such a beast once before at the London Zoo, an anaconda captured in the wilds of the Amazon. It measured a full thirty feet long, was as thick around as a man’s chest, and was fed a pig every few weeks, which it swallowed without difficulty.

Not to compare myself to any sort of porcine, but it could do the same to me easily enough. Was that among the ways a vampire could die? Somehow I doubted it, and being trapped for however long in the stomach of a snake held no attraction.

My first instinct was to flee, but to where? The trail I had followed since coming to London had led me to this place. If I turned away now . . .

The snake stretched out toward me. Its entire body writhed and flexed. Again, its tongue flicked, coming very close to my face.

I had bested the hooded creatures, but I was unsure whether it was their strength or their resolve that had proven weaker than mine. Could I hope to defeat the snake? Did I dare try?

Even as I debated what to do, the door opened. The sudden rectangle of bright light stabbed my eyes. Two elegant gentlemen in evening dress emerged. They appeared young, pale skinned, and undeniably handsome. One was laughing at a sally offered by the other.

At sight of me, they stopped.

“Who is this?” the taller of the two asked his friend. The speaker’s golden curls were artfully arranged around his noble brow. His eyes were startlingly blue and had the look of arctic
ice. He tossed back his scarlet-lined cape and looked me over far too thoroughly.

“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure,” he drawled.

In my human days, I had enjoyed flirting. It was a game, nothing more, and the young men in my social circle understood that full well. But this was not that. They were both beyond the bounds of courtesy, standing too close, staring too frankly. An air of intimidation—or at least an attempt at it—hung over the encounter, reinforced when my interlocutor flashed a smile that revealed his bared fangs.

Excitement rippled through me. I had succeeded in finding others of my kind—vampires, as Stoker had called them. Yet they seemed too callow and foolish to be able to provide me with the information that I sought.

Tartly, I said, “How unfortunate that there is no one to introduce us.” I made to go around him before the door could swing shut.

The other moved to block my way. Dark haired, he put me in mind of a young, smoldering Heathcliff and reminded me once again why I had never enjoyed
Wuthering Heights
.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” he said. “Who is your patron?”

Lacking any idea what he meant, I could not answer. I glanced over my shoulder to discover that his companion was also closing in, blocking my retreat. Darting forward, I tried again to reach the door. A hard hand closed on my arm.

“Who is your patron?” the taller one demanded, tightening his grip. “And where is he?”

Whatever I said, I was certain to be wrong. Moreover, whatever the consequence of being without a patron might be, I suspected that I would not enjoy discovering it.

Caught between them, I recoiled in disgust when together
they began to run their hands over my person, along my arms, across my breasts, coming ever closer to my throat.

“She’s rather pretty, don’t you think?” the golden one said.

The other laughed. “Not in whatever this is that she’s wearing. Get it off her and she might do.”

Fury swept over me. I yanked my arm free and was about to lash out at them when a spine-chilling howl tore through the air. At once, the assailants froze. At the far end of the passage, near the griffin statue, the alpha wolf stood, his head thrown back in stark defiance. Before the echo of his challenge faded, I was released. The wolf turned and vanished into the darkness.

Roaring in rage, both vampires made to give chase only to stop abruptly when another figure stepped from the shadows near the passage.

Before I saw him properly, I felt the heat of his skin, heard the steady beat of his heart, smelled the copper aroma of his blood, but tasted, too, the iron tang lingering just beneath, warning of his strength.

Human then, but unlike any I had ever encountered. If I had still possessed breath, it would have left me in a rush. Strictly speaking, he was not classically handsome in the manner of the singer from the opera house who possessed my dreams. This one’s features were too broad and strong boned for that, his sun-kissed skin taut with no hint of softness. He was taller than I, even in my new incarnation, and wide shouldered, with thick brown hair shot through with silver and brushed back from a high forehead. His dark bespoke suit announced his familiarity with the tailors of Savile Row, but the civilizing veneer could not disguise his raw vitality. He was quite simply . . . magnificent.

And yet he was also strangely familiar. We had met before, this paragon of manly virtues, but where? When? I searched my memory, fragmentary as it was when it came to recalling my human experiences. A ballroom . . . an unseasonably warm spring night . . . tall windows opening onto a balcony and me . . . walking alone under a swollen moon. Until a murmur of voices across the width of the lawn betrayed two . . . men? The one hidden in shadows so that I could scarcely see him but the other unmistakably the man who stood before me now.

What was it I heard him say? “You know I can’t let you near her.”

Was that it? I really couldn’t remember, but I had no such problem recalling what happened next. The one in the shadows sketched a faint bow and was gone. The other walked back toward the house, stopping when he saw me.

“Miss Weston,” he said. “How nice to meet you. My name is Marco di Orsini.”

The memory of his voice returned me to the present reality. My attention was drawn to the heavy gold chain around his neck. Suspended from it was a large red stone that glowed even in the faint light as though it possessed an inner source of energy. The effect was gaudy and out of keeping with anything a gentleman would normally wear. But it also had a barbaric splendor that made it quite riveting.

With a mocking salute to the two who had been giving me difficulty, Marco di Orsini said, “Nothing else to do this evening but chase wolves and importune young women?” His voice was deep and strong, the sound sending a startling ripple of pleasure through me.

“I can offer you better occupation.” With a flick of his hand, he slashed his walking stick through the air.

I froze, certain that it concealed a blade he was about to reveal. In the same instant, I thought how extraordinary it was that a human would challenge two vampires. But what sort of human? He was unfazed by the presence of wolves roaming the streets of London at night. He had made his way to the entrance of the Bagatelle, where nothing he saw appeared to surprise him. To the contrary, he seemed completely at ease as he confronted the scurrilous pair. Stoker had at least possessed the sense to be afraid of me. This man seemed to fear nothing.

“She has no patron and she is here,” the golden one said petulantly even as he backed away. “That makes her fair game. You have no right to—”

Again, the walking stick flashed. “She is one of you, you idiot. If you spent less time pickling what passes for your brain in the stews of Southwark, you might have realized that.”

“She isn’t—” the other began, only to stop abruptly as he stared at me. “That is . . . we didn’t realize . . .”

The golden-haired one was frowning, no doubt wondering how they could possibly have made such a mistake. Shoving his companion, he said, “Let’s go.”

They fled down the passage and were quickly lost to sight.