Read The Midnight Guardian Online
Authors: Sarah Jane Stratford
The Midnight Guardian (16 page)
“Well done,” the hunter with the broken arm congratulated his partner. “Let's find the second one. Must be near.”
“No, no, you're hurt. We can't take the risk. Come on, put your arm around me, there's the man, I'll get you back all right.”
She waited a long time, till they were more than a mile away, and even then couldn't move. When her fingers did twitch, she was shocked, hardly believing her nerves still had instincts. She crawled to the spot where it had happened. Dragging herself to her knees, she saw a vague outline of a body, although perhaps she only hoped she saw that much. She pressed a hand in the dust and brought it to her face. There was no smell. No taste. Nothing to connect it to anything but dirt.
Aelric. Exasperating, foolish, overeager Aelric. Made but nearly ruined her. His own carelessness finally caught up with him. But those moments, those few key seconds before the hunters came, the bit she couldn't quite see ⦠could he have pushed her down into that lucky hiding spot? Could the instinct that chose her have returned one last time to save her? Was she beholden to him for yet another life?
What would have happened to her human self anyway, say she'd run off with no vampire after her? She'd have been long dead by now,
certainly. She might have had some adventuring, but she would never have met anyone like Otonia or Mors. She would never have learned to read. Her world had been opened, and Aelric had facilitated it.
certainly. She might have had some adventuring, but she would never have met anyone like Otonia or Mors. She would never have learned to read. Her world had been opened, and Aelric had facilitated it.
And there were those other seconds. The ones she could have used to keep him whole. The seconds she'd used to make a choice, even though she'd hardly registered a thought. What of them?
With infinite care, she dug a shallow hole and swept the dust into it. She made a neat mound and encircled it with stones. Using a twig, she scratched into the mound the words “Aelric was.”
Drifting down the river, only her face protruding from the water, she wondered how long the words would last. How many hours before a breeze disturbed them, sent the grains of earth rolling over and through and away into nothing, as surely as Aelric was himself? Was there some record somewhere of words written? Did something in the universe remember? Or was everything just erased, always, and then gone?
But I wrote them. I did. They were there.
It was Cleland who saw her when she drifted in, soaked through and expressionless. He stirred, ready to speak, but changed his mind. He tagged after her to Aelric's cave and watched her go in. He peered through the hangingsâshe was alone, sitting on the bed, staring.
All those pretty little words. “It isn't your fault.” “You mustn't blame yourself.” “No one lives forever, that we know of.” They dropped around her like a rain that never makes contact with earth. No one else could see those seconds. The little bundles of time. The treasure trove she couldn't see and the one she saw only too clearly. The unused seconds. The heavy chill around her heart and behind her eyes was not the guilt of not missing Aelric, but the possibility resting inside those lost seconds.
Those seconds stayed with her for decades.
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England changed. William came and the vampires watched cathedrals go up and the last remnants of pre-Christianity die. They increasingly found that the crosses some people carried or wore could be painful. Otonia was unsure why it was a problem for the pre-Christian vampires, seeing as the Jewish ones had no trouble with crosses and told the most amusing stories of the reactions they got from prey who thought the cross would save them. So the vampires learned new seduction techniques.
The fashions were interesting, as was the architecture. The Normans were pleasant-tasting. There was little good literature or entertainmentâthose vampires from Greece and Rome still longed for those days and hoped they would come again soonâbut York thrived and there was much life to enjoy.
The fashions were interesting, as was the architecture. The Normans were pleasant-tasting. There was little good literature or entertainmentâthose vampires from Greece and Rome still longed for those days and hoped they would come again soonâbut York thrived and there was much life to enjoy.
But Brigantia went through it in a fog, still mourning a chance missed, wondering if she'd doomed a vampire she'd never loved on purpose, and what did that make her?
And yet, in the last quarter of her second centennial, still chilled and buried inside those infernal seconds, Brigantia knew she was reaching a time when something must happen. She would either break free ⦠or break. As if she'd read inside her, Otonia suggested she might be ready to venture outside herself and find a companion.
She'd been on a hunt, she realized, and for something she hadn't put a name to in centuries. It wasn't going to find her, even though she had hoped it would. She wanted, she wanted, and she needed and she knew even without any suggestions what must happen, lest she lose something in herself forever, or lose the nerve to find it. Otonia might call it a companion, but Brigantia knew it was more. It was her most cherished hope and, though she hardly knew why, her greatest fear. But she touched the newly budding periwinkle in her garden and sensed the promise, somewhere in the earth, of the something, the someone, that might pull her out of the self she didn't always know, or like, and into the self she might finally become.
BerlinâBasel train. August 1940.
The doctor, his young hunters, the officers, even the friend-seeking nurse and the toadying Kurt, all these annoying humans demanding her attention for one reason or another were horribly draining. Brigit longed for the halcyon days when there was no human interaction in her life, save that which was of her own choice. There were many hundreds of humans she'd admired through the centuries, usually artists of some sort: authors, poets, playwrights, actors, musicians, painters, and on and on. Thinkers. Those who erected beautiful buildings, or opened up minds to science and the possibilities in numbers, or advocated for greater equality among humans. Those who used their brains and energies to improve upon the world. Those who cared. These were men and women whom she could admire and even love, quite genuinely and with all her heart. But she wasn't forced to interact with them. She wasn't forced to play a game of being one of them, dance an intricate dance and hope that no one knew the truth and thus threw her off her rhythm. Everyone stayed in their proper place and the world was balanced.
Now that her belly was full, the whole of her body was yearning for sleep. The demon did all but pull her eyelids shut from behind. She'd caught only the meanest snatches of sleep since boarding, feeling the dangers of sleeping during the day but worried it might be yet more dangerous to sleep at night. How could she sleep at all, charged with duty as she
was? The precious cargo in her care, all these watchful men lurking, waiting, preparing, but exactly for what she didn't know. Her worst nightmare, that's what they wanted, and she did not want to be caught sleeping when it hit. It was bad enough she'd had to leave the cargo unguarded to eat and circulate, playing the game. Sleep felt like an indulgence. But the aching hunger for rest was snaking through her, and she was going to have to give herself up to it.
was? The precious cargo in her care, all these watchful men lurking, waiting, preparing, but exactly for what she didn't know. Her worst nightmare, that's what they wanted, and she did not want to be caught sleeping when it hit. It was bad enough she'd had to leave the cargo unguarded to eat and circulate, playing the game. Sleep felt like an indulgence. But the aching hunger for rest was snaking through her, and she was going to have to give herself up to it.
Deciding to take no chances, she lay down in front of the compartment door. It wasn't comfortable, but it felt like a good precaution.
The raveled sleeves of care won't mend, that's for damn sure, but at least I'll feel better.
Brigit shut her eyes, allowing her body to drift to the deceptively soothing rhythm of the train's steady rumble. She adored trains, even though she'd experienced a pang upon their development, seeing as they tore through the wilderness she loved so much. But travel had always excited her, and trains made it easier. There was, however, that which had always troubled her about travel as well. It seemed wrong that you should be in a place, love it, take of it what you did, but then, when you left, it went on without you, just as it was, neither knowing nor caring that you were no longer there. She had the same feeling about the theater. There were nights she could hardly stand it that a show she had loved was going on with the same energy and excitement, if not more, when she and Eamon were not in the audience.
They had just seen
The Importance of Being Earnest
for the fifth time, and Eamon had pulled her into an alley to lick the ecstatic tears off her face.
The Importance of Being Earnest
for the fifth time, and Eamon had pulled her into an alley to lick the ecstatic tears off her face.
“How? How can you stand that it will be on tomorrow, and we won't be there?”
“We've had it. We can't take it from others too much, that would be cruel.”
“No, Eamon, really, don't you understand me?”
“I do, but what's your answer, then? To stop time? To be the only one to experience anything, ever?”
“Of course not. I just don't like to be a part of something and not have it miss me when I'm gone.”
“We're vampires. No one misses us when we're gone.”
“No. But at least we do leave a stamp upon a place.”
“We leave empty spaces where souls once stirred.”
“We have impact.”
“Not exactly artists, but memorable, nonetheless.”
She laughed, and thumped him gently on the chest.
The thump near her head woke her with a violent start and a low growl emitted from somewhere above her abdomen, audible only to her, but worrying nonetheless. It didn't matter that she was exhausted and undernourished and terrified. She had to be strong. Stronger than strong.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”
Brigit looked up blearily. The volatile cargo of which she was taking such care had chosen an inconvenient time to jump down from the top bunk. Or rather, the girl had. The boy lay on his stomach, kicking his heels in the air and gazing out the window. Brigit coughed and rubbed her eyes, determined to resume the role of guardian and open smuggler.
“How long was I asleep?”
“About an hour.”
“A whole hour. Marvelous.”
“I said I was sorry. Can't you go back to sleep? It's ages before we change.”
“No, I should stay up. I'll sleep when I'm dead.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Yes, and not a bad one, all things considered.”
“Is what a joke?” piped up Lukas.
“Nothing,” his sister assured him. “Our guardian is talking like an adult.”
It was the bitter irony with which Alma used the word “guardian” that riled Brigit. She felt sorry for the children, but since they were all in the same boat, she thought something that resembled détente might be appropriate.
“I'm bored,” Lukas complained, looking somewhere toward Brigit's chin.
“We all are,” Alma agreed. “Shall we play with your teddy?”
Lukas looked hopefully toward the door. He wanted to run and play with the other children, but Brigit couldn't allow it. Bad enough she was saddled with the care of these small humans, but she had no intention
of losing them. When they weren't immediately in her sights, she insisted that they remain in the compartment with the door locked, and that Alma enforce this rule rigidly. The advantage to being a vampire was that these orders were not questioned. The children might not like her, and barely trusted her, but they knew they were surrounded by enemies, and so they obeyed.
of losing them. When they weren't immediately in her sights, she insisted that they remain in the compartment with the door locked, and that Alma enforce this rule rigidly. The advantage to being a vampire was that these orders were not questioned. The children might not like her, and barely trusted her, but they knew they were surrounded by enemies, and so they obeyed.
“What was the news you got?”
Brigit hadn't shared the contents of the telegram with the children, it was not their business and the less they knew, the safer they were.
“I told you, nothing important. Just news from home.”
“I don't understand why Papa can't send you coded telegrams so we know he's all right.”
“We've been through this.”
“And it's not dangerous for you to receive telegrams?”
“It is. That's why it was just one.”
“Then what was that other paper you destroyed?”
“Just some paper, it doesn't matter.”
“It does. You look better. You ate.” It was a simple statement of observation. Brigit didn't answer. She would give so much to still be years away in sleep.
“How long to Bilbao, after we change?”
“Not long.”
“I thought it would be faster.”
“So did I.”
Alma went silent, and Brigit was glad. She couldn't bear these conversations, the words that made the situation so much more real than it was. The last few days felt more like a horrific waking dream than anything else. Two children in the guardianship of a vampire was a sick joke, an absurdity, something not even seen through the looking glass. And all the men watching them, all the unseen traps being laid, it was too ridiculous. Yet real.
I didn't have a choice, that's all there is.
Which didn't matter. What mattered now was every moment pulling them to what she hoped was safety. There was nothing to do but hope the foolish hope that she looked like a legitimate nanny, shepherding charges to Ireland. It was no one's business, surely, why a German
parent should choose to have their children educated in Dublin, but she would prefer not to entertain the queries.
parent should choose to have their children educated in Dublin, but she would prefer not to entertain the queries.
Not that Ireland was their ultimate destination. Brigit dreaded even the scant hour they must be there, that land of notorious vampire hunts and torture and destruction. She cursed the timing that put her beloved London in peril as much as the bombs themselves. Their escape would have been so much easier had they just been able to travel directly to Calais and then across the Channel. This circuitous route and the uncertainty of the ferry schedule from Bilbao to Cork added to the stores and stores of dread. Undoubtedly, Spain was very beautiful, but Brigit had no interest in holidaying there.
A sharp knock made them all jump. Brigit leaped to her feet and tidied her hair while Alma and Lukas hid their faces behind books.
“Who is it?” Brigit trilled lightly.
“Kurt, Fräulein.”
She allotted herself one grimace before opening the door and slithering partly out so as to dissuade him from close inspection. His face was eager, and he spoke with desperation.
“Mine is the next stop, I'll be off for Paris.”
“So you will. And a very great adventure it's going to be, I've no doubt.”
“I suppose you can't join me?”
She forced herself not to gape, or laugh.
What fools these mortals be.
“That's very sweet, but I'm afraid it's impossible. I have a schedule I must keep.”
“But ⦔
He leaned in closer and caught Alma's watchful, interested eye. He stared at Brigit.
“What on earth ⦠?”
“Children. This isn't a pleasure trip for me. I'm paid to take them to their school in Dublin. Their mother was Irish, you see.”
Her voice was somber and respectful and gave him to understand exactly what she hoped without the effort of saying more. She didn't want him to study them any more closely.
“But ⦠but they weren't with you last night?”
“They were tired, I put them to bed early. Now, if you'll excuseâ”
“Wait! Please, won't you come to my compartment, just for a little while?”
The plea in his eyes was laughable. She considered. To kill him would mean questions, because of Eberhard, but she was itchy to finish him off and there would be a lot of bustle at the next stop. She gave him a warm smile.
“Look for me in a quarter of an hour or so.”
He smiled gratefully and didn't even think to nod at the children before hurrying off to his compartment to prepare, even though he had no idea what he was doing.
Alma was standing up and her arms were folded. She was not quite twelve, but her strength was tremendous and Brigit couldn't help but respect her.
“Haven't you left us alone more than enough already?”
“It isn't by choice.”
“You ate. You don't need him, too.”
“This is something different. You don't understand.”
“What if I do?”
It was possible she did. The girl was clever beyond her years and highly intuitive. Still, Brigit had no intention of taking a child into her confidence.
“Alma, will you please just sit down andâ”
“I heard them talking!”
“What?”
“They were talking about a missing woman. Some horrid ugly cow, they said, and they were sure she hadn't gotten off the train. They were laughing about it.”
Of course they were.
“All right, now listen, I need you to tell me exactly what they said.”
Alma cast a quick glance at Lukas, but he was now deeply engaged in reading to his bear and paid the others no mind.
“One of those officers, I think it was one of them, was outside the door and said a woman was missing. They wondered who might know something about it.”
“I'm sure they did.”
It seemed too bald to admit to the girl that she had eaten the woman in question, even though it was understood. However much Alma may think she knew about Brigit's ways, and however wise she was, she was still a child and under Brigit's protection.
That protection, though, was what stopped Brigit. She must maintain the ruse, even though the enemies were close to certain and were only trying to gain absolute proof before snapping the trap. The clouds, the lingering strands of doubt had to remain, the chance that she might be human, and if human, rich and Irish and not someone they could attempt to destroy without expecting consequences. The murder of a privileged, undoubtedly well-connected Irish girl could be just the sort of thing that would begin to tip the Irish away from their warm neutrality and toward reluctant partnership with Britain. Or at the very least, turn them colder toward Germany. It was too great a risk to take. If, on the other hand, she was indeed the vampire they thought, even not knowing what it meant to be a millennial, they still had to operate with care. They had heard of huge massacres committed by a single vampire, and even though this one was a soft-looking female, they wanted to hedge their bets. Their orders were to do it on the sly. The public must not know any vampires had crept back onto the Continent. Furthermore, while they were all prepared to die for the dream, none was willing to die such a shameful death. They wanted to humiliate and torture her and emerge unscathed.
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