Her lips found the flowing wound, and she drank deeply from it. The blood was so delicious she could not bring herself to stop, even as her body cried out from the harsh touch of the sun.
Suddenly, someone pulled her away. She heard Ekaterine speaking but could not make out the words. She felt a heavy cloak being wrapped about her head and body, shrouding her from the sunlight. Then someone lifted her into his arms.
“I have you, Mother,” she heard Friedrich say.
“Alistair…” she murmured. One hand struggled to reach out and touch his face. “Alistair, is that you?”
“Do not worry liebchen,” came Korbinian’s voice. It was only a murmur, but it was as clear as if he were wrapped inside the cloak with her. “Our son has you. You are safe now. Rest. Rest and awaken.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
By the time they reached the house, Varanus had regained her senses. At first she was confused—why was she being carried by Alistair? But no, his name was Friedrich, not Alistair—but she quickly remembered what had transpired. Friedrich set her down near the gate at the head of the drive so that she could walk the rest of the way on her own, still shielded from the sun by the heavy cloak she had been given. Varanus caught Friedrich staring at her, mesmerized by her miraculous recovery.
This was going to be difficult to explain.
“Come,” she said, motioning for Friedrich and Ekaterine to follow her. “We will enter through a side door. I would prefer to avoid questions until after supper.”
“Yes, my lady,” Ekaterine said.
“I must change, of course,” Varanus said. “Ekaterine, have Alis…Friedrich placed in one of the guest rooms and then come see me.”
Ekaterine merely nodded.
* * * *
While she changed into a new dress, Varanus mulled over what she was to say to her son. But what did one say under such circumstances? “Hello, Friedrich. May I call you Alistair?” or “I know you were told that I had died, but as you can see, I am both alive and immortal” or “Join me for dinner, if you please. I normally drink blood, but on this occasion we will be enjoying local fare.”
She sighed aloud as Ekaterine helped her into a new corset. The old one was clearly beyond repair, both bloodstained and shredded along one side. It was a miracle it had stayed on her until the dress had come off.
“What am I to do, Ekaterine?” she asked.
“You should begin,” Ekaterine said, “by telling him that you love him. I know it’s not popular, but I have always been of the opinion that a mother’s love ought to be known by her children.”
Varanus laughed a little, which quickly turned into a gasp as Ekaterine pulled hard on the laces.
“Not so tightly!” she cried.
Ekaterine leaned around and fixed her with a stern look, saying, “It serves you right for wearing it. Such a beastly garment.”
“It is the fashion,” Varanus said.
“So you keep telling me,” Ekaterine replied. “And yet, like your hats, it is nothing less than dreadful.”
“Ekaterine, what am I to say to him?” Varanus asked.
“I do not know,” Ekaterine said, “but I will tell you what you are not to say to him. You are not to explain what you are. He will ask, and you will want to tell him because he is your son.”
“I know,” Varanus said. “I will keep the secrets of our order. But what else am I to tell him?”
Ekaterine shrugged apologetically and said, “Explain to him that you thought he died. God willing, that will distract him from what he saw today.”
“It won’t work, will it?” Varanus asked.
“Well.…” Ekaterine sighed. “Well, God is very busy these days.” She smiled at Varanus and patted her arm. “Just tell him the truth…except when you must lie.”
* * * *
Varanus found Friedrich waiting in the upstairs library. The room was dark and the windows were shuttered, but Friedrich paced back and forth across the floor without once bumping into the furniture. He turned toward Varanus as she entered and looked at her expectantly.
“You could have turned up the lights,” Varanus said, and did so.
“I was thinking,” Friedrich replied.
Varanus turned toward him, and they regarded one another for a little while.
“You have questions,” Varanus finally said. “I know that you have questions.”
“I do,” Friedrich said.
“Well…ask them,” Varanus said.
Friedrich scowled for a moment, then smiled, then scowled again.
“I have so many, I don’t know where to start,” he said. “You are my mother. I know you are my mother.”
“That is not a question,” Varanus said.
“I was told that you died!” Friedrich cried. “Why was I told that you died? And how are you so young? You are my mother, yet you look to be my age! And the beast! What was that creature? And how did you kill it? And how did you not die? I saw it tear you to pieces, but here you are, alive and well! How?”
Varanus took a deep breath. She could hardly have expected anything else.
“Shall we sit?” she asked, motioning to a pair of chairs.
Friedrich nodded briskly and said, “Yes, yes, let us do so.”
He sat quickly and folded his hands in his lap while Varanus sat opposite him.
“Now then,” Varanus said, “I will do my best to answer your questions one at a time.”
Friedrich nodded.
“Yes, that is good,” he said. “And please understand, I do not wish to seem ungrateful—”
Varanus leaned forward and took Friedrich’s hands. Friedrich started a little, surprised, but after a moment he smiled at her.
“Do not apologize,” Varanus said. “Today has been a difficult one for me as well. I discovered that my son was alive. You see, several months after you were born, my grandfather, William, told me that you had died. And at the time, I was so distraught that I never thought to ask to see your body until after the funeral.”
Best not to mention the attempted suicide. That was the sort of thing that would distress the poor boy.
“It never occurred to me that you had been taken away,” Varanus continued. “I never thought that my grandfather would lie to me. Now it seems I was mistaken.”
“We were both lied to,” Friedrich said, frowning. “After I was born, my Aunt Ilse brought me back to Fuchsburg from Italy. And when I was old enough to understand, she explained to me that my father had been murdered by a Frenchman and my mother had died in childbirth. She said that your family did not want me, and I believed her. It was not until it seemed that the family was about to die off with your father that I even thought about coming here.” He looked toward one of the gaslights. “I never believed that my aunt would lie to me either. I will have words with her when I return home.”
Damn Ilse! Varanus thought, growing warm with anger. The blasted woman had conspired with Grandfather to steal her son! Grandfather was not alive to answer for the crime, but Ilse was!
“Perhaps we will have words with her together,” she said aloud, keeping her tone level. It would not do to upset the boy.
“Tell me Mother,” Friedrich said, “is it true that my father was murdered?”
“Yes,” Varanus said. “I was there when that bastard Alfonse des Louveteaux struck him down, on Christmas morning no less!”
Friedrich nodded slowly and said, “That is what my aunt always said, but today I have been given cause to doubt her account of things.” He paused. “How are you so young?”
“Young?” Varanus asked.
But of course, she hadn’t aged in fifteen years. She had become so used to seeing those around her not change at all, she had almost forgotten that it was normal for people to grow old.
“You look my age,” Friedrich said. “How is this possible?”
“A family trait,” Varanus answered. “Your great-grandfather William scarcely showed his age.”
Friedr
ich studied her for a little while before he slowly nodded. Varanus suspected that he did not believe her, but at least he was willing to set that point aside.
“And the beast?” he asked.
“The beast,” Varanus said.
“What was it?”
Varanus sighed and replied, “I do not know.”
“It was not a creature of Nature,” Friedrich said. His tone was insistent and earnest.
“I know that,” Varanus said. “I encountered such a creature before, many years ago. When your father was courting me, we were set upon by such a beast. We drove it off but did not kill it.”
“You believe it is the same creature?” Friedrich asked.
Varanus considered this. It seemed impossible, and yet… No, it was the same creature. It…smelled the same, for lack of a better word.
“I do not know,” she said. “But, I do know that it is well we killed it. The countryside is safer for that.”
“You killed it,” Friedrich said. “You beat it and stabbed it with my sword.”
Varanus waited for him to mention the drinking of the beast’s blood, but the question never came. She looked into Friedrich’s eyes, but she could not see what he was thinking. Had he not seen? Or was he simply refusing to address it?
“How did you kill it?” Friedrich asked. “A creature of that size and you cast it aside like a bird buffeted by the wind.”
Varanus shook her head and said, “No, you are mistaken. I evaded it, yes, and I did strike it many times, though I suspect it had little effect. It was your sword that killed it, Friedrich. I was merely lucky. The beast could have killed me.”
Friedrich rose from his chair in a flash, arms upraised in agitation.
“It did kill you!” he shouted. “Or it ought to have done so! I thank Heaven that you are alive and well, but Mother, I saw it tear you apart! And yet here you are, whole and unharmed! How is this possible?”
“I was not badly injured,” Varanus said. “You were some distance away. You must not have seen what you thought you saw.”
“I know what I saw,” Friedrich said firmly.
“I can give you no other explanation than the one I have given you.”
“I cannot accept that!” Friedrich answered. “There is more going on here than what you are telling me, and I want to know what it is!”
He stopped, fist upraised, as the door opened and Ekaterine leaned into the room. She blinked a few times at the sight of Friedrich before exchanging looks with Varanus.
“My lady,” she said, “dinner is served.”
Varanus smiled pleasantly and rose from her chair.
“Thank you, Ekaterine,” she said. “We shall be along presently.”
“Very good, my lady,” Ekaterine said.
Varanus turned to Friedrich, took his hand, and gently lowered it. “Come,” she said, “we shall talk further after we eat.”
* * * *
It was dinnertime at the des Louveteaux house as well, and Alfonse sat carving apart his second beef steak of the evening. He would consume a third by the end of the meal, he knew that already. The rest of the family sat around the table, similarly devouring chunks of bloody meat with all the gentility of the French aristocracy. His father was the most voracious of them all, already calling for the servants to bring him a fourth piece of meat.
Such an appetite! It made Alfonse smile proudly. One day soon he would be just like his father, and his father would be…well, something even greater than a man.
“More wine!” he shouted, snapping his fingers.
One of the servants scurried forward to refill his glass. It was the home vintage: a hearty red mixed with blood, just the restorative he required.
At the far end of the table, his mother, Charlotte des Louveteaux, called out to his father:
“Louis, has the matter with those beastly Varanuses been settled yet?”
Louis wolfed down a mouthful of meat before replying, “Very nearly, my sweet. I give them a week’s time before that bitch Babette succumbs.”
“And how was the runt’s funeral?” Charlotte asked.
She had not attended, of course. At her age, she had grown too fair and beautiful to be seen in public. Her teeth were sharp and long, and her side-whiskers had grown almost as thick as Louis’s. By now, shaving was a wasted effort. It would not be long before the family would usher her into the deep places of the earth. It made Alfonse so proud. And to think, one day his beloved Claire would look the same.
Claire. The very thought of her and her scent roused Alfonse, and he growled softly, tearing into his piece of beef to sate his hunger. Darling Claire had married that beastly banker, Bazaine, but her husband was not the master of his house. Nor was he the master of “his” children, for they all belonged to the des Louveteaux line.
“Alfonse, my child,” Charlotte said, “I hear that a man came to the funeral claiming to be the son of Babette Varanus and that dreadful German.”
“Yes, Mother,” Alfonse said. “He called himself Friedrich von Fuchsburg.”
“Is there any truth to his claim?” Charlotte asked.
“It seems so,” Alfonse said. “He certainly looked like his father.”
Louis laughed loudly, his mouth full of food, and said, “Yes, and it gave you quite the start, didn’t it? Ha ha! You should have seen the boy, Charlotte. White as a sheet.”
Alfonse felt the heat of his temper rising. He quickly changed the subject.
“The damn fool had the audacity to challenge me to a duel,” he said. “‘For his family’s honor.’ It was absurd.”
“You do not mean to fight him?” Charlotte asked, frowning.
“By my order,” Louis said. He washed his mouthful of food down with a swig of wine. “The German is not worth the effort, nor does he deserve the respect of being dueled. I have dispatched Gérard to deal with the problem.” He glanced toward the clock over the fireplace. “I am surprised he has not returned.”
As Louis spoke, the door opened, and the butler stepped in. He walked to Louis’s side and whispered in his ear. Louis’s face immediately fell into a scowl. Clearing his throat, he stood and snapped his fingers at Alfonse.
“Alfonse, come with me,” he said. He smiled at the rest of the family. “Continue, please, until I return.”
Alfonse stood and followed his father and the butler into the hall. He saw one of their groundsmen, Mercier, standing nearby, his back rigid like a soldier at attention. Mercier dared not look at them but stared straight ahead, waiting to be addressed.
“Well?” Louis asked. “What is it?”
“Master Gérard is dead,” Mercier said.
“What?” Alfonse exclaimed. He looked toward the dining room and lowered his voice. “How?”
Mercier looked toward them and quickly looked away. He was afraid, which was good. His news was very bad, and that alone was reason enough for him to be killed and eaten.
“We are not certain, Messieurs,” Mercier said. “We found the body in a field. He had been stabbed through the throat, probably with a sword. I believe he bled to death.”
“The German?” Alfonse demanded.
“There was no sign of him,” Mercier said, “so I believe he escaped alive after killing Gérard.”
“Impossible!” Louis’s expression was red with fury. “Von Fuchsburg is only a man! He could not have killed one of us! And he certainly could not have survived!”
“A sword should not have breached Gérard’s flesh,” Alfonse said to Mercier. “How could a man have possessed such strength?”
Mercier looked like a mouse surrounded by cats.
“I do not know,” he insisted. “All I can think is that the German stabbed while Gérard pounced on him, and the force of Gérard’s attack caused him to impale himself upon von Fuchsburg’s sword.”
“And von Fuchsburg was not there?” Louis asked.
“There was no body,” Mercier said. “I called for him at his rooms in the village, but he was
not there. They said his things had been collected by men from the Varanus house.”
“Then he is there,” Alfonse said. “His mother has taken him to her bosom, it seems.”
Louis shook his head, almost salivating with anger.
“That boy must pay,” he snarled. “Gérard may have been a bastard, but he was my grandfather’s bastard. Von Fuchsburg will die for this offense!”
“I will kill him for you, Father,” Alfonse said.
“No,” Louis replied. “No, he deserves a more lingering death than that. Mercier, take your men and invade the Varanus house. Find von Fuchsburg and bring him back here alive. We will bring him before the assembly, execute him, and feast upon his flesh.”
“Yes, my lord,” Mercier said, bowing deeply. “But I must ask.… The house will be inhabited. What are we to do if we are seen?”
“Make it look like a robbery,” Louis said. “If they resist, shoot them. I will attend to any trouble with the police.”
Mercier bowed again and backed away, looking at the floor.
“As you wish,” he said. “It will be done; it will be done.”
Alfonse smiled at the sight. It was always refreshing to see humans who knew their place. And soon von Fuchsburg would know his place as well. And then he would die.
Alfonse hummed happily as he and Louis returned to the dining room. He could already taste the German’s sweet blood on his tongue. It would be delicious.
* * * *
Varanus poured a glass of brandy from a crystal decanter and handed it to Friedrich. Taking her own drink—a glass of sherry—she sat on the sofa beside him and gave him a warm smile. They were in the parlor, where they had retired after dinner. The meal had been a quiet affair and very awkward at first. Thankfully, by the time they had finished eating, she and her son had reached a sort of unspoken accord. By now, they seemed to have both agreed to set their uncertainties aside. Certain questions could not be answered, and they were not asked. But everything else was fair game.
“So you are a doctor?” Varanus asked.
“Yes,” Friedrich said. “Science is my greatest love, you know, even more than war, which I understand is unusual for a man of my station.”
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