by S J Williams
“He’s not going to go away, is he?” Effie said finally as Henry knocked again.
“I fear not.” Sebastian said with a crooked smile. Still, he didn’t let go. At last, it was Effie who pulled back.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Go on. We can pick this up again later.”
“Is that a promise?” Sebastian drawled, watching her through hooded eyes.
She nodded, unable to suppress her excited grin. He darted forwards and snatched another kiss.
“Sebastian!”
“Damn you, Henry, I’m coming.”
He was gone in the next instant. Effie pressed her back against the bookshelf.
“My knees are trembling.” Absently, she noted her voice was trembling too. She touched her lips. They tingled.
“Wow. Just wow.”
Her mobile buzzed in her pocket. She jumped like a startled cat, whirling around to stare at the bookshelf before she realised what it was. Laughing shakily at herself, she fished the phone out of her jeans pocket and answered the call.
“Hello, my dear.”
Effie nearly dropped the phone.
“Bartholomew.” Her voice hardened. “What do you want?”
He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he asked, “I hope you are alone?”
“Completely.” She answered truthfully. But she started to walk towards the door. The sooner she got to the others, the more of the conversation they could overhear.
“Excellent. I have someone I want you to meet.”
There was a fumbling sound, then a tearful “‘Ello?”
Effie stopped dead in her tracks.
“‘Ello?” The girl said again in heavily accented English. She sounded very young and very afraid.
“Hello.” Effie said gently. “I’m here.” She started walking again, faster now. The others had to hear this.
“Tell her, my dear.” She heard Bartholomew’s voice in the background.
An audible swallow down the line. A throat that sounded thick with tears.
“‘E said… ‘E said, if you don’t bring the medallion tonight, ‘e will kill me.” Her words ended with a choked whimper.
Effie could feel all the blood draining from her face. Keep moving, she told herself. Just keep moving. She was definitely not qualified to deal with this kind of situation.
Trying to stall for time, she asked, “What is your name.”
There was a pause, then, “Laura.”
“Laura. Are you a student at the university?” It was a guess, and she didn’t know how much information Bartholomew would let Laura give her, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Telling Laura that everything would be alright felt like a cruel lie. Whatever happened, she could already tell that things would not end well for Laura. Not if it meant giving Bartholomew what he wanted.
“Yes.” A barely audible whisper, then a shuddering inhale. More fumbling and Bartholomew was back on the line. Effie reached the top of the stairs and started to descend as quietly as she could.
“Her blood is very sweet, you know, but not as sweet as yours.” His voice was musing, almost whimsical. Effie gritted her teeth. And this was the same man who’d been her employer and partner? How could she have been so blind?
“What do you want with this medallion, anyway?” She demanded, goaded beyond careful diplomacy.
“Haven’t you worked it out yet?” He asked, amused.
“Sorry, my mind doesn’t work like a vampire’s, Barty.”
She could have imagined it, but there was a slight sound that could almost have been a hiss of annoyance. Hah! Take that, Barty.
“I wouldn’t say that. There was a time when our minds were perfectly aligned.” His urbane voice sounded regretful.
“Hardly, if I never worked out what you were.” She retorted.
“Ah, but you were never supposed to work it out, my dear. Not until it was far, far too late.”
He’s playing with me, playing with all of us, she thought, furiously. She’d reached the hall now. She could hear the others’ voices coming from the dining room. She paused, unsure how to walk in without alerting Bartholomew to the fact that she was no longer alone.
Her question was answered when Henry walked into the hall, a question in his eyes. She held up one finger for silence then pointed to the phone at her ear.
“Bartholomew.” She mouthed.
Henry’s expression immediately darkened and he ducked back into the dining room to signal something to the others. Sebastian came through the door a moment later, his face thunderous. Effie backed up and shook her head. Sebastian stopped in front of her. He did not look happy. She gave him a signal to wait and put the phone on loud speaker.
Scrambling to think of something to say to keep Bartholomew talking, she asked, “You were planning to kill me in the end?”
“Oh, no, my dear. Though it may have come to that. Be assured I would have tried to save you if I could.”
“How kind.” Sarcasm dripping from her words. “And I suppose saving me would have meant turning me into a vampire?”
“You have no idea what you are missing. The power is quite phenomenal.”
“And would it still be phenomenal when you get burned to a crisp by the sun?” She asked, an idea forming in her mind.
“Not at all, I’m sure. But, as you have seen, I’ve found ways to mitigate that problem.”
“Prove it. Come and meet me in broad daylight and we’ll see who’s strongest.”
“Why, certainly, my dear. Only, what would become of poor Laura here?” His voice trailed off silkily.
Effie faltered, only then seeing the flaw in her bold challenge.
“So that is the source of your so-called phenomenal power?” She said, struggling to keep her momentum, and the conversation, going. “Living like a parasitic leech on the blood of humans? I’d rather be an immortal. Their powers beat your strength every time.”
Unexpectedly, Bartholomew snarled down the line. I’ve touched a nerve, she thought.
“It won’t always be like this. My abilities will grow stronger and you’ll be the one to make that happen.” The line went dead.
Effie stood there, swaying slightly, stunned by what she’d heard. She met Sebastian’s startled eyes.
“Did he just say I would make his abilities stronger?” She asked.
“I think he did.”
Lucien, who had come up behind Sebastian to listen in to the conversation, looked like someone had lit a fire inside him.
“I think I know what he’s looking for,” he breathed. Then he whirled on the spot and disappeared back into the dining room. They could hear him shouting at Catarina to move something of hers off the table. He sounded like a drill sergeant who’d just been given a fresh batch of recruits.
“Did I just seal Laura’s fate?” Effie asked Sebastian unhappily.
“And Laura is?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“A hostage.” She answered bitterly.
Sebastian sighed. “I won’t say your challenge wasn’t foolish. It was, for several reasons. But any human Bartholomew has in his possession is living on borrowed time. Even if he had taken you up on your offer, I doubt you’d have changed his plans for tonight.”
Effie bowed her head, Laura’s scared voice echoing through her mind. “There’s nothing we can do, is there?”
Sebastian’s arms came around her, pressing her forehead into his chest. “No. Not in time for Laura, no.”
She leaned into his strength for a moment. Just a moment. Then she straightened up, pulling herself to her full height.
“We’ll just have to make sure there’s no one else after her.”
Sebastian gave her brave words an approving nod.
She slipped past him and hurried after Lucien to the dining room. She might not be able to take out vampires in a one-on-one duel, but that wasn’t the only way to slay a monster.
11
Effie found Lucien flicking through Fra Amedeo’s diary, completely
heedless of its age or fragility. Just at that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“What do you think you’ve found?” She asked, coming round the table to look over his elbow.
Lucien continued to search through the book.
“We know Fra Amedeo was interested in the humours and how they could be manipulated to encourage balance in the body.” He said, his voice distracted.
“Yes. He was trying to find some way to balance out murderous rages. That’s where the vampire comes in.”
Lucien stopped at a page, then ran his finger down the text. “Here, he speculates about roses and promoting blood production.” He murmured.
“He spent ages speculating over what he could use to strengthen the organs.” Effie read over Lucien’s shoulder. “Look, here he gives the details of his experiments with rosemary for the brain and the spirit.” She pointed to a couple of entries.
“But he only reported failure.” Lucien finished with a frown.
“Not quite.” Effie turned the page. “Here, he points out that, since Galen’s theory of the soul rests on the idea that all the organs are interconnected by the circulation of bodily fluids, targeting one organ on its own can only have limited results. So he did find something out.”
“So he did. But he didn’t see fit to expand any further.” Lucien’s voice was almost a growl with frustration.
“Or did he?” Effie said slowly. “Wasn’t there a point when he was talking about food for the soul? We couldn’t work out what he was going on about. But, perhaps, he was speculating what combinations of plants he would need to strengthen multiple organs at a time.”
Lucien stared at her, then began to frantically flick through the pages again.
“Here it is!” He opened onto a page close to the back of the diary. “Borage, cloves, rosemary, cowslips, daisies, roses…”
“And ‘balm flowers for the spirit’! That’s what he was on about. This is his recipe for strengthening the soul.”
“And for boosting the supply of blood, if I’m reading his thought processes correctly.” Lucien added.
“I have a question.” Henry said from where he was propping up the wall, arms folded over his chest. He raised one finger, balancing his elbow on his other hand. “How can all this help Bartholomew strengthen his abilities? And by that, I assume he meant his ability for mind control?”
“Galen understood the soul to be life and its presence in these organs the way that life is bound to the body. He believed you could strengthen and prolong that life by nourishing these specific organs with a kind of elixir of life.” Lucien explained, “For immortals, our abilities are closely bound to what we now call our spirit or energy. For vampires, they get that spirit from drinking blood, from which they take human life energy. Before, when Amedeo was working, the ‘soul’ was the preferred metaphor for the spirit. If Amedeo – and Bartholomew – believed the soul could be artificially strengthened in vampires, without drinking blood, they may have been interested in the recipe because they were looking for an elixir to keep a vampire powerful without relying on the limited spirit they could get from humans.”
“Those weird flowers he was mixing in his shakes.” Henry said, dropping his arms to his sides. “He’s been drinking this recipe all this time.”
“And improving on it.” Lucien pointed out. “If all those experiments mean anything."
“Blimey.” Henry’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Bartholomew must have been obsessed with this for centuries.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Catarina asked quietly. Effie jumped and spun around. She’d forgotten the other woman was in the room. “It’s clear he envies us for our abilities. Wouldn’t you grab any opportunity to make yourself better, if you came across it?”
“I’d hardly say this counts as a possibility.” Henry said with a grimace. “I’m certainly not prepared to spend centuries chasing down a potion on the off-chance it could be an elixir for never ending strength.”
“Bartholomew must think differently. Or there’s a specific reason why this irks him.” Lucien speculated. “I personally can’t believe he took all of this so seriously. Yes, it’s an interesting idea. But it’s a little far-fetched if you look at it through the prism of modern science.”
“Do we have a scientific explanation for immortality?” Effie asked.
“No, our energy seems to fit outside science, or, at least, outside of what science has been able to discover to date.” Sebastian murmured. “Some analysis has been done on the venom but, apart from registering its toxicity, it hasn’t been able to prove much.”
“It’s a little hard to put our energy under too much scrutiny.” Catarina added. “Not without drawing attention to ourselves.”
“So Bartholomew could be justified in looking to older theories for his answers.” Effie concluded. “Maybe he thought old philosophers would consider things modern scientists have automatically ruled out?”
“Either that, or the man is too set in his ways to fully abandon all his old beliefs. Back in the fifteenth century, this was cutting edge science. Everyone believed in it.” Lucien pointed out.
Effie nodded. “That, too.”
Henry raised his finger again. “Can I ask another question? If this is all based on the medallion, what does a bird have to do with it?”
Lucien pursed his lips. “It could be a symbol of life, of freedom or of the soul.”
“So, let me get this straight.” Catarina stood up and walked to the opposite side of the table so she was standing next to Henry, facing them. She held up one finger. “Bartholomew got wind of an elixir for the soul, or whatever and he decided he would try it to boost his abilities or reduce his need to drink blood or something?”
The others nodded. She continued, holding up a second finger.
“He needs this medallion because, for some reason, this is the only known surviving record of the completed recipe for this magical elixir. Have I got it right so far?”
“More or less.” Lucien confirmed. “You sound sceptical.”
“Because it’s bonkers. It’s like something out of a fairytale.” She protested. “The man is a crackpot.”
“The man is a vampire. He has a good reason to be a crackpot.” Henry pointed out.
“Well, this is all well and good. But flowers? Really? If vampires could just eat flowers to gain the energy they need for immortality, why on earth do they need to drink blood?”
Silence met her words.
Eventually, Lucien sighed gustily. “I’m sorry, Catarina, but I don’t think this diary is going to give us the answer to that one.”
“The experiment kept failing.” Effie pointed out. “They kept trying to add these flowers to blood but Amedeo says that didn’t work.”
“It’s almost sad when you look at it like that.” Henry murmured, once more folding his arms as he stared down at the diary.
“Just so long as we can use it to catch him, I don’t care if it’s a fucking tragedy.” Catarina growled, pulling out her phone when it buzzed in her pocket and disappearing from the room again. The others looked at each other.
“You’ve got to hand it to her,” Henry said at last, “Catarina has a unique way of looking on the bright side.”
Catarina shot back into the room on the tail end of those words.
“They’ve set a date for Oscar’s trial,” she said, holding up the phone, her eyes burning.
“Oscar Mansfeld?” Effie asked, struggling to pull her head back to the present.
“When is it?” Sebastian asked urgently.
She showed him the phone screen. He swore viciously under his breath.
“That doesn’t leave us much time,” he muttered, exchanging dark looks with Henry and Lucien who had both come round to look at the phone over his shoulders.
“What are you planning to do?” Effie asked, the rising tension in the room making her stomach churn.
“It’s not what we’re planning on doing. It’s wha
t Bartholomew will do,” Henry said grimly. “He must be planning to use this trial in some way. It’s too good a platform otherwise.”
“What can you do to stop him?” Effie looked from one grim face to the next.
“Best case scenario—” Lucien began, but Catarina cut him off with a snort.
“There is no best case scenario. We can kill him and burn the portraits but that trial will still go ahead. We’ll just have to pray no one thinks to ask for DNA evidence.”
Effie frowned at Sebastian.
“Can’t you use mind control or something to make the mortals forget?”
Sebastian shook his head, his mouth pressed in a grim line.
“Maybe I could, if it was just a roomful of mortals who knew about it, but this trial has a global audience. Not even immortals can stop it now.”
The following morning, Sebastian found Effie standing at the glass doors, staring out into the garden. He joined her, admiring the way the dew turned the flowers and leaves into jewels.
“Laura is dead now, isn’t she?” Effie asked, her voice a monotone.
“If she’s lucky, then yes, she is dead.”
Effie shot him a quick glance. “And if she isn’t lucky?”
Sebastian sighed. “Don’t ask me that question. I can’t give you a good answer.”
“I’m not a child. I can handle the truth.” She argued.
“I won’t deny it. You are definitely not a child.” He gave her an appreciative look. He couldn’t help himself, despite the grim topic of conversation. She was dressed in a thin cotton kimono, the loose garment hinting at the shape of her body in a way that triggered a pounding need to strip it off. Slowly.
“But, there are some truths you don’t need to hear.” He finished, reining in his impulses. Now was probably not the best time.
“I can’t help feeling responsible.” She turned back to looking out into the garden.
“Effie…” He began.
“I know, I know. You said the responsibility is his and his alone. But I can’t help wondering if he made her wait for me, keeping her alive all night to make her hope help was coming.”
Sebastian grimaced. It made for a horrible scene. And it also was perfectly within Bartholomew’s reach. But.
