But by smell she knew him and she could track him. His pleasant fragrance drew her onward through the castle, drawing a great circle that was surely intended to elude her. It was not enough. She smelled him clearly, and she followed him without pause. He would not escape.
At last, Varanus came to the great hall. She wondered if Julius intended to flee all the way back to the chapel, but it was not so. As she crossed into the hall, she saw Julius waiting for her, standing in the center of the room, lit by a haze of starlight that shone out against the darkness. The sight of him standing there made Varanus halt a moment. When she approached him, it was with caution. Something was not right here.
Julius smiled at her. He slowly removed his headpiece and ran his fingers through his hair. For a little while they stood there, watching one another across the room, their eyes slowly entwining, gaze with gaze, until there was nothing in the empty space but the two of them.
“Well, here we are, Fräulein,” he said softly.
“Indeed, here we are, Fremder,” Varanus agreed.
“I feared that you would not be able to follow me,” Julius told her. “I had begun to hope.… And I was afraid that hope would be unfounded.”
“A curious thing to hope for: dying,” Varanus noted.
“There are worse fates.”
“True,” Varanus admitted, “but none so final.”
Julius ran his fingertips along the top of the horned skull he held.
“I knew that there was something special about you,” he said. “I knew from our first meeting. I saw you atop the stairs and I…I saw Her.”
“Her?” Varanus asked. She was not entirely certain what he meant, but she could hazard a guess, and it was not one she cared to make. Not after the display in the chapel. “Pronouns are dreadful things, Julius. Whom did you see when you saw me?”
Julius’s smile grew a little wider. “I think we both know of whom I speak, Fräulein.”
“A lady prefers not to comment on idle speculation,” Varanus replied.
She took a step toward him, and Julius matched it with his own.
“A pity,” Julius said. “There are such things I had planned to show you.” He sighed. “But Franz and Istvan have ruined all that with their plotting and foolishness.”
“You are the one who tried to murder me,” Varanus said.
“True.” Julius frowned. “I regret that. But I suppose it is just as well that I did.” His frown softened and he smiled again, genuinely pleased. “That was what showed me my suspicion was correct.”
“Trying to kill me?” Varanus asked, taking another step forward. Again, it was matched by Julius.
“Oh yes,” Julius breathed. “You should have fallen before us and died in a moment. And yet, you killed three men and shattered my skull with your bare hands before you succumbed.” He absently touched the side of his head where it had been injured. “If not for the grace bestowed upon me, I would have died. That you savaged us so brutally before your death was incredible enough, but then you rose from the dead! A miracle among miracles!”
Julius advanced toward her now, his empty hand outstretched as he gazed at her longingly, his eyes filled with wonder and admiration.
“You rose from the dead,” he repeated. “You followed me here in time for the ceremony, like one who is called to a greater purpose. You were shot and stabbed, and yet you stand here before me whole and alive! There is but one way that can be.”
Varanus shook her head, astonished by the madness in Julius’s words and the seductive fervor in the voice that spoke them. Finally, they reached each other and stood there within arm’s reach. Varanus wanted to take him there and then and slaughter him for all that he had done, but something stayed her hand: something in his eyes, that glinted as if in moonlight as they looked into hers.
“I am not your god,” she told him coldly.
This only made Julius smile all the more. “I think you do believe that,” he said. “And yet, clearly do I see Her in you and you in Her. All my life when I have sung praises and shed blood, it has been to you, only I did not know it until tonight.”
Varanus exhaled deeply and said, “I am going to kill you, Julius. You tried to murder me, and you tried to murder my son. You do not harm my blood and live.”
She had expected her words to shake him out of his maniacal adoration, but they seemed to delight him even more.
“I know,” he said. “I am honored, Goddess, to have been chosen for such a blessed end.”
“I am going to kill you because of what you did,” Varanus insisted. “This is not a blessing. This is retribution.”
Julius chuckled and touched her cheek tenderly. “You speak your words, Goddess, but with Her voice. In this moment, you might believe that this is your revenge. I another moment, you will remember your true intention.” He grinned at her, showing his teeth. “To live for you has been an honor. To die for you will be doubly so. May my death sate your hunger, and may your blessing fall upon my house and all those who shall come after me.”
A shiver ran along Varanus’s spine as the room returned to her and with it her senses. She grabbed for Julius, but he darted backward into the shadows. Varanus advanced further, knowing that he would be there, but she found nothing but air. Confused, she turned this way and that, searching for him.
She found him behind her as she heard him murmur in her ear, “And do not fear, I will not go quietly. I will give you sport before I give you my blood.”
Julius kissed her on the cheek, and as he did, Varanus’s body jerked as she felt him plunge his knife into her lower back and then rip the blade out again. She turned and grabbed for him, but again she was met with shadows. Turning around and around, Varanus stared into the darkness, searching every corner of the hall, but still there was nothing. The shadows crowded around her, smothering her and tugging at her. In the feeble light she could see nothing.
She felt a sharp pain blossom in her side. She saw Julius’s smiling face inches away from hers a moment before he withdrew again. Again she grabbed for him, and again there was nothing but emptiness between her fingers. Then came another stab, another smile, another retaliatory blow that found only shadows.
“How is this possible?” she gasped, lashing out blindly as her ears and eyes strained to catch a hint of anything in the dark, any indication of where Julius might be and from where his next attack would come.
Instead of Julius, Varanus saw Korbinian appear from the shadows. His face and body were drenched in blood, and he looked at her sadly, forlorn at his inability to help her.
“All things are possible, Liebchen,” he said, “as long as we have faith.” Blood trickled from between his lips with each word. “It is in faith that the impossible becomes possible.”
“You are not helping,” Varanus growled.
A moment later, Julius appeared from the shadows beside Korbinian. There was a flash of movement, and Varanus felt the knife cut her across the cheek, slicing almost to the bone. She jerked back and grabbed for her face, startled as much by the surprise of seeing Julius and Korbinian standing next to each other as from the pain. By the time she recovered, Julius had disappeared again.
Then she realized that Korbinian had vanished too.
“I am doing my best, Liebchen,” Korbinian said from behind her.
Varanus turned to address him just in time to see Julius appear again and drive his knife into her chest, plunging it upward beneath the ribs and only just missing her heart. Having seen Julius as he came at her this time, Varanus recovered from the surprise quickly enough to strike a solid blow against Julius’s temple as he drew out his knife. His eye began bleeding again and he grinned at her.
“What you give, you take away,” he said happily. “As it should be.”
Varanus lunged at him, but he backed into the shadows and again vanished.
&nbs
p; “I am doing all that I can, Liebchen,” Korbinian said, appearing a few paces to her right. “What more can I do?”
Varanus glanced toward him and she understood. Indeed, what more could he do? And what more did he need to do? He told her all that she needed to know.
She reached out with her hand as Julius appeared from the darkness where Korbinian had been standing and charged at her, his knife held overhead ready to be plunged into her neck. The force of his charge carried him right into her grasp, and Varanus grabbed him by the throat. Julius gasped and froze as her fingers tightened. He smiled and dropped the knife.
Hungry and tired from injury and exertion, Varanus flung Julius onto the stone floor. She knelt over him and snatched up the knife. The blood was pounding through his body, and its intoxicating rhythm surged through his warm flesh and into her, his heart beating against her thighs.
“I said I would give you sport,” Julius murmured. “What I would not give to die for you a thousand times, but once will be enough.”
Varanus pressed the knife to his throat. She was trembling with hunger and excitement. Her pulse was almost strong enough to feel. In the empty space between her own slow heartbeats, Julius’s heart pounded quickly, and together their blood and bodies met in a kind of dance, beat for beat.
“I am not your god!” Varanus snarled, though she found herself almost breathless.
“I think you do believe that,” Julius repeated, his eyes wide with awe and admiration. “But I see you now as I have only ever glimpsed you before! That which I have seen hinted at through smoke, now it is before me in moonlight and it is glorious.”
Varanus shook her head as Julius’s eyes became unfocused as he gazed at her and through her and beyond her. His fractured skull had taken his reason just as it would soon take his life. But Varanus did not intend to let him escape so easily. She plunged the knife into his throat. The blood that spurted out smelled sweet and tantalizing, more pleasant than any she had ever smelled before. An illusion born of hunger, surely.
But as Varanus placed her lips against the wound and drank, she found that the taste was better still: sweet and strong and dizzying, a liquid ambrosia that sated a hunger she had not known until tasting its cure. She drank and drank, feeling Julius’s warmth flowing through her as her flesh tingled with delight at its touch. She realized that she wanted nothing in the world as much as the taste of that blood, that life, that death.
Filled but not yet sated, Varanus sat up with a moan and threw back her head, gasping for air she did not need to breath. Blood stained her lips and throat, and her hair fell about her shoulders, writhing in the shadows that clung to her. She loomed over Julius and looked at him, licking her lips and struggling to fight off the delicious dizziness that had taken her.
She saw Julius still smiling at her, delighting in his own slaughter. As the light in his eyes faded into oblivion, he whispered:
“I see you, girl in sable. I see your horns of starlight and your eyes of night. Take me.…”
And then Julius died and there was only silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Through the haze of firelight and the whispers of the shadows, Iosef saw Julius flee the chapel and Varanus give chase. There was a moment when his instinct was to protect his student, but it soon passed. Varanus was Living; Julius was mortal. Varanus could easily catch and kill him. Iosef thought of his own difficulty during the encounter in Mordechai’s bookstore, but he had been caught unawares and poisoned by a lucky knife-blow. The chances of Julius enjoying such advantages were few.
The greater worry was Varanus’s son. Friedrich had backed away from the fighting at Varanus’s urging, but once she was gone, the foolish boy ran headlong back into the fray. Iosef watched as Friedrich reloaded his pistol with a fresh clip and ran at Von Steiersberg, firing with all the abandon and as little accuracy as he had before. Iosef sighed. If something happened to the boy, Varanus would be distraught for years. Iosef himself felt the unbearable weight of losing his wife of nearly two hundred years; the loss of one’s only son was surely as harrowing, and Varanus was far younger and far less capable of withstanding the loss.
As Iosef pondered these things, he heard a familiar voice behind him whisper his name.
Iosef.
Iosef spun around, searching for the one who had spoken, yet could not have done so. As he turned, he saw one of Julius’s acolytes rush at him from the choking, red-colored darkness, aiming a revolver at Iosef’s head. Iosef was suddenly reminded of the chaos in Mordechai’s store, of the whispering shadows that spoke in such familiar tones.
Without thinking, Iosef struck the gun with his open hand to force it away. The acolyte froze with astonishment for a moment. He had not expected Iosef to notice his approach, much less to react to it in time. Iosef did not bother himself with the thoughts of mortals. He took the acolyte’s arm with both hands and shattered it with a single vicious blow. The acolyte gasped and tried to scream.
Kill, the voice whispered.
Obediently, Iosef grabbed the acolyte by the throat and snapped his neck with a hard twist. Despite the shock and fear, the acolyte resisted until the final twist broke his spine, and Iosef shuddered from the visceral sensation of the kill. He inhaled deeply, scenting death and smoke. His head swam as the voice continued to whisper, drawing him toward the lusty lure of carnage.
No, he reminded himself, there was the boy to consider. Friedrich did not matter but Varanus mattered, and Friedrich’s death would destroy Varanus. Therefore, the boy had to be saved.
Iosef turned back toward the altar. As he did so, he saw his brother Luka struggling with two of Julius’s guards, beating back one with blows from his pistol while he gutted the other with a dagger. Despite the chaos of the fight, Luka was enjoying himself. And let him, Iosef thought. Luka had contented himself with quiet and inaction for months at Iosef’s unspoken request. Let him sate his passions now among men who were both mortal and party to murder.
Iosef’s gaze reached Friedrich as the boy came to the altar, firing bullet after bullet at Von Steiersberg. The Austrian laughed as the shots missed him, tearing through the edges of his robe or passing close by his head. It was an astonishing thing to see a man miss so nearly so many times. Whether Friedrich was a terrible shot with astounding luck or an astounding shot with terrible luck, Iosef could not say, but either way left him with an empty pistol and a whole enemy.
Swearing loudly, Friedrich stumbled backward, still pulling the trigger of his empty weapon while Von Steiersberg closed the distance between them. Von Steiersberg bounded forward and reached Friedrich with a hideous snarl and knocked the boy to the ground. Iosef slowly approached, as if in a daze, as Friedrich struggled against his attacker. Von Steiersberg knocked aside Friedrich’s defensive blows as easily as one might those of a child, which was an absurdity given Friedrich’s much greater size and youthfulness. But as Von Steiersberg closed his fingers around Friedrich’s throat and began choking, Iosef reached them.
The boy must live, he reminded himself.
Iosef leaned down and caught Von Steiersberg’s neck in the crook of his arm. Von Steiersberg was taken by surprised, and he lashed out, striking backward to free himself from Iosef. Iosef did not give him the courtesy of reacting as the man hit and kicked him in the chest and legs, thrashing like a madman in an attempt to escape Iosef’s grasp.
Kill, the voice whispered again, and Iosef obeyed. He squeezed Von Steiersberg’s throat, just as Von Steiersberg had intended to do to Friedrich. Iosef both heard and felt the man’s heart as it beat frantically and then finally grew still. He waited until the tremors had left his enemy’s body and Von Steiersberg’s breathing had stopped entirely. Then, disinterested, he let the body fall to the ground.
He looked down at Friedrich. The boy was staring at him, probably astonished at what he had seen. Iosef did not much care. He was tired and hungry from exert
ions he did not realize he had made. The body of his enemy smelled sweet to him, for it was full of blood and nourishment. But Iosef could not partake. He was in clear view of both Friedrich and the girl, Erzsebet, who sat by the altar, sobbing and cradling the body of her fallen lover. If either of them saw Iosef tear open Von Steiersberg’s body and drink his blood, it would be a grave revelation. Iosef would be obliged to kill them, and again, Friedrich’s death would be Varanus’s great distress. And for that, the two mortals were allowed to live, and Iosef forced himself to go hungry.
A faint sensation of electricity tickled the back of Iosef’s neck. He smelled blood and heat, though the bonfire was too far away to be the cause. Iosef turned toward the altar, his movements slowed and incoherent. In a daze, he watched as the blood that had spilled across the altar began to boil and hiss, like water over a roaring fire. The blood of Erdelyi and Stanislav blended together as it lifted into the air in a kind of ruddy vapor that smelled deliciously of iron and intoxication. Iosef took a few hesitant steps forward, one hand reaching out toward the cloud of blood that had formed, suspended in the air. None of the others seemed to notice it—Luka too occupied with fighting, Erzsebet with grief, and Friedrich with the struggle to recover from his near murder at the hands of Von Steiersberg. So Iosef alone watched the vapor as it coalesced into a heavy mass suspended in the air, lit by the firelight and framed by dancing shadows.
It was then that he noticed the most curious thing of all. Amid the blood vapor, Iosef saw a shape begin to form: a vague impression of a figure reaching back toward him, like one seen through smoke. There was a fissure, a break, a division in the very air before him, like a crack in a pane of glass.
Iosef reached into the bloody cloud and extended one fingertip toward the sliver. As his fingertip touched the space, he heard the ever-present voice whisper his name.
“Iosef,” Sophio murmured, in a voice so soft and distant that it was almost certainly imagined. Almost certainly.
A Sojourn in Bohemia Page 27
