by Lund, S. E.
“I’ll look after him,” I say and the guard nods and goes to the door.
“I’ll be outside,” Dylan says, leaving me alone with my father.
I kneel down in front of the chair and adjust the blanket. My father slowly turns his head towards the door as if searching for the guard.
He turns back to me and our eyes finally meet. “Eve,” he whispers and my heart almost stops.
“Yes!” I say, my voice breaking with emotion. “Yes. I’m Eve, Daddy! You recognize me?”
“Shh,” he says, a finger to his lips, his eyes wide, “or they’ll take you away again. Pretend you don’t know.”
“No,” I say. “It’s okay if you remember me.”
He shakes his head vigorously, his eyes wide. Too wide. So wide I can see the whites above his irises. “They’ll take you like they took your mother. Pretend I don’t recognize you.”
Frustration fills me. Is this his paranoia—his mental illness—speaking or is he right?
“Please, Eve,” my father pleads. “Trust me.”
“Okay, Daddy,” I say and force a smile. “We can talk when we’re alone, but when someone else is around, we’ll pretend you can’t talk.”
He nods and visibly relaxes, his muscles going limp. He exhales heavily, as if he’s been holding his breath, and rubs his eyes with a bony hand before running it over his nearly-shaved head.
He looks like a Holocaust survivor.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, noting the bones of his shoulders through his sweater and his pronounced collarbone. “I can get you something to eat.”
He shakes his head. “Already did. Just some hot tea, please.”
I go to the door. Dylan is waiting outside, leaning against the wall. “Can you ask to have some tea brought up?”
Dylan nods and I close the door and return to my father. I pull up a chair beside him and he reaches out and takes my hand.
“He said you love Michel—does he mean de Cernay?”
I nod. “Yes.” I look at his hand in mine, so bony and weathered, the nails too long and in need of a trim. I look up in his eyes. “I’m in love with him.”
He shakes his head slowly. “He’s very bad, Eve. Don’t trust him. Stay away from him.”
I frown and adrenaline courses through me. “Why do you say that?”
“He betrayed your mother. He killed her.”
“It was Soren Lindgren who forced Michel to kill her. He cared for Mom and tried to help her. He felt so bad—”
“Don’t believe him, Eve. He’s a liar just like the man said.” My father’s face is pale, his eyes wide, as if he’s truly afraid for me.
“Why do you say he’s a liar?”
“He lied to your mother. He doesn’t support the Council. He is Soren’s servant.”
I squeeze my father’s hand. “He was cooperating with Soren only to learn his plans so he could stop him. He supports the Council—at least, before Blackstone took it over. I know this, Daddy. Michel and I worked together for the Council. The Special Cases Unit.”
My father shakes his head, his eyes closed tightly under a frown. “He promised to keep you out of it and look what he did. He recruited you into the very organization he promised you’d never join. You were supposed to go to school. Study music. He promised…”
“I studied science so I could become a doctor and be like Mom. It was me who found him. He stayed away from me until I contacted him…”
Of course, that’s not really the way it happened. He actually contacted me when I went searching for a translator. After I received my mother’s files. He found me and contacted me because he was looking for the manuscript. He had no idea that it was given to my mother…
Or did he?
And just like that, a seed of doubt is planted in my heart and mind. Michel found me so quickly, within hours of me placing the ad. He claimed that he had a service that scanned the web for requests for translators of thirteenth century manuscripts…
“How did you meet him?” my father demands. “He was supposed to have hidden you from the Council.”
“It was by accident,” I respond, although now I doubt the very foundation of my trust in Michel. His story of how he found me, his tale of how he’d hidden me away when I was taken away from my father and had no idea where I was, and that it was purely because he was looking for the manuscript that we met…
I hate Lord Blackstone for planting this seed of doubt in me. I hate him for calling Michel a liar.
Yes. He did lie to me. He hid things from me, including his role in my mother’s death, but I truly do believe that he didn’t want this fate for me. He tried to compel me into forgetting him, forgetting everything, but he failed.
I’m confused and upset about everything. The revelations about Dylan, our foster parents being held hostage, my father’s return and mental state. Now Michel. I can’t think straight.
“Don’t trust him,” my father repeats. “He wants his own kind of Dominion.”
I force a smile for my father’s benefit because he seems so agitated. He needs to rest and recover from his years of captivity, not argue with me.
“We’ll talk more about this later, Daddy. I want you to rest now.”
The door opens and a servant brings in a tray with cups and saucers, a teapot, cream and sugar, and a small tray of sandwiches and biscuits. He places it on the coffee table in front of the sofa and then leaves us alone.
“Here’s some tea for you. And some food, if you get hungry.” I check the tea and then pour a cup for him. He always had a sweet tooth, so I put two cubes of sugar in his cup and stir. When I hand it to him, he takes it with obvious relish.
“When was the last time you had a proper cup of tea?”
My father shakes his head and brings the tea to his lips, blowing before taking a small sip. He swallows and closes his eyes as if in ecstasy.
“Far too long. Years.”
I spend the next hour sharing a cup of tea with my father, listening to him recount his years in a facility somewhere up north, surrounded by truly mentally ill people.
“No matter how I protested, the guards and staff had all been compelled to believe I was insane. I was drugged and kept starved. I was barely able to walk a few feet without help, so I couldn’t escape.”
“But why?”
My father shakes his head. “To keep me quiet. To keep me from finding you and stealing you away, raising you the way your mother and I wanted you to be raised. As a musician.”
I wanted to say that Michel tried to have me raised that way, but that my case got lost by the Council. Instead, I was placed in an abusive foster home, but my father doesn’t need to know that. It would only upset him that he wasn’t there to protect me. When I was rescued, I was placed with my current foster parents, who allowed me to study what I wanted. I wanted to be a vampire hunter like my mother. It was all that really kept me going.
That was my choice. I loved music, but my life was dedicated to finding my mother's killer and bringing him to justice.
Of course, I found her killer, and while Michel did the deed, it was on Soren’s command. Michel was helpless to refuse.
Still, I feel a creeping doubt about Michel. I try to shove that doubt down deep in my mind so it doesn’t make me too upset. I have other things to think about at the moment. My father's well-being is number one. I have to keep him safe at all costs. He's paid for my life with years of his and I'm going to do whatever I can, short of helping Blackstone achieve Dominion, to keep him safe and healthy. One day I will free my father and we'll be together for whatever years of life he has left.
I found my father. I'm not going to let him go anytime soon.
Something nags at me, though, biting away at my resolve to push the doubt about Michel down deep.
"Did Michel know you weren’t insane?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
"You'll have to ask him," my father says, shaking his head. "I can't see how he didn't know. He was the one who
was supposed to arrange my transfer to the asylum."
My muscles all tense at that. Michel always said that my father went insane and was placed in an asylum to keep him from harming himself. That's what my foster parents told me, and they discouraged me from ever trying to find him, telling me he was a shadow of his former self and wouldn't recognize me.
Now, I find that to be a lie. He was always well. He was a prisoner.
Of whom? Blackstone? Or Soren?
After my father finishes his tea, he’s so exhausted that he falls asleep in his chair by the fire. I go to the door and invite Dylan inside. We take chairs by the fire and I tell him about my father and what he suggested about Michel.
“I don’t know what to say.” Dylan shrugs. “He’s lied to you before. You forgave him for those lies. What’s one more?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I can forgive him this one.”
Dylan tells me what he knows about his parents and where they’re being kept. He’s seen them and they’re being kept quite comfortably in a set of rooms somewhere in the mansion, but Dylan’s father was roughed up as a warning that worse could happen if Dylan doesn’t comply with Blackstone’s demands.
Finally, we help my father to his bed and cover him up, fully dressed, for he waves me away when I ask if he wants to change. I leave him in the cavernous room, a guard at the door to protect him. The only real danger is from Soren or Blackstone. I realize now that there’s no real protection for any of us until both of them are gone.
Chapter 92
“The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.”
G. K. Chesterton
We’re called to an audience with Blackstone once more before the night is over. As guards escort us to his study after midnight, I find myself curious and anxious to get the daywalking serum so I can sleep when I want and move around when I want.
Blackstone, his son, and several other people I don’t recognize are standing around Blackstone’s desk. They glance up when we enter and Blackstone sits back in his chair, an expectant expression on his face.
“Well, there you are,” he says, his voice amused. “How did your visit with your father go, Eve? Not quite what you expected, I trust.”
“It went fine, thank you,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “He’s not insane after all. Just exhausted and stressed due to solitary confinement for a decade.”
“All thanks to your beloved Michel.”
I shrug, not yet willing to concede anything about Michel’s guilt, and especially not to Blackstone, whom I despise with every ounce of my being.
“I expect you want the serum now,” he says. When I nod without speaking, he motions to one of the men standing by his side. “Very well. Doctor? If you please.”
A tall man, whom I assume to be the doctor, reaches into his pocket and removes a small ampoule with yellowish liquid in it. Seeing it makes this all real and for a brief moment, my heart races as I imagine what it will do to me.
“That’s it?”
The doctor nods. “Yes, and you’d better be sitting when you take it. It has immediate neurological effects and you might be a bit dizzy for a while. In fact, you’ll probably want to sleep for a long time.”
He motions to an armchair in front of Blackstone’s desk and I take a seat, holding on to the armrests, my knuckles white. I take in a deep breath and try to relax, blowing out the air through my pursed lips as I’ve been taught to manage anxiety. It works after a few breaths and then the man is standing in front of me, the ampoule in his hand.
“Break the tip and drink it down,” he says. “It’s vile tasting but it won’t make you nauseated.”
I take the ampoule and break off the tip as instructed. I hold it up and nod to Blackstone and then meet eyes with Dylan for a moment before pouring the liquid down my throat. I swallow as fast as I can because the doctor is right—it’s extremely bitter—like vinegar. I hand him the empty ampoule and the broken tip and hold on to the armrests once more, waiting for the dizziness he described.
Sure enough, in mere moments, I feel the room spin, my bearings mixing up, my vision blurring. I bend my head down and close my eyes, gasping as vertigo strikes harder than it ever has in my life. But then, almost as soon as it struck, the vertigo passes and my eyes are merely blurry, as if clouded with tears.
I lift my head and feel a warm drowsiness take hold, like I’ve had too much wine to drink, my limbs heavy and my tongue thick. I feel drunk but not happy-drunk. Just a bit lethargic, and not at all anxious any longer.
I try to speak but find my mouth won’t work. No words come out, so I sit in silence. I can hear people speaking around me, but their words are muffled, as if I’m hearing them from underwater or with earplugs in.
No one tries to speak to me and I give up trying to speak to them.
“Should I take her back to her room?” Dylan says, his voice sounding distant.
“No, leave her here. Let her sleep it off.”
Then, darkness.
* * *
When I next awaken, I’m lying on the sofa in Blackstone’s study, a blanket thrown over me. Dylan is sitting beside me, watching me. He smiles when my eyes open fully, and I try to smile back, but I have a bitch of a headache. It strikes like lightning behind each eye. The light is far too bright; I have to shade my eyes.
“Oh, God,” I moan, squeezing my eyes shut. “Is there a remedy for this headache? It’s like a migraine but on both sides.”
Dylan holds out a glass of reddish-brown liquid, like cold tea. “Here’s a bit of willow bark tea. Nature’s aspirin. There’s salicin in the bark, and it’s converted into salicylic acid in your body.”
I take the glass and drink down the tea, but it’s nasty as well. “Could you have added some honey at least?”
He laughs softly. “Believe me, it doesn’t make it much better. Best to just down it quickly.”
I drink it all down as fast as possible to get the worst over with and then lie back. In the corner of the room, Blackstone and his men are speaking together in quiet voices. I can’t quite make out their words.
I regard Dylan for a moment. “Now what?”
He shrugs. “He wants you to appear to help Soren get power so the people have the church as a calming influence. Then Soren dies.”
“Why can’t they share power?”
“I’d wager that neither Blackstone nor Soren are good at sharing.”
I sigh, wondering what will happen next. “So I’m supposed to present myself to Soren and make him think I’m going to help him do his miracles?”
“I guess. Blackstone seems to think that he’ll help establish some kind of law and order. If people believe God or the gods will protect them, they’ll be more likely to follow orders. Once order is restored, Soren is gone.” Dylan shrugs as if he can’t believe it. “Blackstone will let the plague circle the globe and he’ll take power, installing his own people in the Church and in the military.”
“Do Michel and Julien know this?”
“Michel thinks that Soren will stop the plague before it destroys everything. That’s why he’s temporarily on Soren’s side. But he wants Soren to die as well, and for the Council to be restored. I believe him when he says he doesn’t want Dominion, either by Soren or Blackstone.”
I nod. I hope that’s Michel’s plan. If not, everything I ever thought and believed about Michel and his motives is all a huge lie.
Blackstone sees me speaking with Dylan and gets up from his desk, striding over to the sofa.
“So, Eve. How are you feeling now? You slept straight through the night. The headache lasts for a day or so, and your eyes will be very sensitive to light for a bit, even at night, but you should be otherwise physically well. I’d say wear sunglasses, but alas, they’re all mostly plastic and like all fake things from the old world, they disintegrated with the rest of it.”
“I happened to like plastic,” I say, sitting up straighter.
He chuckles. “Tha
t’s what I like about you. Irreverent and stubborn to the end. But for our purposes, Eve, try to cooperate and appear to be somewhat chastened by my power. Even if only for the sake of appearances.”
“I never cared much for appearances.”
“So I gather.” Blackstone looks at me closely for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “Are you well enough to travel?”
I feel a bit tired, but I could manage a trip to Boston if needed. “I think so.”
“Good. I want you to go to Soren as soon as possible. You can say a temporary goodbye to your father, but then I want you on the road back to Boston. I’ve reached out to Soren, offering him a truce, and access to you, in return for my control of the streets. He’s agreed.”
“He won’t kill me in retaliation?”
“He needs you to complete his little performance piece. Fireworks, miracles, acts of wonder. You know what I mean.”
I nod. I know exactly what he means. “And you want me to help him? I thought you’d want to stop him.”
“I wanted him dead,” Blackstone says, his expression thoughtful. “At least at the start. But humans have proven unexpectedly rebellious since the plague started. Soren will have to go eventually, but he’ll be useful for a while. The mortals need something to control them now that their precious civilization has fallen. Firepower is good for keeping the streets under control, but mortals need to believe some higher power is looking out for them or they’ll lose heart. Soren does the avenging angel shtick so well.”
“You two are going to play the ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine?”
“Exactly.”
“How will you destroy him?” I ask pointedly. “The serum you made before didn’t work.”
“Don’t trouble your pretty little head about it. We have a plan in place. Just play your part and things will work out well for us all. You’re my bargaining chip to enforce a short détente before I deliver the deathblow. Once we succeed in getting rid of Soren, you’ll be reunited with your dear father and your beloved twins, and I’ll have what I want.” He eyes me from under a furrowed brow for a moment as if appraising my value. “Now, you might be a bit weak for a few days, but I want you to take the vehicle and go to Boston before dawn.”
