Sepia and Silver (Tragic Silence Book 3)

by E. C. Hibbs

  The Captain nodded in satisfaction. “I have arranged for a coach to take you into the city. I know of an inn on the eastern side of the river, directly opposite Buda Castle. I’ve stayed there a few times myself.”

  I walked across to him, struggling to stay in control. I had managed to repress my thirst for the entire journey, and now I honestly wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait. The last thing I wanted was to take another life. But that notion in itself seemed to have fed me an even firmer resolve than I had ever carried before, and I found the strength to keep a calm facade, lowering my head gratefully.

  “Sir, I honestly can’t say how much I appreciate everything you have done for me,” I said, and reached into my pocket, where I’d previously placed a number of banknotes. But before I could offer them, he held up his hand to decline.

  “No, no, that’s not necessary,” he insisted. “And do not request that I take it for the crew, either. They will not breathe a word of you ever having been on board. Your husband has taken care of it.”

  “I can honestly do nothing for you, Sir?”

  “Just take care of yourself, Miss.”

  He kissed my hand; then ordered in two men who moved my luggage away. I followed to the deck and hurried down the gangplank. As my feet touched Hungarian ground, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief, coupled with one of homesickness now quenched.

  I barely had time to relish it however, because Captain Hallward directed me to a small two-wheeled carriage. My bag was secured on the back, he paid my fare, and I mouthed a final farewell to my seafaring friend before I was whisked into the streets.

  I stared out of the window as we moved further on. It was midday, and the sky overhead was as clear and blue as though it were made from ice. The sun was like a pale white eye, and made me squint terribly, especially since everywhere was covered in a fine coat of snow. I was instantly glad that Benjamin had packed my sturdiest winter boots, and I bent to retie the laces. Then, desperate for a reprieve from the harsh light, I pulled the curtains closed.

  An hour passed by, and we emerged into the centre of Buda-Pesth, turning onto a road that lined the river. The Hesselius had sailed past here to reach Csepel, but it had been difficult to truly appreciate the sight through the tiny porthole of the cabin. So I peered between the drapes, and allowed myself to gape in wonder as I drank in the Chain Bridge; Buda Castle perched atop its hill.

  I held a hand to my mouth, struck with admiration. At long last, I was here, witnessing the place I had heard about all my life.

  The driver took me directly to the inn Captain Hallward spoke of, and helped me get my bag onto the roadside. I hoisted it over my shoulder, smiling at him, and then let my native language roll off my tongue.

  “Köszönöm.” Thank you.

  The driver doffed his hat. “Szívesen.” You’re welcome.

  I watched him go before stepping inside the building, stomping my boots on the mat to free them of snow. I booked into a room on the topmost floor and set my luggage on the bed before beginning to unpack. The place was overwhelmingly modest compared to the grandeur I had come to know in England, but it was a welcome return to my rustic roots, and suited me very well. Despite myself, I allowed myself a small grin as I pressed my clothes inside the chest of drawers beneath the window. I threw all my awful corsets into the bottom, glad I could get away from wearing them for a little while longer.

  I withdrew the wooden box from the bag, and emptied it of the portraits, placing them on my nightstand. Then I laid Zíta’s last letter beside the frames, so she would be next to me as I slept.

  When all that was done, I found some paper and a pen, and set about scribing my letter to Benjamin. Knowing he would recognise my hand, I didn’t say much: only the basic details about where I was. I wished all my love and good thoughts to him and baby Norman, and only just stopped myself from signing as Éva.

  I hesitated. Benjamin had not told me what alias he would expect. But then I remembered the day we had been discussing possible names for our child, and he’d mentioned what his mother had been called. Certainty overtook my mind; he’d recognise me in a heartbeat if I used that. So I steadily let the nib write Cathy; then sealed it inside an envelope.

  Pain flamed through my entire body and I cried out, doubling over as though struck. I snatched at the headboard, but missed and fell to the floor. My head felt as though it was about to split open under the pressure within. I clutched my scar, compelling myself to breathe deeply until it passed.

  After a few minutes, I felt it finally begin to subside, and I eased myself back to my feet, keeping a firm hold on the nightstand. The soreness was a little more manageable now, but it was still there, and realisation gripped me. I could not go on like this; I would need to get some blood as quickly as possible.

  I worked myself into my coat again, double-checking my money. I’d separated sixty pounds from the larger pile, with the intention of changing it into krone. I went to close the box and hide it under the bed, but paused, glancing at the gun inside.

  Suddenly curious, I lifted it out and checked the ammunition. There was one bullet there. Old habits bit at me, and, deciding to be rather safe than sorry in the midst of this new city, hid the revolver in an inside-pocket. Then I threw a last look at the photographs before locking the room behind me and descending the stairs.

  “Excuse me,” I called to the girl who had seen me in. I winced as I spoke, hearing the noticeable wheeze in my voice. “Could you please give me some directions?”

  “Of course, Madam, where do you wish to go?”

  “I need to exchange some foreign currency and post a letter.”

  “There is a bank just a little way down the river to the south,” she replied, pointing to better help illustrate. “And the post office is the other way; you should see it quite easily.”

  “Thank you,” I smiled. It felt odd, yet wonderful, to be speaking Hungarian for the first time in so long. Almost instantly, my old accent returned, and I was relieved when I didn’t struggle at all to find the correct words.

  “Is that all I can help you with?” the girl asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, turning away. But then I paused myself before I could head out the door, and glanced back over my shoulder. “Actually... do you know of any cemeteries around here? Where is the largest in the city?”

  The girl frowned in bewilderment, but nodded. “It is not far from here. About a mile’s walk to the south-west.”

  Armed with the directions, I set out, pulling a scarf over the top of my head to allow for my lack of a hat. I ensured to keep it low, so it shaded my eyes somewhat from the sun. But it still felt as though needles were being driven into my head; my hands burned at the slightest touch of the light. I pressed them into my pockets and carried on resolutely, making a point of not looking at any other pedestrians.

  I went along the riverbank, gazing out across the water, before arriving at the bank, where I replaced the money. With it, I bought a stamp from the post office and sent my letter on its way. As it disappeared behind the counter, destined for Weaver House, I imagined holding the reply in my own hands, with the knowledge that my darling husband and little boy were on their way to me.

  My attitude turned sombre as I moved back into the cold air. It was now just past five o’ clock, but the sun was already setting, casting a vivid red light over the Danube. I walked in its general direction, pulling my coat tighter around myself as tiny snowflakes began to fall.

  Knowing it was foolish to wait any longer, I pressed my body into the shadows of a passageway, bringing them around myself to hide me from any passers-by. Senses on complete alert, I waited like a tiger, ready to spring.

  Before long, a young woman ambled by, and I seized my chance, jumping on her. With a practised ease, I wrapped one arm around her neck; placed my other hand over her mouth and nose. She struggled for a moment, but then fell limply against me. I dragged her out of sight, wrenched up her sleeve, and brought my teeth
down, drinking deeply. I let myself take a lot more than I had done with Henry, but determined to not go so far that I killed her. I refused to deal death to anybody ever again.

  So I kept two fingers pressed into her neck, constantly aware of her pulse, and when I felt it slowing, I pulled away. I hurriedly checked her over, ensuring that she was indeed still alive. Relieved to find she was, I tore a scrap off the bottom of her skirt and tied it tightly around the wound to stem the flow, unwilling to have her lose any more blood.

  I was surprised, however, when I saw how far I had bitten through her flesh, and curiously moved a hand to my mouth.

  I hissed in pain when one of my incisors sliced my finger. The vampirism had meant my teeth had notably refined years ago, but this was an entirely new level of sharpness. I felt as though I now had razors protruding from my gums.

  Gripped by sudden nerves, I moved the girl further into the street so there was a chance of her being found quicker. I kept the shadow on myself, however, and leapt off the ground, letting my body become lighter. Flight took me and I rose past the buildings, landing on a roof. I was conscious of the snow, and didn’t want anyone to be able to follow me if I simply walked away from the scene.

  From my high vantage point, I surveyed Buda-Pesth, stretching out around me. It was much larger than Liverpool; in every direction I turned, the mark of urban life sprawled. But the one thing which I noticed was definitely missing from my old home was a whiff of salt on the air. I was far inland now, nowhere near the coast. The smell of the sea was a distant memory.

  I looked about, searching for what could potentially be a cemetery, and soon singled out a large area of dark ground not too far away. Deciding it was worth investigating; I leapt off the tiles and flew towards it. I clutched at my headscarf as the wind threatened to whip it away from my face.

  I was surprised at my own aerial agility, which now felt suddenly as developed as my teeth. But I had a greater, more ominous shock, when I realised how little the girl had done to satisfy me. She’d certainly taken the edge off my thirst, but not slaked it the way that amount of blood normally would.

  I glanced at my hands, ensuring none of the redness had leaked onto them. There was not a drop, which relieved me, though I did notice my fingernails had transformed an alarming shade of blue. Figuring the cold winter air was getting to me, I shoved them under my armpits.

  A half hour later, I found myself above a tangle of streets flanked with high walls and old windows. The surroundings reminded me somewhat of the alleys where James and I had frequently concluded our acts. I passed them, descending over a formidable pair of wrought iron gates. Then I brought my feet in front of me and let them down.

  Now I was on the ground, I realised my assumption had been correct. Surrounding me were the tell-tale shapes of headstones.

  I cast my eyes about me for a sense of bearing. The sun had almost completely disappeared, but lamps were strewn here and there, throwing a faint glow over the tombs. The yard was clearly managed well, but the thickness and wholesomeness of the snow told me hardly anyone had been here recently. There was, however, a couple of footprint trails ahead of me, all leading in the same direction, into the very heart of the cemetery. Deciding to start somewhere, I followed them.

  The darkness did not faze me. Even if my vision had not been amplified by the venom in my blood, I found no chill or fear of this place. Compared to the seedy and raucous slums that I had frequented, it was calm and tranquil, if not eerily so. I felt serene as I looked around, watching the stones grow larger and more elaborate. Recalling the layout of the graveyard in Liverpool, that instantly told me I was on the correct track.

  Before long, mausoleums and intricate figures began to rise out of the gloom. As they drew close, I began scanning the details carved into them, moving on when they were not what I sought. With every misconception, my heart grew heavier, and I began to fear I had come to the wrong place. Perhaps this wasn’t the largest burial ground in Buda-Pesth after all.

  A voice suddenly floated by me on the wind, and I froze, head whipping around. Just off to the right, I made out the footprints ending, right behind a couple of figures huddling close together. They were a man and a woman, and I could tell from the way she was standing that there was an infant clutched in her arms. Both of them were looking up at the front of an impressive mausoleum, flanked at the side by a beautiful angel captured in grey stone.

  My eyes drew to the name above the door which they were viewing. I squinted, and felt my irises prickle, casting a soft red glow over the whiteness all around me. Then I focused in on the letters, and subdued excitement surged in my mind.

  TÁKACS

  So there it was: the crypt where my mother had been interred. I smiled to myself, but heard the man speak again. The thrill of my find instantly transformed into disbelief.

  Erik?

  “I was only a boy when she died,” he was saying, “but she was the sweetest woman you could ever hope to meet.”

  I knew at once who he was talking about, seeing Anya’s face clearly before me. My attention flickered to the lady beside him – that had to be Anette. And he’d had a baby?

  I giggled softly, overjoyed, and started towards them, desperate to not waste a moment in revealing myself. I didn’t care whether or not he would be surprised to see me. He needn’t know about the exact details which brought me here. All that mattered was that we could be reunited at last.

  The prospect of being so close to yet more blood ate at me, but I clamped down on it. There was no way on this earth that I would allow myself to harm them, no matter how bad my need.

  I drew in a breath to call out to him, but then a hand suddenly slapped across my mouth.

  Before I could react at all, I was pulled backwards at incredible speed, and spun so my face was pressed firmly against a wall. Grey mist began to twist around my feet from behind, and I realised that the strength holding me was the type I only knew from James: mental demonic will.

  As though in confirmation, fingers snatched my throat, and their touch was icier than even the frigid air around me. The only thing which I sensed was different was the long nails, tapering into sharp points on my skin.

  “So, juvenile, you thought you could walk on my territory and I would take no notice?” a silky voice snarled in my ear.

  Panic almost rendered me blind. “Let me go, or I’ll scream!”

  “Will you really?”

  “I warn you, I have a gun!” I snapped. My arms were free, so I hurriedly reached through a large gap in my coat to pull out the revolver. But the demon struck my hand hard, sending it disappearing into a snow bank. My eyes reddened with dismay, and he laughed quietly.

  “How quaint,” he said.

  I went to respond; try to fight my way free if I could, but then a memory surged to the fore, overshadowing all else. The tone of voice was achingly familiar, as was the feeling of those nails. Where had I heard it before?

  Like lightning, the answer struck me.

  “Angel!” I cried, my mouth falling open. “It’s you! My angel! Please, let me go, let me see you!”

  The fingers slackened a little; the mouth drew away. My heartbeat slammed against my ribs anxiously. I was certain I was right, but would he remember me?

  He spoke again, and this time, it was in astonishment.

  “Éva?”

  “Igen. Yes,” I breathed. “Let me see you!”

  The demon removed his hand and allowed the mental grip to cease. I felt him take a step back to allow me room. I wasted no time in whirling around, my eyes darting up. And I stumbled into the wall with a gasp of shock.

  The irises were what I expected: black as night, like James’s had been. But that was where all facial similarities ended. This man was outstandingly handsome, with high cheekbones and all features perfectly aligned, framed by hair the same shade as mine. Besides the sepia now having been given colour, everything was exactly identical to the photograph in my room.

  He
gaped at me, clearly as stunned as I was. For a long moment, neither of us spoke or moved a muscle, studying each other with disbelief. Then he reached out towards me again, tentatively, as though half-expecting me to attack.

  “It is you!” he whispered. “You came back!”

  I glanced at his hand, trying to ignore the talon-like nails. They were awfully disconcerting. But I swallowed my nerves and lifted my own arm, so my fingertips touched those of my father.

  CHAPTER XXXV

  “Do you not recognise me?” he asked.

  I nodded woodenly, unsure of what to say; what even to call him. Had I not gathered from Grandfather that he had two names: János Kálvin and Jonathan Calvin? Which was the true one, which would act as a weapon against him? And, forgetting that, I wasn’t even sure whether I should address him as my father. That was what he was, fair enough, but I had been fatherless my entire life. Could I speak it?

  I relented. “Apa?”

  “Igen,” he exhaled. “Yes, Éva. It is me.”

  I laced my fingers together tightly; then my eyes roved past him, focusing on the silhouettes of my cousin and his family. They were leaving.

  My mouth watered; I struggled to repress the urge. As though on my body’s own accord, I took a tiny step forward.

  My Apa seemed to sense what was going through my mind, because he glanced over his shoulder to follow my line of sight. Then he grabbed hold of me and bundled me around the other side of the wall, so we were hidden.

  “No,” he whispered. “Do not paint your hands with a child’s blood.”

  I stared at him, still unable to believe who I was seeing. And now I observed him in the flesh at last, I found myself completely shocked at how fair his face was. I had never known anyone so striking.

  Not a single day seemed to have passed since the moment he stood with my mother and me for the portrait. Even though I knew he should be forty-three by now, he still appeared the same age as me: early twenties, with not a wrinkle or imperfection in sight. He was dressed in a creased white shirt and grey waistcoat, and while his tie was gone, I noticed the golden gleam of a pocket watch over his ribs. A ring was hanging on a chain around his neck. I was a little surprised that he was not wearing a jacket, but reminded myself he would have no need of one.