Immortal with a Kiss

by Jacqueline Lepore

  His low voice rumbled in the quiet. “My deepest apologies, Emma. I am afraid I got carried away.”

  “No matter,” I said in an attempt to make light of it. I turned my attention to the wonders of the library, glad of the excuse to put some distance between us and the heady effect he had on me. “Are those your ancestors?” I inquired, pointing to the inner wall where a row of portraits hung in frames of ornate gold leaf.

  “Ah, yes,” he said, taking my cue, “the esteemed and illustrious Suddington men and women. My mother.” He indicated a regal-looking woman whose strong presence and handsomeness put me to mind of Miss Sloane-Smith, which I mentioned.

  “See, the nose, and the arch of the eyebrows,” I observed.

  He laughed, nodding. “I suppose. We are cousins, countless times removed. Not unusual for these parts, you know. The families hereabouts have been interbreeding for generations.”

  “And your father?” I inquired, looking about. “Is there a portrait of him as well?”

  “Unfortunately, his portrait was destroyed. After his death, my mother had it hung in her rooms, where a small fire damaged it beyond repair. But do not look so bereaved; I do not miss it. We did not get on. In fact, my ancestors as a whole were an atrocious lot. It is a history I do not enjoy retelling.”

  I noticed the rather baleful glance he gave to the faces lined along the wall. I do not know what it is that fascinates about a portrait but I have always enjoyed examining them. In looking at the face, one imagines so much about the nature of the subject.

  As I studied these paintings, I began to postulate about the subjects. “He was a womanizer,” I said, pointing to a dark Jacobean figure in a neck ruff sporting pointed mustache and beard. “You can see the glint in his eye.”

  “No doubt,” he agreed. Warming to the game, he indicated a woman near the end of the row. “She is said to have been King Henry’s mistress, for a time. But then, who wasn’t? She was lucky not to become one of his many wives.”

  The woman in question wore a very ornate gown. “The poor painter probably spent months on the seed pearls alone,” I commented, taking notice of how exquisitely they were depicted, each one so real I felt I could pluck it from the canvas. Two larger pearls dropped from her ears, complimented by a lone teardrop-shaped pearl dangling from a rather ugly snarled clasp of silver secured to a ribbon around her neck. “She was very wealthy,” I commented.

  “Money has never been a problem for Suddingtons. Is that conceit to say so?”

  “Not if it is true.”

  “Not unlike yourself,” he commented, and when I cast him a questioning look, he cocked his head playfully. “That dress cost a fortune.”

  I felt rather sheepish. He must have guessed I had dressed for him. I cast about for a diversion and noticed a tapestry on the wall behind a massive carved desk. “My, look at this! It is absolutely marvelous. The medieval Suddington ladies must have labored long and hard on it. It is quite intricate. Look at all of the figures . . .” I stopped. My heart gave a bump in my chest. One of the scenes was unmistakably of Saint George, seated upon a white horse, red cape billowing behind him dramatically as he bore his spear upon the dragon he was so famous for vanquishing.

  England’s patron saint was not an uncommon motif in English art, but I would never view the image without dread. The dragon, or serpent, was an icon of evil, but it was also a symbol of eternal life. It was sometimes used, I’d learned this past spring, as the sign of the vampire, invoking the memory of the Dragon Prince, Dracule, or the Dracula, as he was better known. But despite my dislike of the subject matter, this was, I had to admit, a magnificent depiction. Never had heroic Saint George battled a more ferocious foe, for the dragon on this was huge, monstrous, and regal.

  “Rather more violent than you typically see,” Suddington commented thoughtfully. “We were a despicably warlike clan, I am afraid.” He took me by the arm. “Come away. It does me a disservice for you to see the worst of my lineage put so plainly on display.”

  As I turned, my eye was caught by one of the other battle scenes, and I recoiled. A number of men were impaled in rows, as the Romans used to do, in a grisly scene, like a forest of corpses. I shivered, thinking of Miss Markam making her horrific discovery of the mass grave. “It is a rather disturbing history.”

  “Indeed, it is a bloody one,” he said, and his voice was colored heavily with an emotion I could not name. “Please, come away. I’ve never really looked at that horrid thing before. It hangs behind the desk where my back is to it. I’ve a mind to remove it now that I notice how monstrous it is.”

  “Please do not. It is no less than the kings and queens need to apologize for.” What had made me move toward him, as if to comfort him? I found myself once again squarely in his sights, and the sensual energy that seemed just below the surface with us two began to rise.

  “I suppose you are right,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on my mouth.

  My heart began to swell, sending blood rushing through my veins, making me dizzy. My eyelids lowered and I even swayed forward the slightest bit in an invitation for him to do what I knew he was thinking of doing. I wanted him to kiss me . . .

  I realized the unseemliness of this in a sudden rush of common sense, and I pulled away. I do not think it was my vanity that made me think he was disappointed.

  He adjusted his features into a mask of composure, suddenly very correct and cool. He was pleasant, however, and offered his arm. “Let us join the others. We’ve already been gone longer than I planned, and I would hate for our absence to be noticed. I would not wish to put you out of your employer’s good graces.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. As we traversed the hallways once again, I said, “Miss Sloane-Smith is good to tolerate my presence tonight. It cannot be typical for her to socialize with her staff. I am, after all, one of the teachers under her administration.”

  I was a bit flustered, and, realizing I was babbling, cut off the gush of words.

  He did not seem to notice. “Oh, it is not that. She does not like women much. Glorianna never did. It has always struck me odd, as she lives with all women and is responsible for the instruction of young girls.” He shrugged.

  I cast a sideways glance at him. “She seems very fond of you,” I observed, unable to resist.

  He blushed, a gesture I found inordinately endearing. “Glorianna and I work closely with regards to Blackbriar when I am in the district. It is part of our heritage to be patrons of the school.” And then he said, very quietly, very thoughtfully, “It is not easy to escape the obligations of the past.”

  I could not get Suddington out of my mind. Why had I stopped him? I wondered as I sat in my bed replaying the scene in the library over and over again in my mind. It was far past the hour I should have been asleep. I had been trying to read for the past half hour to no avail; my concentration would not cooperate.

  I suspected the answer to why I had evaded Robert Suddington’s kiss lay in misplaced loyalty to Valerian Fox. Why would I, after his having ignored me these past five months, feel I owed him anything? I should have kissed Suddington. Should the opportunity present itself again, I would not draw away.

  A soft sound broke into my thoughts, and I cocked an ear to listen, but heard nothing else. Turning to my book, I resolved to put away this ridiculous romantic pining (but for whom—Suddington or Fox?). Then I heard it again.

  The fine hairs on my arms rose as I felt the coverlet tighten over my legs. It was as if something on the floor were pulling on it. The sound came again, and with a shock of horror, I realized it was the scuttling of tiny feet.

  I felt the cold drenching of terror come over me, paralyzing me for one agonizing moment before I forced myself to move. I leaped up, standing on the bed, and saw a large, red-eyed rat staring at me from the foot.

  I bit off the scream that tore from my throat as I struck out at it with a swift kick of my foot. My aim, as always, was true, connecting with the solid muscle of the quivering little
beast and sending it flying. I leaped back, clinging to the bedstead for support as a number of plump rats swarmed over the bedclothes and gathered at the foot of my bed.

  I fought to fend off panic. I had to stay calm. And quiet. I had no doubt should I scream for help the vermin would flee, leaving me no better off than Victoria Markam had been, babbling about rats instead of corpses.

  The small cabal of rats huddled together, eying me with greedy intelligence. Beyond these little leaders, others waited on the floor for their chance at me. They jumped and squirmed, fat flesh-colored tails whipping about like worms. There had to be at least a hundred of them.

  My gaze darted desperately from the group on the bed to those on the floor. What was I to do if they all moved as one? I could not keep on top of them, not if they came at me from different directions.

  Just looking at the writhing mass—let alone imagining coming into contact with any of them—made my stomach clench. But I knew I had to ignore these feelings, to concentrate and bring to bear those instincts inside of me that had saved me before. I tried to focus . . .

  I felt a sharp pain in my heel. Letting out a cry of pain, I whirled to find a rat had come up behind me and sunk his jaws into my foot. I kicked my leg furiously, but the rat clung tight. I felt hysteria rising, driven by the repulsion I felt for these vile little creatures. Think! I screamed inwardly, fighting it off. I deliberately slowed my breathing, but my heartbeat pounded like a fist in my chest.

  Fighting the urge to tear off the disgusting creature, I reached down and grasped the wriggling body. A moan of revulsion escaped me, but I ruthlessly pried open its jaws, livid with my blood. The thing was vicious, lashing about in my hands, trying to sink its long incisors into my flesh. I lifted it over my head and flung the heaving body against the wall. It hit with a sickening thud, then slid to the floor, leaving a trail of gore in a red streak. I very much doubted an ordinary person would have been able to throw the rat with such force, but I had ceased to be surprised by what I could do. I did not always understand my Dhampir powers, but I was getting used to the habit of reaching deep inside myself for solutions, and finding myself capable.

  I scanned the mass of wriggling rats. I could not fight the lot of them, not if they swarmed. They watched me, eyes gleaming like tiny red pinpricks. What would they do? I wondered, forcing myself to stare back at their glowing eyes. My body was tensed, waiting, just as they were. I was in that frame of functioning where instinct took over. It was nearly as if I had no thoughts, just impulses and quiet knowledge; this was how it had been before when I was in battle.

  There was no doubt, of course, that these were the animal minions, or familiars, to use the term often cited to describe them, of a vampire lord. There was certainly a will at work, a vampire unseen—but close. Was it here in the room, hiding, watching? My eyes scanned the shadows. I did not feel it, but then I was preoccupied. What are the rats waiting for? I puzzled.

  Then one of them broke away. A ripple of excitement twitched through the pack, riding over their sleek backs as the intrepid charger dug its way up the coverlet and onto the bed. Then it hurled itself straight at me. I jerked back—the damnable thing had surprised me!

  It scrabbled up to my neck before I could get a hold of it and sunk its teeth into the artery below my ear. Horror reared inside me, but my Dhampir nature overrode it, bringing me back into control. With a well-aimed blow, I smacked the rat hard before it could latch on, sending it to the floor with a thump. It writhed for a moment, red eyes glaring malevolently at me as it died slowly. Painfully, I hoped.

  I slapped my hand on the wound. I was bleeding, of course, but the bite had not penetrated to the artery. A gust of cool wind ruffled my hair. I snapped my head to the window to see the sash slide upward with no hand to guide it. My breath hitched, knowing it was here; the vampire was here. I saw it, barely—merely a shadow hovering outside in the night, although my chamber was three stories above the ground.

  It began to climb inside and the rats went into a frenzy.

  I glanced wildly around me, fighting a mounting feeling of being outmatched. I tried to remain calm, remain in control and obey the instincts in my blood that had served me well in the past. But I could not keep my eyes from the growing shape, a man’s shape, impossibly tall with wide shoulders the breadth of the sash. The clatter of the rats’ nails on the wood floor rose as they leaped over one another, snapping their powerful jaws in agitation and excitement. They were ready; they were coming for me.

  I concentrated on the vampire in my room, and in a strange way that steadied me. This was a fiend I knew, one I had battled before. The disgust and repulsion at the sight, the feel, of the rats had undone me for a moment, but now I felt on familiar ground.

  The vampire was inside now, towering above me in the little room, an enormous shadow in the shape of a giant, a monstrous male figure without a face—more terrible for its anonymity.

  Then I realized suddenly that I could not reach my tools. What a fool I was to be caught unprepared! My confidence was once again shaken.

  I realized how badly I had miscalculated. I had left myself unprepared.

  Then, in the midst of my despairing bent of thought, I recollected something. I gasped as the idea took hold. I’d done something once with a pack of unearthly dogs Marius had sent to kill me. By the power of my will, I had turned their minds, warping the hold the vampire lord had on them, and set them to devour each other. Perhaps I could do a similar thing with these rats.

  I reached out with my mind. However, I was instantly repelled by their primitive, bloodthirsty instincts. Bile rose in my throat. I was sick, no less than had I eaten their putrid flesh.

  As I struggled to regain myself, I realized their sheer number was overwhelming me. Their leader was the one I should target. Did I dare? I’d once done mental battle with Marius. With this in mind, I flung out a dagger-like thought with my mind toward the creature hovering in the window. I sensed its hesitation. Its surprise?

  Why would it be surprised? Unless—

  It did not know I was Dhampir.

  But then, why was I being attacked? What had I done to draw the attention of the vampire if not for the fact that I was its natural enemy?

  Another rat bit me, sinking its teeth into my ankle, but it did not latch on, choosing instead to scuttle away quickly. I smiled, ignoring the blood it had drawn, for I saw the creature was not so brave now that I had killed a few of its comrades.

  Leaping out of the bed, I landed square on the floor, surefooted, and the rats scattered with a hail of high-pitched squeals, save one whose tail was pinned beneath my heel. I sidestepped, squeamish about the contact, and it scurried away, angrily hissing at me over its back. I thought fleetingly that I should have killed it instead of letting it escape, but I did not want to take the time.

  I then turned to the window, and in a move I was certain shocked the creature hovering there, headed straight for the vampire. I made sure not to look at it directly, instead angling my sight to the left so our gazes did not connect. I had learned the hard way never to look a vampire in the eye.

  On the chest of drawers lay my comb and my brush (why had I not unpacked my crucifix and hung it on the wall over my bed—I knew better!). I grabbed these, and a well-worn ribbon I’d tossed there when I’d taken down my hair. Quickly, I lashed the long silver handle of the brush with the comb, converting it quickly into a makeshift cross. In addition, the entire thing was of silver, which was repulsive to the undead. Still it was a puny weapon, but my brazenness, rather more than my weapon, brought the vampire up short.

  The thing cringed, and as it did, it reversed through the window, flying backward without turning its back to me, as if the night itself had sucked it to its bosom. Then the rats swarmed over me, their tiny claws scrabbling up my legs.

  I fought in horror as I whirled, swatting wildly at them. The vampire was escaping! I let out a cry of fury as it disappeared, with nothing but a rush of wind blasting me i
n my face to mark its departure. I reached out, trying to get to the window, but the solid muscular bodies of the rats weighed me down and their nails bit deep to secure a hold in my flesh. Their squealing was loud in my ears. I cried out, overcome by the repugnance and pain, and went down on one knee.

  The comb and brush fell from my hand. I lunged for them, but a rat intercepted me and bit down hard on my hand, its teeth scraping bone. The pain was tremendous. I began to sob, drawing in wracking breaths as I struggled to think, to stand and fight! But I realized with dawning despair that I could not contend with this many, not even with a real weapon.

  They began to bite me, sending me into twisting convulsions of pain as their ravenous mouths sank into my flesh over and over again. I rose and staggered against the wall and fought back as my consciousness wavered momentarily. My mind cast about desperately for what I might do to save myself. I had to think like a Dhampir, to use what I knew!

  I thought of something. Losing no time, I battled against the pain and waded laboriously to the bed, kicking aside the rats that surged toward me. I fell to my knees and scrabbled desperately for my bag.

  The vial of holy water was full, thank God. I wrenched it open with shaking hands and splashed the rats liberally. It set them immediately smoking, as if they’d been touched by fire, and they dropped with leaden thuds to the floor. Breathless and frantic, I spun, holding the vial out before me to show the others, threaten them with it. It was a bluff. I did not have enough to vanquish all of them, but I hoped they would not realize this.

  The undulating mass flinched, shrinking back from my outstretched hand. Slowly, I stepped forward. I did not feel my bites, for I was intent on facing them down.

  There was one moment when I did not know whether or not my ploy would succeed. They moved stubbornly, clustering against the far wall. I sensed they were loath to give up their advantage. Go, I prayed fervently. Please go.