Immortal with a Kiss

by Jacqueline Lepore

  “Although the records date back only to the Anglican reform, the first documented case of large numbers of girls dying in a few-months span—outside of a general sort of illness—was in 1587. It seems it began then, under circumstances much worse than what has occurred since. That year more than twenty girls were found dead, and I would surmise not all who went missing were found. A nobleman, a Sir Reginald Smyth, was tried for these crimes by the assizes. He was found guilty and hung at the crossroads. After the execution, the murders ceased.”

  “But how? They would have killed an innocent man.” I took a sip of my tea. “The murders would have been committed by a vampire who poses as the Cyprian Queen, would they not?”

  “I would think so . . .” He shook his head. “It must be so.”

  “I wonder how many others fell under suspicion through the years.”

  Valerian nodded. “I’ve found a few people in town who vaguely recall talk of the Cyprian Queen, but it is not a flourishing legend. There is not much interest in it, except one fellow. Ah . . . Charles . . .”

  I perked up. “Charles Morton?”

  Valerian raised his eyebrows. “He nearly took my head off when he heard me asking around about it.”

  “He is Miss Sloane-Smith’s cousin. He reacted the same way to me, as if I were spreading slander against him personally.”

  Valerian was thoughtful. “That is interesting.”

  “Perhaps Ruthven has merely borrowed from a local tragedy. This Smythe attacked young girls, so the vampire uses this affectation of the Cyprian Queen to ensnare and seduce girls in his hunting ritual, returning to do it again and again through the years.”

  “But that makes no sense. Ruthven cannot achieve carnal gratification, so why the elaborate ruse?”

  “Just indulge the idea for a moment. Blackbriar must be one of this vampire’s hunting grounds. Just as local memory fades, he comes again, repeating the process over the years as he cycles through his nomadic existence.” I paused, thinking. “But why would both Sloane-Smith and Morton be so sensitive about the subject of the Cyprian Queen? What could their connection be? I cannot believe they are minions, or strigoii vii. There is not a shred of evidence for that.”

  Valerian frowned. “It is possible she is merely protecting the reputation of the school, as she claims. And Morton is a trustee, by the way. The branches of that family are all tied to the school going back generations.” He shrugged. “I have seen people attach themselves to far more trivial things to achieve a sense of self-importance.”

  “Sloane-Smith lives and breathes Blackbriar. It is her whole world,” I agreed. “She is very proud of the fact that her entire family is dedicated to the school.”

  “She is not the only one. Morton clearly takes being a trustee very seriously. He would want to protect the prestige of the school at all costs.”

  I sighed. “Yes, I see how this all makes sense.” But I could not dismiss the possibility that there was some other, darker reason for their secrecy on the topic of the Cyprian Queen.

  Valerian stood for a moment, deep in thought. “Something has been troubling me, something Naimah told me.”

  My spine stiffened, as it did every time Naimah’s name was mentioned.

  He regarded me carefully, and I wondered if he knew how sensitive I was on the topic of his mentor and former lover. “Naimah guarded many secrets. I mentioned to you the alchemist who gave her the gift of long life. She writes in her journals of him, how he devoted his life—his many lifetimes, I should note—to studying vampirism.”

  “He is not a vampire,” I said, stating what seemed obvious. My heart kicked with excitement. “How does he know how to cheat death, then?”

  “Not cheat, not completely, but evade.” Valerian nodded slowly. “He has made it possible for mortal man to evade death for a long, long time. He has done this in the hopes of finding a cure one day, a cure for vampirism.” His eyes were dark and intense as they watched me.

  “But . . . is it possible?” I asked, incredulous.

  “He has not succeeded yet, not completely. But during his quest, he has discovered something scarce to be believed.”

  “A way to give a human long life?”

  “Exactly that, but there is more. Naimah writes in her journals of hearing a tale many years ago of a German man whose young daughter had been transformed into a vampire a very long time ago. This young girl was purported to still live as strigoii vii, imprisoned by her father on the island of Santorini, where he has studied and conducted extensive research to cure her. There is something about that place that has made it possible to develop this elixir for long life. Through this elixir, he has been able to sustain her in her state of strigoii vii.”

  “Of course,” I offered, “so that if he can cure her, she will still be alive.”

  He nodded. “How Naimah learned of this, or got him to give her the elixir, I do not yet know. Perhaps it will be revealed in one of the other journals. I know only that she was sworn to secrecy, a vow she honored until the hour of her death. That was why she made me promise a long time ago that I would come to her, no matter what, when she neared death.”

  “She wanted to give you her journals,” I said, understanding now why it was Valerian had been gone so long, unable to communicate with me. “She must have thought there was a chance that this information might save you.”

  His jaw worked. I found I was not jealous at this sign of emotion. I realized, suddenly, that petty state no longer bothered me. “In death, she is no longer bound to her vow of silence.”

  “You want to find the alchemist, don’t you?” I inquired. “You must. He might have the cure by now, and it will release you. Why did you not go directly to Santorini to search for him? Why did you come here?”

  He looked at me as if I were daft to not know already. “I came for you. What if you needed me? And you did—you do, don’t you?”

  A lump pressed painfully in my throat. “But what of you? Now that we know the reason you were bitten, now more than ever it is imperative you find a way to be released. You cannot become part of this war Ruthven warned about . . .”

  “But I will be. What was it Ruthven called me? Ah, yes: Marius’s ‘half-made brat.’ Seeded with the blood of the vampire so that I will become a soldier one day as a vampire newly born, vicious and hungry, ready to fight for my maker.” His voice grew reedy and thin, filled with disgust. “I would be strigoii mort, a monster robbed of all personality or . . .” He choked off, his brave exterior deserting him. I reached out my hand and grasped his arm. Cutting a self-conscious glance my way, he cleared his throat. “What point is it to wonder?”

  My heart broke at the dispassionate way he spoke, as if he were trying desperately not to care. “We shall not let that happen to you,” I vowed. “You came to me because you knew I would be stronger with you. And you also know that you are stronger with me. I will help you. When this is done, we will search for the alchemist of Santorini.”

  He smiled at me, kindness and gentleness in his eyes. “So then, dare I hope that you have forgiven me?”

  “Forgiven you?”

  “For deserting you.”

  I cast my gaze away from his. “There is nothing to forgive. You have explained it all. And I feel rather foolish, so perhaps you should be the one to forgive me.”

  He stepped forward, frowning. “Whatever for?”

  “I could have trusted there was a good reason for your leaving. And after all, we owed each other nothing after Avebury. What more could I ask from you? You saved my life several times over, and gave up Marius—and your freedom—in order to keep me from harm . . .” To my utter shame, I felt tears welling up. “That is why I did not understand after you left, why there was no word month after month. I knew why you had to go—I accepted that. You had to hunt Marius, of course. But it was as if—”

  “Emma.” He gently but firmly pulled me about so that I had to look at him.

  I dashed away the tears splashing on
to my cheeks. “Pay me no mind. I . . . I am overset these days. Ever since the cottage. Shriving that child took a terrible toll on me and then the business with Ruthven after . . . I . . . I am not myself.”

  He shook his head. “You have been angry with me, I know. I am sorry.”

  I was trying desperately to gather my composure, to distance myself from the upsetting emotion of this conversation. “You have nothing to regret. You’ve come here to help me when you have urgent business elsewhere. It is very nice of you, and—”

  “I am not nice,” he murmured. “And I did not come here just for you.”

  My tongue failed me, and I stared blankly at him, my heart hammering wildly. I was afraid to speak, and yet somehow the words in my head escaped in a whisper. “What did you come for, then?”

  His gaze swept my face. And then he kissed me.

  His hand came to cradle the back of my head, holding me fast, and I felt overcome. If the earth had opened up right then and we had fallen together through space, I do not think I would have known it. This was what I had been wanting. My entire body wanted to melt, but my pride bit deep and I remained rigid in his arms.

  He pulled back after a moment, staring at me. Dark questions lingered unspoken between us. My bravado was failing me, but I did not relent. He released me at last and turned toward the window.

  “Do you want me to go?” he asked. His face in profile was sad, reflective. “From Blackbriar, I mean?”

  “No!” The word exploded from me.

  He smiled bitterly, casting me a sidelong glance over his shoulder. “But can you say you want me to stay?”

  I threw my head back, closing my eyes as emotion swept over me. “What I want, Valerian, you cannot give me. I want to not want you. You do not know how much I pray to be free of this ache to have something I can never possess. I must be too weak, for I cannot seem to achieve it.”

  He opened his mouth, and I cut him off with a sharp movement of my hand. “Do not dare tell me a thing—I know all of it already. Yes, I know, I must understand—your situation, and therefore our situation. And I do. I do understand, more than anyone else, perhaps, for I have my own demons to torment me, do I not? But I have noticed that being understanding has no reward. What has it brought to me, what favor, what advantage? Why must I always understand ? Do you know how tired I am of it?”

  There was an interval of silence, during which I glared at him until the realization of what I’d just blurted so furiously settled on me, bringing a flood of shame. I cut my head sharply to the right. I could not look at him.

  But I could feel him staring at me. “My God, I never saw it.”

  I finally forced my gaze to his. He appeared bemused. He gave me that smile, the secret, tender one that always made me want to weep.

  “You’ve always dazzled me,” he said. “You are so brave—always, without fail. Oh, do not scowl at me, you are brave, you know—braver than anyone I’ve ever known in my life, and it has been a long, long life, Emma. And you are good. Such goodness I’ve scarce dared imagine. And then, as if that weren’t enough, you are—we all forget, all of us who’ve come to depend on you. Except maybe Sebastian, he knows. Yes, Sebastian knows, but he is the only one.”

  “Knows what?” I whispered. It is a truth of human nature that we both fear and crave being known, and although I was not sure I could bear to hear more of this, I wanted more than anything for this man to know me. As I waited for him to answer, I felt my heartbeat throb against my ribs like a trapped bird.

  “How vulnerable you are.” He reached out, then thought better of it and his hand dropped to his side. “Strong, brilliant Emma. In some ways—Lord, curse me for a dolt for not seeing it before this—but in some ways, you are so vulnerable.”

  My entire body began to shake. I thought I would scream. A feeling welled up inside me, something like joy and terror mixed together in a blend that made the world tilt on its axis. I struggled to remain calm. Strong.

  His arms were on me, suddenly, hands cupping my shoulders, giving me something steady. But he did not embrace me. We were not lovers, no matter what our hearts wished, for we were still separated by the blood of Marius, by the part of himself he despised. If it came to it, he wanted to die rather than be made over. And he had made me promise that if he could not see it through himself, then I would kill him. Of all of the sacrifices anyone could have asked of me, this was too much.

  He had bound me by solemn vow to kill the man I loved.

  How I hated him for that.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sebastian brought me the news of Janet’s death. She was found hanged from a tree in the woods, an apparent suicide in precisely the same location where Victoria Markam had claimed to have found all the dead bodies that had subsequently disappeared.

  That spot had to be significant to the girls, and I suspected I knew why. Miss Markam had found the cache of corpses by following the girls when they snuck out of the dorm. I could only surmise this was the place where they had conducted their lurid revels.

  I do not know why, but the loss of the young girl with whom I’d only had a glancing acquaintance affected me deeply. She had been beautiful, and she’d been so young, with all of her life ahead of her.

  “She was one of them,” Sebastian said. “She belonged to the coven girls. I’ve heard enough rumors about her, since she disappeared, to have little doubt.” He grasped my shoulder, forcing me to look at him. “Then we must see to her,” he said.

  I felt my stomach twist in on itself, clenching itself into a knot. Darkling I listen: And for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death.

  One day, I would do this for my mother. I could not grieve over it. But that baby I’d had to shrive haunted my nightmares, and I was still tender.

  Sebastian had more news when he, Valerian, and Father Luke came to fetch me the following dawn. “This might not be necessary,” he told me before I climbed into the carriage with the two men. “I heard in the village that Janet was pregnant. She’d been to see the doctor and he confirmed it.”

  With so clear a reason for her despair, perhaps her death was not linked to the business with the vampire. I was so eager to avoid this duty, I almost turned around right then and returned to my warm bed. I was also of a mind to avoid Valerian, who sat in broody silence in the dark interior.

  “We should be certain,” I said instead, and climbed in.

  Sebastian sighed, and nodded in reluctant agreement. He’d been affected by the child vampire, too. He would not have argued had I called off our sojourn this day.

  But the shriving was uneventful. Janet, pale and strangely beautiful in death, had not awakened, and I felt a sense of peace as I did my duty to protect her soul.

  Father Luke stood beside me, wearing his vestments, and I made no comment as he raised his hand, the first two fingers extended, and traced a sign of the cross, first in the air, then over the corpse. This was the first time since last spring that he’d taken his proper role in the shriving of the dead.

  He began his prayers, and I bowed my head, finding myself silently reciting the Latin along with him: Absolve, we beseech Thee, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, Janet, from every bond of sin, that being raised in the glory of the resurrection . . .

  When he faltered, I glanced at him. His pale skin shimmered with a sheen of fine sweat. He swallowed with difficulty, as if emotion dammed in his throat.

  He began the prayer again, and once more he stumbled over the blessings.

  I exchanged a worried look with Valerian. Sebastian, too, was staring hard at the priest. Finally, he managed to finish his prayers, picking up the edge of his embroidered stole draped around his neck and kissing it in conclusion of the rite. No sooner had he done so than he spun on his heel and quit the cottage.

  “Perhaps it is what happened, that last time with the woman and the child in the cottage,” Sebastian said, quietly coming up beside me. “God knows it was horrible.”

  I nodded. I
was sure that was it. The carnage of that dawn was very much with us all on this day. “Thank God we’ve been spared another scene like it,” I murmured.

  As the sun broke over the horizon, we set about packing our belongings back into the carriage. We were anxious to be away before we were discovered. That was when we noticed Father Luke was no longer with us.

  He was not in his room at the inn, either. I waited by the trap, eager to get underway lest I be late returning to school. Sebastian brought out the troublesome news. “He’s gone,” he told Valerian and me with something akin to panic. “He’s gone to find opium. I was afraid of this. The melancholy still weighs on him.”

  Valerian was quick to reply. “I will search for him. He can’t have gotten far. He’s got to be up in the woods where we just were.”

  “I am coming with you,” I said.

  “Do you think that wise?” Valerian said. “They will miss you.”

  My position was precarious with Miss Sloane-Smith, and the gossiping Trudy Grisholm was watching me closely. That, in addition to Sebastian’s rightful assertion that I would slow them down—“You are a dreadful horsewoman,” he reminded me—convinced me to leave the two of them to it. I hurried back to the school and managed to stable the trap and the horse, get inside, freshen my appearance, and change my clothes just in time for my first class.

  I waited the entire day for word, which came in the form of a sealed note late that afternoon. Eloise Boniface brought it into the dining room when we gathered for supper.

  “The innkeeper sent this up from the village for you,” she whispered, and I noticed gratefully she made certain Trudy was nowhere in sight.

  I hastened out of the dining hall to a private spot and tore open the note with clumsy fingers. “We have him,” it read in Valerian’s spidery hand. “He is safe. He is asking for you. Come when you are able.”

  It was not until Sunday that I was able to get free and go down to the village. As painfully impatient as I was to have to wait until then, I realized my position at Blackbriar was on thinner ice than I would have thought. I could tell by the manner among the teachers I counted as my friends, Eloise and Ann Easterly particularly, for they tried to give me gentle advice.