Immortal with a Kiss

by Jacqueline Lepore

  Father Luke, however, was not pleased with his travel companion. “I will not have you pester me,” the priest had warned as they readied to leave. “I will be about my own business. I will have none of your hovering.”

  “Good God, man, I plan to be inebriated the entire time.” Sebastian snapped his gloves into alignment. “I hate traveling, you know. I do not suppose Rome is known for its parties. All those priests.”

  I had come to accept their unusual relationship, but even I had to wonder at times how they tolerated the barbs that were so freely flung between them. It seemed, however, they rather enjoyed it.

  It was a very different atmosphere with Valerian and me. During our travel, he was dour. I was too shamed by what I’d done to breach the long stretches of silence with anything more than the absolutely most necessary conversation. There was no repeat of our surrender to passion, if that was what it had been. In fact, there was more distance between us than had ever existed before. In those long silences, as we rumbled across lengths of rutted country roads, I often found Valerian looking pensive, a dark frown on his face. And I wished I could do over again that which I’d done wrong.

  But fate blessed me with a reprieve when I arrived at Castleton, the estate where I had grown up and where my sister and her husband now resided. Alyssa, having just been delivered of a healthy, beautiful son, was too overjoyed to pout very long at my having neglected her. I saw at once that motherhood had changed her. My sister glowed with pride and happiness, and was in such good spirits that she satisfied herself with only a mild rebuke before presenting the most majestic Roderick Alan for my inspection.

  I must confess: it was love at first sight. “He is gorgeous,” I breathed, taken aback by the feeling that came over me as I held the tiny infant. I adored my cousin’s child, Henrietta, but that was an affection that had grown over time, and so my almost violent response to little Roderick took me by surprise. “Absolutely perfect.”

  “He is handsome,” she corrected. “He is a boy, Emma. Boys are handsome.”

  “He is lovely,” I insisted with a smile, “like his mother.”

  She giggled. Alyssa was partial to compliments. “And his father.”

  “Indeed,” I agreed. “Alan is quite pretty as well.”

  We laughed, and I marveled how we had at last moved beyond the ill will that had followed her accepting Alan’s proposal of marriage. I had been wrong on that account, and had learned a valuable lesson. Though Alan still wouldn’t have been my choice of husband, unpossessed as he was of intelligence or personality, it was true he was devoted to her, and that she was mostly happy with her life as his wife.

  He was not in the mood for our usual sniping at one another, however, being of good humor in the aftermath of the birth of so perfect a son. When I saw him later, I felt my gushing over the baby made him forget his dislike of me. And so the visit was surprisingly fine, going along with unanticipated pleasantness. Valerian and I spent little time together, for I was helping with Roderick as much as Alyssa would allow me. We were all of us getting along immensely well—that is, until the subject of my whereabouts for the last several months was at last broached.

  “I think it best,” I replied carefully, having rehearsed what I would say, “that you not know too much about why, but I am in Cumbria in a town near Penwith.”

  “But what could be so important there?” she demanded.

  I paused. It would have been so easy to slip into my old role. When faced with my pouting sister, long habit had taught me that apologies and platitudes were the quickest way to appease her. I did not think I could bring myself to do that now, however. I certainly could not tell her she had no right to question my whereabouts. That would be going too far.

  I found a neutral compromise. “Will it help to know I am doing good there?”

  Was I? I wondered suddenly. It did not seem like I had accomplished much. Alyssa watched me carefully. “I still do not understand that business at Dulwich Manor,” she said, a hint of accusation in her tone.

  “It was my impression you were comfortable not knowing.”

  Her sullenness increased. “It seemed very unpleasant and I thought it best nothing upset me when I was in my condition.”

  “A very sound choice,” I concurred.

  She sighed. “Oh, Emma, why can you not be the normal sort who stays put and takes up gardening or some such hobby? Why do you have to be so . . . unusual?”

  It seemed that for all of my life, someone or other was asking that question of me.

  “And that Mr. Fox,” she added disapprovingly. “What is going on with the two of you? Why have you brought him here with you? I hope you are not intending to marry him. He is very unsuitable, to say the least. Does he ever smile?”

  I bit my lip. “On occasion. But it takes a great deal of provocation.”

  She seemed puzzled, missing my joke. “He is so dark. Much too complicated for my taste.”

  I secretly agreed and, further, I feared I would lose control of my emotions if we continued discussing Valerian. Forcing a smile, I said, “That is why Alan is such a perfect husband for you. He is simple.”

  She beamed, missing my unintentional insult. “And we’ve made a fine son.”

  Later that day, Valerian found me in the library. It was one of the places, besides my sister’s bedside or cooing over Roderick, I was almost always sure to be found.

  I had that morning recollected the peculiar habits of the vampires of Greece that I’d been studying at the archive when Sebastian’s letter had arrived, and this had inspired me to do some research in my family’s library. We had an extensive collection of the classical writings from that country’s golden age and I had previously discovered a great deal of information was to be gained in literary references of varying kinds.

  I’d been at it all morning. When Valerian entered, I was ecstatic to see him, for I had found something. I’d been poring over a work by Philostratus, The Life of Apollonius of Tyana, in which I had found several mentions of vampires.

  “These beings fall in love and they are devoted to the delights of Aphrodite . . . and they decoy with such delights those whom they mean to devour in their feasts.”

  I saw that Valerian was ill at ease as he settled into a chair near mine, but I was too excited to inquire as to why. “I believe I have found something very relevant to our Cyprian Queen,” I told him anxiously. I reread the lines for him.

  He nodded, deep in thought, but he did not take up the topic as I thought he would.

  I put the book aside. “What is it?” I asked, seeing I did not have his full attention.

  “I have gotten word through my sources that Marius may be in London,” he began, “so I am preparing to leave. If I can pick up his trail again, I—”

  “You do not need to explain yourself,” I said.

  He drew in a deep breath. “I know you think I am abandoning you.”

  “No,” I rushed to assure him. He should not be begging my pardon this time; it was I who had done wrong to him. “Oh, Valerian, I know you have to go. I know why.”

  “Do you?” he challenged, suddenly infused with fervent disbelief. “I do not know what you think, Emma, but my motivations are simple.”

  “Yes. I know. You must find Marius.”

  “Emma, listen to me. You deserve so much more than I can give you right now,” he continued.

  I cut him off curtly. “What a ridiculous thing to say, Valerian.”

  I could see he was taken aback. I tilted my head, my tone sharpening. “Why do I deserve so much? What makes me so special that I must be denied what I want because it is not as much as I should have? What nonsense, that I must be miserable in payment for being so utterly deserving of more than you can give.”

  I was not cowed by the storm gathering on his features. I stood, and peered down at him with my temper at full force. “I am so very sick of your obsession. I understand it, I even share it—but I am tired of it defining everything about you
, and every moment between us. Your fears are yours, and you are welcome to them; I begrudge you nothing on that account. No one would argue your fate is unimaginably terrible. But what Marius did to you is only part of this lonely existence you have made. It is you yourself who decided you are unworthy of a real human life, with real human emotions. It is you who has banished yourself into isolation, stripped yourself of all else so that you are merely Marius’s half-made minion and nothing more. You became his nemesis, his hunter, but to make that happen you gave all of yourself away. Yes, Marius took what he did, and it was a terrible thing. But it was you who fashioned the rest.”

  He studied me for a moment, then lowered his gaze. “Well. I have wanted to know what was in your mind, creating such a distance between us. I thought it was Naimah. Now I see it is more.” He shrugged. “You are justified in what you say. I have made this life. The odd thing was, I was content with it before.” His eyebrows twitched as a spasm of grief gripped him. “Now, it is like a prison.”

  I sank back in the chair. “Oh, Valerian, I am sorry. I do understand, it is just . . . Of course you must track Marius if you have a lead. Whenever there is a chance for your freedom, you must never hesitate to take it.”

  He was thoughtful, looking gently at me for a moment. “Emma. About what happened at the inn—”

  “I would rather not speak of it,” I said quickly.

  But he was not of a mind to allow me my pride. “We will make this right,” he vowed darkly.

  I shivered. I wished I could believe him, but the gulf seemed insurmountable.

  Valerian departed the following morning. Christmas came and went, and for once it was a merry atmosphere, until a letter arrived from Blackbriar on Boxing Day.

  My hands trembled as I opened it; I feared it was my notice. It was not quite that, but still it did not bear good news. A meeting would be convened in the midst of January to determine my continued employment.

  Suddington was on the board. There was hope yet that I would still retain my position. If not, I would have to think of something else to keep me in the village, at least, if not the school. I could not abandon the girls. As much as I disliked Vanessa, Margaret, and the others, they were but children playing at women’s games, seduced and flattered into sin. Their callous and scandalous behavior was reprehensible, but they should not have to die for it.

  It was Eustacia who was most in my thoughts. I fervently vowed to myself that I would allow nothing to happen to her. But how to protect her? I had to be clever, for I could not risk confiding in her. I could be exposed, banished, thought of in the same disgusted whispers as poor Victoria Markam.

  One day not long after the letter from Sloane-Smith arrived, I was on my way into my sister’s bedroom in the master suite. I came and went so frequently, as Alyssa kept the baby with her there, that I did not bother to knock. As I was about to enter, the mention of my name stopped me in my tracks.

  “If your mother wanted Emma to have them, she would have given them to her.” That was Alan. “What good will it do now?”

  “My mother was not always fair when it came to Emma,” Alyssa said. The petulance in her voice told me they were having a disagreement. “Or Laura.”

  I flattened myself against the wall as quietly as I could manage, and strained my ears.

  “She was mad. Everyone knew it.” Alan was dismissive, bored. “Why would you wish to hurt your sister by exposing her to that? Why have you suddenly grown concerned over those old letters? Really, Alyssa, just because she’s fawned over Roderick a bit does not make up for how scandalously she neglected you all these months. I only hope she now sees the error of her past and makes amends to you.”

  “You sound like Mother used to sound,” Alyssa said.

  “I believe your mother and I would have been in perfect harmony in our opinions about Emma.”

  I realized that was exactly true, and probably the entirety of my dislike of the man. He and Judith would have adored each other.

  “I still think she should have them, Alan. They are hers. I am feeling much differently about Emma since I’ve grown up. I am a mother now. It has made me see things differently. I do not understand Emma, I never will, but I do know she is not what Mother made her out to be.”

  “I am not so certain about that. Her mother was mad, and her sanity is questionable. Why, recall that ugly business in Avebury—”

  “I do not want to know!” Alyssa exclaimed, then continued in an altered tone. “Yet, Alan, somehow I think she did something very important. Very . . . special. I just do not feel right keeping her mother’s letters from her any longer.”

  I nearly dropped to the floor as my legs went suddenly and completely nerveless. The words shook through me, turning into quicksilver in my veins. Letters. From my mother?

  My hands fisted at my side. I was overwhelmed by two thoughts. The first was that my mother had written to me! She had not forgotten me, after all.

  The second was that they’d kept them from me—Judith and Alyssa. Judith I could not blame, for she was a small-hearted woman, consumed with jealousy and rivalry. She knew my father would never love another as he had my mother. That she could hurt me—Laura’s child—like this I could well believe.

  But Alyssa . . . Even now, I made an excuse, thinking that perhaps she could not help the heavy influence of her mother. But no—Judith was long dead, and I had been a faithful sister. Her conscience on this matter should have prodded her long before now.

  I had to find a way to get the letters. I knew it would not do to stalk into the room and demand them. Therefore, I plastered a false smile in place as I entered. Nothing in my manner betrayed me; at least, I thought not.

  I began the search for Laura’s letters that afternoon.

  Valerian returned on Twelfth Night, and brought a surprise with him—Peter Ivanescu, my beloved Uncle Peter.

  “I do love surprising you,” Uncle Peter said happily as I rushed to embrace him. The foreign cadence of his words was like falling down a well to my youth. He had been a frequent visitor here at Castleton as one of my father’s closest friends, and I had been hopelessly infatuated with him. Just his presence still brought a rush of warmth, of comfort and happiness.

  “I received your letter, my dear,” he intoned seriously. “I only just returned to England. I had gotten back but two days when Mr. Fox called upon me.” He tsked. “There is still unrest in the Baltic, you know. It has kept me quite occupied, and I am sorry to say I have not been able to make much advance in what we discussed before.”

  He had vowed to help me find my mother. Now that his suspicions were confirmed—for he had long suspected she had become a vampire—he was committed to my quest of learning what had become of her, for he cared deeply about her fate, almost as much as I did.

  “You are good to make a journey so soon after getting home,” I told him.

  “As a matter of fact, I am off again back to Latvia in less than a fortnight on another diplomatic mission.”

  I turned to Valerian and offered an uncharacteristically shy hello. He smiled, and I could see he was amused. I sensed it was because he knew well my awkwardness.

  Naturally, Alyssa assumed Uncle Peter had come to pay homage to her son, and my very clever friend did not disabuse her of this notion. Thus we spent an agreeable afternoon and evening. But when it was time to retire, Uncle Peter cast me a meaningful look, and I nodded.

  I returned to the parlor after the midnight bells had tolled through the house, and found him waiting for me, seated in a large leather chair with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He raised his glass as I joined him. “Your father always stocked the best. It is comforting to be here again at Castleton.” His large eyebrows dipped. “But it makes me realize how much I miss him.”

  “You were more brothers than friends,” I said. “I know he thought so.”

  He nodded, smiling warmly at me. “Mr. Fox is waiting to join us, but I wished to talk alone with you first. Your letter disturbed
me, Emma, on two accounts. The more important is this foolishness concerning the Dracula. This we will wait to speak of with Mr. Fox. But first, I was terribly disturbed to hear you were investigating your mother’s past. I promised you I would dedicate myself to finding her. My services have been needed over the Russian matter, but I am still determined to help. Have you found anything yet?”

  “No. But I have many theories, although none of them very substantial. Did she ever mention the name ‘Ruthven’ to you?”

  He rolled the name on his tongue as he frowned in thought. “No, child. That name is not familiar to me.”

  “What of the Cyprian Queen, did she ever speak of this during her madness? Or of Aphrodite, Venus, anything such as this?”

  He seemed surprised. “Indeed, I do not recollect anything of this nature, and I have been laboring since we parted to remember as much as possible about Laura. Alas, those days are long gone and filled with regret. It is hard to look back.” He sighed. “I should have saved her.”

  “We can save her now,” I told him.

  His eyes softened and he smiled. “There. That spirit always surprises me, coming from one so young. Stephen would have taken such pride in your strength. You are a great credit to my dear friend.”

  I lowered my eyes, emotion choking off any kind of reply. The idea of my father taking pride in me nearly overwhelmed me. I cleared my throat with difficulty, then said, “I share all information with Mr. Fox. It is not necessary for us to speak privately, even about this.”

  He nodded. “I am glad you have such a confidant as him. He impressed me much on our journey.”

  Valerian was waiting in the billiard room. He abandoned his game and followed me back into the drawing room. “I am eager to hear what you have to tell us. You know of the Dracula?” He waved off Uncle Peter’s offer of whiskey as he sat.