Immortal with a Kiss

by Jacqueline Lepore

  “It is always on his mind,” I concurred. “His . . . condition.”

  “What I am particularly interested in is this unique situation. The Greek vampire is called vrykolakas, a very unique being among the undead. For one thing, as I mentioned to you before, their society is ordered, civilized. As a group, they carry on their country’s classical traditions in philosophy, arts, and sciences. This is no doubt what attracted the alchemist to the island of Santorini.”

  “Do you think so? I assumed it was simply because the island is known to be heavily populated with vampires.”

  “Ah,” he said. “But it begs the question: why does the vampire flock to the island?”

  I gathered the corners of the rug I’d thrown over my shoulders a bit more closely as a chill snaked around my neck. “Well, then, why?”

  Father Luke sighed. “It must be something on that island. In Greece, as I said, the vampires are different. Still vampires, do not mistake me. But less bloodthirsty. It is even possible the vampires cooperate with and facilitate this research. There is not much information in the Church archives on this, for as you know, the Greek Orthodox Church is separate from Rome, and their records were not at my disposal.”

  I leaned forward, my cold fingers clasping each other for warmth. “You mean to tell me you believe it possible that the alchemist conducts his research into vampirism with the permission of the local vampire establishment?”

  He smiled at me slyly. “Think, Emma. How could he exist for all these many years, even in secret, if not for the tacit approval of the Orchid Prince? Athanas knows of the alchemist’s work—he must. And if so, that indicates he is complicit. Therefore, perhaps he can be approached, reasoned with, warned of the Dragon Prince’s plans for domination. Those of his clan are the most highly evolved, and very invested in retaining their freedoms. They might agree to help us.”

  My entire body went rigid as his words hit me, sparking a sudden association that set me to shaking. “What did you say?” I managed after a moment, my tone urgent and sharp.

  Father Luke paused, puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You called him the Orchid Prince,” I clarified.

  “Yes. Athanas—that is his name. His title is the Orchid Prince, just as—”

  “You did not say that before.”

  He peered at me. “Emma? What is wrong?”

  My thoughts were moving quickly. I stepped toward the window with a shake of my head, and as I did, I noticed the disk, which lay uncovered, the sunlight making it glow like a sun.

  Like the sun . . .

  “Call in Valerian,” I said, burying my face in my hands as my thoughts turned in surges. “Sebastian, too. We need to meet, all of us.”

  By the time Valerian and Sebastian arrived, my ideas had begun to knit together. Valerian could see my state, and sat across from me with an anxious expression.

  Sebastian went down on his knee to my right, drawing my hands in his so I was forced to look at him. “You know something,” he said. “You know who Ruthven is.”

  Valerian laid a hand on his wrist to ease Sebastian’s grip. “Leave her. She needs to think.” He met my gaze, and I saw a fervent light in his eye, his lip curled in cautious hopefulness. “Emma?” he asked.

  I inhaled a long breath, my eyes fastened onto the middle distance. “You said the alchemist wanted to cure vampirism, and that the gift of long life Naimah got from him was a by-product of that quest.”

  “She wrote of it as a kind of limited exchange of vampire power to human,” Valerian said.

  “Then if it follows that it is possible that a similar exchange exists for vampires to attain some of the advantages of humans, a vampire might consume food, wine . . . might walk in sunlight. Not direct sunlight, perhaps, but on overcast days or when nightfall is due. It might, with the proper charm in place—this elixir—venture out of its lair, among the living.” I paused as a thought struck me. “It might fool even me, or any Dhampir.”

  “What is it?” Sebastian inquired.

  I shook my head and reached for the disk. Its carvings, revealed in daylight, were depicted in exquisite detail. My world tilted, keening first to one side, then the other, as a sick, scalding feeling began to crawl up from the marrow of my bones to light each and every nerve on fire. “My God,” I murmured. I suddenly knew where I’d seen the sign of the Dracula, the dragon rampant, before.

  “The seal of the Dragon Prince,” Father Luke said, pointing to the figures carved on the surface.

  “Yes,” I said, nodding numbly. I traced my finger along the flow of the cape. Now that I spied the clever reversal, it seemed obvious that the great dragon was drinking the fountain of blood flowing forth from its adversary, which—I could now make out—lay skewered on one sinister talon.

  “This . . . this is not a cape,” I explained. “It is a gushing of blood.” I pointed to the dragon figure. “This is the Dracula.” Raising my eyes, I said, “I have seen this before. More than once, and most recently right here in Blackbriar.”

  The men waited expectantly, but my thoughts took an unexpected turn. I looked at Father Luke. “The vampire prince of Greece—you just referred to him as the Orchid Prince. Why did you call him that?”

  Father Luke was a bit taken aback, but responded readily. “I don’t really know. But you must know the legends associated with that particular flower. It has figured prominently in mystical lore . . . well, forever. The Church has banned it for its . . . er, sensual aspect. It was once outlawed—the forbidden flower. But in Greece, as in all very warm, moist climates, it grows in profusion, and . . .”

  He trailed off. It must have been my expression.

  Valerian leaned in. “Naimah mentions the orchids on Santorini in her journals. When she went to the island, she became enamored of their charm. She says they are magical, but I dismissed this as merely a romantic notion.”

  “No. She is right. They must have magic in them.” I slammed the disk down on the table with a resounding ring. “Suddington keeps an orchid house.” I pointed to the golden disk. “I saw a tapestry in his study one evening, but it was gone when I came in next. I suppose now he did not mean for me to see it, or to see what I saw in it. The figures—exactly like these—were embedded in the overall design.”

  Valerian held up his hands. “You are saying Lord Suddington—”

  “He is Ruthven, and the Cyprian Queen. He is George Smythe.”

  There were several beats of silence, and I used them to gather my thoughts before I continued. “He wears the orchid at all times, on his coat. He surrounds himself with them. That is how he walks in daylight. Not full daylight, but in dusk and on rainy days, he can move among humans.”

  Valerian, I could see, was becoming convinced. “Go on,” he said to me, his eyes blazing in rapt attention.

  “On the night of his dinner party, he placed orchids all through his house. He gave me two of them.”

  Valerian muttered an expletive under his breath as a deep frown furrowed his face. I said, “Why would he do that when he must know I could not keep them alive for long? If he loves his plants so, why would he sacrifice any of them? Unless it was for some purpose. I’ve been sleepless, restless, fatigued. And my dreams have been so vivid and tormented. Now that I think of it, they have been worse when the orchids were fresh and strong, before my lack of proper care took effect.”

  Another thought occurred to me and I held up a finger. “I found little packets of dried flowers under the girls’ pillows when I cleaned out their room and set in place new protections. I saw figures like tiny demons dancing in the flames when I burned them. They had been enchanted in some way.”

  “Magical flowers?” Sebastian asked skeptically.

  “Orchids, somehow able to be imbued with magical properties. What a fool I’ve been not to see it!” I laughed, pinning him with a fervent gaze. “Why would a great prince of the undead name himself for a flower unless it represented power?”

  I stopped, pau
sing as another thought occurred to me. “Wait. I don’t understand something. The orchid he gave me is dead, yet I know the reason I was rendered nearly powerless the night Ruthven killed Vanessa was not merely the effects of being drugged. The weakening of my powers had to be due to some charm.”

  “An orchid?” Sebastian queried.

  “Yes. It had to be. But not the one I was given . . .” I shot to my feet.

  “Emma!” Sebastian exclaimed.

  But I was already in motion. “I will be back. I cannot take you all. Just Valerian—you come with me.”

  It was here, in my small bedroom in the staff wing of Blackbriar—it had to be. I tore the place apart, ripping open every drawer, pulling out the sparse furnishings and turning out the bedclothes.

  I had not exercised stealth coming in with Valerian. In the midst of everyone’s shock and outrage, I had marched him through the school, up the stairs to this room, and then locked them out.

  Outside the closed door, I could hear shouts of alarm spread. They would be coming in soon, Trudy Grisholm in the lead, no doubt. The last I’d seen of her, she had been marching determinedly in the direction of the headmistress’s office.

  Valerian inspected the near-dead orchid sitting on top of the dresser. “You are right, this cannot be responsible for the charm. It is almost gone.”

  “Help me,” I said, wanting to pull the frame of my bed away from the wall.

  He put his back into it as the voices of discontent grew in volume on the other side of the door. And there we found it, tucked into a corner in the safety of the darkness under my bed. Its leaves were a bit blackened, its flower somewhat wilted, but it was still alive, as if it, like its owner, were immune to natural death.

  Valerian recoiled at the grisly sight of the thing. “My God, it is hideous. What is it?”

  I swallowed against a rise of nausea. “It is the dracula chimaera. Suddington showed it to me in his orchid house.”

  “But it cannot be the culprit here. It appears to be dead.”

  As soon as the answer came to me, I knew I was correct. “It does appear so, but it is not dead, Valerian. It is, in actuality, undead.”

  Valerian’s head snapped around and he stared hard at me. “Good God.”

  “The Blood is the Life,” I muttered, prodding the thing with my toe. That simple phrase had guided me from the earliest days of my awakening as Dhampir. It always came back to blood. This thing was as good as a vampire plant, sustained on blood. Undead. How else could it have survived without the light, heat, and humidity its species required?

  Valerian drew it out with careful hands. The dracula chimaera looked like an insect, some kind of predatory thing that might animate at any moment and strike out, drawing blood, or worse. The smell of it was foul. I recoiled, feeling a dizzy falling sensation twist in my gut. This was how I had felt when I awoke to find Ruthven in the girls’ dormitory, when my powers had deserted me.

  “He gave the other to you in order to cover the perfume.” Valerian cut a sharp look at me. “Are you feeling any effects now?”

  I blinked rapidly to clear my thoughts. I could hardly concentrate, with the wretched plant at such a close distance.

  My obvious struggle was answer enough. Valerian took the orchid to the other end of the room. I could hear people gathered outside my door.

  Someone pounded. “Emma, dear, open up,” Eloise pleaded.

  Sharper voices, angry voices, and then an impatient tone I recognized as belonging to Trudy Grisholm: “Just break it down!”

  My stomach tightened with tension. “What are you going to do with it?” I asked Valerian urgently.

  “Destroy it,” he replied. He nodded to the orchid nearest me. “Both of them. You start.”

  I pulled the orchid from its pot. Dirt scattered over the floor. Crushing it in my hands, I let it drop, stepping on it for good measure. The task was messy, but easily done.

  Valerian gripped the thick, almost muscled, stalks of the dracula chimaera. Even with his excessive strength, he had to exert himself so that the tendons on his neck popped out as he finally extricated the roots.

  Once it was in his hands, he twisted the stalks, grunting with the effort. Then he muttered an exclamation and dropped it on the floor. We both stepped back, for the thing was still whole. The tendrils lay like snakes against the dirt-strewn floor.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I think it bit me.” He inspected his hands. “No blood. Not that I think it could harm me. But we really don’t know what this thing is capable of, do we?”

  I looked at the wound. The bite had not penetrated Valerian’s flesh. I blew out a breath of relief.

  “There,” he indicated. The vile orchid was twisting on the floor.

  Stepping forward, I angled my heel just under the head of the blossom. It gaped at me, dragon’s jaws ready to snap into the flesh of my ankle. A wave of nausea came over me, and I realized this creature—or plant, which was it?—was doing this at will. With a cry of determination, I summoned my strength and brought my heel down sharply onto the stalk, where the base of the head of the flower lay. The sound of the flower’s flesh being compressed was like the snap of bones. Valerian grabbed me, snatching me out of the way as the thing began to bleed.

  An incredible stench rose up into the air, permeating the room. I choked and stumbled back, feeling like I had been struck in the chest by a hammer. As I doubled over, I heard Valerian mutter a curse and saw him throw himself between the writhing orchid and me.

  The pounding at my door resumed, accompanied by Miss Sloane-Smith’s commanding voice: “Emma Andrews, open up this door at once.”

  “Keep them out!” Valerian directed. He rummaged through my bag until he found an empty vial, one of those which I used to carry holy water. The water had been poured out a while ago—by one of the coven girls, I had little doubt. Valerian took the vial, dried it thoroughly with a corner of his shirttail, and blew in it to make certain it was completely dry.

  “Hurry,” I said. The pounding was like thunder in the small space.

  He wagged his head, either to hush me or tell me he was hurrying as fast as he could, and stooped to the spreading pool of blood. The plant was still gushing in rhythmic spurts, as if a beating heart pushed the blood through human veins. Carefully, Valerian laid the vial on the floor, taking great care not to allow the blood to touch his skin as he collected as much as he could.

  “What are you doing?”

  He looked at me askance. “It is vampire blood, or something like it. We should not just throw it away.” Carefully, he pushed the stopper in, sealed the vial, and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he turned back to me. “Get your things.”

  This I did swiftly, for I knew I would not be returning. It did not take me long to throw my belongings into a pelisse. I would send for the portmanteau later.

  When I opened the door to my bedchamber and exited it for the last time, Glorianna Sloane-Smith was red-faced with indignation. If I had ever suspected her of being the Cyprian Queen, I would not believe it after seeing her now. Never was a member of the undead so ruddy-faced with impotent rage. If she could have struck me, I had no doubt she would have done so. I suspected Valerian’s presence was the only thing that spared me that indignity.

  “I am resigning my position” was all I offered as explanation for my extraordinary behavior as I swept past her. “I will send someone for the rest of my things.”

  My fellow teachers were crowded into the hall. Facing them felt like running a gauntlet. I felt the burn of shame, although I’d done nothing wrong; far to the contrary, I’d saved lives. But they did not know that. I would disappear into their memories as a madwoman, and a whore to boot as I’d openly brought a man into my bedchamber.

  Catching the eye of Eloise Boniface, I saw she was confused and sympathetic. I wished I could explain, although I doubted she would believe me.

  Valerian touched my arm gently. “Come, Emma. We must hu
rry.”

  His presence beside me was comforting and I shot him a grateful look. I had been the subject of scorn for nearly my whole life, but I had never had anyone with me, protecting me.

  I turned and walked beside him with purpose, down the steps, through the hallway, and out the front doors of Blackbriar School for Young Ladies for the last time.

  By the time we arrived at the Rood and Cup, conferred with Sebastian and Father Luke, and laid out a simple but lethal plan, the hour had grown late. I felt nervousness grip my stomach as we discussed whether we dare wait until the morrow. It was decided we should not. This night might well be the last for the girls, and others.

  Although I agreed that we must act quickly, I was filled with disquiet as we made our battle preparations. For the task we had before us, darkness was not our friend.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When I entered Suddington’s home with Valerian, I was struck by how empty it seemed. It was as if all of a sudden I could plainly see this was not the home of a living man.

  “It appears deserted,” I said, and listened to how my voice fell dead into the air. “When I was here at a party, it was enchanting.”

  Valerian nodded. “An excellent choice of words. The aura of charm a vampire can cast can beguile very thoroughly.”

  “I thought I would see through that . . . Oh. That is right—he had potted orchids all about.”

  “Well, that is your explanation.”

  “I also felt . . . beguiled when I saw him away from here,” I said softly, and wondered at my desire for confession. I had been attracted to Suddington and I felt guilty on that account.

  “He wore a flower on his coat, you said.”

  “Most times,” I admitted, somewhat mollified.

  “If it was not in sight, you can be certain he had it on his person somewhere.”

  He spoke as if that excused me for my unfaithful infatuation. I knew differently. I had felt betrayed by Valerian when I’d first come here, and I had welcomed the feelings toward Suddington. Knowing that now twisted my stomach with disgust.