Blood Rhapsody

by Nancy Morse

  “What did you do or say that would cause her to lose her temper?”

  I bedded her and then cast her away.

  “She seemed to suggest that she wanted something more than just a tutor and pupil arrangement with me,” he replied innocently.

  “What’s that you say? First you complain that she is short-tempered with you, and now you claim that she wants to…to… My dear boy, have you no understanding of women? If the circumstances were different, I would demand to know what your intentions are.”

  Dishonorable. Strictly dishonorable.

  “But I did not call you here tonight to inquire into your relationship with my daughter. Prudence is missing and I need your help in finding her. So you argued. What couple does not? Please, you must think. Has she ever said anything to you about where she may have gone? The two of you have spent some time together.”

  More than you can know.

  “She must have mentioned something.”

  Nicolae shook his head, rustling the dark curls. Inwardly, however, his anxiety was rising like steam from a boiling kettle. “I must go,” he said quickly. “If I remember anything, I will be sure to let you know.” He strode to the door.

  “Nicolae.”

  The music master’s frail voice made him pause to look back over his shoulder. “When my daughter suggested a…different kind of arrangement…” he said, lifting his head and picking his words carefully, “how did you respond?”

  “I told her it was not possible.” Even now, the truth tasted like bitter bile upon his tongue.

  The music master emitted a sigh of disappointment. “I see,” he muttered, and slumped back against the pillow.

  On his way out, Nicolae passed the Hightowers’ maidservant who was just now arriving home. He could read the question in her wide eyes when she saw him. How had he gotten here so fast? How indeed. He offered a perfunctory nod as he rushed past her.

  He had not wanted to alarm the music master with his own growing concern, but now that he was alone, he could no longer conceal it. The pitch of his breathing increased to a full pant until he felt his heart hammering in his chest. Where was Prudence, damn it? By all that was holy or, in his case, unholy, he would find her. But where would he even begin to look? Suddenly, a thought slammed into his brain like a hard-driven nail. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

  Once again, he closed his eyes and willed himself to transform, this time into a creature whose heightened sense of smell and superior night vision would lead him to the prey he was seeking. His boot heels clicking against the cobblestones fell silent to a soft padding sound and a light, loose, loping gait. The top hairs of his grayish grizzled coat caught the moonlight. Large ears captured the sounds of the night, sending him into the safety of dark corners when humans approached. His eyes shone like golden-yellow lanterns through the darkness. Trotting through puddles of mud, the tracks left behind on the cobblestones were of four pad prints, dog-like to anyone who did not know the true nature of the beast that passed within their midst.

  CHAPTER 16

  Simon Cavendish returned to his laboratory some time past midnight after another futile search for the creature that held the key to the great mystery of eternal life. The perpetual mist plagued the ache in his joints, and he wanted nothing more than to sit for a while and sip some sherry before retiring for the night.

  He took off his coat and bent to light a candle, but at the flame’s first flicker, a chilling sensation crept over his flesh. Something sinister hung in the air, accompanied by a strangely sweet aroma. He turned around, eyes sweeping the room. And then he saw the creature sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, one leg crossed casually over the other as if he had come to chat about the new Walpole Ministry.

  Green eyes, hypnotic, riveting, glowed like simmering coals through the darkness. “I believe you have been looking for me.” A voice as warm and smooth as decanted sherry issued from the impossibly handsome face.

  Despite the heat emanating beneath the creature’s preternatural flesh, an ice-cold chill careened down the alchemist’s spine. He staggered backwards, upsetting the small table that stood beside the sofa, sending the candle to the carpet spread atop the floorboards.

  Nicolae nodded toward it. “Hadn’t you better put that out before you burn your house down?”

  But the alchemist, frozen with fear, was unable to move.

  With a sigh, Nicolae got up and came forward in a gliding movement to douse the flame beneath his boot. “Light another,” he said. “Now!”

  The force of the command snapped Cavendish out of his petrified stupor. He withdrew another candle from a drawer in the overturned table and lit it with shaking hands.

  “That’s better,” Nicolae said. “I spend enough time in the dark.” He turned and walked back to the chair, his tall figure thrown up in relief against the wall. Sitting down, he fixed his eyes on the man’s pale face. “Fear not, alchemist. If I had wanted to kill you, you would already be dead.”

  “Wh…why are you here?” Cavendish asked, his voice a painful scratch at the back of his throat.

  “I have come seeking information that I believe only you can give me.”

  “I? What could I possibly know that would be of interest to…to someone like you?”

  “Go on,” Nicolae taunted. “Say it. Say what I am, or what you think I am.”

  Cavendish hesitated. “Is this a trick?”

  “Not at all. I merely want to know if you are fully aware of what someone like me is.”

  “You are a… He drew in a deep breath. “…vampire.”

  “Why do you whisper it?” Nicolae chided. “Are you afraid to say it out loud? Shall I do it for you? I am a vampire.” His voice rose to a frightening pitch. “A vampire!” The thunderous declaration bounced off the walls and made the alchemist tremble.

  When the room quieted down and the walls stopped shaking, Nicolae said, “There, that’s better, isn’t it? Now there is no need to hide behind false identities or pretenses.” He placed his elbows on the armrests and laced his finely-shaped fingers across his midsection. “So, as I was saying, I have come seeking information. A friend of mine has disappeared and I have reason to think you may know something about it.”

  Cavendish licked his lips, regarding him carefully. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because my friend mentioned you to me recently.”

  “I see. And how is it you think I can help you?”

  “Information?” Nicolae prompted.

  “Ah yes, but what would be my incentive for helping you?”

  In a blinding fast movement, Nicolae was standing before the frightened alchemist, his frame growing in stature until it towered over the other man. His hand reached out to catch him by the throat and lift him off the floor. Those green eyes settled tersely on the alchemist’s face. “I could snap your neck in two,” he said viciously. “Would letting you live be incentive enough for you?”

  The alchemist’s eyes bulged. His feet wiggled, toes pointing in a panicked search for solid ground. A gurgling sound issued from his constricted throat. He managed a desperate nod of the head.

  Nicolae released his grip and the alchemist fell to the floor.

  “If you kill me,” Cavendish said, gasping for breath, “you will never get the information you seek.”

  Nicolae looked down at him and smiled. The expression accentuated his handsomeness, masking the underlying threat. “You are a clever one, aren’t you? Very well, I will strike a bargain with you.” He sauntered back to the chair and sat down.

  Cavendish staggered to his feet, his hands protectively at his throat. “A bargain with a vampire? Why should I trust you?”

  “Because I have something you want.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Don’t pretend nonchalance. We both know what it is you want. The elixir.” Nicolae’s smile turned sly. “The very thought of it excites you. I can hear the excitement racing through your vei
ns. I can smell it seeping from your pores. The others waste their time experimenting with lead and the morning dew, but you know that the answer lies elsewhere, don’t you?”

  “I have long suspected.” His pounding pulse was audible clear across the room.

  “I can give you what you want,” Nicolae said. “Make you so famous your name will be heralded throughout the ages as the man who unlocked the mystery of life.”

  “And all for a bit of information?”

  “Yes. Now let’s stop playing games and get to the point, shall we? There is someone I must find and I believe you know where to look.”

  “Do you mean that with all your powers, you cannot find—”

  “I’m not a mentalist,” Nicolae cut in, annoyed.

  “No, no, of course not. I did not mean to imply that you were. I just thought—”

  “What you thought is of no consequence to me, alchemist. I have something you want and you have something I want. Will you help me find her?”

  Cavendish’s eyes narrowed. “A woman? Now I begin to understand your urgency. And is this woman…er…like you?”

  “No. She is very much a mortal.”

  “She must mean a great deal to you to be making bargains with me.”

  More than you can know. “My bargain with you is this. In return for your help in finding her, I will give you what you seek.”

  “There would be experiments involved,” Cavendish said. “They could be very dangerous for you. Are you willing to risk your own destruction?”

  “There are no experiments in alchemy that could destroy me, you stupid man.” There was contempt in the cold green eyes. “But yes, since you ask, I am willing to risk my own destruction.”

  Cavendish bristled, but pressed his advantage. “Very well then, I will tell you what I know. What is her name?”

  “Prudence Hightower.”

  “I have heard that name before. Where was it? Let me think for a moment.”

  The silence stretched. “You are trying my patience, alchemist,” Nicolae growled. “Would it jog your memory if I told you that she was the woman who came to you with questions about the soul?” He could tell by the spark of recognition in the man’s eyes that the memory had returned.

  “Of course,” Cavendish said. “A lovely young woman, but odd.”

  “How so?” Nicolae demanded.

  Cavendish looked at him as if the answer were obvious. “The soul?”

  Nicolae replied with a negligent shrug, “She thought she was doing me a favor.”

  “She said she was writing a novel. I had no idea she was speaking from personal experience. I told her—”

  “I know what you told her,” Nicolae cut in sharply. “I’m not here to reclaim my lost soul. Oh, that’s right, it’s not lost, is it?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It is merely misplaced. Now, get to the point. Where is she?”

  Cavendish shrank back from the menace he heard in the vampire’s tone. “I don’t know.”

  “But you must know something. Think, man. Think! Did her visit give you any reason to suspect where she might have gone?”

  “Her visit? Well, no.” He hesitated. “But the other one’s visit, perhaps.”

  “What other one? Do not talk to me in riddles or I will kill you as you stand there.”

  Trembling from the devilish passion he saw in the vampire’s eyes, Cavendish said quickly, “The pewterer came to see me. He was quite surprised when I told him about your Prudence.”

  A cold dread seep into Nicolae’s being as he looked away. “de Vere,” he hissed.

  “Yes, that’s him. He hates you, you know. Something about one of his ancestors.”

  Nicolae’s features were grim and dark, the alchemist’s words shuttered from his vengeful thoughts as the silence lengthened. Sweeping the midnight hair from his eyes, he half turned and glared at the alchemist. “Tell me everything about the pewterer’s visit.”

  As he listened, he felt the bloodlust rising, accompanied by the frenzy that comes with the urge to kill, not out of hunger but out of unadulterated hatred. In keeping one step ahead of the de Veres he had made a fatal blunder. With sudden clarity he realized that he had exposed his one weakness, namely, Prudence. He’d been a damned fool for thinking that her only danger arose from him. He should have known that were his relationship with her ever discovered by de Vere, he would not hesitate to take full advantage of it. And what grisly trap had Edmund de Vere set for him now using sweet Prudence as bait?

  The light from the single candle gave his face a sudden cast of viciousness. “Where has he taken her?”

  “I don’t know,” Cavendish said emphatically. “Truly, I don’t. Although…”

  Those green eyes turned on him like rabid dogs.

  “If I were you, I would be on the alert for a fire.”

  Nicolae grimaced with disgust. “Was that your idea?”

  Cavendish shrugged. “Fire has the ability to purge evil. My guess is, he intends to lure you to a burning building where you will find your beloved and the two of you will perish in the flames.”

  Having heard all he needed to hear, Nicolae turned and strode to the door.

  “Wait!” Cavendish cried. “We had a bargain. Will you return for my experiments?”

  Nicolae turned back to the room. “So, you want to know the secret to immortality. Very well. But experiments are really so unnecessary.”

  As he spoke, the candlelight flickered upon his face. The alchemist fell back in horror.

  The handsome face was bloodless, the eyes like polished glass, the lips drawn back over the fang-like teeth of a wild animal, hideously long and glaringly white.

  CHAPTER 17

  The click, click of measured footsteps against the cobblestones broke the ominous calm. From out of the strangling fog a figure emerged.

  The dreary night found Nicolae wandering the length and breadth of the city, from the ever-hungry maw of the port, to the houses in Coney Street that harbored thieves and vagabonds, to the rookeries, and now here, to the narrow, unlit passageways and stinking alleys of the East End. It was a dangerous place to be. Pick-pockets, emboldened by the darkness, were not beyond bludgeoning unsuspecting pedestrians. Thieves and footpads roamed at large, no match for the few decrepit old watchmen with their antiquated lanthorns. Packs of scavenger dogs prowled the streets, gathering at the pools of refuse thrown out from upper story windows, ready to defend their rancid meals with bared teeth beneath the glimmer of oil-dripping lamps.

  With each step he took he sniffed the air, trying to detect the sweet scent of her, but the air was choked with cinder smoke, the rank odor of decaying garbage and the stench that came from the river.

  Where was she? The longer she eluded him, the more frantic he became. The anger welled inside of him like some terrible force of nature, threatening to explode in violence that he swore would send every Londoner running for their lives. His temper rose with each futile step. A thousand fears jangled through his brain. What had de Vere done with her? Was she even still alive? The hatred bubbled and boiled until its heat was almost too much to bear, even for him, who had borne so much for so long.

  Suddenly, a thief darted out of the shadows and came at him, knife in hand. Without breaking strike Nicolae thrust out his hand and strong armed him to the chest, propelling him into the air with the brute force of a hundred men, shattering his bones and snapping his neck.

  He continued on without so much as a glance back, reproaching himself sharply for the way he had treated Prudence the night of the concert, the cruel, callous things he had said to her, the lies he had told just to keep her safe. But in an attempt to protect her from himself he had exposed her to an even more deadly harm. It was time to put an end to this game of cat and mouse he and the de Vere’s had been playing for more than two centuries. Time to deal the fatal blow to Edmund de Vere. Senses sharpened by hatred, he prowled the sordid streets, sniffing the air that was thick with clouds of black smoke belched by
coal-burning hearths.

  Soon there came from deep within a familiar, dreaded sensation, faint at first, but growing stronger with every step he took. He sought to push it from his mind, but it was a determined little beast, seeping into his thoughts like water, the steady drip, drip turning into a rush of madness that threatened to drown him. The thirst. Oh God, the thirst. Reminding him of what he was and what he never would be. It grew upon him until he could no longer banish it from his thoughts, until it was all he could think about, until it devoured him much like the madness that devoured the pitiful souls at Bedlam.

  Blood. He needed it. He craved it. At this moment it was all that mattered. His throat felt parched, his veins empty. Among his kind he was not old enough to feast on mortals merely to savor the taste, nor was his spirit strong enough that he did not require the fortification of the blood feast. Some day perhaps, centuries from now, but at this moment he had a desperate urge to feed.

  “Hey, luv, lookin’ for a little fun?”

  A woman clothed in tatters approached him from out of the doorway of a ramshackle building. A crooked smile revealed a mouth of missing teeth.

  “Fer a tuppence, I’ll make yer wildest dreams come true. Want a sample, luv?”

  With one hand she slipped the shoulder of her dress down to reveal a plump naked breast while her other hand reached between his legs to fondle him.

  With scarcely a glance, he favored her with a sly smile. Putting his arm around her, he drew her close.

  The solemn tones of the cathedral clock drowned out the muffled laughter that came from the dank East End alley. The doxie who offered sordid delights for a tuppence was in for more than she bargained for. Hell, for that price he could have bought himself enough gin to render himself drunk. A whore like this one that wasn’t disease-ridden was a rare find indeed. He would have screwed her good, stuffed the damn tuppence down her bodice between her overstuffed breasts and been on his way. But the hunger gnawed at his belly like a wharf rat, its ever-sharp teeth driving him beyond the need for sexual gratification to something far more primal.