by Ciar Cullen
“Sixteen? I see. How unfortunate. I wish I could be of assistance, but these matters are treated delicately, and we rarely learn the true surname of a child. Are you sure she was left with us?”
Was she sure? Perhaps her governess and butler had been wrong about that as well. Lillian wasn’t sure of anything. Someone should have tortured the truth from the Jackal and Dr. Schneider before George killed them.
“My baby,” she whispered.
George brushed her cheek. “We will return when it is safe. Your child is no longer a baby and could live anywhere. I promised I would help, and help you I will.”
“Where would we go? Might I have a few days just to try again to find her?” Lillian found herself asking against logic. “If only Bess could help. She is quite smart and would be willing…if she didn’t loathe me. I wonder how she fares.”
“Bess would never loathe you,” George said. “She is hurt at your secrecy. Give it time, Lil.”
At her look, he ran his hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “I know, I know, I’ve said that too often lately. I did my best to prepare you for the isolation. It is not something words can adequately convey.”
“Indeed,” she acknowledged. “But, then, I am used to being alone.”
What had she done with her time before spending day and night with George, learning the basics of “vampiring,” a term she’d coined to amuse George? Most of her new life came seamlessly, innately, if she found herself questioning it later. She hungered and fed on the scum of the city, creatures who were monstrous in their own right. She grew tired in the sun and sought shelter. She slept less and moved about the city less, not knowing when or if someone might recognize her nature or ask a too-probing question. And still, while the police had accepted their explanation for the deaths of the Jackal and Schneider, deaths overall had risen in the city.
Risen by perhaps a third, Lil reasoned. Phillip, George, and now she were adding to the toll. And of course there might be others in this city that had no ruling House, no allegiances or long history. The city detectives must be wearing through a lot of shoe leather.
“I do miss my reading, George; there’s so little time without Addie and Thomas’s help about the place. How trivial that must sound to you! And yet, my books have been my solace for so many years…”
All my escapes are gone. Just one pill, she wondered, what would one little pill do?
“Not at all, dear,” George said. “The things that made you special are never trivial. Do not insult me that way. I value your odd ways and…I understand your desire to find your daughter. Let me discuss these matters with my brother. Phillip has a fairly clear head at all times.”
Lillian jumped. Her little charges had burst through the front door, her maid Aileen O’Shaunessy and Aileen’s beau Officer Johnnie Moran hurrying behind. Lillian smiled at the boys. These were her Irregulars who called themselves the Musketeers. She smiled also at the flush on Aileen’s cheeks. Had the maid’s beau finally proposed?
She rushed to the girl’s side and reached for her hand, hoping to congratulate her, but Aileen pulled quickly away.
“No, miss!” the maid whispered and drew Lillian to the side. “Ah, you have done your own hair again! What a mess!” she called loudly over her shoulder as she pretended to straighten Lillian’s tresses. Then she leaned in and whispered, “What is he waiting for? Perhaps he doesn’t love me?”
Lillian turned and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Nonsense. I will have a chat with him presently. Perhaps he does not have money for a ring. George can fix that immediately—”
“No! Oh, miss, he would die before taking charity. Johnnie is so proud—”
“I say, Lil, can you finish that at another time?”
Lillian turned to see George looking uncharacteristically sheepish. Paddy Moran—Officer Moran’s brother and the youngest of the boys—had taken hold of his hand, and Lil smiled at his shocked expression. George was so unused to this happy company of mortals, so unused to being liked by a youngster.
“There’s been a murder, Miss Holmes,” Darby O’Shaunessy squealed, his mop of red curls shaking as he wiggled in excitement.
“A very bad murder,” Darby’s older brother Billy said. Then Billy straightened his suspenders and stood ramrod straight, trying to appear as adult as possible.
“Indeed, Billy, I’ve never heard of a good murder.” Lillian looked to Johnnie Moran for confirmation, him being a policeman, but they were all distracted by the stumbling entrance of the Musketeers’ giant mutt, Mr. Abraham Lincoln.
“What on earth have you done to poor Mr. Lincoln?” George asked with a laugh. The boys had wrapped little burlap booties on the feet of the unfortunate hound sliding haphazardly across the wood floor.
“So he can come in the house,” Darby explained. “Miss Holmes said all of us has to wear shoes inside and outside.”
“Mr. Lincoln may not come in the house no matter the footwear,” Lillian said. “I do, however, applaud your attempt at following my instructions. Now, to more pressing matters?”
Johnnie Moran pulled off his police cap and brushed it against his trousers. He cast a sideways glance at George, and Lillian knew George had been right: Everyone suspected something was amiss with them but hadn’t quite hit on the truth. How could they, though? Sensible Johnnie would be the last person on Earth to believe in vampires.
“Never seen the likes of it, miss. On the roof of the Rennard, she was.”
“Who, Johnnie?”
“We don’t know. Not sure we’ll ever know, unless someone files a report that she’s gone. Hard to tell even how old she was.”
“Boys, why don’t you and Aileen go tell Cook that it’s time for a sweet? Perhaps there are crullers left from yesterday.”
“We want to hear about the dead lady,” Billy whined.
“Yes, I’m sure you do. To the kitchen, now!” Lillian then sent a stern plea to Aileen to manage the boys, who hustled them out of the room.
George and Lillian sat across from Johnnie, who remained standing.
“And how did she die?” George’s tone was disinterested, but Lillian could practically taste his intensity.
“She’d been there quite a while, so it’s a bit hard to say, you see. The heat up there…well, it was about the worst sight I’ve seen. Not bloated, like you’d assume, but shriveled, like an Egyptian.”
“You mean, mummified?”
“Yes, like a mummy, shriveled. Thing that has us puzzled is where all the blood went. Morgue reports not a drop of the stuff in her body. Never seen the likes of it. You see, once someone dies, the blood stops flowing, as the heart no longer pumps—”
“Indeed, we understand that,” Lillian said.
“Right. We didn’t find any blood on the roof to speak of. Well, what with the rains…” Johnnie shook his head.
“Puzzling,” George murmured and lit his pipe. “Wounds?”
Johnnie winced and glanced at Lillian. “Perhaps Miss Holmes would prefer…”
“Oh, now, Johnnie, you know I’m hardly squeamish. Tell us.”
“She looked to be attacked by some devil of a creature. If she weren’t on a roof I’d say a bear had escaped from the circus or a wolf wandered into the city! Neck and chest all shredded to bits.”
Lillian put her hand on George’s. Please do not let it be Annaluisa! “Her clothing? What manner of lady was she?”
“That was just as odd. All dressed up like some kind of gypsy woman. Scarves and exotic things about her wrists and waist.”
“A hapless drifter, perhaps,” Lil managed. No one spoke for many moments, and the mantel clock seemed to take on an impossible volume.
George bolted to the window, pulling on his pipe and lost in his own world—a world of grief, Lil knew, for hadn’t he and Annaluisa been friends for years? No, for centuries. Lil felt a stab of grief, herself, for the woman had claimed knowledge of the identity of her mother. If Annaluisa was gone, wasn’t that knowledge gone w
ith her forever? It seemed Lillian would always be an orphan with an orphaned child. But the worst for them all was that Madam Lucifer, the vampire who ate vampires, was in Baltimore and no doubt now took direct aim at them.
In truth, it wasn’t clear to Lillian why the woman stalked George. He’d been her maker, true, and many fledglings went through phases of misery and anger more powerful than that of Lillian’s own, but so many decades had passed since. Could Marie de Bourbon have harbored such intense hatred for all this time? Had she hated George all while becoming the intensely feared and loathed “Madame Lucifer”?
No, it will not happen. She will not destroy him or us.
“Johnnie,” she said, “I’m horrified to hear of these details and wish you the best in solving this mystery.”
“But…but Miss Holmes. I thought you’d want to learn more. To maybe assist…?”
Lillian tamped down regret for her lost identity. “I fear that George has business out of town, and I am likely to join him. Now, will you please go help Aileen with your brothers? It sounds as if Mr. Lincoln is sliding around on the kitchen floor and creating quite the racket.”
Johnnie glanced again at George, still frozen in position, still staring outside. “Yes, miss.”
“And, Johnnie, please tell Aileen that I will not need her tonight, and perhaps not tomorrow. You should feel free to take her out on the town. If you need any assistance in planning a nice evening for her, please do consult with me. Any assistance at all.”
Johnnie tilted his head and joined Aileen and the boys in the kitchen.
“That was not subtle, Lillian,” George chided.
“I cannot bear to see Aileen sad. What is he waiting for?”
“Likely an ultimatum.”
An ultimatum? Lillian bit back a sharp retort. Certainly he referred to Johnnie and not himself? She had not pressured George to propose marriage!
“I am sorry about Annaluisa,” she said, cutting off her anger. “Surely it is her.”
George remained quiet, staring at the street. When he turned, Lillian started at the fury in his eyes, black as night and rimmed in red.
“Annaluisa was harmless. A gossip, perhaps, but harmless. It was a strike at me. A message to me.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Marie’s hatred for me is extraordinary. One can often come to despise their maker, but after all this time… Why has she elevated her hatred to an art form?”
The very questions Lillian had been asking. “There must be something more, George. You will never be rid of her until you learn what that thing is.”
“We will find your mother,” he said suddenly, a vehement promise. “I know that weighs heavily on your mind, too, like your daughter. I regret that I didn’t press Annaluisa further on the topic, but at the appropriate time I didn’t know you, didn’t know what you would come to mean to me. Someone else has the clue we need, though. It did not go to the grave with her.”
Lillian nodded, knowing the last was a lie to calm her.
“For now, I care only about keeping you safe from Marie.” George shook his head, musing, “She will surely hate the one I love. I do not know if you are safer out of my presence or where I can watch over you.”
“It does not matter,” Lillian said, “and you know why.”
She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. He breathed in deeply and returned her kiss.
“I don’t want to be parted either, Lil. But you have a target on your back like me. God, it seems I am paying for all my sins. And there are many.”
“Don’t I have some say in this? You are all I have in the world, George. If you leave… No! I simply won’t have it. She will have to kill us both, or we must find a way to stop her.”
“Did you not just hear about Annaluisa? That cannot be your fate. Yes, we must act, and quickly. I’m simply weighing whether I should lead Marie away from you or be selfish and take you with me.” He pulled her close and pressed his lips to her hair. “I love you, Lil. You are everything. I cannot lose you.”
Although she hated the desperation in his voice, his words wrapped her in the first warmth she’d felt in days. A warmth that was almost human. “I love you too, George.”
“Let us keep up our strength. I need a meal. No doubt someone is to be clubbed over the head at the docks tonight, and we can offer relief. After, I want to speak with Phillip. He must hear about Annaluisa, and I must warn him about Marie. Then we will decide what is to be done and where we—or I—should go.”
* * *
Indeed, someone was being clubbed over the head at the docks, as George predicted. The Baltimore police department did their best, Lillian supposed, but they didn’t seem to concentrate their foot patrols on the areas where most of the crime was. The wealthy citizens wanted their mansions protected and cared not a whit about the immigrant flotsam and jetsam packed like canned oysters in flophouses near the harbor.
Lil cared. In fact, shame washed over her whenever she thought of her mortal days of highbrow isolation from those suffering just a few miles away from her home. She had wealth enough to help at least some of the orphans and poor but had never done a thing. Well, taking in Aileen and Johnnie’s siblings perhaps counted, but that wasn’t enough. And now one of the poverty-stricken young men she should have helped was barefoot, nearly in rags, and about to die.
“Which will it be? As if I need to ask,” George joked.
“I would prefer the aggressor, yes. You will let the poor chap on the ground go if he has life in him, George?”
“Do I have a choice? I would hear about it forever.”
George descended from the roof of the warehouse upon which they stood onto the back of the attacker, a giant of a man wielding a huge plank of wood like it were a baseball bat. Lillian hurried after and also hit the man, who was shocked and on his knees, with a solid right hook. She noticed offhandedly that they were only yards from the place of her encounter with the sailor the night before.
“You do love to punch men,” George said. “It gives me pause sometimes, Lil. Perhaps we should put you in the ring like your Uncle Sherlock?”
“Please attend to the victim! Is he alive?” The ruffian under her stirred a bit, so Lillian punched him again. Then she punched him a third time for brutalizing a young man for what was likely nothing more than a drunken argument.
“No, I’m afraid that board crushed his skull. Little chap, practically a boy. Can’t imagine what he could have done.”
“Let’s find out, shall we?” Lillian slapped her captive to consciousness, but he passed out again when he saw her teeth and blood-red eyes. No doubt the sight of George over her shoulder was equally shocking.
“There’s so little mystery in this,” she muttered. “I long for a real battle with a criminal of wit and cunning.”
George sighed. “Be careful what you ask for, Lil. Now, drink before he dies. I would have a sip as well.”
CHAPTER THREE
The Orleans brothers formulate a plan.
“She’s your ex-wife!”
Phillip cursed and looked up at him. “You’re the one who turned her! Oh, see, why do you draw me into this ridiculous debate again and again?”
“Why do you fall so easily into the same argument?” George laughed despite the horror they faced. Phillip was so easily goaded, and he never grew tired of the game.
He’s such a good man, and all my destruction hasn’t changed that. Phillip, turned by George eons ago, had become his confessor, his voice of reason, his compass when there were no stars in the sky to guide him—which had been often before Lil.
“I lay this at your feet,” Phillip snapped. “What in God’s name did you do to her to have Marie declare this war on us? I told you before, you underestimated her affection for you, made more potent by you being her maker. Poor Annaluisa. Killed indirectly by the Orleans brothers.”
“Madam Lucifer does not seem to need a reason to hate, and I barely remember our tryst,” George said. “P
erhaps she is insane. How many of her own kind has she killed now? Poor Annaluisa, indeed. She was torn to shreds according to that Moran fellow.”
“Don’t tell Kitty. I don’t want to frighten her again. I’ll find a way to explain at a better time.”
Phillip paced the length of the room, footsteps in time with the mantel clock. It drove George insane, this habit of his brother’s. Why couldn’t he even walk without keeping beat? He’d been that way from boyhood, the sheriff of the household, ensuring the needs of servants were met, however petty, and taking care of every stray creature—and there were many—that breached the palace walls. And George had ruined it all for him in one moment of intense hunger and rage at the woman who had borne them. Phillip had known similar moments, though, especially in the early days, when his hunger was uncontrolled and his good looks and wealth drew unsuspecting women his way. Many had never returned home. George had shown him how to sneak bodies from the castle, had helped him bury the evidence of his gluttony.
“How did you do it, Phillip?” he asked, thinking suddenly of Kitty. “How did you make a mortal woman look past it all?”
“I have a lot of common sense and some knack for nuance that you lack. Lillian loved you before you turned her, didn’t she?” Phillip shook his head and looked mournful. “Look, George, Kitty does nothing but plan this wedding. I cannot imagine how I’ll ask her to leave town again. We’re weeks away, damn it!”
As if such could compete with the likelihood of certain death.
George grunted and said, “I am tired of hearing of weddings. Where will you go?”
“I’m half tempted not to tell you, brother. Marie is on your heels, not mine, and not Kitty’s.”
George tilted his head to the side and smirked at Phillip’s attempted independence. His brother stopped pacing and threw his hands out in surrender. “Oh, for the love of God, don’t look at me like that! Of course I’ll tell you.”
“No, don’t. Actually, I’m not sure Marie couldn’t torture it out of me. Just go, go quickly, and take care of Kitty. And, Phillip?”
