by Ciar Cullen
“I can’t quit it yet, Phoebe. Soon, though. Very soon.” God, I hope, he didn’t add. The vial of Elder blood kept him awake during the day, made him restless all night. He wandered the city when Phoebe slept, hoping for a glimpse of Vasil, terrified also that the Elder would reappear.
He’d tried to find his maker on his own, as these bickering Orleans fools seemed to have no plan at all except to bring him into the battle. Now they had started talk of a child when they didn’t think he was around, and he was certain there was more to this story than they said. He could easily wring the truth from them, but he just wanted to finish the task and ensure Phoebe’s safety.
“Where you going now? Take me. Why do you go without me? Tell me, Chauncey.”
The fear in her eyes made him nauseated, but it was better that she suspected him of infidelity than know the truth. And it felt like infidelity. Would Vasil come tonight? Demand to know why Marie still lived?
He quickly pressed a kiss on Phoebe’s forehead and left. Clutching the vial under his coat, he now relished its burn on his palm. One drop would kill Marie, Vasil had said. So why did Chauncey so badly crave one drop for himself? The Elders were demons, for sure. Tricksters.
After walking only a few yards down the street, the burn on his hand grew stronger and he released it. Here I am, he heard, and he looked up. Vasil held out his arms in mock greeting, his long cape flapping in the night breeze, his hair swirling into a confusing halo of gold around him.
Chauncey leapt up on to the roof and rested his back against the water cistern several yards away from Vasil. “I am trying, Elder. I will find her soon.”
“She righta under your nose, ya no see it?”
Chauncey winced at his imitation of Phoebe, a reminder of what was at risk. “Tell me where she is, then, to make this better for us both.”
“The Frenchmen are close.” Vasil shrugged. “A day or so and you’ll see her. That is not why I’m here.”
“Why, then?” Chauncey could barely speak, and he couldn’t take his eyes off Vasil. Is this what it is to worship a God, to feel the love that Phoebe feels for her Jesus?
“You keep calling me. It’s annoying, profoundly annoying. I hear it day and night. Your voice is strong, Mr. Sullivan. Your devotion is adorable.”
Chauncey looked away, ashamed. “I’ll try to do better. I…it is the blood, I think. It’s muddled my mind.”
Vasil chuckled and motioned with one finger for him to draw near. Chauncey tried to avoid eye contact as he walked to within a few feet, and Vasil’s icy breath smelled of warm sunlight on pine branches, of freesia, of cloves and oranges. All of Chauncey’s favorite smells, one after another.
“You mock me,” he accused. “You cast this terrible spell on me and now you mock me. I don’t think Phoebe’s God would do that to her.”
“Spell? I’m no warlock. You’re very confused.” Vasil sighed and pulled Chauncey in closer, one scalding hand on each of his shoulders. His eyes shone silver and blue. To his horror, Chauncey felt hot tears fall down his cheeks.
“Ogottogott! My good friend, attend to me.” Vasil put a finger under Chauncey’s chin to collect his gaze. “You have had a bad romance, yes? One in which you are shunned, one that can never be, that breaks the heart and spirit?”
“I am not a lover of men,” Chauncey said.
“I am no longer a man, Herr Sullivan. I am everything you hate and love about yourself. You are very, very strong, to even be able to endure my touch. But it is your own true nature you long for, the terrible beautiful power you see in me.”
Chauncey cried and listened, hating everything he said, hating him, his beauty, his power. “I hate you! Leave me be. I’ll kill Marie, just lift this spell!”
Vasil shook his head and smirked. “There is no spell. You crave my blood.”
“You told me it was poison! You are poison!”
The Elder shrugged. “It all depends on who drinks it.”
Chauncey’s head spun at the words and smells and urges pouring through him. Vasil’s touch no longer felt gentle. When he opened his eyes, his knees buckled at the gleaming fangs and black pupils only inches away. Vasil’s nails dug into Chauncey’s neck as the Elder lifted him off the ground. Gone was the pale icy beauty. This was a demon.
“I am not your God and I am not your Satan. I will make your life more of a living hell or reward you well, yes? Kill Marie, and stop calling for me!” Vasil dropped Chauncey to the ground, where Chauncey hugged his knees to his chest and cried. “One more thing, my friend. If there is a child, and if he is special in any way, kill him. If he is not…I think I would like him. Call to me then, and I will come.”
Chauncey watched the Elder drift noiselessly into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Some doubts erased.
Between caring for the boys—a task akin to herding snakes—trying to be a good and soothing friend to Bess, and fretting constantly over Marie and her own missing child, Lillian was exhausted and longed for some escape that her medicine didn’t provide. At least the guest vampires didn’t need to be fed, and she could have food delivered for the boys from Eisner’s grocery. She didn’t have a clue how to prepare meals, nor did she have time or interest. Perhaps she could hire a cook?
“What would Uncle do?” she repeated to herself again and again. In the old days thoughts of her Uncle Sherlock brought her respite. “He would not have gotten himself into such a mess. I would have Mr. Doyle write a different story for me.”
The boys needed clothes, though, and more time outside. And to be enrolled in school. Aileen and Johnnie had never managed to teach them properly on their own, nor had they found a public institution. Bess and Kitty had agreed to take them to buy new shoes and clothes the next day, and that would have to be enough for one week. School could come later.
How had it come to this? Constant fretting over meals for humans, clothes, household chores? All the evil in the world seemed to be crashing down on her, and yet the needs of her charges and friends couldn’t be ignored. The boys still grieved for Aileen, each in their own way. Darby had asked the night before if he could see his sister again, and Lillian hadn’t known what to say. She’d brushed his hair aside and kissed his freckled cheek.
Is this what being a mother is like?
Everyone in her house had known nothing but loss. Was life that way for everyone? Was happiness a foolish wish?
She walked back and forth in her parlor, alone with the unsociable Sullivans. Phillip and Kitty had gone to their home, the boys were asleep, and George late. He had promised to be back before sundown, after making sure Bess made it home safely. Lillian had been left “for her own protection.” But she did not want to be protected. She wanted to find Jane or destroy Madame Lucifer.
She had not yet chased down the members of Mr. Doyle’s Society, but she was sure that Doyle himself had more to tell. How could he help, and mightn’t he, if approached in the right way? There was something there, something left untold. Lil would visit him again tomorrow morning, she’d decided. Otherwise he might leave Baltimore before she got the chance to try. And she had never explained how he’d changed her life. Perhaps that would make a difference.
Opening her journal, she reread her notation of meeting the Leaping Man. How childish those writings now seemed, her desire to solve a mystery, to make Uncle proud. It had only been a few months ago but seemed a lifetime. Perhaps one day she would have the chance to do real good, to right the wrongs of the city, to solve crimes and come home to a wonderful man and a wonderful daughter. Perhaps—
She snapped both the book and the fantasy closed when George came through the door. He rushed over and pulled her in for a long embrace. “Bess is home, and is fine.”
Her nerves deadened. So, that was all he had to report. They were no further.
“Come, Lil, let us go to your room.”
His voice didn’t bear the provocative tone that usually accompanied the request for privacy, and Lillian
was glad of it, as she could think of no physical pleasure to be had at the moment. She nodded and said, “Quiet, as the boys are finally asleep.”
They crept up the stairs and into her room, sat on the bed and held hands.
“Do you realize,” George said with a bit of a smirk, “that right here, only a few months ago, you shot me? Twice.”
“Tell me,” Lillian demanded. “It is not good news. But I would have the truth.”
“It is not the worst news. As far as we know, your child lives. But not at the orphanage.”
“We already know she isn’t at the orphanage,” Lillian snapped. “Why did you go there?”
“The director of the asylum confirmed that was where he was sent.”
Lillian pulled back to see more clearly the expression on George’s face. He was concerned, yes, but also interested in her reaction. Extremely interested.
“Did you hear me, Lil?”
“Of course I heard you.” She paused. “What did you say?”
“According to Spring Grove’s records, you had a son. I’ve learned they named him Jacques.”
“Son?”
“Indeed.”
“It’s not possible. I saw her. I…”
“Did you hold her?”
“No, they would not let me.”
“How do you know it was a girl?”
I hate you, Herr Doctor. I will hate you until the day I die, and then I will hunt you down in the next life. I hope you are in Hell so that I may torture you there.
“Lil? Did they tell you it was a girl?”
She nodded. “Schneider did. It never occurred to me that he would lie about that. Of course, it makes perfect sense now. They never wanted me to go looking for a boy. It worked.”
“No, it didn’t. You didn’t give up, and now we have the truth. You are victorious over the man.”
“But you don’t know where he is, or you would have brought him home to me. Isn’t that right?”
“Mostly. I have clues, but they are sketchy and we will have to work hard to unravel them.”
“Then we will. I will.”
“We will.”
“Are you disappointed that you do not have a daughter?”
Am I?
“No,” she realized. “I believe I will make the adjustment in time. No, I will love him dearly. I already do. But if he is as wild as my Musketeers, I may end up back in the asylum. Boys are exhausting creatures, George.”
“I was rather pleased, somehow, to hear it was a boy. I would have loved your child no matter what, but I would know what to do with a boy better, I think.”
George turned away, reaching for his pipe, and Lillian suddenly knew he hadn’t meant to share that thought. Why, it hadn’t really occurred to her that George would truly want a child, to be a father to hers.
“Where do you think he is?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But I’ll tell you all I heard, for you have a good head on those lovely shoulders. Lie back with me and shed some of those heavy clothes, and let’s talk through the night. I am tired of running about, and I want to hold you as we talk and plan.”
She glanced over at him, surprised. “I am sure you do not just want to hold me.”
“For once, that is exactly what I would like.”
Lillian let her gown fall to the floor and took George by the hand. He undressed, picked her up, and laid her on the bed.
“As I saw you that night,” he murmured. “Nude and beautiful, extraordinary and compelling. I’ve never encountered anyone like you, Lil, and I’ve met a lot of people in my days.”
“I know.”
“You never ask how many women. You are the first not to ask. Perhaps you are the first not to care?”
“You are saying I’m not a normal woman,” Lillian replied. “I suppose I am not.”
“It is not a criticism. You are above any woman I’ve known.” George blew out a deep breath and brushed a kiss along her jawbone. He pulled her against his body, nuzzled his face against her neck. “Do not look at me for a moment. Your eyes distract me, arouse me. I must speak my mind.”
His tone was serious, and Lillian wondered what new transgression she’d committed, what commandment she’d flirted with breaking. Was this George her maker, or George her lover? Or were they the same? It didn’t feel so.
“I want to talk about us, Lil.”
“I know,” she said.
“We are beyond you trying to shoot me, and I believe you’ve given up trying to understand me, which is splendid, as I don’t understand myself. You are adjusting to your new life.”
“Am I?” She shook her head. “I seem to falter constantly.”
“Time, it takes so much time. You are impatient, Lil. We enjoy one another’s company. At least I for one do not feel the need to be away from you at all. Quite the opposite. It’s humbling, embarrassing. And new. I’ve never needed—no, wanted—this closeness.”
“Are you asking me to marry you, George?” she blurted. She rolled over and stared at him, at his dark eyes that swallowed her whole, at his lips that took her breath away whenever they met hers. Would he have this pull on her if he weren’t her maker? She would never know. Did it matter?
Somehow, it did.
“No! I do not think so. Am I? It’s been bothering me a great deal, Lil.”
“Yes, it has bothered me as well. A most unwelcome distraction in a time of great stress and chaos. Even Bess nags me about it.” Lillian sighed and gave him an annoyed frown. “Please work it out and speak to me on the topic when you decide, will you?”
“Could I have your feelings on it?”
She snorted. “Have you ever read the romantic novels of Jane Austen, George? No, I didn’t think so. One of her heroes gets it quite wrong, you see. He tells his beloved of all the reasons they really should not get married, and then he proposes. You are reminding me a good deal of him right now.”
“I am?”
“As little as I know about love, romance, and marriage, I do believe that one should only make a lifelong promise because to not do so would be unthinkable. It is a grave commitment, don’t you think? Especially for one who might live for centuries or more.”
“You don’t want to marry me,” George said. “That is becoming clear.”
“That is a convenient excuse you are making. I have said no such thing. I can barely imagine tomorrow.” She paused. “Do makers marry their newborns often?”
“Why, I suppose not. I don’t know. What has that to do with anything, Lil? I’m talking about us.”
“I cannot separate the two, George. I cannot imagine being without you, but…” She saw the hurt in his eyes. How could she make him understand without hurting him?
“You can be difficult, even annoying. Why won’t you simply tell me what you want?”
“And you can be arrogant and infuriating.”
George looked aggrieved. “Of course I know that. Phillip reminds me daily of it.”
Phillip. Your brother, your other child. I would like to speak of these things with him. And perhaps at some point she would. But for now she said, “Then I will not bother. Now, kiss me everywhere and exhaust me until I can stay awake no more, and I will sleep in your arms, safe from everything outside these walls for one night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Where is the castle?
“What the blazes is wrong with you, Georgy? It’s unnerving.”
Lillian watched Phillip half-sip at a cup of tea. George and she were doing the same, while Kitty ate her breakfast of sausages and eggs. They were gathered at the Orleans house to plan their next move, although Lillian knew they weren’t much further than the day Annaluisa was killed.
“There’s a hell of a lot going wrong right now, Phillip. What do you think is wrong with me?”
Kitty waved her fork at George. “You’re not your typical annoying self. More annoying, in fact. You’re brooding again. You only brood when your ego has been damaged.”
&n
bsp; George growled at Kitty, who growled back. He laughed and said, “Kitty, really, have I been that bad a future brother-in-law?”
She frowned. “You brought the wrath of the devil down on us, delayed my wedding, and I’m sure before I’m finished eating my meal will do something else disastrous.”
“There must be an Irish saying about this, eh, Kitty? ‘Marrying the whole family’?”
“Aye, and it’s true. Now show me that ring you’re hiding under the table, Lillian. It nearly blinded me when you came through the door.”
Lillian clenched her hands together and cast a quick glance at George, who rubbed at his temples. Kitty would make it all worse, she was sure. The woman lived to taunt George, protected as she was by his brother. And he seemed to quite enjoy their verbal sparring matches. “Show me, Lil,” Phillip’s fiancée pushed. “I’ll be seeing if George knows how to do anything properly.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Kitty.”
The woman blew out an improper noise that sounded like a horse. “I heard you say your hero Mr. Doyle was a bad actor. He could not be worse than you. Or you,” she said to George. “Show me the engagement ring. I’d like to bring you down off that high horse of yours if possible. I’m sure you mucked this up.”
“It’s a gift, Kitty. Not an engagement ring.” But Lillian did as requested.
Kitty whistled through her teeth and pulled at Lillian’s hand to get a better look. “Unusual, but that is our George.” She looked at George and nodded. “That will do.”
He bowed his head and swept out his hand dramatically. “So glad you approve.”
Phillip looked up from a newspaper article that had caught his attention. “Wait, did someone say something about marriage? Our marriage?”
“Really, Phillip,” said George. “Try to keep up, won’t you?”
Kitty moved her chair next to Lillian’s and gave her a peck on the cheek. “When is the wedding?”
“It’s not an engagement ring, Kitty,” Lillian hissed. “Please, let it be.”
“Och! Are all you dreách foula so ignorant of normal things? You, at least, were mortal recently.”
