by Ciar Cullen
“Have you ever had a patient who heard voices? At my worst, I hear the city speaking to me, telling me to do strange things.”
“To others?”
“To myself. They have abated…somewhat.”
“I see,” Arthur said. Clearing his throat he admitted, “There are a few reasons, none of them very pleasant, that a person might hear voices. Certain drugs, extreme stress, and a more serious condition that seems to run in families. But I am not your physician and am not able to make a proper diagnosis. If you would like a recommendation…?”
“I would like to steer clear of such learned men.” She turned to face him, and he saw anew her exhaustion of body and spirit. “No offense to you. I am sorry that I must finish this conversation quickly, and we have not gotten to the crux.” She closed her eyes and fretted with her bag. “George will hate me, but I know no other way. I must find him.”
Arthur’s heart began to pound. “Why would George hate you, my dear? It seems quite impossible to me.”
“There are rules, strict rules. We are to bring no more mortals into the mix.”
So, quite insane. She mumbled more words, but he could not pick them out. He felt the urge to run, but another urge was stronger even than his desire for self-preservation. He could not turn his back on such a lost, injured soul. Did he know another physician in town? This woman needed treatment, desperately.
“You have heard talk of vampires from your society members,” she announced.
So, they were back here. It was not a question, and the hair on his neck stood on end. “Dear Miss Holmes—”
“Vampires exist. They are not only the stuff of folklore. I do not have all the answers you will surely want, as I am new to this life…”
She trailed off, and Arthur said, “You truly believe yourself to be…immortal? One who feeds on others?”
“Immortal, no. I can be killed. But I will not age outwardly. I swear to you that I am not evil, not in the way you might think. I take pride in supping only on murderers, criminals of the most awful kind, the dying… An occasional squirrel or rat.” She sniffed out a laugh. “One does what one must.”
“My dear, I am so sorry you are suffering. Will you allow me to take you to a place that—?”
“No! No one will take me there again!” She wiped at her eye with her handkerchief, and he noticed blood on the white linen. She looked up at him, eyes rimmed in scarlet, pupils black, skin as pale as snow.
He leapt back a few feet, hands and legs shaking.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I am simply hungry. It’s been a trying time.”
Arthur rubbed at his brow, feeling incredibly stupid. I am in real danger, he thought, if anything this woman says is true. I would taste better to her than a squirrel. Her bloody handkerchief caught his eye, and he tried to remember any of Stoker’s work or their conversations about how to kill one of these abominations. With no holy water, crucifixes, garlic, or wooden stakes on his person, he felt as good as naked.
But it is daylight! She cannot harm anyone in the daylight, isn’t that true? Mustn’t she turn into a bat first, or was that after?
Run, Arthur, run!
But he couldn’t. It seemed Miss Lillian Holmes held answers to so many questions about spiritism and the afterlife. He could not leave, so he found himself saying, “You see we are out in the open, and that police patrol this park. And I am armed.”
She nodded. “I would never harm you, though, or anyone good.”
“You are the judge of who is good and who is bad? Was my friend Annaluisa Pelosi so bad? Or the young maid, Aileen O’Shaunessy? Hardly a hardened criminal, I would think!”
“No! They were both my dear friends, especially Aileen. I am heartbroken over the loss. I am caring for her brothers in my home.”
“Your beau, then?” Arthur accused. “Mr. Orleans? Is he like you?”
“Please do not ask about him, or about the others. Mr. Doyle, do not put yourself at risk. I would never hurt you, but—”
“George would?” He glanced around for her handkerchief, but she had put it away. With it gone, gone too was his conviction. “This is ridiculous! I believe none of it!”
“You misunderstand. George is not to blame for those deaths. Don’t you see? This is why I need your help. There is one very strong person, completely evil, who is wreaking havoc on this city, on innocents, on my friends. And I believe that she has my son. I also believe you know something about it. I would have your assistance. In return—”
“You will not harm me?”
“Of course I could not harm you! You are innocent. And you are incredibly important to me, Mr. Doyle. I cannot separate you from my hero, so you are my hero as well. But I beg for your discretion.” She glanced around and was clearly terrified. “Oh God, I see this has not worked! What have I done? He’ll never forgive me.”
Her fear only made him more concerned. “What is to stop me from going to the authorities? My God, is Johnnie also—”
“No, Johnnie is not involved with us,” she interrupted. “Aileen was not. Annaluisa, however, was as old as this city. You may go to the authorities, Mr. Doyle, but they will laugh at you. And they have no way to stop us. We cannot even stop one another, it seems.”
Arthur shook his head, trying to bring some clarity to his brain and remove himself from the spell of this strange woman’s words. He longed so badly for answers that he’d begun to believe her. Now he saw that she attempted some sort of sham, and he thought it best he extricate himself from the situation as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry I cannot help you, Miss Holmes. I do hope you find a physician who can.” And I pray you are not truly involved with the murders.
She put her hand on his arm. “Please, you must believe me. Wait one moment!”
Reaching into her leather messenger bag, she extracted a pistol, which she placed on the bench next to her as if it were nothing more than a handkerchief, and next pulled out a small knife. Arthur backed up another foot, ready to call for help, but she looked up, anguish on her face.
“Please,” she said, “block the view of any onlookers.” Then, to his horror, she drew the knife across her forearm.
The deepest scarlet dripped from the wound. She pressed her lips to it and he grimaced in disgust. “Lillian! You mustn’t harm yourself this way! I will help you, I give you my word.”
She did not answer, at least not verbally. A moment later she held up her arm for his examination. The bleeding had stopped. The wound had healed and not left a scar. In only seconds.
Shocked, Arthur lurched forward. He knelt before her and rubbed his thumb along the place where she had sliced her flesh. Although her skin was ghastly pale, there wasn’t a mark. A most extraordinary woman, Lillian Holmes. He could not have created her. And yet, as the saying went, truth was stranger than fiction.
He sat back and gazed at her. “What trick is this?”
She smiled, tired lines rimming her lovely dark eyes. “How often have you said to me, in your books, that ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’?”
Arthur rose and paced in front of the bench, searching for his own inner voice to tell him what to do. At last he heard, Here is proof of something, Arthur. Here is the other world you’ve sought. Will you turn your back on it?
He turned and nodded. “I…I will tell you what I know. On one condition.”
“Yes?”
“Officer Moran is present for all we do, listens to all we say. If your story is accurate, he has a stake in this story.”
“That is most inconvenient,” Lillian said. “You are drawing another mortal into a rather precarious arena, and for no purpose. He would be ridiculed if he chose to divulge it later. After Aileen, he is already a ruined man.”
Arthur shrugged. “I believe he is already part of this story, Miss Holmes, and nothing will change that.”
“There are limits, Mr. Doyle, to what George will forgive.” Lillian
glanced one way and then another. “For love? I don’t know… He is my maker, you see. You and Johnnie… He won’t like this.”
“Then you will search for your child without my help. It is my one condition.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The reluctant hero and his friend.
George tapped out his pipe. Just before popping it into his jacket, he flung it as far as he could. It landed somewhere in Loch Raven, a hundred yards away from a rooftop of a house near the congressional mansion.
Sullivan glanced at him. “Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know. I’ll be damned if I know. I’ll be damned if I know anything.”
The dark-skinned vampire regarded him. “You’ve changed, George. Perhaps it’s the daylight addling my brain, but you’re almost likeable. You never would have admitted to knowing nothing fifty years ago.”
George laughed. “Guilty as charged, my good man.” He leaned back and regarded Chauncey seriously.
“You’re having second thoughts about doing this alone with me, aren’t you? I honestly didn’t expect for you to believe me, but I thought I’d give you the chance. I will wait no longer.”
George shrugged. “I suppose I always believed the Elders existed. I did of course wonder why they ignored Marie—and you, to be honest—if the commandments were real.”
“I never promised him that I would kill you and yours, despite his order. He’ll find me and that will be that, but perhaps Phoebe will have a chance.”
“Vasil—”
“Don’t say that name again! You can still go home, George. Take your brother and lover and anyone you care about with you. I don’t know why you’re here.”
“Lillian’s child. I must give it a try. If I do not, she will.”
Sullivan arched a brow and blew out a deep breath. “I don’t hold out much hope for a child left in Marie’s care.”
“Still, Lillian would die trying to rescue him, and I cannot have that.”
Chauncey squinted left and right behind his tinted spectacles. “I say, this is getting intolerable. Much more time out here and Madam Lucifer won’t have to do a thing. I’ll be a shriveled raisin on this roof.”
George laughed. “At least she’ll also be weak.”
“She’s never weak.”
“How do you know? When was the last time you saw her?”
“Eons ago. But she holds my bond, and I feel no less shackled by it. She certainly has not weakened.” The giant pulled his jacket over his head to shield himself further from the long late rays of sun now stretching shadows over the countryside. “I’m tired. Maybe this is a good way to end it. Maybe God will forgive me if I try to do this one last right thing. Maybe not.”
“Maybe not,” George agreed. He was not hoping for such forgiveness. Nor was he hoping to end his existence, however likely that outcome seemed.
“She shouldn’t have taken the child. I never touched children. I did everything else, but I left children alone. Did you?”
George winced and wanted his pipe back. “My record is not so pure.”
“You didn’t eat your own kind. You didn’t break the commandments.” Sullivan reached inside his shirt and clutched at something, a necklace of some sort. George had seen him do so repeatedly in the last few days.
“What is that, Sullivan?” he asked. “A religious talisman? It makes my skin crawl every time you touch it.”
“That is the nature of talismans—to make bad men uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable. But I wear it to give me strength against Marie. More I cannot say.”
“You’re a queer fellow, always were.”
“Yes, Grandpapa.”
“Well, sorry about that,” George snapped. “How could I have known what I would create? That is why you’ve loathed me for so long. I ruined your life by turning Marie. Well, I don’t blame you. At times I loathe myself for the same reason.”
Sullivan turned and regarded him again then sighed. His voice was molten regret. “Blame you for what I am? No. Who knows what I would have become. I wasn’t the nicest mortal, to be honest. I wanted money. I craved it more than life. When Marie took me…”
George had never seen someone loathe himself more. It was shocking, and for that reason he said, “I simply don’t believe you’re evil, Chauncey. No more than the next man, mortal or vampire. I believe you are here to protect others, especially Phoebe. That has to count for something. Won’t your God care about that?”
“Phoebe’s God,” the giant corrected. “You’re here for Miss Holmes. And your brother and his woman. You’re not doing it to redeem yourself.”
No?
“I turned Phillip. My own brother. You knew that, didn’t you?”
Sullivan shrugged. “Act in haste, repent at leisure.” When George stared at him, he added, “Do you honestly hope to save him?”
“Yes, I do, assuming certain outcomes. If I just give Lillian her son and Phillip and Kitty some peace, then everyone is better off. And you did promise not to…not to carry out his orders?”
The giant nodded. “Why would I have told you about our meetings? I’m sick of death and having a hand in it. Well, except Marie’s case. So may we please go now? I really am boiling in my own perspiration up here.”
George glanced at his pocket watch. “Ah, here they come now. The society’s meeting has broken up.”
A handful of fashionable men and one woman filed from the Loch Raven “castle” and stood chatting for a moment before driving away in cabs. Doyle was not among them.
“It seems Doyle did not come. I have no idea what Lillian told him, as she did not return when I expected earlier today. She’s been…unreliable.” George steeled himself, realizing it did not matter. Not really. “All right, to that roof.”
It would be tricky, he admitted, as no one would mistake them for birds, but they managed to leap to the castle without being seen or creating a disturbance. George wondered if Marie were here, was expecting him, had already sensed his nearness. Hopefully she slept, and all of her lackeys slept as well.
Sullivan grabbed him by the shoulders, his massive hands making George feel like a boy himself. “Look at me, Georgy. You could flee, be halfway around the world within days. You will likely die here. Your Lillian may still not get her boy, and she will have lost her love as well. Are you really willing to let that happen?”
“No, I’m not. That is why you will help find the boy after killing Marie, even if I do not survive this. Promise me.”
“You’re still a bit bossy, do you know that?”
“I know quite well that you could kill me easily, Chauncey. I’m not the boss of much anymore.”
Chauncey nearly smiled. “I’ll do my best to find the boy if there’s time, George.”
“I’m growing on you, aren’t I?”
“Don’t push it.”
They climbed down the back of the house and stopped at a second-story window. The room beyond was empty, and they slipped inside without raising an alarm.
The pistol George carried had started to burn against his back. He’d loaded it beforehand with silver, knowing that the casing would offer some protection, but it grew more uncomfortable by the moment. He only needed one good, clean shot—to kill himself should his attempt to kill Marie fail. It might be worth a try to use it on her if she were sleeping, although he’d also brought a silver dagger. He shifted the pistol, thinking he’d much prefer to shoot himself than stab himself.
He and Sullivan moved to the door, and George opened it quietly and peered around the arch to a long empty hallway. The boy could be anywhere in here, and if still mortal he would not emit a particularly strong scent. Or, what if Jacques and Marie were not here at all? Was he simply about to disturb the family of an innocent congressman? Anyone would get quite a scare when they saw the massive Sullivan bearing down their staircase.
He exchanged glances with the other vampire, and his heart slammed into his chest at the decision he’d made, at what he was
about to do.
“Which way?” he mouthed.
Sullivan shrugged. George indicated they should start in the cellar.
“There’s a lot of house to cover here, George. She probably knows we’re here. Just call out if you find her before I do.”
“I’ll be screaming for you if I do,” George mumbled.
Sullivan nodded and moved to the next doorway to begin his hunt for Marie. George took the side staircase to make his way to the basement. A power so strong as Marie’s needed constant feeding and long periods of darkness. And then there was Marie’s personal dramatic flair. Perhaps she even slept in a makeshift grave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A goodbye.
Upon return to her house Lillian immediately noticed that Sullivan was gone, and that Phoebe moved uncharacteristically about the parlor. She introduced the woman to Mr. Doyle as “a servant,” and Phoebe thankfully played the game, but still Doyle’s face paled and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Well, she’d introduced him to more terror and murder than he’d penned in all his books taken together. She wondered if she hadn’t been exposed to more chaos in her shorter lifetime than he. He’d written about murder and betrayals galore, but those were fiction. Hopefully he thought her the only nearby vampire.
“Where is George?” she asked. “Is he with Phillip and Kitty?”
Bess came running down the stairs, chased by the Musketeers, and dodged behind Lillian’s skirts. “I cannot keep this up, Lil!”
“You are doing splendidly. Boys, we have a new cook, and I believe she has made some lovely cookies! You will help her clean up, taking great care to follow her instructions, and then you may play in the yard.”
She wasn’t sure they had heard a word except for the mention of cookies.
Bess sighed and straightened her dress at the sight of Mr. Doyle. He approached rather meekly, examining her from head to toe as if to determine what nature of woman she was.
