by Ciar Cullen
“After you, Miss Holmes,” Phillip muttered as she passed.
George rose and stood statue-still when he saw her reach the bottom of the landing. She stopped for a moment and focused on him alone. He glanced behind her at Phillip then met her gaze again. A half smile passed across his face as a noise of amusement sounded from the other side of the room.
Lillian wouldn’t look at Marie, not just yet. “Didn’t you know, George?”
“Know what, my love?”
“That neither of us could let you go. I know now that it is not because you are our maker. Is it, Phillip? It is because we love you. I love you. Truly. The maker’s bond did not trump my desire to find my child, but I chose you anyway. I will save you, and then I will save him.”
“What a lovely speech.” Marie’s sarcasm was overdone, like everything else about the woman. “I am the one who gave you life.”
“No.” Lillian turned and faced her. “You didn’t.”
Despite her words, the horrible truth of her parentage tore through her at the sight of Marie. But Lillian took care to stand as tall as she could, and Marie seemed to become frailer in comparison. It gave her hope.
“What do you know of it? I am your mother!”
“No, you are not my mother. I deny you that title. I reject it, I reject you. I will be an orphan always, although I do have a maker, who has loved me as well as anyone could. That will do nicely.”
Marie scoffed. “You cannot reject the facts, my dear. Did you know that George and I were lovers? How does that sit with you, the thought of his lips against mine, his insatiable passion for me, the hours—days—spent in one another’s arms? The sharing of our blood. That is a particular favorite of his, isn’t it, Georgy? Or has he given that up? Would you still have him?”
Phillip put himself between them. “Marie, stop it. What do you want from her? What sin of yours is she paying for?”
“Ah, he finds his voice. My timid husband, cuckolded by his own brother, hiding in corners of the world for centuries. You, Phillip, were truly a waste of everyone’s time.”
“Ugly, body and soul. You always were, and you are still the most hideous creature. I was pleased when George took you off my hands for a while. You never imagined that I loved you, did you?”
A slight movement of her hand sent Phillip to the floor clutching at his throat, and for the first time Lillian saw Chauncey Sullivan. The dark-skinned giant stared on, as if he watched a play he had no part in.
“That’s enough!” Lillian strode to within a few feet of her mother, horrified at the visible signs of her evil life, the stench of her, the insanity in her eyes…and the sadness. All the power in the world hadn’t brought her an ounce of happiness.
Marie held her hand out briefly, and Lillian wondered what the gesture meant. Surely she did not expect an embrace.
With a flash of insight, Lillian nearly lost strength in her legs. “You never wanted George. It was never about hurting him.”
“Of course it was, stupid girl!”
“I am not stupid. I am quite intelligent. You wanted me—for what purpose, I cannot imagine, as you have deemed me a total waste of your time.”
Marie lifted her chin in defiance, but Lillian saw that she bit back a protest and was unsure of herself.
Lillian forced herself to stop shaking. “Why?” She screamed this time. “Why, why, why? How could you do it? How could you abandon me, shame me, lock me away?”
Marie closed her eyes. “Take a look at me. What would you have done?”
Lillian dropped her arm and closed her eyes to spare herself the horrible sight before her, a wretched, evil, tired, bloodied, decaying woman, who should look no older than herself but instead looked as if she carried every disease, every burden she’d inflicted on others, every sin she’d enacted.
“I, madam, would have done my best. I do not know how, but it would have been better than what you managed. I would not have killed innocents such as Annaluisa and Aileen. I would not have ruined a thousand lives. I would not have bargained with corrupt mortals. I would not have abandoned my baby. I am not you.”
“Ah, but you are so like me. You just don’t understand it yet. I am dying, Lillian. Would you not at least offer me a bit of grace? Surely I lost my soul long ago. My only salvation could be a bit of your compassion.”
“I have nothing to give you. You must rot in Hell knowing you were never loved.”
“I left you alone as long as I could bear.”
Lillian let the words flow through her, let the truth of them fill her every fiber. She said nothing.
“You were mortal, and lovely. You did not know your mother was a monster. They told you she was dead so you wouldn’t look for me. So you would be free. I did something for you.”
“But you let a man take me against my will, and then you killed me again by taking my own flesh and blood. I could have loved a vampire. I do love a vampire. I could not love a monster.”
Marie nodded. “I only wanted…”
Lillian shook her head. “No. There is nothing in the world that will excuse that sin. But I will grant you the thing you gave to me: abandonment. I abandon you. Let George, Phillip, and Sullivan go. Give me my son, whom you find so very uninteresting, and let us carry on with our useless existences as you see them.”
Sullivan closed his eyes for a moment. “I am able to sweeten the bargain, Marie.”
“You?” Madame Lucifer barely turned. “What use are you?”
The giant pulled a chain from around his neck and let the vial swing free. It was hypnotic. Lillian wanted to sway in time with the vial, and she could have sworn it emitted a high hum. “Let them all go, and you will have your immortality, and health, and beauty. All that is slipping through your fingers.”
“Nonsense,” Marie whispered, but she moved closer and extended her hand. “What is that? It is old; it is strong. Is this some voodoo magic of that pathetic woman of yours?”
“Ancient, and yet it is liquid still. The fountain of youth, Madam. Elder blood.”
Chauncey pulled out the stopper and spilled a drop of scarlet onto his finger. Lillian’s pulse quickened, and hunger gnawed at her. She took a step toward the giant, but George ran to her side and held her arm.
“No,” he hissed into her ear. The power of his bond crashed through her, and she nearly fell to her knees. He would not let her move. Phillip stood like a statue, too, frozen by George.
“There are no Elders. There is no Elder blood.” But Marie stood before Chauncey, body shaking. She grabbed his hand and stared at the drop on his finger, and then at the vial.
“His name is Vasil, and he is my Lord, Heaven help me. He favors me and gifted me this vial.”
“Favors you? A lowlife, a cannibal, a Negro?”
Chauncey’s eyes flashed with the first emotion Lillian had seen on his face. Fury. The gentle giant had awoken. “Fine, Marie. I will keep if for myself and for my love. We will rule together with Vasil’s power flowing through our veins.”
“Vasil’s power? Vasil’s poison! If that is powerful Elder blood, take a drop for yourself first, Chauncey.” Marie looked on anxiously, barely able to contain herself.
Chauncey dipped his finger in the vial, closed his eyes, and put the finger in his mouth. He sucked on the blood there. No one moved for a minute, until Chauncey blew out a deep breath and opened his eyes.
Marie knocked him to the ground and sucked at his fingertip. He laughed as she grabbed the vial and emptied it in one swift drink, and she stood and lifted her arms in triumph. For a moment she looked young, and healthy, and almost mortal.
Marie turned to Lillian. “Would you still reject me as I am now? I am as an Elder!”
“I only wanted a mother.”
“Then die. Die motherless.”
Marie extended her hand. Her summons didn’t break George’s bond at first. Lillian held on to him, crying. All was lost. Intentionally or not, Chauncey Sullivan had betrayed them.
; “My baby,” she whispered.
Marie suddenly clutched at her stomach and fell to her knees. Youth faded from her body, and the old, foul stench filled the room. She shrieked and struggled, beckoning at last for Lillian to help her. Her black veins ruptured, and in moments all her blood drained from her body onto the floor. She lay motionless, a hideous shell.
George hugged Lillian, who found she could move again. He spoke over her head to Chauncey.
“Why did you not tell us?”
“You felt the pull of Vasil’s blood before you knew. I didn’t think you wanted Marie’s fate.”
“No, hardly. Why didn’t it have that effect on you?”
“I…I don’t know. I took a chance. He said… Well, it is not important. Perhaps I am not so evil as to be killed by it.”
“As I told you, my good man. You are a good man now, and it is time for you to accept the present.”
“How do you know Vasil, Chauncey?” Phillip sounded skeptical, and Lillian wondered again if they could trust their ally. “What exactly did he say to you?”
“He found me for this purpose.” Sullivan gestured to the goo and ragged clothing on the floor, all that was left of Marie.
“Tell us about him, please!”
“Phillip,” George interrupted, pulling his brother by the arm. “We have time for that later. We must find Jacques. Who knows what allies remain to our foe?”
“Perhaps Doyle and Moran have found the boy,” Lillian volunteered.
“Doyle and Moran?” George shook his head. “You brought them here?”
“No, they came on their own.”
“I don’t know if they are more brave or stupid,” Chauncey said, tiredly washing his palms across his face.
“Come, Lil. There’s nothing more to see here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The congressman and his wife.
Despite their victory, Lillian could not stop shaking. She turned away from George to reach for the pills in her bag as they raced down the main hallway of the house, but she couldn’t find them. Perhaps even medicine wouldn’t cure this case of nerves. They were seeking Jacques. Her son.
George reached back and hurried her along.
“Where is Chauncey?” Lillian asked.
They stopped and listened. The house seemed completely deserted. No children or servants stirred, and they heard no noise of Moran or Doyle. It was as a crypt.
“He’s fled, I suppose,” George said. “I wanted to thank him—”
Phillip held his finger to his mouth, and they were more silent still and heard nothing. “Should we spread out?”
“No!” Lillian said. “There could be any number of traps.”
“Darling, traps can’t hurt us, remember?” George whispered. “At least not ones meant for mortals.”
“I’d prefer all three of us to emerge from this hellish den in one piece, if you please,” Lillian commanded. “Follow me.”
She scurried up the grand staircase, careful not to make a sound and motioning to the men to do the same. George rolled his eyes and took a great leap to the second-floor balcony, and Phillip followed.
“Well, yes, I’m new at this,” she hissed when she arrived next to them.
The first three rooms were empty. George opened the door to the fourth and cursed. Lillian pressed past him, but he put his arm around her waist to hold her back.
“I do believe that is the congressman from the second district.”
“Dear God, he’s been shot?” Phillip seemed more surprised at the manner of death than the murder itself.
“Quiet! And let me through.” Lillian extracted herself from George’s embrace and fell to her knees. “I see no footprints or smudges of mud, and it has been wet these last few days.”
“Blazes, Lil, what does it matter now? We must find Jacques!”
She looked up at George. “There is an order we must follow. If our murderer took Jacques, it would serve us well to know who he is.”
“From a nonexistent shoeprint?”
“It narrows things down, yes!” She crawled toward the body and examined the bullet wound to the temple. “A good shot, indeed. I am not so good. I believe the bullet is still in his head, as I see no second opening.” She turned his head to the side and poked through his bloodied hair.
“How do you put up with this, George?” Phillip joked.
“Shut up. Lil, come on!”
“Did you hear any shots, George? He was killed before you arrived then, which was over an hour ago?”
“At least.”
“Then it was not Mr. Doyle or Johnnie. No, this blood is too dry.” Lillian stood and, with logic, fought back her exhaustion and nausea. “So there may be another.”
They opened four more doors and found only bedrooms and privies.
“Where are they?” she said. “Where are the servants, other children—doesn’t the congressman have children?”
“I’m not sure, but I think not. There are no children’s accoutrements in any of these rooms. But where is Mrs. Coyle?”
Phillip opened the last door in the hallway. “I do believe I’ve found her.”
Lillian winced at the unnatural position of the well-dressed lady on the floor, killed in the same manner as her husband, by gunshot. “Do you think she knew the horrors likely taking place in this house? That her husband hosted a monster? Why did she accept a strange child into her home? What explanation—? Oh!” Sad indeed. Lillian knelt by the woman’s side and lifted the pistol lying by her side. “She has taken her own life, and I assume only after killing her husband. Is there a note of any kind? Any other clue?”
Phillip held up a leaf of paper in his hand and waved it. “She’s good, George.”
“It’s not such a leap, Phillip,” Lillian said. “The gun is next to the body. Perhaps it is only meant to look like a suicide. But I think if you read that note you’ll find that Mrs. Coyle was grievously ashamed that her husband brought another woman’s child into the home and made the only assumption she could. Would that I could have come here first to claim him for my own. I would have saved her the trouble.”
“You think him complicit in the whole plan?” George asked. “Of course, it is his house, and he hosted the men who subverted your life and stole your son. I suppose he waited a bit too long to have Marie turn him. She said mortal men believe themselves in their prime only after they’ve passed it.”
“He is certainly past his prime now,” Lillian remarked. “Phillip?”
George’s brother nodded. “Yes, it is very much as you predicted. Poor thing.”
“Indeed.” Lillian ran her hand over the corpse’s eyes to close the lids and reverently crossed the arms over the chest. “Another of Marie’s victims.”
She was wrong, she also told herself. I do not share anything with her.
“So where are Doyle and Moran?” George asked.
“Hopefully they are at my home with my son, awaiting our return. Likely fearing the worst.”
“Jesus!” said a voice. They turned to find a thin young man, ashen white at the sight of the corpse on the floor.
“Who are you?” Lillian asked. “Ah, wait. A German name I can’t quite recall. Arthur told me.”
The man nodded and kept staring at Mrs. Coyle. Finally, when he’d had enough of the gruesome sight, he gulped and took out a small notebook and tiny pencil. “The door was wide open. I called—you didn’t hear me? I’m looking into… Jesus! I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Stop swearing, sir.” Lillian stared at him in earnest. “What is your name?”
“Mencken. Miss Holmes I presume? I am a reporter for the Morning Herald…well, paid by the story, and only part-time right now— Jesus!”
“Yes, well, you have your story. Phillip, give him the letter. I would suggest you not disturb anything, Mr. Mencken. When you are finished taking notes here, go to the fifth room down the hall and visit Mr. Coyle.”
“He’s dead too? The congressman? D
id you kill him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not a good detective, are you?”
“Did I claim to be a good detective?”
“Well, you’re not a good journalist, as I would think you need detective skills in that profession.”
“Hardly. It’s more a literary sleight of hand.” Mencken shook his head, snapped out of his argumentative state and turned to George. “The congressman is truly dead as well?”
“Hmnn, very much so. You’ll get your story if you solve this one, Mr. Mencken.”
“Half the city has a motive for that murder!” The newspaperman looked from George to Phillip and back to Lillian. “May I ask what you three are doing here?”
“I am looking for a boy. I believe the letter will also make that clear.”
“About seven or eight years old?” Mencken held out his hand at chest height to indicate the boy’s size.
“God, yes! You saw him?”
“Running for all he was worth away from Mr. Doyle and a police officer toward the city. He was crying, and I assumed he stole something from Mr. Doyle. Doyle had sent word for me to meet him here and learn something, but he didn’t even give me as much as a hello as they stormed by. I’m fairly used to that treatment but—”
“How long ago was this?” Lillian had to stop herself from grabbing the man by the lapels and shaking him.
“Well, let’s see. It took me about forty-five minutes to walk here, so maybe thirty minutes ago? If they didn’t catch him, he could be all the way downtown by now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mencken,” George said and grabbed Lillian by the arm. “We must fly.”
Lillian called over her shoulder, “Don’t go into the cellar, Mr. Mencken.”
“Good Lord, what is in the cellar?”
“A vicious hungry hound, foaming at the mouth. It would be the death of you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sullivan.
“I cannot do it.” Chauncey kept reaching for the vial around his neck, hoping it had magically returned. It had burned him for days, but the loss of it felt worse.
He’d rushed back to Lillian’s to remove the temptation of fulfilling Vasil’s orders and to ensure Phoebe’s safety. He’d told her what he could, that he’d destroyed Marie and never loved her; he’d been faithful all the while. Phoebe had wept in his arms, relieved and ashamed of her doubts at his fidelity.
