Descent into Dust

by Jacqueline Lepore

  All I’d ever wanted when I was a child was to be ordinary, not the daughter of a madwoman. I’d wanted to be accepted, to have a family who loved me. I nearly achieved it, fleetingly. But they were all in there, content, unaware of what would come tonight. And I, once again, remained outside.

  How strange that I didn’t feel saddened by the thought. There were far more important things on earth than chatting cozily by a fire. I suddenly knew I’d rather be here, preparing to face a nightmare, than in there with them placing tiny stitches in soft cotton and helping Alyssa dream up names. Mine might be a lonely existence, but my blood thrummed and my eyesight was keen and each and every sense alerted me to a scent in the air, the step of a hare in the underbrush, the slight temperature change in the breeze as it flew across the back of my neck. I felt incredibly alive, every nerve dancing in anticipation, and yet calm, too.

  I had done everything I could to prepare. Let Marius come.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  It was the Eve of Saint George and once the sun grew heavy and sank to the horizon, we began our incursion into Dulwich Manor. Sebastian made certain all the necessary doors were left open, and it was nothing to slip inside. Valerian, Father Luke, and I were to go in separately and at different times, moving through the evening shadows of the old house, using the back stairs to the third-floor nursery rooms where Sebastian waited to show us to an empty room situated under the attics.

  I was second to arrive. Valerian was already in place, with his shadowed features set in a fierce countenance. He seemed cold at first, making me nervous. I had anticipated he was likely to be still angry at my having left him without an explanation of where I was going and why. Perhaps there was something desperate in the look I sent back to him, for he appeared to relent. He took my hands briefly. The gesture was perfectly proper, but it felt intimate as his eyes softened only a little as they locked mine. I was deeply glad for his presence—and for his silence as he nodded and released my hands. In our own way, we understood one another perfectly.

  Father Luke was next. He had never seemed larger, a classical god dressed in black cleric’s costume. His massive chest and shoulders strained the cloth of his plain jacket, and his face was pale above the Roman collar. His hair was a bit wild from the elements, and it made him seem less civilized, more the warrior.

  “Nasty weather,” he murmured as he entered. He said nothing more, but took the loop of beads that hung at his waist and retired to the corner to pray.

  In a short while, Sebastian arrived to transfer us to the nursery. “I will bring you, one at a time, into the schoolroom, which is empty. When we’ve made it in there without being detected, I will stand guard and you may go on into Henrietta’s room.” He directed Valerian to follow him first. Father Luke remained in prayer. When Sebastian returned, he tapped the priest on his shoulder. “Come,” he urged, leaving me alone in the room.

  I gripped Mary’s pouch which Sebastian had stolen for me, steeling myself against the sudden surge of nerves. Now that the hour was upon me, I found I was afraid. Terribly, terribly afraid. I tried to comfort myself with silent platitudes, but my soul would not quit its quaking at the thought of facing Marius again. I cringed at the recollection of how the foul touch of his mind had left me feeling polluted. Defiled. Nausea rose like a wave, and a terrible thought came to me. Could he have that power over me again?

  Panic gripped me as racing thoughts darted in and out of my mind. I was Dhampir, and, after all, the word itself meant “little vampire.” I was touched by the same force that had made me. My gifts were sourced from the same place as his. It was in the blood, our blood.

  There is something of the vampire in you.

  He had tricked me before, caught me completely unawares. He was far too clever for me to know exactly what he was capable of, and what he might do.

  My hand closed over the pouch, and I thought of his blood, dried and rusty on the tip of the slender switch of holy hawthorn. He’d left his blood behind. I knew he could never have meant to do so. He’d made a great error then.

  Maybe he was not so invincible.

  And as I thought of it, I began to think about what Valerian had told me of the magic of vampire blood. Acting quickly on an impulse, I unwrapped it from its oilcloth, a startling idea having seized hold of my cognitions. If a vampire could increase its invincibility by consuming the blood of another being, would not I as a Dhampir have the same power? Could this inoculate me against the intrusion of his will? Could it give me some advantage, some power, to drink of his blood?

  I heard Sebastian’s step in the hall, and in that moment, I acted. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and touched the bloodied tip to my tongue. Immediately, my eyes flew open. I snatched away the stick, violently repulsed by what I’d done. Had I just made a dreadful mistake? Had I only polluted myself, ruined myself?

  Sebastian opened the door. I folded the oilcloth over the switch and dropped it in my bag. “We are ready for you,” he said.

  The oil lamp threw a wild shadow up the wall as he turned, illuminating the lintel over the entrance to the nurseries. I’d noticed the Latin inscription there before, but seeing it again was like a blow.

  Aut vincere aut mori. Either to conquer or to die.

  It was nearly ten o’clock. We had no idea when Marius might arrive, but it stood to reason that he would wait until deeper into the night. His past sojourns to Henrietta had been in the dead hours when darkness and the sleep of the house’s inhabitants aided his stealthy incursions.

  We had no light with us, but I could see well enough as we moved quietly into the little room. I was getting good at sneaking about in the dark, I reflected. Father Luke stood by the window, Valerian by the door leading to Miss Harris’s old room. I took my post by the schoolroom door.

  On the little bed, Henrietta’s covers were tousled, as if she slept fitfully. Then my breath caught, and I peered closer. A cold wash of fear rushed through me as I saw Henrietta’s bed was empty.

  “She’s not here!” The sound of my voice in the stillness had the effect of an explosion. For a moment, we all froze, and then Valerian struck a match. Candle glow swelled to an orb of light as he bent to the bed, confirming that Henrietta was not within. The sharp sting of his curse hit the air. “He’s taken her. We are too late.”

  Father Luke fell into step with me as Valerian led us from the room. “Where are you going?” the priest demanded.

  “Can you not guess?” Valerian threw behind him, not slowing for an instant.

  The priest understood. At once, he spun on his heel and fled through the nursery and into the hall, no longer concerned with stealth or taking care not to be heard. The sound of their footsteps on the wooden stairs thundered, rolling through the house to the far corners. Mary and Roger, Alyssa, Alan—they all would hear the disturbance. But quiet and anonymity were luxuries we could no longer afford.

  I was about to set flight after, but I remembered the stakes I’d had Sebastian hide in the room for me. Turning back, I scrabbled under the bed to draw out the five crudely crafted implements of destruction. I had to move fast to catch up with the others and could only manage one stake in each hand. I hated to do it, but I had to leave the other three behind.

  In the stables, Father Luke was already astride while Sebastian and Fox were fetching mounts for themselves. Father Luke held the reins masterfully, his mount a large, powerful creature. It skirted sideways under his direction and he held his hand down to me. “There is no time to saddle two horses. Come with me. Mr. Fox will follow.”

  I lost no time. Transferring the stake in my left hand to my right, I gave him my freed hand. He grasped it and hauled me up as easily as a sack of grain.

  I was barely seated when he kicked his horse forward. I clasped him tightly, swallowing my innate terror of horses. We rode hard, the sound of heavy hooves thundering in my ears as we raced madly toward The Sanctuary.

  Chapter Thirty

  The plain where the head of t
he Great Stone Serpent had once lain was bathed in a soft moon glow that filtered down through the misty air. It somehow suffused the light, magnified it, so that the eerie effect was sulfurous and thick. Father Luke dismounted, pulling me down as soon as his feet hit solid ground, and we turned together to face the emptiness.

  I glanced about anxiously as we walked toward the tree. Henrietta was not in sight. “We must put protections in place,” I said as I laid the stakes down and began to rummage in my satchel bag.

  Father Luke peered down at me from his great height. “I have already done so. I knew if we failed at the house, Marius had to come here, for this is where the ritual must take place.” His darting eyes scanned the area. The mists were thick, and gathering closer around us. He added in a grim monotone, “The blood is the life.”

  The impact of that landed like a punch squarely in my stomach. Henrietta’s blood, to raise the evil imprisoned in the tree once again to life. I felt the flutter of panic once again, and my confidence wavered.

  I straightened and faced him warily. “You never expected Henrietta to be in her bed, did you?”

  He looked at me blankly. “Really, Mrs. Andrews. Marius has not survived millennia to reach the power he has by making such predictable moves.”

  I was becoming angry. “Then why did you not tell us this?”

  He remained calm against my snapping accusation. “Did you and Mr. Fox tell me everything? Besides, how could I be sure what the beast would do? You are Dhampir, and at Hess’s house, the vampire touched your mind. I expected you would know what he would do.” His eyes narrowed. “I see I was in error. Thank God I took precautions.”

  “You are a knight of the Order of Knights of Saint Michael of the Wing. I was warned I should not trust you.”

  “Yes,” he snapped, and at last I saw a glimpse of his rage unleashed. “I am, and well trained to understand that I must work alone and yet I have betrayed my vows. I knew all along what my mission would be, and exactly what I am meant to do, but I allowed my compassion to alter the course. I was moved by your love for the child. My pity for you, for that little girl, nearly cost us all because it swayed me off the course I made a sacred vow to follow.”

  My blood grew chill at his hardened expression. “What are you going to do?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I was suddenly fearful that Valerian had been right all along, that we possibly had an enemy in our midst.

  The priest seemed to pull his self-control around him. “I will have one and only one unique opportunity to kill the creature when it is first revived. Like a newborn, it will be weak and vulnerable, but only for a short while. That is when Marius himself plans to act, to overcome the fledgling demon and devour it. This is when we strike.”

  I was nearly breathless with horror. “No. If we allow Marius to advance that far, it will already have been too late. It is Henrietta’s blood—the blood of the most innocent—that he must use to resurrect that thing you guard. If you wait until then…My God, you cannot mean to allow him to kill her.”

  His jaw worked. I could see regret warring with determination in his cold, hard gaze. “It is only then that I will be able to destroy the evil that will be unleashed.”

  I stepped away sharply, reeling from this. “What kind of priest are you?” I accused. But I knew the answer to that, had known the moment I spied his hulking form in the cemetery. Father Luke was a trained warrior, ready to make any sacrifices he deemed necessary.

  I held out a finger to him, my voice ringing with resolve. “I am going to save her. Do you hear me, priest?”

  I heard Valerian approaching. I spun away from Father Luke and ran to meet them.

  Valerian swung off his horse before it was at a full stop. “Any sign of him?” he called as he rushed to join us.

  “Nothing yet,” I told him. “Where is Sebastian? Is he coming?”

  “He is right behind me. He should be here momentarily.”

  Suddenly, Father Luke shouted behind me. “It is gone! The crucifix I placed here!” He stalked the empty plain, circling the wicked thorns of the tree, then hunkered down, taking off his leather gloves to touch the ground. “The holy water’s been washed away. Someone has undone the seal I laid earlier.”

  Valerian glanced around. “It could not be Marius. He could not touch any of it.”

  Father Luke stood, his grim face frozen. “Good God, I did not foresee this.”

  I dug into my bag and drew out a glass flask. “I have water drawn from the Chalice Well from Glastonbury Tor. And, look, I have brought stakes cut from the Holy Hawthorn of Joseph of Aramithea. I only have the two I could carry from the house.”

  After a moment of stunned silence, Father Luke was the first to speak. His tone was quiet, full of awe. “Of course. Mrs. Andrews, that was quite brilliant.” He held out his hand. “Now, we must not waste time. I am a priest. I made my confession earlier and am in a state of grace. Despite your opinion of me, it should be me to use this holy water to anoint the area. If you will allow it.”

  Those seconds in which I had to examine my heart to know the right thing to do seemed to take an eternity. Of course I did not trust Father Luke. I very nearly despised him at this moment for his willingness to risk my precious Henrietta. But the instinct in me I was learning to trust bode me to hand the vial into his outstretched palm. My hand shook as I did it. Some of it was rage. Most of it was pure terror that I was making a grave and disastrous mistake.

  Valerian and I watched in silence as Father Luke bowed his head and knelt. After a moment of prayer, he began to minister the ablutions that would purify the ground around the tree.

  “You could have told me about Glastonbury,” Valerian said, casting me a sideways glance. His voice softened. “Emma, I wish—”

  A shriek brought us both up short as a woman flew out of the mists, and in the instant before she flung herself at Father Luke, I recognized Miss Harris. She was screaming the vilest filth. We watched, stunned, as she grabbed the priest, who had been caught unawares. He stumbled, and, to my horror, the vial of holy water fell to the ground.

  Valerian dashed to aid Father Luke. I went for the vial, but I was not quick enough. It lay on its side, a rusty puddle under its mouth. I snatched it up, examining it anxiously. The light was not good, but I saw much of it had been wasted.

  Whirling, I faced the desperate wraith that had once been a devoted nursemaid, ready to vent my rage. The sight of her turned my blood to ice. Her face was raked with wounds, blood matted in her hair. She bared her teeth, threatening to bite. She was still human, but she was wild. Mad.

  “Emma!” Valerian shouted. “She is strigoi mort. She must be destroyed. My bag. Give me my bag.”

  I froze. My God, had my mother been like this? Was this the madness my father had waited to see manifest in me?

  “Help me,” Valerian shouted as he wrestled her to the ground. “Emma!”

  I did not want to approach that thing that had been Miss Harris. I was thinking too much of my own legacy. I could not move. Father Luke was the one who gave Valerian the implements he needed and I watched numbly as he drove his stake into the nursemaid’s body, then drew an ax to do what was needed to separate her head from her body. I stood close enough to be spattered by her blood, to feel its heat as it was flung against my flesh.

  Father Luke drew me away. In his eyes I saw something that echoed my own fears. I was ashamed of my inability to help Valerian. I had frozen. What had happened?

  A soft voice drifted on the mists. “Miss Harris? Where are you? I’m frightened.”

  “Henrietta!” I cried. I snapped out of my paralysis and spun in a circle, listening. I could not tell from where the voice had come. “Henrietta?” I called again, looking first in one direction, then another.

  But she did not answer me. Of course, she would not. She was afraid of me. My mind worked quickly. “Here, darling, here is Miss Harris.” I shut my mind against the gruesome corpse that had been the maid she’d so trusted. “She wish
es you to come to her.”

  I saw a shape, a hint in the obscuring fog, just at the edge of the tree line, and was about to go toward it when Valerian shouted, his voice ringing with command, “Emma! Luke!”

  I swung around, and found myself confronted by a great wind. Hot air, blazing with an acrid scent that stung the nostrils, blasted into our faces and there before us was Marius in his most magnificent incarnation, a lordly figure, caped and massive and gleaming a great, victorious smile.

  My eyes blinked to try and decipher what I saw, for his feet were not on the ground. It was as if he were descending from a great height. Then I saw that he had flown, and was landing smoothly, as graceful as a heron gliding onto the surface of a glassy pond. In his arms he held the limp body of a child.

  The dark-headed little girl was remotely familiar. Then I knew it was Margaret Linden, the girl from the village, Mrs. Bedford’s friend’s child. Another soul, another innocent, caught in this evil. I admonished myself for not realizing Marius might have had other children he had singled out as surety against our work to thwart him.

  Things began to happen very quickly. Marius did not speak, nor so much as looked at us, and I, having learned my lesson, did not look at him. He slid with the child to the tree, and I rushed forward, stopped by the sight of something there. A darkness thicker than the night around us began to unfold. A stench began to fill the air, driving the three of us—Valerian, Father Luke, and myself—back with the shock of it.

  Marius closed in, his face alight with sickening glee. “Come, general. Our father has sent me. Rise now at long last…”

  The chant floated in the air, its wheedling, desperate tone raising the hackles along the back of my neck. Marius knelt before the disgusting fog. It seethed impatiently and Marius crooned to it, beckoning the creature to take strength and come forth.