The Midnight Guardian

by Sarah-Jane Stratford

  For the agonizing seventeen minutes that elapsed while one of the men went to fetch a nurse, Brigit repeated her plea, sending every neural force in her out over the water and deep into the castle. She could not have been more grateful for Mors’s gift, knowing it made the message that much stronger and clearer. Eamon would hear it, would know what to do, but would it work?

  The room was eerily silent, and Brigit was grateful. Deep inside her, Eamon whispered, “I’m here. Listen.” She opened every closed pore and listened as though she’d spent the last millennium deaf.

  The music melted inside her. She could feel it worming its way through her flesh, tickling a path into the silent stream of her veins. The still heart began to stir, a bear waking from hibernation, sniffing the air. Brigit fought to keep the exhilarated smile from her lips as her heart gave one tentative beat, then another, then another. She felt the music in her fingers, clumsy as she’d ever been when toying with any of the instruments, she was suddenly a master puppeteer, with her own veins as a marionette. A dam unblocked and the blood dripped gingerly, then faster, a river running free under the power of music that indeed knew how to stir blood. The heart, the arteries—Brigit wondered what other of her organs might dive into the novelty of a working circulatory system.

  I am an organist indeed.

  She would like to see any maestro have more power than she did right now. She yearned to tell Alma what was happening, how Eamon was rescuing them, but she only smiled at the ashen girl and removed her coat and jacket and rolled up her sleeves when the nurse came in and nodded to her.

  Doctor Schultze was trembling with heady anticipation as he approached his prey at last. His smiling eyes were hard on Brigit’s and he laid his plump, stubby fingers on her wrist.

  “Well, well,” he intoned with heavy sarcasm. “What haven’t we here, isn’t this …” He paused, frowning.

  Alma swiveled to Brigit, just in time to see her nostrils flare slightly with the effort of holding back a guffaw. She was otherwise quite placid, politely interested in the results of the doctor’s examination.

  The doctor kept his hand tight on her wrist. The other men exchanged glances and the official coughed.

  “Will this take much longer, Doctor?”

  “I … I …” Doctor Schultze sputtered.

  The nurse, who had been recruited unwillingly from her hospital job, impatiently seized Brigit’s other wrist. She held it for a moment, then stared at the doctor.

  “I do not understand, señor,” she began, and the other men, especially the hunters, leaned forward eagerly. “It is a good, regular pulse. For what else are you looking?”

  The doctor thrust his hand at Brigit’s neck. The other men edged forward as though to stop him and the nurse exclaimed, but he wanted to feel that pulse. He glared at her, his fingers digging into her neck.

  “This is not possible,” he growled.

  “I beg your pardon?” Brigit inquired, sweetly polite.

  “This is not possible!”

  He tore at her blouse, wielding his stethoscope like a stake, but now the nurse and the Spanish officers pulled him away with shouts and expletives.

  “Check for yourself then, check her heart! Whatever magic she can wield, she cannot make a dead heart beat, she cannot!”

  The little official nodded to the nurse, who grunted with exasperation, snatched the stethoscope, and held it to Brigit’s heart.

  “Breathe, señorita,” she instructed tenderly. The women looked at each other, a collusive glance understanding the passionate stupidity of men and their own inability to change it. Brigit took a deep, slow breath. And another, for good measure.

  The nurse handed the stethoscope back to Doctor Schultze and spoke with deep disdain.

  “A perfectly strong, healthy girl. May I return to my work now?”

  The official, red-faced and furious, was about to dismiss her when the doctor howled, pointing at the children.

  “They are Jews! They are Jews trying to escape Germany! Their father is a known criminal, the entire family is to be arrested! You dare call yourself good Catholics and let little Jewish rats go to spread their germs abroad?”

  Brigit stood, buttoning herself up. She was still focusing her energy on the charade of her body and sensed it was wiser to remain silent and let the doctor tie his own noose.

  “Now, Doctor,” the little official remonstrated. “Their papers have been checked twice and all is in order. Or perhaps you think the Swiss and Spanish are not as thorough in checking papers as you Germans?”

  “Never mind papers, never mind! There is proof, better proof! Pull down the boy’s trousers, you shall see he is circumcised.”

  Brigit’s heart leaped ahead of her control, pounding so hard she thought she might faint. The nurse looked at her again, a long, searching look. Then she looked at the children.

  “Well? Do it, woman!” Doctor Schultze looked like he was about to strike her.

  The nurse sneered at him and lied blithely.

  “And what if he is circumcised? My own son had to be circumcised at three, a urinary infection; these things happen. These healthy people have business in Ireland, and I have sick people to attend in my hospital. Good day to you, gentlemen.”

  She nodded warmly at Brigit as she swept out the door.

  Brigit knew better by now than to feel relief as they boarded the evening ferry. No sooner were they settled than she could hear the vitriolic shouts of the doctor outside. She took the children to the railing and saw with a sinking heart that he and his men were being allowed aboard the full boat, even though the little official was arguing strenuously, hating the extra paperwork that was now being foisted upon him.

  “It’s a whole night and a morning before we’re there.” Alma fretted.

  And it’s Ireland.

  Brigit shook her head.

  “I’ll take care of it. There is ever more to me than he thinks.”

  Oh, Eamon. I hope that’s true.

  She hadn’t slept in days and knew she dare not blink for the next twelve hours.

  The doctor, Weber and Lange, and the lurking Owen joined Brigit and the children on the deck. The two parties glared at each other in the dimming light.

  “Well, Fräulein,” the doctor began, barely suppressing his rage, “it seems our paths continue together yet a little longer.”

  “Yes,” Brigit said, her voice low and melodic. “Won’t that make a pleasant night for us all?”

  Chapter 20

  Berlin. August 1940.

  “Turn over,” the man urged, prodding her with the stake.

  Brigit did, blinking mud out of her eyes. The stake, mounted in an elegant old crossbow, had a smell that made her nauseous. Its core was two intertwined hairs of a long-lived vampire couple who had died together, at this hunter’s hand. The only sort of stake that could fell a millennial. From it, her gaze traveled up to the man’s face. A haggard face, older than it ought to be. The brown eyes were tired, but there was warmth in them. The energy he radiated was one of sweetness, something not expected in a powerful hunter. Brigit was intrigued.

  To her astonishment, he smiled, and extended a hand to help her up. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it. She was unsteady on her feet and absently brushed the dirt from her face and clothes, strangely uncomfortable.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he told her. “You can bathe and change later.”

  For one brief, bewildering moment, she thought he was preparing her for a public execution, although that was not the way of true hunters, which this man certainly was. He had some other plan she couldn’t fathom. The stake was only to get her attention and keep her from fighting. Or perhaps he hadn’t expected her to be alone. Mors could not have felt this man coming, but she was suddenly, wildly glad he was gone.

  The hunter’s demeanor was almost friendly, but still wary. He gestured with the crossbow for her to walk in front of him. He knew his lore well. She wouldn’t run. No millennial would die from a
blow to the back.

  They walked a long way in silence. Brigit was too tired and hungry to talk and the hunter seemed lost in thought. At last, they reached a staircase leading into a cellar, which in turn led into a small, warm house. The hunter bade Brigit sit and sat across from her, laying the crossbow on his knee.

  “I am Leon Arunfeld. Ours was one of the legendary hunting families.”

  “Was?” Brigit asked.

  “In Germany. Prussia, before. The records will be expunged, I believe.”

  He excused himself and went into the kitchen.

  Brigit stared around the room, too dazed to wonder why she was there. A tantalizing smell wound up her nostrils and the demon twitched pitifully.

  Leon reentered, bearing a tray of tea. He smiled at Brigit and poured her a warm cup of blood. She blinked, took it, and sipped. Bliss. The best food she’d had in months.

  “I’ve been saving it. Warmed over, but still potent, I should think. It’s mine.”

  Her mouth dropped open and he smiled.

  “I do some pharmacology, too. Did. I know about slow lettings. I’ve been planning this moment for a while.”

  Brigit set aside her cup.

  “You know who and what I am, and I you. This isn’t just a mad tea party, I’m sure.”

  Leon smiled, opened a door, and beckoned. Two children came into the room. The little boy kept his head down, but the girl held hers arrogantly high and was quite equal to meeting Brigit’s eyes.

  “I waited too long,” Leon told her, as casually as though they were talking about the weather. “I was very foolish. They had coerced me and my wife to help train the Nachtspeere and promised us security …”

  He trailed off and looked away, his face pink. Brigit sought to spare him further discomfort.

  “We know. The refugee vampires told us about it. You were placed in an impossible—”

  Leon held up a hand to stop her.

  “Don’t try to exonerate me.” He looked at the children and gestured for them to leave the room, waiting until the door closed to continue. “They wouldn’t let me send them out on the Kindertransport. The children are the best leverage the government has over me and they know I know they’ll stop at nothing.” He took a sip of tea and stared Brigit hard in the eye. “They said a vampire killed my wife, my Lena. It wasn’t true. I could tell by the wounds. They killed her, and probably knew I knew. I said nothing, of course, because that was when I saw how foolish I’d been to stay. Wicked, even. I did much of their dirty work for them and lost my dearest love in return.”

  “But I don’t understand. What did they have to gain by killing your wife?”

  “They knew by then that I was wavering. I had cleared the way for some of my neighbors to emigrate. Under the guise of flushing out vampires, I warned more Jews. The Nazis wanted to show me they meant business. And Lena was pregnant. If they knew that, well, one less Jew coming into the world was probably just a bit of gravy.”

  Brigit wished she’d held her tongue. She gazed around the room, her eyes automatically skimming the rows of leather-bound books on the shelves. At the very top were legend books, dozens, going back several centuries.

  “When did you find out about us?”

  Leon’s lip curled in an unsettling facsimile of Mors’s own half-smile.

  “I had my suspicions, once I heard about General von Kassell and the train. And that mess in the theater. Millennials, of course. I knew there were still some in the Russian far east, but this was all too elegant, too artful to be anything other than the work of the British tribunal. I could not understand it, so I refused to believe it until it was proved.”

  Brigit sipped at the blood, listening hard.

  “You will have been told the Nazis recruited several true hunters. One was a bit more zealous than I might have expected. Likes the party’s line. Knew his Irish lore and it was Cleland, of all vampires, that he recognized. Dumb luck on his part. And since others must be with him, who else but Brigit and Mors? Swefred and Meaghan were a bit of a surprise, though. Well, so I volunteered to track you all, drew up a plausible plan that would end with very public deaths, good examples. It wasn’t easy. But I am the best, so they trusted me.”

  “Public deaths. Like what happened yesterday?”

  “You did well, but they saw you and Mors come back from Paris. They knew you must be planning something big. It took them a while, but eventually they guessed. They are clever, the Nazis. I had to be a part of it. I didn’t want to, but there was no choice.”

  “How did the Irish come to be there?”

  “Oh, they rather like the Nazis. My colleague gave the word and they came to help. They knew the Nachtspeere couldn’t manage with just two true hunters to help.”

  Leon leaned forward and smiled in earnest.

  “I’ll tell you this, your Meaghan cast a killing blow. There are perhaps only four Nachtspeere left alive of the entire squadron, and Ireland’s ranks have been badly damaged. She deserves commemoration in your world.”

  Brigit returned his smile and hoped that Meaghan, wherever she was, knew what she had done.

  “How did you manage to escape?” Brigit wanted to know. The man was wholly unscathed.

  “I slipped away in the commotion, once Swefred was hit. I saw what was coming and knew what I had to do.”

  Struck with another idea, Brigit gripped his hand.

  “Cleland! Did you see what—”

  But he was already shaking his head.

  “It was you I needed to follow. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to Cleland.”

  Brigit sank back in her chair, her hand pressed to her mouth.

  I will not weep for him until I know tears are warranted.

  Then she realized what he’d said.

  “You needed me?”

  Leon stared at the floor for several minutes, his shoulders slumped. Bitterness emanated from him. At last he looked up and spoke flatly.

  “I need you to guide my children to England. My sister is there. I’m done, a blind man could see that, but they might get out, if you help them.”

  Brigit gaped.

  “You … you want … you want a vampire to take care of your children?”

  “Not just a vampire. The great Brigantia, later Brigit. A millennial of the British tribunal. If anyone can give them safe passage, it’s you. I have all the papers ready, I have clothes and money, and the children are packed. The main thing is getting on the train undetected. The house is watched, but there are several good routes through the sewers they don’t know.”

  “But I—”

  “Can protect them.”

  Brigit wanted to laugh. The sheer absurdity of it was too much. She admired his forethought, even appreciated his trust, but it was ridiculous.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “You came here to help.”

  Hunter and vampire looked each other hard in the eye.

  “We came to avenge our kind.” Brigit corrected him.

  “Oh, yes. Destroy those who would so systematically, wantonly, destroy you. But then that changed. Then you wanted to obliterate the Nazis for the good of humanity.”

  “And if so? What difference does it make? We failed.” Brigit drained her cup and glared around the pretty little room.

  Leon was quiet for a long time.

  “So. You have to go home, and I’ve made it easy.”

  “Easy!” Brigit exploded. “A known vampire escorting the Jewish children of a known—and doomed—hunter? Preposterous. And I couldn’t protect them with my full abilities, not when I’m playing human. That’s been our problem all along. Or anyway, it was one of them. We’ve had quite a few problems. But no, if we’re done then we’re done, and I’m going home via stealth, not in the open and not with baggage. I’m sorry, but I have too much to lose.”

  “Yes. A reason to get home.” Leon examined his crossbow, a slim, fine piece of craftsmanship. “Eamon, of course, is not a millennial, else he would
have been here as well. His strength is great, certainly, but he remains easier to destroy than you, if assiduously hunted.”

  He looked hard at Brigit to see that she was listening.

  “You know we are less concerned with older vampires, as they don’t tend to wreak quite as much havoc as new ones. Too much work, not enough reward. And, of course, these are difficult times. Still, arrangements could be made. If necessary.”

  Brigit ran a finger around the edge of the cup, imagining it dissolving into invisible molecules.

  “So, blackmail.”

  “If you’ll forgive the crudeness. They are my darlings, my blood. I must have them safe. They must grow, and thrive. Even if I won’t see it.”

  Brigit’s mind raced. Eamon. She would protect Eamon with everything she had and more. And he was so strong and so careful. It must be an empty threat. She and Eamon could destroy hundreds of hunters if they had to. She could not be a guardian to human children.

  “Meet them properly,” Leon invited, calling the children back in.

  She didn’t want to. She’d never had any interactions with children and was not interested in starting now. But there was no choice. She looked at them. Handsome little things. Unformed, and full of possibility. They intrigued her.

  Leon laid his hands on each child’s shoulders as he gave their names, thus preventing awkward attempts at handshaking that no one wanted.

  “This is Alma, and this is Lukas.”

  Brigit was drawn to the girl, with her flashing, contemptuous eyes. The eyes were enormous, the color and texture of rich dark chocolate. The girl stood on the precipice between childhood and adulthood, the glowing energy inside her only just beginning to take hold.

  “Hello Alma,” Brigit ventured.

  As the name left her lips, she flushed hot, then cold, and clutched at the edge of her chair. Alma. A name she’d never spoken, and hadn’t even heard in centuries, but knew only too well. Alma, and a small brother. Jews marked for death. The longer Brigit looked at Alma, the more she saw Eamon. She looked deeper into the eyes, feeling them open, feeling herself sucked through a vortex back into her own history, to the gaping wound in the sky above the smoldering tower in York.