“No, wait until you’ve had some milk and sandwiches first. You don’t want to be sick again, do you?”
Lukas grumbled and stuck his head around the blind that Brigit had closed so he could look out the window.
She and Eamon exchanged amused and sad smiles. The one thing they could never share. It was something a female vampire rarely thought of, but they all knew their demons lodged in the womb, in the most comfortable and reasonable empty space inside.
After the children had eaten, and Brigit escorted them to the tiny lavatory to wash up, they all settled in the cushions. Lukas slept. Alma struggled to stay awake, watching Brigit and Eamon.
Brigit seemed a very different creature. She was still alert, aware of the daylight outside, but more concerned that Alma and Lukas be safely delivered into their relatives’ hands. Alma knew they would be all right now. England would cradle them. But Brigit wouldn’t rest until she’d seen the job through to the very end. She was, however, more relaxed than Alma had yet seen her. Her head fit perfectly in the hollow of Eamon’s neck, her hand rested against his heart. His own hand caressed hers, his other arm tight around her, fingers on her elbow, his cheek leaning on her head. Their eyes were half-closed, looking at nothing. Alma remembered seeing her parents like this once, caught in a moment of wordless conversation, the picture of a love so deep, it was almost painful to witness.
When they crossed the border into England, Eamon nudged Brigit and smiled at the children.
“Welcome home.”
Home. It was Brigit and Eamon’s home, but Alma suddenly registered what she hadn’t allowed herself to think since the day her father told her what he was planning. She would probably never set foot in Germany again. The land of her birth was foreign, hostile territory now. It didn’t want her. If she was to live, her life would be here. She would make it a good life. She would do her father proud.
Her eyes found Brigit’s. Cleared of fear, concern, and pretense, Alma could see how amazingly old those sparkling young eyes were. There was a lost world inside them, wild places, great unknowns, clear air, and a starry sky that roared out over a wondering world. There was laughter and love and something that had to be called humanity in those eyes. It made Alma’s scalp prickle, and she turned away.
As she did, she accidentally looked at Eamon and saw tears sparking in his eyes as he drank in herself and Lukas. He radiated a peculiar warmth, and his soft smile made her want to smile in return. She could feel him wanting to say something, even to reach out to her, but he would not be so presumptuous. She found herself liking him for that.
Brigit wished she could know what Alma was thinking. She wouldn’t ask, she respected the girl’s privacy, but she wanted to know. She wondered if Alma looked at Eamon and saw a tenuous thread to her own history, understood that he had done as much as she herself had done to see that Alma and Lukas had come to this place. What Owen had said was true: Firstborns do become hunters. There was immense power in Alma, and strength, but Brigit saw glowing light behind the dark eyes, too much light to be confined solely to the darkness.
Will I see you again? And if I do, will it be in the moment before I die at your hand? Or would I see you as you cut down Eamon? He and I have saved you, but that does not make us human. We are still your natural enemy. Or do we have a bond now, you and I? Your life is about to unfold before you. What path will you take?
The conductor came through to see that the blackout curtains were drawn. There was no bombing tonight, or not yet, but this was the new order. The soldiers’ songs were louder, defying bombers and the probability of imminent death. Soon, too soon, they’d be in the throes of battle. They would sing while they could.
Alma and Lukas changed into fresh clothes and Brigit supervised one last wash. They were all silent as they pulled into the dimly lit station, the boisterous soldiers pushing around them, shouting and laughing. Brigit helped the children down the stairs and they kept near her, looking for the couple who must be looking for them. Brigit didn’t realize she was trembling until Eamon laid a steadying hand on her shoulder.
A woman who Brigit saw must be Leon’s sister approached them. She turned and called to her husband, who was farther down the platform. He hurried to join his wife. They avoided the vampires’ eyes, bending down to greet the children.
“Alma, Lukas, we are so happy to see you.” Their aunt spoke in slightly accented English.
Lukas clung shyly to Brigit and his aunt bit her lip. Brigit knelt and put her hands on the boy’s shoulders.
“This is your auntie and uncle, Lukas. They will take superb care of you and you will be very happy. Go on, now. Let them take you home.”
He hugged Brigit and she hugged him back, longer and more tightly then she meant to, feeling his little heart beat against her, strong and healthy.
His aunt sucked in her breath, and as Brigit nudged Lukas to his new guardians, she saw them brush at him, as though wiping off filth.
Brigit nodded, standing awkwardly and backing toward Eamon. Alma stood between the two couples, hesitating. Her aunt extended a hand.
“Come, dear, we’ve got to get a taxi yet and it’s difficult in the blackout.”
Alma took a step toward her aunt, then hurried back to Brigit and took her by the hand, pulling so that Brigit knelt to her and they were eye to eye.
“Thank you.”
Brigit smiled and touched the girl’s round cheek. She feared seeing her again, but ached at the realization that she would not see the woman emerge from under the child. She knew that woman would be something incredible to see.
Alma didn’t move and Brigit leaned closer and whispered to her.
“There are three things in this world that make a life whole. They are perhaps all the same thing. Happiness, peace, and love. If you have them, you have everything. I wish these things for you, in abundance. Them, and a long life in which to enjoy them. Go well, Alma. Go well.”
Alma’s mouth was quivering. She nodded, touched her lips quickly to Brigit’s cheek, then turned and ran to join her family. None of them looked back.
Brigit and Eamon watched until the family rounded the corner to the taxi bay. Eamon slipped his hand in Brigit’s and guided her outside.
London under siege was a chilling thing, and Brigit pressed closer to Eamon, not feeling that she was, indeed, home. The city was frightened, huddling under the blanket of darkness that brought no protection. The blackness reminded Brigit of the world she’d loved hundreds of years ago. But she’d lost her taste for it. She liked a world where lights twinkled in the streets. She straightened her shoulders, ready for yet another fight. She was going to see that world come back.
Eamon turned her to face him. She’d seen too much, he registered with a pang, noting the aching and sadness etching her features. She knew without having to ask that there was no word from Mors or Cleland. Her fears and disappointments hung heavily on her shoulders. But she was still his Brigit. He touched her cheek and saw the ancient sparkle. There was a new beauty in her face, new terrain to explore.
“In all the years to come, I don’t think I can ever tell you how happy I am that you’ve come home.”
Brigit couldn’t answer. Her heart was too full. She wished they could step two hundred and fifty years into the future, into the greater safety of Eamon’s millennial, but like so much else, it was impossible. There was no choice but to treasure the present.
They kissed, and Brigit concentrated on the kiss. A kiss without beginning or end, a sweet elixir sweeping them into endless joy.
We still have this. And it is everything.
“Come, good lady, the bright day is done, and we are for the dark.”
She smiled. Tomorrow, she would hear all the grim news of the war and what was happening in England and abroad. Tomorrow, she would tell everyone all the disheartening details of the last week, the last month, the last year. Tomorrow, she would join the vigil of hope for Mors and Cleland. But for tonight, she and Eamon wrapped the
ir arms around each other and headed off home through the dark.
About the Typeface
The typeface used for the title page and chapter headings in this book is Fette Fraktur, a German blackletter (also called a “Gothic Script”) typeface, designed by punchcutter Johann Christian Bauer in 1850. Popular in advertising, it was considered a symbol of German identity and was initially embraced by the Third Reich until it was banned in 1941, when it was decided its letterforms were Judenlettern (Jewish letters). Some suspect the ban was more due to the typeface being hard to read by citizens of occupied countries. It was often employed by Allied forces for use in anti-Nazi propaganda.
Acknowledgments
First, I must thank and pay homage to all my history teachers—and then apologize. I like to think that if history is written by winners, it’s reinvented by fiction writers.
Of course, there are more people to thank than could possibly be mentioned here, and if I have forgotten anyone, I hope they feel free to shame me at the appropriate juncture.
On the business side, I must thank my amazing agent, Margaret O’Connor, whose patience, hard work, and awesome cheerleading continue to go above and beyond; my brilliant editor, Hilary Teeman, whose every change and suggestion were both spot-on and enlivening; and my great manager, Steve White, whose belief in me got me … here!
A zillion hugs and everlasting gratitude go to: The fabulous Allie Spencer, who told me that this character and story turning around in my head couldn’t be anything but a book—thereafter, it was all systems go; the awesome Stephen Smith, who was a tireless giver of insight that brought me even deeper into the world I thought I knew so well—and who sometimes makes me laugh till I feel pain in places I didn’t know existed; the divine Christy English, who not only helped me tap back into a specific joy in the work that I’d let slide as life got in the way, but also reassured me during some dark hours that Brigit would always be my beacon; and my darling “twin,” Melinda Klayman, who is a sharp critic but has always believed in me and knew I’d find my way even when I was well off the path.
Big thanks, of course, to my mother, who will remind me that she very kindly never asked when I was going to get a real job.
Many friends at the Writers Room in New York were a tremendous help. I have to single out Tim Kirkman and Jerry Weinstein, who took a lot of abuse and actually seemed to enjoy it. And shout-outs to Eamon Hickey, Dana Liu, Colin McPhillamy, Manjula Menon, and Tony Perrottet.
I also have to single out nitpicker extraordinaire Martin della Valle, whose patience and skill with the fussiest little niggles deserves a medal, and Amy Morton, title exploration goddess.
Others who were amazing along the way include Emerson Bruns, Katey Coffing, Amanda Kirk, Robb McCaffree, Alisa Roost, Michael Santora, Sophie Sartain, Anne Marie Schleiner, Beth Seltzer, William Shakespeare, of course, for helping make the vampires so eloquent, and, for providing endless inspiration, Stephen Sondheim. But that’s another story altogether.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE MIDNIGHT GUARDIAN. Copyright © 2009 by Sarah Jane Stratford.
All rights reserved.
For information, address St. Martin’s Press,
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
eISBN 9781429985499
First eBook Edition : December 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Stratford, Sarah Jane.
The midnight guardian / Sarah Jane Stratford.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-312-56013-3
1. Vampires—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.T7425M53 2009
813’.6—dc22
2009016927
First Edition: October 2009
The Midnight Guardian Page 33
