The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith

by Clay; Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith

  The senator's mad laughter was nearly lost in the ferocious wind as he slipped the brass spyglass inside his shirt. He climbed back to the deck as easily as if he had been finishing an exercise rather than clinging precariously thousands of feet above the earth. Major Stoddard knew better than to offer an arm as his commander lifted himself onto the deck with a masculine grunt.

  "Bloodmen ship." Clark leaned against the mahogany gunwale and pursed his lips in ostentatious thought. "Vampires don't fight with them. So I doubt it's looking for us." He grinned. "They're a transport ship, Major. Such as they use to move bulk. Or prisoners. Follow me?"

  "I believe so, sir."

  "What prisoner means most to them?"

  Stoddard knew the answer but stayed quiet so Clark could supply it.

  "Princess Adele." The senator backhanded Stoddard on the chest, raising a wince. "If they already had her, they'd be heading south. Toward London. But they aren't, are they?"

  "No, sir. North."

  "North. So they're still chasing her."

  Stoddard inclined his head and smiled too. He wasn't sure why. It seemed the thing to do.

  Clark said, "So we follow them. They'll lead us right to my wife."

  Now the major frowned. "That's pretty thin evidence, sir."

  Clark wasn't fazed by the criticism. Stoddard was allowed token resistance to the Great Man on occasion, though it was occurring more and more often. That was something Clark would have to remedy soon. The senator glanced back down at the tattered airship. "What else have we got, Major? We've been floating out here for weeks doing nothing."

  "No, sir. But we are low on supplies. And our nearest base is still days away."

  The senator raised his iron eyes. "Base? We aren't going back without her, Major. I thought I was clear on that. If we do not find my future wife, no man will come back alive."

  "Yes, sir."

  "So what's your thought now?"

  "North, sir."

  "Quite right, Major Stoddard. Please instruct Captain Root to shadow that airship. And if we are spotted by them, I will personally throw every man jack of Ranger's officer corps overboard."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Exactly as I said it, Major. I'm dead serious."

  "Yes, sir. Overboard, sir."

  Clark laughed and gripped the rail in excitement. Now this was living.

  The morning after the conversation in the library, Adele sought out the beckoning soft glow of the kitchen fires. It was easy to understand why Morgana loved being down there. Adele wanted to thank the servant for helping Gareth orchestrate the dinner, but she also needed her help with a simple matter.

  The kitchen was empty. Morgana was nowhere to be found. Disappointed but not undone, Adele looked for the implement she needed for her chore, but after minutes of fruitless searching she came up empty. Huffing with mild frustration she closed yet another drawer, so caught up in her search she failed to see the dark figure to her left. It startled her.

  "Baudoin."

  The servant stared at her. "Do you need something?"

  "Is Morgana here?" Adele didn't really want Baudoin involved in the matter.

  "No. A human is ill and she has gone to help."

  "Oh." This news was upsetting. "Who is sick?"

  "I do not know."

  Adele stifled a sigh at the vampire's seeming disinterest in a sick human. Baudoin possessed only rudimentary manners. He was no Gareth, that was for sure. "Do you know how long she'll be gone?"

  "I did not ask."

  "I see." Adele gave in. "I'm looking for scissors."

  He stared blankly at her.

  "Scissors. You use them for cutting things." She demonstrated the action with her fingers. "You know, scissors." His obvious incomprehension spoke otherwise. "No matter. I'll find some eventually." She darted past him and back into the main part of the castle. By the small itch on her back she knew he stared after her.

  Her hunt for scissors continued for hours; she ventured into every room. She searched through dusty piles, rifled in cabinets and wardrobes, and shifted mobs of cats who inhabited every cranny.

  Adele entered a vast room with weapons and armor standing along both walls like a bizarre receiving line. The space was bathed in sunlight streaming through many tall windows decorated with colored glass that cast wonderful surreal works of art on the walls and floor. She loved this room. Lifting her skirt a little, she spun around in a circle and danced a small minuet with an imaginary prince before noticing Gareth watching her from the frame of the door. She stumbled to a halt.

  His head was tilted to the side, and he seemed fascinated with her girlish glee. "I was told that you were in need of this." He held aloft a pair of shiny scissors.

  Delighted, she approached him and took them from him. It came as a surprise that Baudoin had bothered to relate the small request to his master. "Thank you! These will do splendidly."

  "Do what?"

  "Cut my hair," she responded, and turned back into the room.

  Gareth stepped forward. "Here. Let me."

  "No, I think I can manage. I don't suppose Morgana has returned."

  "Not yet. It would be easier for me to do it."

  Gareth's hands were at the back of her shoulders, arranging her hair. She immediately stiffened as a wave of chills washed over her. He hadn't been so close behind her in many weeks-not since his time as Greyfriar.

  Gareth sensed the change in her. He took a slight step back. "I only wanted to help."

  "I know," Adele assured him, drawing in a steady breath. Her hands on her hips, she studied him up and down, in particular his long fingers. "Do you even know how to use scissors?"

  "I imagine I can handle it," Gareth said confidently.

  Adele thrust the scissors at him. "Show me."

  One of his eyebrows steadily rose, and at its highest apex, he snatched the implement. He studied the oval holes in the handle, trying to recall how he had witnessed humans use them over the years. With a smirk of triumph he slipped his fingers through the holes and held them up.

  Adele pursed her lips, not convinced. "Now snip."

  "What?"

  Bemused at his fuddled expression, she demonstrated with her slicing fingers exactly as she had shown Baudoin earlier. "I just want to see you operate them."

  "Oh." It took all his concentration to mimic the correct action. To his relief, she wasn't laughing at him. "Do you trust me now?"

  Adele's smile faltered as she realized that this event had come down to that simple question. Her playful little game had suddenly turned to something else. To say no to him could undermine how far they had come together. In truth, she did trust him. Her fear of him had been lost long ago, and her anger had faded too. She hadn't expected this simple act of cutting her hair to go this far, however. Suddenly she had a choice to make.

  "I see." His humor fell away. "I presumed too much."

  Adele straightened with resolve, presenting her back to him. "I do trust you. Cut it short."

  Her body trembled slightly as he once again moved close to her. It was not the fear of him standing behind her with a sharp implement that drove the breath from her lungs; it was Gareth's proximity alone. Her tangle of hair lifted, and even though she was prepared for his touch, she gasped faintly as his gentle fingers brushed the nape of her exposed neck. His breathing was strong enough to blow a temperate breeze across her bared skin, while his cool touch skimmed quickly after it, bringing rise to waves of chills.

  Then his head bent to the task at hand. Awkwardly, he struggled to angle the scissors and keep them far from her skin. The scissors would not obey him as his swords did. This called for his fingers to work in unison and opposition at the same time. He yanked Adele's hair several times as he jockeyed to angle the scissors properly.

  She tried to turn around, but Gareth caught her head with his hands and pushed it forward. "Hold still," he commanded, intent on his work.

  A glimpse showed Gareth with his elbow at a ridicu
lous angle, practically over her head, as he attempted to cut. It was as if a left-hander was trying to use scissors. Adele wanted to laugh but thought it prudent not to for the sake of her haircut. He cursed in vampire, a sharp hiss practically guttural.

  "Maybe I should just do it," Adele offered. Again, she tried to turn around a little more urgently, a little more unnerved.

  Gareth maintained a stern voice and grabbed hold of her head once more. "No. It's fine. Almost have it."

  Her eyes closed, willing the panic to subside. Then suddenly there was the metallic sound of scissors, and the weight began to drop from her head. It continued for what seemed like hours.

  "There!" Gareth held a handful of her shorn locks like a trophy. "It is done!"

  Adele's hand instinctively touched the back of her neck, as much to feel the difference as to still the goose bumps still running rampant. The cut was ghastly short. Her neck was cold.

  Her gaze lifted almost shyly to Gareth's. "Thank you."

  "Do you need more?" His fingers flicked the scissors.

  Laughter burst out of her at his enthusiasm for this new skill. "No, no. I think this one haircut is quite sufficient."

  "What do I do with this?" He eyed the lock of hair in his hand quizzically.

  With a shrug of her shoulders, she ran her fingers through her remaining hair. It felt very odd to her. "Throw it out, I guess. I don't need it. Though I would kill for a mirror right now."

  Gareth instantly wrenched a battle shield from the wall and held it up in front of her. "Will this do?"

  The shield had once been shiny from chrome plating, but it was tarnished grey now. Even so, Adele could see clear enough the travesty that was her hair. It was still tangled on top, but cut straight just above the nape of her neck. She ran her fingers over the rough ends.

  Gareth asked, "Is there a problem?"

  "No. No. It's ... delightful."

  "Don't move." He stood close by her side, touching her shoulders and hips, and held up the shield before them. "See. I cast a reflection. I am real."

  Adele saw herself with Gareth for the first time. She wore the rude homespun outfit from Canterbury with a haircut that looked like she had caught her head in a wheat thresher. Gareth was tall and slender in his typical stylish grey and black. Their images were both distorted by the slope of the shield and obscured by the patina. But still, she smiled.

  He was real. He was not a monster.

  CHAPTER

  N EARLY MORNING fog enshrouded the city of Edinburgh, casting it as a surreal and eerie kingdom. But Adele was not afraid of the dark closes or the leaden skies. Gareth walked at her side, her personal guide. Where once she had shuddered to see his shadow on the ramparts, now she was grateful for his presence. Though she had been bold and obstinate when she ventured out into the city those early days, there had always been some fear in her heart. She had defied it, but that didn't mean it wasn't present. Not today, though. Today seemed to be a new experience for Adele.

  Gareth had something else new to show her. They were going steeply downhill, away from the towering castle, and the fog deepened around them. A few figures strolled past them through the mist, going about their business as if a vampire wasn't within reach. As if no vampires had ever come here more than a century before.

  Soon they began to head up again, still walking south along a road once called Candlemaker Row, where Adele had not ventured before. The tendrils of fog slipped around their legs as they trod up the cobblestones. Adele did not see the tall iron gates until she was almost on top of them. Beyond the wrought iron lay a magnificent structure of old stone. All around it were gravestones topped with crosses and magnificent monuments to bless and honor the dead. It was a churchyard.

  "What is this?" Adele asked.

  "The people call it Greyfriar's Kirk," Gareth answered with a gentle smile.

  She turned to him, pleased. "This is your namesake!"

  "Yes. I like this place. It has history, and I like the stones."

  "It's a graveyard."

  "I know. The irony does not escape me." He pushed open the heavy iron gates, and they entered the churchyard. Some graveyards were filled with dread and superstition, but to Adele, and even to her brother, they were places to explore. Her homeland was famed for its tombs and homes for the dead. They captivated Adele. Strangely enough it was something else she had in common with Gareth.

  The stones of Greyfriar's Kirk were old and dark with age, some worn almost smooth, but the ornate carvings on many of them were still pronounced and beautiful. A majority of them were large and situated right up against a stone wall that encircled the small churchyard.

  Gareth gestured to a tombstone. It was scribed in Latin. "This is the same language as the anatomy book I have. I can see names. But do you know what the rest of it says?"

  "I do." Adele had been taught Latin. "This is the person's namethe person buried here." Her finger brushed over the surname at the top in large bold script. "The rest gives the family's lineage. A husband, a beloved wife, and three sons, aged two, five, and seven."

  "It says all that?" Gareth touched the deep etchings that had withstood the passage of time.

  "What's inside the church?" Adele asked him.

  "I don't know," he replied absently, still studying the tombstone. "I've never been inside."

  "Why?"

  "I'd prefer not to enter."

  Adele stared at him. "So it's true, then, that vampires are repelled by religious symbols? You intimated as much in Canterbury."

  Gareth gazed out over her head. "I would simply prefer to stay outside."

  She didn't believe him. But she couldn't expect that he would confirm his species' weaknesses to her. Even though they had forged a unique relationship, she was the future leader of his kind's greatest enemy.

  "May Igo in?" she asked.

  "Certainly. I'll wait for you out here."

  Adele headed for the church's main doors. One hung off its hinges, but the other stayed straight and true. She grasped the heavy iron handle and gently pulled the door open. It was dark inside at first, but as she made it past the first archway, the chamber opened up into a wide, long cavern with high-set windows. Most were broken, allowing more light to shine down on the vast stone floor. There were shards of colored glass on the cold stones, and she bent over, trying to determine what picture they had depicted at one time. She could make out a face or a symbol.

  Finally she straightened and walked to the altar, where a glint of silver caught her eye. It was a small cross on a chain, almost camouflaged by grey dust. Smiling, she lifted it from its hiding spot. Deciding that it was a sign, she knelt in front of the altar, offering up a small prayer of thanks for the sanctuary afforded her throughout this trial, and a prayer of hope for the future, wherever it led her.

  Outside, Gareth reared back. His flesh crawled. He couldn't remember feeling such power here before. Sometimes during the people's rituals at the other church, St. Giles, he could feel waves of warmth emanating, which he found uncomfortable. But nothing like this. The power scorched him, and he found it hard to draw breath. Pressure grew in Gareth's head until it forced him to retreat from the churchyard. As soon as he stepped outside the gate the distress waned. He took a deep breath. Unconsciously, he began pacing, waiting for Adele. After several minutes, when she had not come out, Gareth stepped toward the large gate once more, only to feel the harsh discomfort rise again. He paused, a low growl passing from his lips. He was about to plunge over the threshold regardless, worried at Adele's long absence, when finally she emerged into the hazy sunlight.

  She looked around anxiously, but calmed when she saw Gareth outside the gates. It took her by surprise when he shuffled back at her approach.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked.

  "No, no. Everything is fine." He turned his head slightly. Her scent was acrid, just as it had been in Canterbury when he found her barely sensible on the cathedral steps. "You were gone a long time. I was ... conce
rned."

  "Oh, I just stopped to say a small prayer." She fingered the silver cross tucked in her pocket.

  "I see." There was a trace of pain and agitation in his stance.

  "Are you all right?"

  The prince nodded curtly. "Yes."

  "Would you like to read more of the tombstones?" She stepped toward the graveyard, but he didn't follow.

  "No," he said, anxious to be away. "Let's go elsewhere."

  Adele smiled. "I don't mind." She took his hand before he turned away.

  With a hiss of pain that bared his teeth he yanked away from her. His skin smoldered with red welts left by Adele's fingers.

  "Gareth," she cried in alarm, instinctively reaching out for him again.

  "Please, Princess, stand back. Please do not touch me just now."

  "How? What did I do?" Then Adele comprehended. She had prayed. Her eyes widened in amazement. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize ..."

  "Nor did I," he responded. "You wield great power, Adele. More than anyone I have ever known."

  "This comes as news to me," she admitted.

  Gareth's brow furrowed deeper as the waves continued rolling off her, and he tried not to reel back. "Let's return to the castle."

  "As you wish. Perhaps we can come back another day and I'll read more of the gravestones to you."

  He graciously inclined his head, grateful that finally the discomfort was beginning to ease. He wanted to be near her, but he kept his distance. They walked quietly for a bit, both absorbing the magnitude of what had just occurred.

  Adele was torn between feeling guilty about hurting Gareth and the amazing revelation that she had discovered an exploitable weakness in the vampires. Her crystal talisman. The standing stones in England. Canterbury. And now this cross. They were all related. It was magic. Or religion. Or both. It was as Mamoru had taught.

  "How am I doing this?" Adele asked. "Is it prayer? In the old days, we thought religious objects repelled vampires. Do they?"

  "No," he told her honestly. "The icons of your faiths are nothing to me. The people of Edinburgh hold their religious services. Their prayer troubles me slightly, but if it pleases them, so be it. It is no great problem for me. But you are quite another matter."