"Please don't go."
"Just slide back in with Kyrian. I'll come back in the morning."
He sighed. The guards had seen them approaching and had drawn their swords. When he looked back, she was gone.
"Hold up! Who is it? Do we know you?"
Gibson pushed his way to the front instantly. "Lieutenant Gibson Reynard. I'm here with some of the healers from the shrine in Hangingford, and two prisoners, Cameo and Black Opal."
Opal startled. He nearly bolted, but Kyrian held him in place gently.
"We'll work this out," the lad's voice was soothing.
"I'm sorry to be a burden," Opal breathed.
"You aren't a burden."
The guards stared over at Black Opal, curious to look upon the face of one who had killed a king.
"Cameo?" Gibson searched for her. "Where is she?!" He grabbed Opal roughly by one lapel, "Where is she?"
"If I knew, you would be the last person I'd tell."
Gibson smacked him in the mouth, splitting his lip.
Kyrian put himself between them. "I've seen enough violence for one day. Haven't you?"
"Stupid boy," he muttered and then turned back to the guard who looked to be nothing more than a farmer himself. "Clap this man in irons and throw him in a cell."
The guard scratched behind one ear. "We don't have a jail here, my lord."
"Well then, the nearest building, and a guard to watch him, man."
"All right then. The shrine is open, and with you here I expect that he'll have a close eye on him."
"The shrine?!"
"Thank you," Caith said, moving forward. "That's exactly where we were headed."
"What have you young people been up to?"
"Getting beaten up by zombies," Carrington grumbled as he moved toward the smallish shrine just up ahead.
* * * * *
Cameo was watching the scene enfolding in Ponth. Not much of a town, really; nothing more than a shrine, a stable, a public well, and some other, larger building, possibly a coach stop. The rest of the group would be bedding down for the night in a warm shrine, while she'd be ... sleeping outside somewhere, like an old cat. She looked around. She stood at the edge of the forest. In the snow, in a dark forest where Haffef could find her easily. But she just couldn't bring herself to go nearer to that shrine. It was uncomfortable just to look at it. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to enter.
"Hello, Cameo," came a voice from the darkness.
Cameo spun around, sword in hand, but she stopped short when she saw Jules standing unarmed before her. "So this is where you've gone to."
"Yes," he grinned.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Contemplating Gibson's murder."
She slid the sword back into its hilt. "I was thinking the same thing."
He tossed his hair out of his eyes. "Well, look what I can do."
She watched as he leapt up onto the back of the larger building and scaled it easily, then looked down at her, smiling, and motioned for her to follow him up.
Although somewhat doubtful as to his motives, she didn't expect to find Haffef up there, so she followed him. Faster than he was, she was on top of the slightly pitched roof within two leaps.
Jules was standing on top with a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
"Is this something you were planning to write home to Haffef about?"
"Haffef? No." He ran across the roof and back down the other side of the building.
She watched him sprint away, and then come back again. He was racing back and forth, darting around the tree line just behind the large coach stop.
Cameo leapt from the top of the building and landed without injury in the snow below. That was new. Almost every time that she had dropped from a great height before, she'd had to walk off a broken bone or a sprain. Now, nothing. She was whole.
"We really shouldn't attract the attention of the people guarding the shrine," she said aloud, but to no one really; Jules was most likely out of earshot.
"They'll never see us." His voice was ragged, and suddenly he was there again, right beside her. He seemed amused, enjoying his new strength, testing his new abilities.
She turned to look at him, and he took her hand.
"C'mon, let's go see what's around here."
"We know what's around here. Haffef and his zombie hoard. Are you thinking of running away?"
His expression darkened, "No. I know I can't get away from him."
"I can't leave Opal and Kyrian in harm's way."
"They're in a shrine, in case you hadn't noticed. We are in far more danger from the Master. You especially."
She waved away the idea and began to walk toward the forest, absently.
"Let's not talk about him."
"Hard not to, isn't it? He's the reason you're here."
"And Opal is the reason you're here." Jules was in front of her. "Did you want to talk about him?"
"Not particularly."
This comment brought a smile to his face once more.
"Do I amuse you, Jules?"
He continued to smile.
He smelled good, like fresh death and pine trees. She found that scent rather intoxicating, and she remembered the taste of his blood ....
"I want to drink your blood," she stated.
His smile drooped. "I'm not bleeding."
"I know that."
He glanced down at his torn leather shirt, a pained expression creeping its way across his face. "Will you be able to stop?"
"I don't know." She took a step away from him. "It's a bad idea."
"It wouldn't matter much anyhow," he shrugged and cut into his forearm without hesitation, gasping at the sudden pain of it.
She spun around; the scent of his blood woke her completely and drew her closer toward him. She pulled her dagger.
He backed up until he was against a tree, holding out his arm for her to drink from, "It's my blood you want."
Cameo pushed up against his body, running her hands over his chest. "Not entirely."
His breath came fast. She could hear his heart pounding.
Then she cut him. One quick puncture into the side of his throat.
Jules cried out, but she forced her mouth against his.
He tumbled to the ground, grabbing for his throat, trying to staunch the wound. "You're ... you're going to kill me?" He wasn't exactly angry, mostly confused ... and almost hopeful.
She kissed the wound tenderly and then she latched on with her still-human teeth, roughly drinking in his blood, oblivious to the pain she may be inflicting upon him, or to his body squirming beneath hers ....
A few moments of pure bliss ... and then the wound began to heal. She reached for her dagger once more, but Jules had it now.
"Can I drink your blood now?" he hissed, holding the dagger away from her.
"You're weak," she mocked, wiping his blood from her mouth.
"Don't tempt me."
She smiled. "You're going to stab me now?"
"Fair is fair."
"You want to drink my blood?"
He looked intensely into her eyes, tossed the dagger away, and with leather creaking forced her to the snow beneath him.
Cameo fell back, her head hitting the ground as he moved over her. "Oh, I see."
"Do you?"
"I suspect you still think you're strong enough to throw me around. You, with your recent loss of blood—"
"And you with your new blood-drinking habit?" he supplied.
She looked up at him. "With Edel's bite, I'm stronger than you are now."
He wrestled her wrists down into the snow. "Is that so?"
Cameo smirked. "Yes."
Jules' face was inches from her own, his long, dark hair draped over her shoulders. He grinned at her. "Prove it."
With a bored expression on her face, she made to break free of his grasp, but he held her down, with some effort on his part.
There was that annoying amused expression
on his face.
Frustrated, she kicked out and rolled him over, but he clung to her arms and, outweighing her physically, flipped her over onto her back again.
Jules chuckled. "I thought you were stronger now."
"I am stronger," she said angrily, trying to simply free herself from his grip on her wrists now.
His smile faded, and he released her.
"I'm stronger."
"No, you aren't." Jules' voice was sober, almost sad.
"You thought I'd be a match for Haffef?"
His eyes met hers in acknowledgement.
"It will be all right. There are two of us," she lied. Actually, she did not really think everything would be all right. Besides this fact, ever since she had gotten so close to Haffef's house, she had begun to reconsider the promise she'd made to Jules, to go along with him to meet with Haffef, when he called on Jules next.
"Right." The tone of his voice seemed to express her exact thoughts.
He hadn't moved, though. He was still lying on top of her, weighing her down. His eyes were locked on hers, and for some reason she hadn't crawled away either.
"Why don't you let me up?"
"Heh," he smirked, his lips brushing against hers. "No, I don't think so."
There was a sound of snow crunching nearby. The two of them looked up suddenly, Cameo watching from an inverted angle.
It was the form of a man just a few feet away, standing at the edge of the forest.
"Gibson," they whispered delightedly in unison as they got to their feet.
* * * * *
Haffef stood over the tiny white coffin that he had prepared for Ivy's bones. She was so small, so young ... only fourteen when the lords of Shandow had come to visit with friends in nearby Lockenwood. They'd brought that stupid Gwendolyn to wait on them during their hunting party, and she had invited Ivy to come with them, work with them. He had no idea why she had accepted. They were to be married, and she didn't need the money—he gave her plenty of money—it had to be because of Gwen.
"Gwen ..." he said aloud and then began to gather up the tools he'd need.
Because of her, Ivy had died. She never should've been there in the first place. She did it because her sister couldn't manage to serve lunch to a few royals on her own.
"Stupid, pointless wretch," he muttered, rummaging through a shelf, pulling down several beakers and a pair of rusty pruning shears. "Lucky I bothered to keep her alive all these years."
He stopped and looked out a broken window at the field, where some of his zombies lay shattered on the ground. "She has run out of time."
Chapter Eight
"Opal?"
The dandy lay asleep in a small room in the shrine, one of the cells that the priests usually slept in, but last night he'd been shoved in there by Gibson Reynard.
The sound of a key turning in the lock woke him.
"Opal, are you awake?"
He held up one broken hand to block the sunlight from his eye. "Kyrian?"
The lad looked well.
"You're healed?" the dandy asked, looking a complete wreck. "Do you happen to have any tincture, dear boy?"
"Tincture? No." He crept into the room. "You don't need that anyhow."
"You're wrong."
Kyrian quietly pulled the door shut behind him. "Gibson's been gone all night, but I don't want to take any chances."
Black Opal threw his legs over the side of the cot, righting himself without the use of his hands. "Gone?"
"Yes. He went out to relieve himself at some point and never came back in."
"Ah ... I see." Opal suppressed a smile. "Then there's no need for me to stay cooped up in here."
"No. I don't expect there is." The lad touched one of Opal’s splints. "Saw a doctor, did you?"
"Cameo insisted."
"Well, you won't be needing these contraptions anymore."
Opal's face seemed to widen with a surge of hope. "You're going to heal me?"
"Of course." Kyrian gently unlaced the splints. "Is this what they did to you when the King had you imprisoned?"
"Yes."
Kyrian was silent, expecting further explanation from his usually bombastic friend, but Opal said nothing more on the subject. "Should I call you Francois from now on or—"
"Opal is fine." The dandy winced as Kyrian removed one hand from its wooden prison.
"All right, Opal," he smiled and set the back of Opal's hand into the palm of his left hand, then covered it gently with his right hand. Kyrian whispered a soft prayer to Solvay, god of the sun, and as he did so a soft, blue glow emitted from between his two hands, traveling over each of Opals fingers, deep into his hand, and up his arm. As it did, the highwayman felt an exquisite sensation of mending taking place.
As he looked up from his hand to the lad, he saw Kyrian's face alight with a blue aura, beautiful ... at peace. Opal felt suddenly peaceful, too.
Kyrian set Opal's right hand down on the cot and removed the other broken hand from its splint.
Astounded, Black Opal lifted his scarred right hand to look at it. It was whole again.
After a moment, Kyrian set Opal’s left hand down as well, seeming exhausted. He touched his forehead, which was still glowing bluish. "There. I have healed you as best I can."
Opal tested the left hand, flexing it in utter amazement and fighting back tears. "You've done it!"
Kyrian smiled weakly. "I'm glad."
"Glad?!" Opal leapt to his feet, "I'd kiss you if I thought you'd be up for that sort of thing."
"Ah ha ... well, then." Kyrian stood. "I'd better rejoin the others; they'll wonder what I've been up to."
"I'm coming, too." Opal beamed.
"All ... all right. No kissing though."
The dandy smirked. "I suspect that that offer would be taken more seriously if I had a bath and a proper shave."
"By me, no." Kyrian slipped out the door.
"Right," Opal muttered to himself. Going straight for his shoulder-pack and procuring a mirror, he exclaimed, "Oh, heavens! Oh, awful. Lad! What was that building next door? Is that some sort of coach stop for travelers?"
* * * * *
Opal exited the large building, reeking of strong cologne. He pulled casually at the ruffled sleeves, exposing them for all to see beneath the woolen frockcoat that Cameo had purchased for him in Lockenwood. Then he happened to catch sight of himself in one of the windows. There he smoothed back his freshly washed blonde hair and grinned at himself admiringly.
"Simply resplendent," Opal gushed.
"Yes, just sumptuous."
The dandy turned.
Jules was leaning against the wall, playing with a box of matches.
"Oh, it's you."
"Disappointed?"
"In a word, yes."
Jules cracked a smile.
"Have you seen Cameo?"
"Not since last night."
This answer knocked the wind out of Opal for a moment. He was about to ask for some further explanation about that comment, but then thought the better of it. Jules would only take more pleasure in his moment of insecurity. "Have you seen Gibson? He's missing as well."
"Yes, I've seen Gibson," he hissed. "Bloodied and thrown in a trash heap somewhere." He saw Opal momentarily bewildered and laughed.
"Ah ... yes. Well, good then. Good. Tell Cameo that I'm looking for her if you see her." He sauntered across the street, his nose in the air, trying to put all memory of Jules and their irritating conversation out of his mind. He had his hands back, after all. He was looking splendid, the sun was out, and there was that lovely little priestess or whatever she was back at the shrine. A person he simply would have to charm with his wit and finesse, something none of those silly young men seemed to possess.
Kyrian passed Opal on the way out of the shrine. He went over to the well with a large wooden bucket.
A roughly dressed man with a blunderbuss who was walking up Gallop Road stopped at the door to the stable.
Jules caug
ht sight of Kyrian and put away the matches that he'd been playing with. He pushed off of the wall and took one step toward the stoop as Kyrian abandoned the bucket and ran over to the stable.
As the door to the stable opened, there was the sound of a horse in pain.
Inside, the man who owned the stable stood behind the roughly dressed man with the gun. He was standing over the mare.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I've got no other choice. She's lame ... just lying there dying. That one coach driver just pushed her too hard. It's a shame, really. Too young to be put down ... but what else can I do?"
The other man nodded.
"Don't do that." Kyrian had let himself inside. He put one hand on the blunderbuss.
"Who are you?"
"One of the healers staying at the shrine?"
"Yes," he said, kneeling beside the mare. "There's no reason to end her life. I can help her."
"Well ... it can't do no harm, I suppose."
Jules peered through the crack in the door as Kyrian recited a prayer, the same one he'd heard the lad recite not so long ago, when Jules was tied to a tree in Lockenwood forest and Kyrian had healed Opal's wound. He watched the blue fire extend from the palms of Kyrian's hands and travel over the horse's leg, mending it.
Jules lowered his eyes. From outside, he could hear the sound of the horse getting to her feet again; the men, happy and amazed, were slapping Kyrian's back and telling him what a blessing he was.
Kyrian staggered out, now fully exhausted.
He passed Jules, who was skulking in the corner.
"Kyrian."
The lad stopped walking and turned around hesitantly.
Jules was standing there, just behind him. Jules ... the man who had murdered his grandfather. Jules, now a zombie.
"I ..." he started. "I've been wanting to apologize to you."
Kyrian's face was cold.
"Can you .... Do you think you ever could ... forgive me?"
The lad seemed to be considering what the man was saying, and he drew in a deep breath. "I want to. I've been trying to forgive you ever since I knew...."
Jules nodded and looked away, off to one side. "I understand."
Cameo and the Vampire (Trilogy of Shadows Book 3) Page 12
