Sarina opened the curtains wide. Angel shrank back, but the light didn’t affect her.
“Shall we fetch Max?” Sarina asked with that lovely smile. “I know he’ll be delighted to see us.” She picked up the golden watch and put it in her pocket, and then she led Angel to the door.
Thinking dreamily that Sarina was the best friend she‘d ever had, Angel followed her like a lamb.
And Sarina liked her lamb very rare….
Shelly was packing all she needed in that leather pouch she used to tie around her neck when a knock came at her door. She hesitated, but opened it. She took one look at who stood there and jerked Gustav into the room. She eyed his bruised face, noting the way he cradled his ribs.
“They found you out, did they?”
He stared, expecting it. But he was still extremely disappointed at her lack of surprise.
Shelly laughed at his expression. “I’m only amazed it took me so long to see it. If I hadn’t been so busy I’d have noted the usual signs of a Scotland Yard detective.”
“And what might those be, pray tell?”
“You’re unflappable, self righteous and you notice everything.”
“You could be describing yourself, my dear woman.”
“Indeed. I said something similar the last time I turned down their offer of employment. Except I have one skill I don’t believe you’ve ever acquired.”
With a flourish, he offered her a rose out of mid air. “What do you think of my hidden talents?”
She had to laugh at his droll expression despite the dangerous black clouds of destiny she could feel gathering about them. Before another day dawned, either the Beefsteak Killer would be dead, Max would be dead. Even, perhaps, she, Angel and Gustav would be dead. Shelly had no illusions about the power of the evil they faced.
That only made the lovely, dewy rose all the more precious to her. She accepted it with a gracious nod, looking forward to his expression when she revealed her own hidden skills. “Now enough roundaboutation.. Tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know. On the way.”
“On the way?”
“To break Max out of jail.”
Shelly led the way to the carriage. For once, he followed without protest.
Death, Max reflected, trying to distract himself from the agony of his burns and blisters, was the most clarifying experience imaginable. His eyes were closed, the pitiful shade supplied by the cot not enough to stop the spreading of the excruciating burns. And behind those closed lids, he saw so many things clearly now.
Odd how human emotions had colored everything he did as a vampire.
He’d wielded his golden hammer like Thor, the chosen one of the gods. Killing to prevent killing, or such was the bargain he’d made with his own conscience when he became a Watch Bearer. But he’d only rationalized the terrible reality of his blood vow leading to the spilling of blood, leading to death, and thence more killing. Until human blood and vampire blood had both the same hue and the same use: to make him feel righteous. To feed his terrible need for vengeance.
In reality, he’d almost become what he most hated.
Selfish, amoral, thinking of nothing but his own base needs. It wasn’t the drinking of blood that made vampires so ruthless. It was the immortality, the power of knowing that even time itself could not strike them down. How difficult to think of the consequences of one’s actions when one knew there would always be a tomorrow to make right the sins of today.
Tomorrow’s a gift, but today’s a blessing. A little homily he’d spouted all his life.
Only now, when this would be his last today, did he truly understand its meaning.
Even his seduction of Angel had only partly been because he’d been abiding by his vow to Elaine to protect her daughter. The truth was, he’d wanted Angel with a selfish, gut-wrenching purely male need that had overwhelmed all else. The first time he could perhaps reason away. But the second?
He’d taken her again, let her sip of his blood, even knowing he was doing her more harm than good. For the simple reason that he wanted her with the power and selfishness of his vampire urges. And as a man, he’d probably have behaved no differently.
A blister popped as if to chastise him.
Even as he wiped the pus away he had to give a bitter smile. Wanted her? What a pale word for the emotions she aroused in him. He loved her. Loved her with all the lonely store of passion he’d been hoarding for a hundred years.
No, even before that, when he was an idealistic, laughing young man who found women aplenty to bed but none to wed. Who could ever match him, he’d wondered, in intellectual curiosity, logic, passion and courage? Such a creature, with the femininity to complement his extreme masculinity, didn’t seem to exist in this Victorian age of hypocrisy and propriety.
Then he met Elaine.
Even Elaine had not shared Angel’s analytical mind. However, she’d birthed in her daughter all the qualities Max had loved in the mother, plus the unique qualities he’d despaired of ever finding in one woman. If Max had taken dust and formed it into a his own personal Eve, blowing breath into mud, he could not have created anyone he’d have loved more than Angel.
This, then, would be the torment and the blessing the Watch Bearer, the last Earl of Trelayne, would take into eternity with him–it was not the watch, the powers it bestowed, or even his own sacred blood vow that gave him strength to face his own mortality.
It was the love of a vampire.
A vampire he helped create. That knowledge was both the most bitter and most liberating of his life. With every fiber of his being he longed to call Angel to him and confess with the last measure of this day he finally cherished what he’d learned too late.
But he retained enough pride and arrogance to want her to remember him as he was than like this.
Yet again, Max tried to pull the cot over his arms. They were burning through his shirt now, and he could smell the acrid stench of his own flesh burning off his bones. He tried not to think of Angel, he truly did, but she was his only comfort. “Angel,” he whispered, and just the sound of her name on his lips alleviated some of his excruciating pain.
In the carriage with Sarina, Angel roused out of her stupor, feeling his presence.
“Max,” Angel whispered, frowning as she tried to concentrate. The wisp of an image left her, of Max, his face blistered, his mind at peace. She looked at Sarina across from her, smiling that warm smile, and the image faded into Sarina’s magnetic presence.
Angel had never felt so blissfully empty, so free of fear, of hate, of indecision. She had no pain in the sunshine any more, and the blood she’d so feared of drinking had sustained her as no feast of man ever could. She was so full. And calm. Why had she struggled so hard against this fate? Angel held her arm in the bright sunlight and it stayed fair, unburned. She felt invincible, all powerful.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it, my dearest one?” Sarina asked, her blue eyes bright even in the shade of her hat. “Embrace the night, and the night will embrace you back. You’ll never know fear or hunger or loneliness again.”
Angel understood at last the allure of the way of the vampire. She was grateful to Sarina for guiding her and showing her this new, bold path that seemed so much more certain than the winding road she’d traveled as human. And yet…there was something else. Some cost she’d have to pay for this journey.
Why couldn’t she remember?
When they passed the fork that led to the village, Angel’s eerie calm was spoiled by a terrible image. Max. Writhing in pain as he fried in the sunlight.
She sat up, closing her eyes to block out Sarina’s smiling face, and the image grew stronger. “Max,” she said loudly this time. Her eyes popped open. “You promised to take me to Max!”
Sarina’s smile faded. “It’s too late, my child. He’ll be dead in an hour.”
“NO!”
“It pains me to tell you, but Alexander did this. He set a trap for Max that worked all too well. But h
e’s paid dearly for his hatred. Gustav, our trusted head groom, and Shelly, our stable mistress, have both been working to find the killer. As you feared, I’m afraid Alexander,” and here her voice shook, “was indeed the Beefsteak Killer. He’s fled. I…helped him pack. I could not bear for him to be captured.”
Scarcely hearing the words, Angel could think of only one thing. “Max. I demand you take me to him! NOW!”
A strange emotion flickered in those deep blue eyes, but then, sighing, Sarina rapped on the roof of her carriage and told her coachman to take them to the village. “You will not like what you see and it’s too late for us to save him.” Sarina pulled two flasks from her cloak. “Drink. For strength. We’ll both need it.” Sarina drained her own.
Her dulled sense at last alert again, Angel merely sipped at hers and then capped it. Tensely, she stared out the window, the fog clearing further from her brain. Whether she could embrace the night or not, she wanted Max with her in that night.
The voice came to Max through a million blazing suns crawling over his body. “Move away from the window, Max.” It was Shelly.
Feebly, Max crawled to the corner, dragging his pitiable shield with him. Mercifully, the sun’s zenith had passed so that it didn’t directly shine down into his cell any more, but it was too late.
Flesh was peeling off his skin, flaking like burned ash onto the ground. There was a great roaring in his ears, and as he hunkered against the far corner, it became a crash and a thunder of stone imploding against stone. He coughed at the dust stirred up and squinted through the haze, trying to figure out what had happened.
More stones fell aside like giant blocks as the grille, with a final groan, was pulled from the wall. Sunshine peeked through, heightening Max’s pain, but that blue sky also gave him curious joy.
Freedom beckoned in that sunshine.
Shelly’s face poked through the opening. Shock widened her green eyes when she saw what had happened to him. She pulled the rest of the stones aside enough to make an opening he could crawl through. He barely glimpsed a team of horses still linked to the grate because immediately, he felt her put a heavy oilcloth covering on him, blocking the sunshine.
And then the jailer and several villagers, the smithy among them, rounded the jail to see what the commotion was about. The jailer pointed his blunderbuss, but Gustav pointed two pistols, and Shelly pointed a small but lethal shotgun.
The three men eyed the man and woman and the still lump under the oilcloth. But they didn’t lower their weapons. “You can’t take him. He’s the killer,” said the jailer. “We all know it–“
“Then you know in error. You have the wrong man.”
“Me own daughter were in his bed–” cried the smithy.
“Planted there by the real killer. I can prove it. Give me a piece of cheese, or an apple.” She nodded at the knapsack on the back of the third villager. A loaf of bread peeked out. He hesitated, then pulled a piece of cheese.
She went to Max, lifted the oil cloth slightly and whispered to him.
With a great effort, he managed to form fangs and bite down into the cheese. Shelly showed it to each man with a flourish, still aiming the shotgun, braced against her hip, with the other hand.
The fang marks were dead even.
“We’re all agreed, are we not, that the Beefsteak Killer has a crooked tooth?” Shelly demanded.
They looked from the cheese, back to the lump of oil cloth.
Guilt skittered across the smithy’s face. “He still be a vampire.”
“A vampire who has risked his life to protect us.” Shelly removed Max’s kit from the carriage and showed it to the men. “He wants the killer, too. Even worse than we do. He lost his own sister to it.”
They stared at the gold handled stakes, the vials of holy water. The jailer and the other villager melted away, but when the smithy tried to slink off, too, Shelly grabbed his arm.
“Do you have something to say to the Earl?” she asked softly.
The smithy shifted his feet, mumbling, “Sorry, yer bloody lordship.” And then he stomped off.
Soft laughter, and then a groan, came under the oil cloth. Shelly peeked inside.
“I always have liked that man. No subterfuge about him. He wears his pride on his sleeve,” Max said, still in great pain, but still showing that curious peace.
“I’d expect you to like him. In many ways, despite the difference in your births, you are much alike.” Hearing rapid hoofbeats, Shelly looked over Gustav’s shoulder and saw the Blythe coach approaching fast.
Hurriedly, she unlinked the team of horses while Gustav helped Max into the back of the carriage. While Shelly’s back was turned, Gustav reached into his pocket and offered something to Max.
Max stared down at it. “Alexander has the wrong watch?”
Gustav nodded modestly. “I engraved the fake he had made so he couldn’t tell the difference. If he thinks to use it against you, he’ll be rudely surprised.”
Max frowned. “I’m not sure it’s him any more. In fact…”
When she turned, Shelly caught the tail end of the exchange. Shelly and Max exchanged a long look. They both suspected who the true killer was, but neither stated it. Yet.
This killer would be much harder to face, because Sarina had won Angel’s liking and loyalty. Even worse, if Angel was fully a vampire now, Sarina probably had the girl under her spell.
Then Max took the watch in his burned, blackened hand and, wincing, he managed to flip it open. Immediately, a luminous blue glow was emitted. It encased him in a healing cloud.
To Shelly’s mingled delight and astonishment, as she watched, Max’s burns started healing. The red splotches whitened, the blackened flesh grew firm and healthy, and the blisters faded.
Gustav whistled. “Handy little bugger, that.”
Shelly got into the driver’s seat and lashed the horses away from the village, back toward the Blythe estate, just as the Blythe carriage came barreling up the main street.
Gustav stared after it. “You think they saw us?”
“I hope so. Because I think Angel is in that carriage. With the killer,” came Shelly’s grim response.
Strong now, Max sat up. His fangs bared in a grimace and he flung off his shirt.
“No.” Shelly shook her head. “Don’t transform and go alone. She won’t hurt Angel until you’re dead. She’ll use Angel against you, as she has from the very beginning.”
Max hesitated, but his green eyes finally flickered away. He nodded reluctantly.
“She?” Gustav glanced between them as Max put back on his shirt and checked his vampire kit. “What she? It’s Alexander, isn’t it?”
“Who was always asleep in her bed, conveniently alone, during the murders?” Shelly asked, lashing the horse faster until they had to raise their voices to be heard over the pounding hooves and the rush of wind.
“Who began the balls and purveyed the punch to every vampire in the county but always imbibed an incredible amount herself?” Max asked.
“Who has a fondness for blood red Turkish delight, an Eastern treat, and knows a great deal about Eastern ways and Eastern spices? As if, perhaps, she came from Persia?” chimed in Shelly.
“Who always wears white and invites every lovely virgin for miles around to her balls?” demanded Max. “Who never ages?”
Gustav completed, “And who was responsible for bringing Angel to England?”
Surprised, Max and Shelly both looked at him. “
I checked the lading record. Alexander didn’t pay for Angel’s passage. Sarina did. And when I searched, I found her name on the manifest of a voyage to New York City only a few months prior.”
“She must have seen Angel and realized she was Elaine’s daughter,” Shelly concluded. “She’s planned this day from the very beginning. That’s why she flung Angel at your head, Max.”
They were nearing the Blythe cemetery.
Max frowned. “I’ve searched every catacomb in the damn pl
ace. There are no caskets here.”
“Then you’ve looked in the wrong place, my lord.” Shelly drew the horses to a stop next to a grave.
Max jumped down. He stood over Elaine’s grave. He closed his eyes, trying not to remember for fear Angel would read his thoughts, but the horrid images would not fade. Elaine, the only vampire before Angel he’d ever loved.
And the only one he’d loved even as he was forced to kill her.
Inside the pursuing carriage, Angel could think clearly enough now to link with Max, to realize Shelly had saved him. He was in that coach up ahead pulling into the Blythe cemetery. And he was having terrible thoughts.
Thoughts of her mother.
Angel closed her eyes, trying to block out the horrific sight of Max standing over her mother’s coffin, pounding down with the golden hammer. The stake pierced her mother’s tender heart. Blood spurted but still Max pounded…
“NO!” Angel’s eyes opened to Sarina’s sorrowful expression.
“I tried to warn you,” Sarina said. “But it’s best that you know the truth. Max will try to kill me in a few moments. And perhaps you, too, if you don’t help me defeat him.” Sarina put a comforting arm around Angel’s shoulder, and some of Angel’s turmoil faded.
“We are two of a kind, my dear Angel. Stronger than the men who think to dominate us. We can help one another, succor one another, through all eternity. Help me now because I’m too weak to fight him alone. He killed your mother, and he’ll kill us if we don’t ally against him.”
The words pounded into Angel’s ear drums, but across the rapidly diminishing space between them, Angel felt Max’s pain and his guilt.
It was true. He’d killed her mother. The one terrible truth she’d refused to face now had to dictate her actions. Looking into Sarina’s mesmerizing blue eyes, Angel nodded.
For this she’d come here. To find out who her mother was, why she’d feared her own relatives, why she’d wanted to be buried in England. And who had killed her.
The answers had proved to be far worse than the tormenting questions, but Max had used her, lied to her, made sweet love to her, all the while planning to kill her aunt and uncle. Perhaps Alexander was the Beefsteak Killer, but Sarina was kind and good and honorable. Angel couldn’t let Max harm her.
The Trelayne Inheritance Page 22
