My fingernails dug into my palms.
“He was terrified.” His tone was strangely even, reflecting nothing of the moment.
“And yet you remained behind?”
“I’m not frightened of you.”
“You’re lying.” I caught a sob. “Where is he?” I tried to stay calm, but I could feel the tingle of my fangs.
Ricardo’s expression portrayed innocence. “I don’t know.”
Lines of brown soup trickled down the wall and met the floor.
“Tell me,” I snapped.
“Ricardo!” Miranda said, her voice firm.
When I glanced at my palms, there were beads of blood. I’d punctured my own flesh with my fingernails. I leaped from my chair.
Ricardo flinched. “Jacob knew that you killed my father.”
Alicia sat beside him. “What are you talking about?”
“We overheard you.” Ricardo glared up at me. “You admitted murdering my father to Aunt Miranda.”
“Dear God.” Alicia sighed.
Ricardo rose. “You lied to Mama that Papa fled Spain.”
“Those were not my words.” I glanced at Alicia.
“What has this got to do with Jacob?” Alicia asked.
Ricardo glanced at a discarded knife on the table. “What did you tell my father before you killed him?”
Alicia looked horrified.
“My father was a good man,” Ricardo muttered. “A fine politician. He would never want for us to live in this squalor.”
Another wave of anxiety, a terrible sense of despair at not seeing this coming, I scoured Ricardo’s thoughts. “No!”
“What?” Alicia gasped. “You’re scaring me.”
“He sold him,” I said in disbelief.
“How could you know that?” Ricardo’s thoughts carried.
* * * *
I turned the hourglass over.
Sunaria convinced me of the wisdom of remaining composed and staying focused on getting Jacob back. Together, we’d flown to the docks, the place where Ricardo admitted having taken Jacob.
We scoured the port and soon confirmed that Jacob had been seen with a lone sailor. Ricardo had sold Jacob to him for pennies. More money had changed hands here in the admiral’s office.
Glaring at the portly, middle-aged man, I stared him down as sand trickled through the narrow timer, pooling into the base.
“By the time it’s empty,” I pointed to it, “you’ll have told me where the boy is.”
The admiral coughed. “As I’ve already told you, I have no idea where the boy is.”
My gaze fell onto the hourglass.
“You’re mistaken.” He shifted his stare to Sunaria.
Meager maritime furnishings revealed the gentleman’s profession. Beads of perspiration spotted his brow. Fire roared in the hearth and flames lapped in the grate.
I turned the hourglass over. “This time when it’s empty, I’ll kill you.”
Hooves clipped below just outside the window. Foreign accents drifted in from the sailors working late into the night. This was business as usual for the bustling dock.
But not in here.
From where I stood, I could see the vast, white sails of The Pride unraveling as it sailed out of the harbor.
He bolted for the door.
With my teeth buried in his neck, I tried to extract the information, but I was so full of panic, I had trouble grasping anything. A mishmash of images, though nothing definitive, and nothing to grab hold of.
The mariner slumped to the ground. “What the hell are you?”
“Which ship is he on?” I yelled.
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because our next stop is at your home.”
“The Pride,” he mumbled.
Sunaria loomed close. “Where’s it heading?”
Taking short breaths, saliva trickled down his chin. “Portsmouth.”
She knelt beside him and grasped his head with both hands firmly positioned on either side, and, with a crack, she snapped his neck.
* * * *
Sunaria knew the wisdom of saying nothing.
Aboard the British vessel Godisgrace, we leaned against the balustrade and stared out at the port of Palos. Sunaria wrapped her arm through mine and rested her head upon my shoulder. From the port side, we had a good view of the other passengers boarding.
I broke the silence. “Please tell me we’ll find him.”
“I’m certain of it,” she said.
“I should never have let Jacob out of my sight. This is my fault entirely.”
“How could we have known?”
I followed her gaze to the crew preparing for our launch.
Sunaria sensed my anxiety. “First class tickets ensure our privacy.”
“We won’t appear suspicious?”
The wind caught in her hair and she swept strands out of her face. “You maybe, but not me.” She squeezed my arm.
The last few pieces of luggage were carried aboard. Our two large trunks were amongst them.
Farther down the dock heading for the boat were three men, their hoods pulled well over their heads, obscuring their faces. Not men.
Sunaria clutched my sleeve. “Creda!”
“The elders?” I asked.
They were disguised as mortals. They neared eerily fast.
My heart raced. “What will they do if they catch us?”
Her fingers grasped the balustrade.
Her fear reached me. “Can you swim?” I asked.
Two crew members reeled in the ropes that secured the ship to the dock.
“We have to jump.” I grabbed Sunaria’s arm, ready to take her with me.
With a jolt, the ship launched.
I let her go. “Talk about timing.”
The three vampires lingered on the edge of the dock, their hollow stares locked on us. For a brief moment, I thought they’d dive in and answer my question about whether vampires could swim. The ship rocked, sailing off through the harbor.
“Why do I have a sense that there’s more going on with your wily friends than you’ve previously let on?” I muttered.
A merchant officer signaled to us.
“Our cabin’s ready.” She turned to me. “And they’re not my friends.”
We strolled after the officer tasked with escorting us to our quarters. Nostalgia hit hard. Up until now, Alicia and Miranda had been reliant on me. Although they had access to finances, I felt terrible leaving with no word.
Once in our cabin, I paced the small space, trying to calm down, miserably eyeing the two wooden trunks pushed up against the far corner. I climbed into one of them to try it out. No matter what position I got in, it was uncomfortable. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine a week of sleeping in it. Thoughts of Jacob’s terror caused me to strike the inside of the trunk. He’d have no idea what was happening or why. A jealous cousin’s betrayal would never even cross his mind.
Strange thoughts wandered and took me to a place where my hands were wrapped around Ricardo’s throat, strangling him, squeezing out his last breaths. My fists clenched with the idea.
Sunaria lifted the lid and peered down at me.
“I refuse to sleep in this,” I said.
She raised her eyebrows and let go of the lid and it slammed, just missing my head.
I climbed out. “How long have they been chasing you?”
She peeked out of the port hole.
“Sunaria?” I pushed.
“Awhile.”
“And remind me again why?”
“I left without permission.” She turned away. “The Creda owned me.”
“You were sold to them?”
“I was given to them.”
“By whom? The one that turned you?”
“No, I killed him, remember?”
I gestured for her to continue.
She looked grim. “The vampire that turned my master heard what I’d done.”
“Why have you never talked a
bout this before?”
“I want to forget.”
“What happened?”
“After several years of fighting in the coliseum—”
“Roman coliseum?”
“Yes.”
God, you are old, teetered on the tip of my tongue. I was grateful it stayed there.
“When I refused to fight anymore, he punished me.”
“You hated your master for what he made you do?”
“He drew me in with the promise of a glorious life. Immortality.”
“And the fact that you never died, the audience, they didn’t catch on?”
She reminisced. I wondered if she could still hear the cries of the crowd.
“And when you killed your master?” I finally said, breaking her trance.
“I had, after all, been taught to fight bloody.”
“The Creda gave you that tattoo?”
She nodded.
“It’s a mark of ownership?” I asked.
“It’s meant to be a mark of distinction. An honor to serve them, but I’ve never really been one for following orders.”
“I’ll talk with them.”
“They don’t negotiate.”
“I’ll buy you off them.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Everyone has their price.”
“The Creda don’t care about money.”
“So you’re meant to go back to them and—”
“Serve.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Like what?” She avoided eye contact.
I tried to read her, reach into her mind and extract the truth.
She peered up. “I belong to you now.”
“We belong to each other.”
She approached her trunk, opened the lid, and peered inside.
“What did it feel like fighting in the coliseum?” I asked.
“You mean apart from the blood, gore, and endless death?”
“Why didn’t you run away?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?”
“You could have broken the chains, escaped. What did they have over you?”
Her expression changed as she daydreamed, she was somewhere else, somewhere far off.
“I love you.” I tried to smile. “And no matter what happens, I’ll protect you.”
“And I promise you that we’ll find Jacob.” She held my gaze for the longest time.
Chapter 34
ENGLAND WAS A FORMIDABLE contrast to Spain.
The weather felt colder, much colder, and the sweeping landscapes bleaker. A round tower greeted us at the mouth of Portsmouth Harbor. We sailed beneath it, passing several British Navy galleys heading in the opposite direction, out of the port. Trade ships vied with us for prime dock space. Our captain’s experience paired with his connections won out, and we were soon on dry land again.
I assumed I wasn’t the only one amongst the passengers who considered kissing the ground. People scurried about, their faces full of worry. A horrid chaos with no promise of resolution, we edged our way into the center of the frantic crowd, all moving as one, trying to get out.
Our journey had been eventful. We’d endured a storm, barely outsailing a tropical hurricane, and the ship became water logged. For us though, there was temporary respite from the elements as we lay within our wooden chests, self-imposed prisoners, willing the voyage to end, and hating every second of it. And there were the strange circumstances of the disappearance of several of the passengers. We were reassured by our captain that this was unusual, and we were more than welcome to return to Spain as guests upon his ship. Although not responsible for the weather, the same could not be said of the other.
We soon found The Pride.
I parted with the last of our money by paying the ship’s sailors for information. They admitted to us that several boys had been aboard, the youngest matching Jacob’s description. After some coaxing, we ascertained that he’d been quiet during the journey, complaining little, but begging to be taken home. On their arrival, all four boys had been bundled into a horse-drawn carriage.
Struggling to remain calm while hearing all of this bordered on cruel, though my desire to slaughter everyone in our path was crueler. Sunaria’s grip on my arm was a constant reminder not to arouse suspicion and put us in harm’s way. These men were merely the messengers, witnessing the kidnapping and not partaking in it. As such, they got to see another day.
Portsmouth and London were connected by only the one road. Our carriage wheel came loose causing further delays. We didn’t wait for them to attach a new one. We headed out on foot. There seemed to be an ever growing distance between us and the carriage that Jacob traveled in.
I looked forward to ripping out the throats of the men who’d played any part. I wondered how Sunaria could bare to be this close to me. I pushed her away and, if such a thing were possible, at the same time clung to her.
London had swallowed up Jacob’s carriage.
Climbing out of ours, we were met by a maze of white-washed, half-timbered houses that lined twisting, filthy lanes. The air was thick, the smell verging on unbearable. It inspired an underlying threat of mayhem. A contrast from my homeland, I was struck by a heavy yearning to return. There seemed to be something about the city’s grayness that reflected back onto its populace, who, scurrying about, all seemed eager to buy or sell something, or as we noted on more than one occasion, steal something.
The spire of St Paul’s Cathedral rose up out of the skyline, a fervent reminder of the Catholic Church’s ironclad rule. People barged past, not wanting to engage.
A foul stench lingered. “Don’t people here wash?” I covered my nose, though it didn’t make much difference. “That’ll be a no.”
“We need to slow down,” Sunaria said.
“What!”
“We’ll find him.” Sunaria faced me and rested her hands on my shoulders. “Look at me. He’s here.”
Old wooden homes overlooked narrow drain channels. Sewage flowed nearby. We were in the center of a rundown market. Poverty was everywhere and the difference between the wealthy and poor was easily evident. Those few with money dressed in fine linen, riding on horseback or within plush carriages. In stark contrast, the poor wore homemade, knitted outfits, some donning tatty leather shoes, others even barefoot.
“No one looks more than thirty.” I looked at her for answers.
“There’s disease here,” she said. “That also means few night walkers. Those who do linger are not the sort you want to associate with.”
Panic hit me and I heaved in my fear. “When do we start?”
“Tomorrow.”
I cursed the daylight, but it was futile to resist. We had to find a safe place for shelter—and soon.
* * * *
The Strand, a street in the City of Westminster, served our needs.
We handed over the first week’s rent to a half-blind night porter. Despite his disability, he had no problem counting our money. We insisted that a tour of the apartments was not required.
“Just show us our room,” I said. And make it fast.
He led us up a winding staircase to the top floor.
Once inside, we took in the modest décor—a medium sized bed, a tatty old side-table, and a chair that I didn’t trust to sit in. But the heavy-lined drapes on the only window and the working lock convinced us to stay.
“Better than a mausoleum,” I reasoned.
“It’ll do,” Sunaria said.
Our room overlooked the River Thames. In different circumstances, I’d have admired the vista, but viewing the sprawling city, sweeping miles upon miles of territory, I felt only desperation. When Jacob surfaced, we’d be asleep, and when we emerged, he’d be inside again.
I pulled the curtains, turned, and slid down the wall. With my head in my hands, I sobbed.
* * * *
With despair so terrible, I found it difficult to focus.
Within a
week, we’d searched virtually every workhouse in London. Many of them were matchmaking factories. Our third factory of the night was nestled in a rundown neighborhood that verged on the edge of Westminster Abbey. We made our way to the manager’s office.
We strolled past child after child, all of them bending over their wooden work benches, laboring away. I searched each face and saw Jacob in all of them. Heads rose in a moment of interest. Big, sunken eyes stared back, and then they returned once again to their tasks at hand. These children would work well into the night and start early again tomorrow.
At the rear of the bleak factory, just off to the right, old straw beds lay stacked up against the far wall. They lived here and slept here, trapped in a cycle of deprivation. Such a sorrowful existence.
But for the chosen few, for those children blessed with health and good bones, an alternative offered hope. A reasonable profit could be made from wealthy family members who, unable to bear children of their own, would seek to adopt. They’d pluck out a child, paying whatever was asked of them. The thought of unscrupulous buyers crossed my mind.
I wanted to open the doors to the factory and yell at the children to run. Though if they did escape, a new threat awaited them. If caught, they’d sustain a severe punishment. The threat of execution was very real, a brutal and undeserving death. More surprising still, this building, along with two thirds of London, belonged to the Church.
The numbness within had for a moment lifted and provided such inner turmoil that I feared my ability to restrain my temper. I took a moment to compose myself.
Easily passing for wealthy aristocrats eager to adopt, we presented ourselves to the owner’s wife. The hard-faced woman, Mrs. Amesbury, who wore a permanent scowl, greeted us with a suspicious eye. A harsh task mistress, no doubt.
“We want to pass the child off as ours,” Sunaria explained.
“Do I detect Spanish in the gentleman’s accent?” Mrs. Amesbury asked.
I gave a nod, trying to suppress any visible disdain.
“Oh, dear, had you come on Wednesday, you might have beaten the other couple to it.”
I tried to remain calm.
“We did have a Spanish boy,” she spoke slowly. “Didn’t say much, though.”
“His name?” I asked.
“I can’t remember that now.” She shook her head. “We have so many boys.”
Every sinew in my body felt on edge.
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