Panic struck when I saw a shadowy figure looming a few roofs down. Elijah’s stare caught mine.
In my anger, I’d not thought it through. I blamed Sunaria for what I’d now done, unwittingly led him to my son. Jacob was oblivious to the drama unfolding above him and trekked on. Four children trailed behind him, and he threw several pennies in their direction.
Elijah shot across the alleyway that Jacob had just passed. He was closing in. I darted between the rickety shacks and landed in a puddle in the courtyard, near where the children were busy counting their coins.
“The physician, which way did he go?” I asked.
The pale faced children peered up. I reached into my pocket and threw the few coins that I had on me at them. They pointed east. With a painfully normal gait, I strolled in that direction, away from them.
Within the cul-de-sac, the homes were smaller and closer together. A few doors down, Jacob disappeared inside a rundown cottage. Out of nowhere, Elijah dashed into the house right behind him.
The scent of death caught my nostrils as I set foot inside. Whoever my son had arranged to visit had died. A black cat scampered over my foot and hissed. Several more steps in and I entered the largest room, everything in disarray. There, in the corner, clutching his medical bag, stood Jacob.
Elijah turned to me.
“Get out,” I signaled to him.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Jacob looked puzzled. “Didn’t I just see you back at the hospital?”
Words failed me.
“Did you come to give the last rites?” Jacob turned to Elijah, trying to get a better look beneath his hood.
Well-dressed, I looked out of place, and by Jacob’s expression, he thought so too. But even stranger than me was the monk-like figure, Elijah.
Elijah’s pale lips quivered. “Sunaria, it appears she’s not dead.”
I turned to see Sunaria lingering in the doorway.
“Where do I know you from?” Jacob asked Sunaria, his frown deepening.
Elijah neared him.
“I should be going.” Jacob started for the exit.
Elijah’s gaze slid my way. “Jacob, meet your father.”
I bit my lip, holding back my rage.
Jacob glanced at me, and then at Elijah, and then stared back at me as his bag slipped from his hands and landed with a thud.
“What do you want?” I asked Elijah.
His mouth slid into a grin.
“If it’s my attention, you have it,” I said through gritted teeth.
Sunaria stepped into the room. “Elijah, I’ll go with you.”
“No, you won’t.” I gestured for her to stay put.
“You’re not my father, are you?” Jacob asked.
“I’ll answer every question,” I replied. “But you are no longer needed here.”
“My father’s dead,” Jacob muttered.
“Now.” I threw a glance at Sunaria.
I hated Elijah for forcing my hand. I’d planned and re-planned my first rendezvous with my son, and this wasn’t it.
Sunaria guided Jacob out. My insides turned as my son disappeared from sight.
“I will find him.” Elijah’s voice was void of emotion.
“This obsession with your descendants is annoying.”
Elijah reached out and gestured. “Return with me and everything will be explained.”
“Talk here or not at all.”
Elijah sighed. “When I’d heard that Sunaria had turned you, I wept for days.”
“As you can see, I’m over it.”
“You have a forgiving nature.”
“Not so much now.” I folded my arms.
“Your son inherited your recklessness.”
“By reckless, you mean tending to the sick?”
“The woman he came to visit, do you know what she died of?”
“Old age? How would I know?”
“The Black Death.” Elijah almost blinked.
“I’ll send my condolences to the family.”
“Perhaps Jacob has your sense of immortality?”
“I’m leaving.” I headed for the door.
“There are some who believe that there is only one way to rid the city of the Black Death.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m telling you why I’m here,” he said. “Generations ago, they started a fire. It swept through London, and gutted the city.”
“Disease got out of hand?” My voice was barely a whisper, as I realized where this was going. “They tried to suppress it with fire?”
He nodded. “This plague is even worse than before, imagine how they’ll handle it now.”
“That was Roman’s secret?” I took a step back.
Elijah’s eyelid’s flickered. “Decay leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth.”
“Keep talking.”
“During the time that Roman spent amongst the Stone Masters, he gathered information that hinted that they planned a repeat of 1212.”
“Are you saying that Archer plans to burn down the city, again?”
“I am.”
“Delacroix told you this?” I said.
“Yes.”
“And you believe him?”
Elijah dismissed my remark with a wave of his hand, and shot me an uneasy glance. “Archer found out that Roman spied on him.”
“Roman was betrayed.”
“He was, and when Delacroix discovered who’d double-crossed his brother, he seduced him, luring the boy vampire with the promise that he would one day rule at his side.”
“Benjamin?”
He nodded. “Roman’s assistant. The Stone Masters captured Benjamin and only let him go because he swore to deliver his master to them. An ancient’s blood is worth more. Benjamin had no idea about Roman’s secret.”
I leaned against the wall.
Elijah stared with that empty expression of his. “Delacroix brought Roman back to life.”
“Well, if you call having your head attached to someone else’s body being brought back,” I said.
“Delacroix was desperate to discover the Stone Masters’ plan.”
“So he’s not mad after all.” I let out a laugh. “Perhaps I should rephrase that.”
An awful flashback of being strapped into Delacroix’s torture chair. Jitters slithered down my spine.
“Your inability to stay in the shadows has caused rumors to circulate.” Elijah frowned. “If people needed proof of our kind, you’ve given it to them.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“But of course you don’t.”
“Why didn’t Roman just leave the city?” I asked.
“The Stone Masters are growing exponentially.”
I realized that if another fire swept through the capital, Jacob would be caught in the middle of it.
“I’m here to get Jacob out of London,” Elijah said, having infringed upon my thoughts.
I secured my mind from any further breach. “You have no right to go anywhere near him.”
“I disagree.”
“You’re insane.”
“You always were arrogant.” He sighed. “When you drank from Delacroix . . .” Elijah’s cheeks blushed. “You have within you information that can stop Archer.”
“Ask Delacroix.”
“He’s not talking.”
“That may have something to do with the fact that you’ve buried him.”
Elijah flinched.
“If Roman was right,” I said, “and the Stone Masters intend to burn down the city, why haven’t they done it yet?”
“Only Roman knew that secret.” Elijah neared me. “And he passed it on to Delacroix.”
I cringed at the thought of his pale lips going anywhere near my neck.
His pale tongue flicked. “Let me drink from you.”
My stare gave my answer.
“Why are you being so difficult?” He rose to his full height.
“You made a mistake coming here.�
��
“In the bigger picture, Jacob’s unimportant. Sunaria has tainted your view of us. We are the elite.”
“You punish her for threatening your descendants, and yet you’re guilty of what you accuse her of.”
“This is different.”
“No, it’s not.”
Elijah’s face was calm, but underneath his cool exterior, I sensed his aggression.
His attack sent me hurtling. My head struck the wall and, when I opened my eyes again, Elijah glared down at me.
He sighed. “Your history runs in my veins.”
I tried to break from his grasp. “I’ve never been one for holding onto the past.”
Elijah’s sting went deep. His strength almost overcame mine, but with a quick yank, I pulled one arm free and reached for the dagger tucked inside my jacket lining, withdrew it, and swung it up, thrusting it into his chest. His face contorted, his mouth gaping in horror. Using all my force, I plunged it in further. A rasping rattle escaped his throat and his eyes bulged. He was paralyzed. With a shove, I spun him onto his back, and attacked his neck.
Drinking, taking it in, I exulted in the potency rippling through him, and now through me, an exquisite elixir fermented over centuries. Gorging, I tumbled back in time and went to a place where nothing existed, and yet everything did.
I stayed sharp, maintaining a steady course, as a legacy faded.
Chapter 50
BELSHAZZAR’S FELT DIFFERENT.
Jacob waited in the lounge. His presence brought a tangible serenity. I carried his medical bag, retrieved from the cottage.
A lifetime of waiting had finally come to a close.
Surging through me was power, but also our history. If Elijah’s words held any truth, wedding them with how I felt, my mind tried to grasp the concept of what I now possessed, centuries of knowledge. Though this buzz provided an interesting, if not arousing sensation, the fact that Jacob stood on the other side of the door was easily more compelling.
Despite what I’d done within this very hour, I felt calm. Elijah’s heritage was not lost, but absorbed, his memories stolen, perchance to be liberated some other day. Willing to do anything to protect my son, I’d brought down the most ancient of legacies and felt no regret.
Having fed, my pallor would at least grant me a few hours. Trying to find the right words, searching for a way to convey feelings unaffected by time, I traced the door with my fingertips and then gave it a shove.
Jacob’s smile greeted me.
I laid his leather bag onto the side table. It was a familiar item in an unfamiliar setting. I needed to pass for a man in his late forties, despite my thirty-year-old appearance. Mindful of the way I moved, I stepped closer. “You look well.”
He looked lost amongst the lavish décor. Despite his youth, work had taken a toll. Even at such a young age, he looked older than twenty-one.
“Jacob.” I approached him.
“Are you really my father?”
“I am.”
“You look so young.”
“I live well.” I strolled with the air of a gentleman. A manner with which I hoped to convey I had indeed reached middle-age.
“What were you doing in that house?” he asked.
“I came looking for you.”
“And the monk?”
“He couldn’t stay.”
Jacob gave the deepest sigh. “I wasn’t born in London?”
“No.”
His stare wandered the room. “You’re Spanish? I’m Spanish?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me then.”
“My nephew sold you.” Stupid way to start. I paused for a moment and rested my hand over my heart, gesturing that it was good to be near him. I searched for the right words.
Teary-eyed, Jacob seemed lost.
From within my trouser pocket, I withdrew the locket. “This is yours.” I handed it over to him.
As he took the piece from me, his hand brushed against mine, and I felt an inner tremor, relieved that he was here with me after all this time.
Jacob prized open the clasp and gazed at the renderings inside. “How did you find this?”
“Sunaria found it.”
Jacob studied the locket. “I sold it for food. Two days later, Dr. Potts saw me begging and took me in.”
Arms out, unable to hold back anymore, I gestured to him. Jacob neared me and wrapped his arms around me. I held him tight and everything that had once seemed important slipped away. Here, now, in this moment, I found truth like no other, and despite this foreign land, this foreign place, we were home.
He broke away. “How did you find me?”
Taking a moment, I considered my answer, unsure whether to reveal that I’d watched over him all these years, and been part of his life, when all the while he’d not even been aware of mine. His uncanny likeness to Annabelle threw me for a second. “My friend found you. I’d . . . described you to him.”
“I’m glad.”
With my hand on my chest, I conveyed the same.
“Aunt Alicia?” As he spoke her name, his face lit up.
Being here with each other stirred memories.
I smiled, remembering her. “She’s still in Spain.”
“You write to her?”
“I do but . . .” I never send the letters.
“Do I have a brother?”
“You did.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died.”
Jacob’s face flushed. “And mother?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“How?”
I shrugged, reluctant to discuss it.
“That monk, back at the house?” Jacob began.
“He won’t be coming back.”
“He knew that you were my father, though.”
“We had a disagreement.” I looked away. “But we came to an arrangement.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow at the décor. “This is your house?”
“Yes.”
“It’s huge.”
“I’d like to think that you’ll consider living here.”
“How long have you been here?”
“A while.” Feeling unsteady on my feet, I gestured to Jacob to sit. “You’d settled into a new life. It was wrong to pull you out of it.”
Jacob sat in the chair opposite and seemed to be holding back tears. My own reasons for suppressing mine were far from human, more of a supernatural centering. I’m sorry I failed you. But couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t express my shame of not being there for him.
“So much to say, not sure where to start.” He shook his head.
“You sound so English.” I smiled.
“So do you.” He chuckled. “My Spanish father is now an English gentleman. Although I still detect a slight accent.”
“Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?” With those words came the realization that there would be little food in the house, though there may be something left over from the staff’s meals.
He gestured that he needed nothing.
“Dr. Potts, he took good care of you?” I said.
Jacob nodded.
Over the years, the question had been answered.
“Where has all this money come from?” Jacob asked.
“Business, property dealings.”
“You’re established here in London?”
“I came here to find you. I plan to take you home.”
“Spain?” Jacob gave an uneasy smile.
“Yes.”
“London’s my home now.”
“You don’t remember your birth place?”
He gazed at the chess table. “You play?”
The game with Marcus had been abandoned a week ago. He’d been too distracted to be a worthy opponent. I’d been winning. “Do you?”
“No, but I’d like to learn.” He looked around at the sumptuous furnishings. “Business must be good.”
“Why were you visiting that home today?”
“I
still make house calls to Dr. Potts’ old patients.” Jacob saw my wariness. “I’m careful.”
I wanted to pinch myself, amazed that he really sat opposite me—a man in every respect, a fine gentleman, his presence demure. Even his thoughts reflected integrity. A sense that with him, through him, I might find some inner peace, and dared to hope I’d rediscover our lost years.
“My memories are a little hazy,” he said thoughtfully.
“Do you remember your mother?”
“I have memories of being told about her.”
“Her name was Annabelle.”
“She died when I was very young?”
Too young to recall the attack, his age had protected him from the atrocity.
“Soldiers killed her,” I said.
“Why?”
“They were ordered to by a senator who hated me,” I explained. “He murdered my brother years before that. The fact that I knew this threatened his political career.”
“Why didn’t he kill you?”
He did.
I shrugged and my mind wandered back to a perfect summer—a Sunday afternoon, and the coolest breeze, Miguel leaning against the paddock gate, the man with the smiling eyes. Annabelle calling to me from the steps of the house, begging me to take Eduardo off the pony, after all he’d just turned four.
“Did they suffer?” Jacob said.
Breathing in the scent of blood, seeing Miguel splayed out upon the floor and, upon the bed, Annabelle, still clutching our son.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t believe so.”
“And the senator?”
I loosened my neck tie. “Dead.”
“How did he die?”
The blood of my enemies not spilt but imbibed.
Jacob’s stare was persistent.
My beloved Spain’s darkest hours.
“I finished it,” I said, wistfully.
“Father?”
I liked that he called me that. “Power can turn in on itself, blinding one to reason.” I gave a smile, remembering. “When I met your mother, she was a dancer. She was so beautiful. You take after her.”
“How did the senator die?”
The door flew open.
Sunaria entered, carrying a bottle of wine. “Time for a toast.” She raised it high. “Tonight, we celebrate.”
Sunaria’s timing was perfect. She poured white wine into three cups resting on the chestnut sideboard.
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