The Earl's Daughter (The Viscount's Son Trilogy Book 2)

by Aderyn Wood

  Chapter 15

  Michael D’Angelo’s Case Notes – Wednesday 26th November

  From the Foliss Abesse: The demeanor of the Vampyre

  Vampyres are creatures of dangerous beauty and most humans will fall victim to their charm. The vampyre’s physical changes will be rendered within a short duration. The skin will fade to white as the darkness of night diminishes any swarthiness born of the sun. The eyes will alter, becoming dark with hunger; vivid colour returns once sated. The hair darkens while teeth gleam a perfect white. Some mortals will detect a subtle odour, the sweet flora of decomposition akin to the dried spice of the dead rose. All the better to ensnare the innocent and the unwary.

  Michael’s hands shook as he translated the passage. He had returned late to his room at the Petite Chez and though it was now two-thirty a.m.; he remained too restless to sleep. His mind reeled. The memory of that white face in the lamplight. Had it been Emma? Michael was too unsettled to meditate, but the answer screamed in his mind – it was her. And what had she become? Michael opened the file on his tablet where he stored the documents Susan had given him. His fingers shook as he tapped the image and it flared wide on the screen. Emma. Her hair was light, almost like his own. Her blue eyes wide, her mouth smiling. Her skin had been pale before, but that face in the lamplight had been more so.

  He threw the tablet on the bed and made a pot of chamomile tea in the hope it would calm him and help him sleep, but his heart still raced in time with his thoughts, and sleep remained futile. He wished he’d bought a bottle of whisky for himself.

  He opened the tablet again and checked his emails. Susan had made contact, asking about his progress.

  Michael considered what he could tell her. ‘Your sister has become a vampire’, wasn’t something he could jot down in an email. No. He closed the tablet and grabbed his phone. Would Georgette be awake? Still on her stakeout?

  He dialled her number.

  “Allo?” Her voice was sleepy.

  “Georgette, I am sorry to wake you.”

  “Michael? Is it you?”

  “Yes, Georgette, you are not working?”

  He heard a rustle followed by Georgette’s heavy yawn. “We finished just after midnight. What about you?” Her excitement returned as she woke. “Did you find her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Merde!”

  “Can we meet tomorrow? At the cafe?”

  “Of course. Let’s meet again at four.”

  “Georgette, I need you to do some research for me. There is a woman buried in the Père Lachaise Cemetery. Could you find out the circumstances of her death?”

  “Pardon? What are you talking about?”

  “I will explain tomorrow, but I need to know how this woman died.”

  “I see. What is her name?”

  “Jeanne Hubert.”

  Michael bid goodnight to Georgette and finished his tea. His eyes felt suddenly heavy. He stumbled to the bathroom to brush his teeth before stumbling back and going to bed.

  Sleep came quickly, but more dreams of Emma filled it – her hair was dark now, as were her eyes, as though their usual sky-blue had been eclipsed by storm clouds. Her skin was white, like the face under the lamp. He’d wake and turn, and sleep would take him again, but then he’d dream of Judith – holding Judith, kissing Judith – but his nan would interrupt them to tell him to guard his heart.

  At the cafe Georgette greeted Michael with a kiss to each cheek, she smelt of coffee and hazelnuts today. They got a table and the grumpy waiter served them. This time Michael agreed to try some of the cake.

  “You won’t regret it, mon ami.” Georgette smiled. “So tell me,” she whispered as her eyes danced. “Did you meet her? Is she, you know, transformed?”

  Michael frowned. “I am not sure. She is – different.”

  “I knew it!” Georgette’s excitement grew.

  “She looks different from the photos I’ve seen and she seems – melancholy. Not the bright fun-loving young woman that everyone remembers. But, I only saw her from a distance.” He shrugged as he told her the details of the previous night. “Perhaps it was not even her.”

  Georgette raised an eyebrow. “I think you know what you saw, Michael. Your intuition has not deceived you.”

  Their tea and cake arrived, and Michael took a bite. He’d not eaten since a hurried late breakfast and he welcomed the sustenance, and Georgette was right, it was very good.

  Georgette took two generous mouthfuls of cake. “So what happens now? What do we do with this information?”

  A cold warning thrummed up Michael’s spine. “We must be very careful, Georgette. Do not tell anyone. I think there is a reason they keep themselves hidden and shrouded in mystery.”

  “Yes, but is it for their safety, or for ours?”

  Michael remembered the passage from the Foliss Abesse advising vampires to remain hidden and to deal with those who knew about them. But he had no wish to discuss the Foliss with Georgette and endanger her with more knowledge. “For their survival I’d say.”

  Georgette shivered. “Mon Dieu, we all live in ignorance, don’t we? What else could be out there?”

  Demons, Michael thought. But he wouldn’t frighten Georgette with that particular truth.

  “And did you find anything on Jeanne Hubert?”

  “But of course.” Georgette reached into her bag and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Jeanne Monique Hubert. Wife of Jean-Baptiste Hubert, mother of two children, Geneviève and Francois, admitted to hospital on seventeenth of November last year with severe hypovolemia and dehydration. Died hours later. Cause of death – Exsanguination.”

  Michael frowned. “Exsanguination?”

  Georgette didn’t flinch. “Loss of blood.”

  Michael took a sharp breath. So, it was true.

  “Why is she important?”

  “I think she was Emma’s first victim.”

  Georgette swallowed a mouthful of tea. “It could have been him.”

  Michael nodded, slowly. “Perhaps.”

  “What do we do now?”

  He looked at Georgette. “I don’t know.”

  She bit her lip for a second before opening her bag and extracting her laptop. “Perhaps there is another message.”

  “The blog?”

  Georgette nodded as she typed, her eyes scanning the screen before growing wider. “Mon Dieu!”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s another post. A message. She wants to meet with you again.”

  “When?” Michael’s fingers tingled and the teacup clanged on the saucer as he lost his grip.

  “Tonight.”

  Chapter 16

  New post from Emma’s blog – Thursday 27th November, 03:30hrs

  Meet me at midnight. You know where.

  Michael strode along the Seine watching the sky as it changed colours in the dusk and reflected in the choppy dark waters of the river. Night threatened all too easily. The usual fog that had descended every evening now rolled in over the city, and darkness fell once more. He had a handful of hours before his ‘appointment’, and his mind was ill at ease.

  Georgette’s excitement had quickly turned to concern back at the cafe, and she argued that she should go with him, or follow close at least, should anything happen. But Michael refused to put her at risk. Emma would know she was there. He’d learnt that much from the Foliss Abesse and the Rituals and rites for the prevention and protection of Vampiric Infestation, the book Brother Gerold had given him. No one could hide from vampires, with their superior senses, it seemed. Georgette had reluctantly agreed and made him promise to be careful and to call her the very minute he could.

  They’d read the new message on the blog over and over, and Michael saw it now in his mind’s eyes as he walked. ‘Meet me at midnight.’ His hands hadn’t stopped trembling and the roiling in his stomach would not abate. Something was going to happen. Some important milestone of his fate was about to greet him tonight. Fear gri
pped him. He could run away, book a flight back to England, or better yet, maybe somewhere new where he could start again. Become a person like everyone else, a person who had a proper house with a garden, in a leafy suburb, rather than the dark attic he rented in London. Someone who paid his bills on time, had health insurance, went on holidays. Someone who could have fun and laugh with men about sport over a beer. Someone who settled down, got married, and had children. He could move to New Zealand, or Australia, and learn to love cricket.

  He frowned as he shook his head, and his legs carried him back to the Petite Chez where he climbed the steps to his room. Inside he made a cup of tea and opened the Foliss Abesse and his notes on the tablet. There was still much to learn.

  He typed a new heading, The Hunt, took a sip of tea and settled down to translate, taking notes as he read the old Latin.

  The vampyre is a predator. Like the cat and the fox. The vampyre will oft play with such prey as suits them for entertainment or to learn more and hone their skills. These endeavours may appear cruel, and, indeed, they are, but the young vampyre will learn much from such revelry – important lessons, such as a mortal’s capacity for self-defence. It is only through experimentation that the vampyre will learn to overcome such resistance. If the vampyre happens upon a mortal who knows the methods of self-preservation, the vampyre may well be in danger.

  Michael took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. The Foliss Abesse was as frustrating as it was fascinating. What type of ‘defence’ did it mean? He looked to the notes from Rituals and rites and scanned the list of ways one could defend oneself against vampires. Wreaths of garlic, garlic paste mixed with frankincense, thistles in full bloom, an iron needle, a wooden stake lined with silver. It all seemed ridiculous, something from a Hollywood movie. How could a thistle defend him against a vampire? And what exactly did the Foliss Abesse mean by ‘defence’. It seemed to Michael, if humans knew how to defend themselves, then humans could be safe and the vampire would be the one in danger.

  His phone rang.

  Judith.

  His thumb lingered over the screen as thoughts of moving to New Zealand returned. He could take Judith with him, start a new life together. Get that house in a leafy street. They could still have children. They could still be happy.

  It stopped ringing and Michael’s heart sank as he put the phone back into his pocket. He needed to forget Judith, now and forever. She would only steal his heart again and then crush it to a pulp, just as she’d done before.

  It was close to midnight when Michael entered the iron gate of the cemetery. The mist was once again heavy and fat drops of moisture fell from the leafless canopy of trees lining the cobbled path. His footsteps rang and echoed off old gravestones and chapels. Michael’s hands buzzed with the force of the dead.

  He calmed his racing heart by slowing his breath. It wasn’t the dead in their graves that he needed to be wary of, or their spirits. He’d spent the last two days reading and translating large sections of the Foliss Abesse, and he now had a clearer understanding of the vampire – their powers, how they came to be in the first place. Though there was still much to learn. He would need to tread very carefully.

  At the grave the flowers stood in front of the headstone. Michael stepped close enough to read Jeanne’s chiselled name. The air was icy, and the mist from his breath came out in dense puffs in the light of the lamp. He kept his hands in the warmth of his coat pockets, but they buzzed and tingled so strongly he had to grip them into tight fists. The moon, nearly full, arced high in the sky, its white face just visible through the fog. Something sounded to the south, a car horn, or an owl. It was dark, too dark. Michael took a few steps back, not wanting to be in the light of the lamp. He waited. Seconds, minutes went by, and then silently a figure came forth from the shadows and bent in front of the headstone to adjust the flowers there. The figure turned to him then, and Michael recognised the large eyes, the short-cropped hair, the elfin face.

  Emma.

  Chapter 17

  Up close he reminds me of a Renaissance painting. A Michelangelo, his skin pale, hair almost golden, eyes filled with – gravity. He doesn’t fear me. That is something. Perhaps this will go well after all.

  “Hello.” His voice is calm and without tremor, and his eyes don’t move from me. No, he doesn’t fear me, not yet anyway.

  “Hello,” I reply. My own voice sounds like a stranger, somehow different to the old Emma – deeper, and husky. I rarely speak, and it’s always a shock when I do.

  “You are Emma Farleigh, are you not?” He steps closer, his breath producing clouds in the space between us. He is handsome, in a sweet way. He is tall and slender, with high cheek bones and kind blue eyes that still don’t shift from me.

  “I am.” Am I? I want to be Emma Farleigh, that other woman who had a life – spending time with friends, eating pizza, watching movies, walking in the sunshine. Oh, how I miss the sunshine! She never craved the darkness the way I do now.

  “You’ve changed – is that right?” Michael’s voice is soft, and slightly hesitant, and I sniff a thin tendril of fear, like a wisp of smoke.

  No! I step back, checking my instincts. Fear awakens them. No! I push them down as much as I can and suck the cold night air into my lungs, focusing on the action of breathing; another thing I rarely do.

  “Your hair, your eyes. They are darker.” He steps closer again, but the tendril of fear dissolves, and I can almost sigh with relief.

  “Are they? I – I wouldn’t know. I cannot – see myself as I used to. Please, don’t come closer.”

  Michael nods, as though he understands.

  How much does he know? He has answers. He left me the book, and from it I’ve learnt more than a year of groping in the darkness has taught me. “Thank you for the book. It was useful.”

  Michael nods again, his eyes now studying me more closely – my body, my clothes, my skin. He is a good man. I knew that the moment I spied him in my apartment. I sense it now, the goodness in him, and it’s different to the fear. It radiates from him like the warmth of a fire. It makes me want to stay and talk. It makes me feel like the old Emma. A sudden urge to rush to him, to embrace him, rises up, and I suck the night air down until the urge passes.

  “I know what you’ve become.”

  “Do you?” Then tell me, I want to shout, for I know little apart from the raw emotions and instincts that seem to control me, and finding out more seems impossible.

  “What happened to Nate?”

  Anger forces a snarl, and I relax my lips. I mustn’t allow anger in either. “Nate is a monster. He left not long after he – did this to me. He told me he’d grown bored with my moral anguish.”

  “Is that what you have? Moral anguish.”

  I nod. “Every day is a struggle.”

  “And have you learnt anything of what you’ve become?”

  “I’ve learnt very little. Almost nothing from Nate, except how to kill. Everything else I’ve learnt myself. I cannot walk in the sunshine. I seem to sense the emotions of others very clearly – their fear especially. My hunger can take over and I can lose control – I try to stay away from people, as much as possible.”

  “Is that why you like it here in the cemetery?”

  “Yes, few people come here during the night; it makes it easier.”

  “Makes what easier?”

  I stall to take in his expression, and his essence. The goodness beams still, but the seed of fear is sprouting once more. I can feel it. “Existence,” I answer, finally.

  He blinks and adjusts his glasses. “And what of this grave? Did you bring me here for a reason?”

  I nod and point to the headstone. Michael steps closer and his scent wafts to me – the scent of his soap, the lingering sunlight on his hair, and his blood. His fear ebbs again, and my instincts remain dulled.

  “Did you know her?”

  “I knew her only briefly. He took her life. He took her and made me—”

  “You mean Nat
haniel?”

  “Yes, him.”

  “He drained her of her blood.”

  “No.” I look him in the eye. “I did.”

  Michael swallows and his seed of fear awakens once more. It is enough to make me step back. Any fear from him and my self-control will crumble and that thrill ride will take over.

  “Wait, don’t go yet. It’s all right, Emma. I’m here to help you.”

  His fear subsides a little but it’s still there, bubbling, and I cannot risk staying too long. Already my pupils have widened to allow the light and I see him more clearly. My sense of smell has heightened and I detect the coffee on his breath. The instincts will awaken if I am not careful. I take another step back, into the shadows, and force my breath once more. “You should go.”

  “But we’ve only just met. I’ve much to tell you – your family, your sister and father – they hired me to find you and bring you home.”

  My family? An old comforting emotion embraces me, familiar and strange in the same moment. It takes away the chill. But my hunger has been woken. Michael’s beating heart thrums in my ears; it is time for me to leave. “We will meet again. At midnight, the night after next.”

  “Why not tomorrow night?” Michael asks.

  “Tomorrow will be the full moon. It’s always worse then.” It’s bad enough now. I step further into the darkness and turn to leave. Michael’s heartbeat quickens and I taste his essence on my tongue.