Words And Meanings
by Bonnie Rutledge
(copyright 2001)Chapter Nine As sunrise approached, we raced indoors. We found no sign of Bourbon, but Lucrece and I were both more interested in other things at the time to think much of it. She fell asleep in my arms, peace covering her like a blanket, but I couldn't rest as easily.I tenderly pried away from her, leaving the bed in favor of the library. I passed members of Lucrece's army of servants on the way. One of these domestic foot soldiers stationed outside every doorway, primed to satisfy any demand made day or night instantly. They stared ahead with unseeing eyes, as if they were blind until told otherwise, each one a numb speck of life huddled in their cave along the hall. If I chose to hand one of them a casual hello, they would jump, startled at being noticed, then would inquire what they could do to be of service, as if I had all the answers to the meaning of their lives. Invariably, I said nothing, a damning answer in itself.
Stopping briefly within the library, I retrieved the copy of 'The Odyssey' as well as Bourbon's magnifying lens and carried them back to Lucrece's room. I passed the same servant sentries with empty faces and wished them somewhere else, where they could live for themselves. Ungracious, I thought, pausing at the foot of Lucrece's bed for a solemn study of her languid form curled on the mattress. She wouldn't appreciate me consigning her wealth to the devil or Burgundy. Inconsistent of me to desire the rich Lucrece in the first place, then resent her gold, retinue and toadies when they kept her from being truly mine.
Moving away, I settled in a chair, propping my boots on a low table nearby, and I proceeded to read for hours. Deciphering the words pared my thoughts until all that seemed real were the characters of another story pulled from the past, their slow journey over the seas mirroring my sluggish progress through the book. Eventually, the drive for sleep caught up with me, and I reluctantly set Homer aside. Crawling back into bed, I rested my head against Lucrece's breast and drifted off to dreams of a Cyclops that couldn't see beneath sheep's clothing.
The sounds of breaking glass and shouting woke me. I shifted groggily, running my hands over the bed linens in search of a familiar, desired form. Empty.
I rolled over onto my back, experiencing the weight of my late day's reading in my arms and legs. I had no precise idea what time it was, but I wasn't ready to get up yet. Dozing until midnight sounded like a pleasant notion rather than rising with the sunset.
Through lids slit open halfway, I saw Lucrece walk briskly across the room. She'd traded her grass-stained shift for something cleaner, and I saw her add a pale blue brocade robe, fastening it clumsily about her waist. I wondered at that vaguely, for it felt like she inevitably had a half dozen women swarming to buckle her shoes. If she'd been undressing, that wouldn't have looked so out of the ordinary. But seeing her grooming herself ... it was something to think about after I'd napped another round of the clock or two.
But the sounds remained, a racket that echoed distantly in the recesses of my awareness, as luring as a heart pacing time in my ear, tempting me into full consciousness. More glass shattered in the hallway, slightly more muffled this time, like an object had crashed against a wall rather than the floor. I heard the bedroom door open and close. Lucrece investigating the disturbance, I supposed, and I rolled onto my stomach again, one arm stretched over my head. Sleep was a timeless fog: it could have been a minute; it could have been an hour. I heard a scream - Lucrece's voice. Instantly, I snapped awake and stumbled unsteadily for the door.
Time lounging in a castle had sowed the seeds of new habits, but hadn't erased old ones. Screaming made me think of two things: war and The Inka. I cursed my complacency, the temptation of perfumed sheets and the lowering of my guard. If he'd tracked me down here, if he laid the first finger on Lucrece trying to get to me I'd -
Instead of imagining a concrete answer, I ripped the door off its hinges as I burst into the hall.
But no Inka waited there for battle. Lucrece didn't face my mortal enemy, but a bedraggled Bourbon, who looked as though his nobility had taken a solid beating since I'd last seen him. She screamed at her own flesh and blood, not some spectre from my past. My fingers dug into the molding where the threshold opened into the hallway, greedy for action as I tried to reason out the scene. Only the three of us remained in the hall. The normal retinue of servants that occupied this space had conspicuously departed.
Without walls and doors between us, her exclamations took on a shape. Lucrece appeared furious and frantic, clenching her fists in front of Bourbon. "What have you done?! You'll ruin us!" She flattened her palms against her temples, repeating in a wail, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?"
"I have done nothing but attempt to rescue us from your corruption!" Bourbon snarled. Blood smudged his clothes and face, and he held a bottle in either hand, the type we'd been drinking from during the week. He swung them about as he shouted, "What have you done, Milady? WHAT HAVE YOU BECOME?!" As his words culminated, he let go of his fury in the form of targeting one of the bottles at Lucrece's head. It shattered against the wall just by her left ear, spraying her with blood and knifelike shards of glass.
The next second, I had him knocked to the floor. I'd been waiting for a good excuse to clash with Bourbon, a reason to call him friend or foe once and for all. He'd practically handed grounds to me on a silver platter. Strike at my woman, the hell if I was going to stand around. I threw a blow, brimming with satisfaction as my fist connected with his face. That part came as instinct. What didn't mesh was the feeling when he hit back: something like familiarity. Maybe it was the fighting, the adversarial conflict bringing The Inka back to mind again. But Bourbon wasn't The Inka. That's not who he reminded me of anymore. The sense that I felt simultaneously with his knuckles landing below my ribs suggested something different from hate, separate from rage against an enemy.
He'd pissed me off by attacking Lucrece, yes, but at the same stupid time, I knew that in the back of my mind, I'd already given into temptation and branded him a friend. Damn. I cursed him for being Bourbon, and I cursed myself for being stupid. What a moment to accept someone as an ally: the same moment you're trying to beat them to death. I thought of Screed, and the worst of our arguments over the years. I wasn't fighting to defeat Bourbon. I wasn't fighting to break free of him. I fought to stop him, to snap him out of whatever haze he'd sunk into and wring the reason for his battle out of him. Screed had jumped at me the same way after Drogheda, when I'd been slow to flee the threat of beheading. What are you fighting for, Spaniard? What are you fighting for?
I feinted to one side, then reversed direction and heaved my weight at Bourbon. The force of the impact slammed him into the opposite wall, causing a cracking sound. A light rain of plaster showered our heads. I asked him the same question that ricocheted in my head. "What are you fighting for?"
His eyes widened at the unexpected question. "Honor," he breathed. "Everything!" Bourbon rose up, kicking me square in the chest. I fell backwards, momentarily outmaneuvered, the hint of a silly smile creeping loose on my face at his retaliation. You can't trust anyone who takes the worst you hand them and accepts it lying down. Real friends fight back. Bourbon was my friend. Hell, how annoying was that?
As I crouched forward on my feet, preparing for the next round, Lucrece ran into my path, her arms extended. "No! Stop!" She breathed heavily, a wild glimmer tainting the gray of her eyes. She looked like a woman scraping for a way to escape the pair of us unscathed. Not trustworthy. Not trustworthy at all. "This…this disagreement…" She bit on her lower lip for a moment, unable to swallow her own belittling of the conflict. "It is between Bourbon and me." She shook her head, and I watched dazedly as a lock of hair fragrant with spilt blood clung to her cheek. "Our business. Not yours."
I sucked in a gulp of air. Those words hit me. They beat me as much as the plea in her eyes to back down and walk away from the pair of them. She didn't want me to defend her as much as she wanted me to look in the opposite direction and hear nothing. Love stripped naked marked her face, love for me, love for Bourbon, coupled with a gritty frustration that she might not be able to control us, or the outcome of this night. The fight ebbed in me, replaced by incomprehension. What was going on here, so crucial that I wasn't meant to be a part of it?
Aggravation coursed through me as well, transferred from Bourbon to my ladylove. I felt she had branded me inconvenient again, but this time, the adjective carried no flattery. What did it say of her feelings for me that she could want me to stay removed from her disaster? It struck me then that power did matter more than love to Lucrece, and that inconvenience might translate into a damnable weakness as far as she was concerned. That conclusion must have shone in my expression. I must have withdrawn in my eyes, because I could see her begin to grieve as she stared at me, even before Bourbon started to laugh in harsh, bitter gasps.
"Oh, how do you think we might settle this disagreement, Milady?" Bourbon taunted. "How do you think I should swallow the duplicity your business has become?"
"How should you?" she said softly. The passion began to eke from her, draining her voice into calm. Though she spoke to the man at her back, her eyes never left mine. It seemed as if looking away meant an end, and the portent of what might come next frightened her. "The same way you have since the night we met." Lucrece breathed deeply, acquiring a cool composure. I could see something shutting down inside her, the shielding of some emotion she didn't want to touch. "Oh, Bourbon. We have no quarrel. There is no honor, and there are no crimes, not in our world." The corner of her mouth tilted with a faint smile. "Not in our family. Tell me you'll take it back. Say you'll fix what you've done. Promise me that." Her voice became a whisper. "I'll forgive you."
I wondered that I was the one who saw every flicker, every reaction crossing her features, while Bourbon, who had earned each glimpse inside her head and heart, who no doubt needed to witness them, saw nothing. I heard Bourbon step forward, but I couldn't break away from her gaze. Her eyes begged for me to look only at her. Glance away, they promised, and I would be lost. Too late, she was way too late to give a warning. I was far gone, lost and wandering, clueless as to where we were headed.
Bourbon's hands slipped over her shoulders. His tone rang as quiet and unruffled as hers now. "Does our family truly forgive?" His grip tightened. "Did you forgive Danielle for balking at the terms of your contract?"
Danielle. I recognized the name. Lucrece had mentioned her as one of the women who had left last night. But if they'd simply departed as casually as Lucrece had spoken of them, why did Bourbon wield one of their names like a weapon now?
A crack appeared in her calm. "Don't."
My annoyance continued to fester. Don't what? Don't speak of that, not in front of Vachon? Like I deserved lies and subterfuge? The hell with that! Let Bourbon spill whatever words he wanted. I intended to hear them.
Bourbon ignored her small objection. The Frenchman raised one hand, pointing in my direction as he swiftly added, "What about him?"
"What about me?" I demanded. I'd held my tongue long enough, trying to reason out the truth and what she had eluded confessing.
The spell of calm broke. Lucrece whirled around, facing her nephew. "Silence. Don't say another word, Philippe. Don't."
With her back to me, I suddenly understood that she'd hidden nothing from Bourbon by not showing him her face. I could see every turn of her features in my imagination as clearly as before. Desperation must be all over her. It certainly drowned her voice. I wasn't feeling sympathetic. I was feeling suspicious, like I'd been cheated, and I'd only just noticed the weighted dice. "No, say what's on your mind," I countered, adding grimly, "I'm beginning to forget what that sounds like."
"Stop this." Lucrece gripped Bourbon's arms and assumed an urging tone. "I have never meant you any ill will. Why would you want to destroy anything precious to me?"
But her words did not sway Bourbon. He continued to speak as though she'd asked him nothing. "Vachon terrifies you. Are you going to forgive him for that?"
I terrified her? What the hell was that supposed to mean? How could I possibly cause her terror? Bewildered, my thoughts latched onto a memory. Lucrece's voice saying, 'I don't know what to do about you.' Incomprehensibly, I realized it was true. Whatever I made her think or feel frightened her. It threatened her as much as any cold, hard truth, and Bourbon had recognized that from the first. And when had he bothered attempting to make friends? When it seemed certain that I wouldn't go away, bored with sated lust. But even with this mild comprehension, my questions remained, for how could I truly threaten her when my heart held no such intention? I was guiltless and unrepentant for that. It was her fear. She had to deal with it.
Bourbon gripped her arms in return, steadying Lucrece in place as he continued to say words that she didn't want to hear. "Are you going to forgive Vachon when he learns exactly what you are capable of and swallows the truth no more gladly than I did? Are you going to hate him for questioning your choices?" Bourbon's bitter laughter returned. "There is nothing that you hate more than discovering you aren't adored unconditionally, is there, Milady?" He lifted one hand, tapping her on the chin. "You like people to be more docile. Dogs at your feet." He smirked in my direction. "Isn't that what you likened me to? A kept pup?"
"Not another word," Lucrece hissed. "Not another word, Philippe, or I won't-"
"Forgive me?" he finished for her, angling his head ruefully. "I didn't expect you would." He seized her wrists, twisting Lucrece's arms behind her back as he said to me, "You want to know what I'm fighting, Vachon? I left a trail," he stated, nodding down the shambled hall. "Follow it if you want to unravel Milady's secrets, or stay here and bind your eyes with whatever story she spins you."
The desire to know burned in my gut. I was sick of their discussing me. I was tired of their insinuations and their disavowals, as if my will had nothing to do with the outcome of the argument, even though it involved me. I'd held still and said as little as I had only because it seemed my best opportunity to learn anything. Bourbon had offered me an alternative. I intended to take it.
I located the trail Bourbon referred to with a brief search. Broken glass and patches of blood led a ruinous path down the hall and out of sight. It looked as if he'd gathered the entire feeding store of the chateau and chucked it as he went, like a macabre chain of bread crumbs.
As soon as Lucrece realized I was moving away, she lurched in Bourbon's grip. "No!"
I hesitated for a moment, because the fear in her voice was palpable, and because I hadn't stopped loving her in the past five minutes just because they'd brought to light fresh deceit. Part of me wanted to offer reassurance, but whatever hung over her and made her such a liar started me moving again. The impulse urging my feet down the hall wasn't rejection. I had the need to prove them wrong. Both Lucrece and Bourbon seemed so certain that whatever waited at the end of this bloody mess would shock me. They expected me to be outraged, maybe just because they didn't think of me as their own kind, maybe because they'd been fooled into thinking I did have some shred of nobility. I knew better. I'd been around, and I was sure that whatever Lucrece had hidden from me, it couldn't be worse than the sins I'd committed over the years. I moved quickly, the idea fixed in my head that the sooner I learned the truth, the sooner I could eradicate whatever frightened Lucrece about me.
"No!" Lucrece shouted again. I could hear them struggling behind me, but I ignored the pull to intervene. Bourbon - don't ask me how I knew, it was just instinct - meant only to slow her down so I could run without obstruction. Lucrece might have angered him, might have given him good reason to be furious, but he didn't mean her any harm. He disagreed with something she'd done, and he was calling her on it. Real friends fight back.
Exasperated with dodging the scatter of broken glass on the floor, missing one time too many for the comfort of my bare soles, I began to fly. The sconces flashed by my head, blurring from stops along the hall into a glowing line. I shifted from relying on the scenery as it passed to following my nose, allowing the scent of blood to lead me into the recesses of the house. I brushed through one doorway, then another, shifted direction sharply, ducked through a small opening, and hurtled down stairs. Down, down, down, to a wide open area lined with shelves and -
I stopped abruptly. Suddenly, I couldn't tell which direction to take. The smell of blood surrounded me. I took one step backward, shaking my head to clear it as my senses shifted once again. The scent - it had some age to it, but the flavor lilting in the air wove a strong enough spell that my fangs dropped to do some damage before I could get a good glimpse of what had pulled my hunger to the surface.
Broken casks littered the floor in a chamber lined with empty shelves and splintered ladders. The wreckage had painted the stones a deep red, leaving puddles of blood underfoot. That wasn't the end of the line, though. A narrow corridor stretched into darkness from the other side of the room. I could smell more blood as I moved toward it, something less preserved, the full, ripe, delicious stink of death pulling me closer. Several small cells branched off from this dark tunnel, but the fragrance of only one room interested me. I stepped inside. I looked my fill, and I buckled at the knees.
I don't know how to describe what I felt. It could have been awe. It could have just as well been shame or dismay. All I know was that I kneeled there, looking up like some kind of demonic pilgrim, unsure of what I believed in for a fragmented minute.
It was a castle, just like any castle, with secrets hidden in its bowels. Bourbon's path had led me to its dungeon, dark rooms carved from stone that smelled of the sweet and sour of murder, the blood, the decay. Eerie quiet dominated the chamber. Nothing living roamed this level larger than a rat. At least, not anymore.
As I looked up, my breath rasped over my teeth. The sight stoked my cravings even as it repelled me. More comments flashed through my memory. 'Perishable goods,' Lucrece had described her business. Screed, outside the dinner party, had already told me everything, and I hadn't listened. 'Tha' juice farm h'in tha' dungeon…Racket, yer lot's got.' And Screed had followed their example the very next day, stringing rodents up by their tails…
Lucrece hadn't killed rats. She'd killed mortals, but they didn't have tails. The sight that so fascinated and repulsed me translated into dozens of naked bodies hanging upside down from the ceiling by hooks. Their throats yawned open, slit by a blade so that their life's blood could be harvested. Lucrece had reduced her dungeon to an abattoir, and the remains of her work enthralled me.
I glanced around the floor, finding more points of interest. To my left, a pile of abandoned clothing lay near one corner. Shuffling over to it, I recognized the overdress as Lucrece's. Once, its color had been pale silver, something to flatter her eyes. Blood had since soaked through the fabric. I held it to my face, drinking in its exotic perfume of mortality and bergamot. Lust and anger ripped through me, and I breathed deeper, feeding the emotions. I could see her: stripping down to her shift, tossing on a cloak, going for a walk outside to clear her head of this blood-soaked fog, and encountering me in the moonlit gardens.
I reluctantly let the clothing fall from my grip. One wall featured a small alcove, like a cabinet cut into the stone, hinged doors shielding its contents. Curiosity drove me closer, and I found no lock to bar my way. Presumably no one entered this chamber in any condition to be so inquisitive. The niche held a set of jars, all filled with various powdered substances. The smell of the first I tried carried no recognition for me, so I dipped my finger into the jar and tasted it. A strong and bitter flavor laced my tongue, triggering yet another memory. All the blood served in D'Asile carried this faint nuance. A poison, maybe, or perhaps the foundation of a draught to make the mortals sluggish, lulling them into unconsciousness before Lucrece killed them. It seemed to fit. The bottled blood I'd drunk hadn't revealed the crispness of violence or fear. The taste had been steady and smooth, rich with the marrow of the victim and untainted by the manner of their death.
Checking all the canisters, the flavors held similar familiarity. Perhaps some were poisons, others preservatives. On my palate, the distinction made no difference.
I turned and crossed the chamber, toward a mound on the floor covered by a finely woven blanket. I tugged at one edge, revealing that the material had become a shroud for a body. Pulling until I could see a face, I faintly recognized the woman called Danielle, pale and dry, her throat slit identically to the others. She'd been one of the trembling ladies in Marie Vachon's sickroom, frightened at her death. One of the women who'd wanted out of her contract with Lucrece…
But there had been two more - Thérèse and Annalise, she had said. I searched the bodies that dangled overhead, discovering nothing in their slack expressions except my own blood lust.
A rushing sound broke the silence behind me, and I turned to find Lucrece panting in the doorway, her gaze darting between my face and the dead. Uncertainty had her leaning against the threshold. I could imagine her thoughts spinning, tumbling over what to say. Finally, she swallowed, pushed away from the stone support and spoke frankly. "Welcome to my trade. It's not much to look at, but it reaps its benefits."
I gestured toward her discarded clothing instead. "At least you do your own dirty work. You've got to respect the hand that holds the knife."
She watched me warily, unsure of how to interpret my words.
"You do kill them yourself, don't you?" I prompted.
"The majority," she said slowly. "I've had help with the bottling and transport."
"Bourbon?"
"No." She shook her head. "He's never had the stomach for my business. That never prevented him from enjoying the benefits," Lucrece added in a scathing tone. "Now he's sabotaged my supply…freed the live mortals in holding, paid off the servants and scattered them…I'll miss shipments ... It will take me at least a month to regroup, and in the meantime, I could lose customers and patronage."
While I'd kept a handle on my temper, she'd relaxed into cool practicality. Her business. Her world. She focused upon that to the detriment of all else. Conflicts with Bourbon, she would wash her hands of those. Danielle, dead on the floor, Lucrece could pretend she didn't exist. Let her rot. And me - what was she thinking about me? If Lucrece had ever carried any fear over how I might react to this setting, she now hid any signs of it under a quiet stare.
Did she have any idea how angry I was? Did it matter that I felt the temptation to hurt her, striking some kind of blow and hearing her cry, so that I would have some shred of proof to cling to that she could feel anything all? Something must have slipped. She must have sensed the fury coursing through me, because suddenly Lucrece began to back away.
Oh, I was furious at her. Part of me hated her because of that room, though not for the reason you'd pick. Yeah, she'd set herself up as a blood broker. It wasn't the choice I'd make, not because of the deaths outright, but because of the parallel to animals penned up then herded to the slaughter. I still liked my killing one at a time, face to face. You might fault her for taking so many, but looking at it from the other side, she'd killed just enough. If Lucrece hadn't set up her draining room, someone else would have. Why shouldn't she take advantage, if that's what she wanted? Vampires that drank her product would hunt their full share if she stopped. They sure as hell wouldn't go without. The number of bodies disappearing in the night wouldn't drop. They'd just spread out from Lyon like a dark fog.
No, I didn't see a crime in the deaths, though I didn't share the drive to have my own setup like Screed. No, the reason rage burned in me came down to the way she lied, and the way she could care about someone one moment and discard them the next.
The tables had turned. She terrified me, because I could see everything ending, and yet I didn't want it to stop. I wanted to choke her. I wanted to kiss her. It frightened me that it mattered who she was, that I didn't have that unconditional streak in me that she craved. I loved her, but I had my limits. I may like the truth, but sometimes I lie. I don't lie about death. Never about death. I haven't found a reason to lie about being a killer. Every time I sink my teeth in, my motives are pure. Pure hunger, pure lust, pure rage: it's still something pure. Lucrece had tarnished her own killing, making it into a secret she wanted to hide. I couldn't share that. She'd crossed a line.
"Was any of it true?" I whispered.
"What?" she breathed. "Was what true?"
I lumbered toward her, my fists clenching. "Any of it? Any of it!" I lifted my hands, cupping her face with flattened palms, tracing the soft skin of her cheek, the curve of her jaw, the fragile line of her throat. My thumbs met at her windpipe. No pulse beat rhythmically under her skin. No blood rushing hot and fast because her lover had his hands wrapped around her throat. Mortal women, you can snap their necks with one twist, and it's over. Mortal women are delicate, requiring consideration and a gentle touch. Lucrece didn't need protection or a tender hand. She didn't bruise; she didn't break. She dealt in blood and poison. Even as my fingers tightened, as if the small pointless tyranny could give me any control over the outcome between us, my teeth ground with the desire to rip into her. I leaned closer, my hips pressing Lucrece into the wall, my voice whispering low and fevered into her ear, "Pick a moment. Anything. Was it true?"
A sobbing sound broke from her throat, and with it, I experienced satisfaction and regret. Maybe Lucrece had a heart after all. She gave a good impression that it could be breaking. I wanted to believe in the possibility, but I didn't want to hear her cry. I kissed her, swallowing her lies and excuses before they could trip off her tongue, making them mine. My hands softened against her throat, brushing lightly on her skin, running over the silk draping her shoulders, molding her breasts.
She flowed in equal parts of violence and passion. Her arms wrapped around my back as though she desperately wanted to hold me in place, imprisoning me with perfumed flesh and a net of golden hair. She darted her lips against mine between short gasps, promising more than I could ever hope to have. "This is true," she said fiercely, her kiss fluttering like a breeze at the corner of my mouth. I felt her long fingers winding through my hair as she repeated, "This is true."
I kissed her again to seal my agreement, then traded places with her, swiveling so that my back rested against the wall, angling her so that my touch roamed her waist as I nuzzled her neck beneath one ear. I cradled one side of her face, turning her eyes in the direction of the dead woman on the floor, forcing her to look hard and long. "What happened to the others?" My voice tightened and grew bitter, revealing my mistrust. "Be honest, if you can."
"Annalise should be a fair journey toward Paris by now," she answered quietly. "She left without issue and gave me no quarrel. Danielle and Thérèse, however, didn't depart with her. They wanted to argue with me." She gave a short, disbelieving laugh at the memory. "They wanted everything back: their wealth, their land, D'Asile. As if I would give any of it up to them. As if they could control me," she bit out indignantly.
"You didn't have to give them anything," I countered. "You could have persuaded them to change their minds. You didn't have to draw blood."
She turned in the circle of my arms. "But I am a vengeful woman who likes to draw blood. These instincts have been nursed in me since I was a child. I find it difficult to resist, even when it is right. When it is a sin…what's left to persuade me to ignore my first inclination? What punishment is left that I haven't already earned?" She looked up at me with a troubled brow. "Do you think me evil?"
I had to laugh at the question. "I'm no judge of character." She seemed disappointed, needy of an answer or flattery rather than an evasion. "To me, you're foreign. Not good, not evil. Spellbinding," I tacked on. It was as fine a word as any to describe the difficulty I had not touching her. True to form, I failed at the temptation of her, grasping Lucrece's arms above her elbows. "I don't like deceit, not if I can avoid it. Vampires live enough in the shadows by nature." I stroked the tip of her chin with one thumb. "The truth, Lucrece. Her body isn't here. What did you do with Thérèse?"
Her eyes flashed, daring me to condemn her. "I recalled Thomas wanted her the other night. He's a useful friend to have. I sent her to Nevers as a gift."
I felt Bourbon outside the doorway. I glanced over my shoulder. Vain ass that he was, he'd cleaned up before following us. He appeared ready for the road, sword at his side. His gaze narrowed, signaling that he'd heard the end of our conversation, "North to Thomas…" he said. "Then that is where I shall go."
Lucrece stiffened under my touch. She moved toward him reflexively, stepping into the corridor. I let go of her, feeling the weight of a goodbye looming. "Philippe, you don't want Thomas as an enemy."
He smiled, brash and confident, shrugging away her worry. When Bourbon looked at her again, his face held the suggestion of affection and regret. "I don't want you as an enemy, Milady."
She wasn't placated, propping her hands rebelliously on her hips. "But you will go anyway, all to rescue someone you think I have wronged."
"I will," Bourbon pronounced.
"And you won't be coming back," she stated.
"I won't." It was Bourbon's turn to step forward. He clasped Lucrece by the shoulders and kissed both of her cheeks. Then, he whispered in a low voice that I could barely understand, "You should leave, too. Not just because of what has passed, but because of what the future holds. It pleases me no more than I expect it delights you, but I see the signs of change. Eventually, holding onto nobility will become a burden. That day, the common men will rule through sheer numbers. Do not be left behind again." He briefly slipped into Italian, speaking of family and the past. "I miei nonni sono morto molti anni fa, Lucrezia. Let their dreams die as well."
Lucrece didn't reply. She watched Bourbon disappear from sight, her spine a straight line of resistance hating everything that had transpired. "What about you, Vachon?" she asked softly. "Do you want to leave?"
I wanted to say no, but I knew it would be a lie. "Yes."
Her mouth worked silently as she struggled for something to say. "But you want me."
"I want you," I assured her, drawing Lucrece into my arms again. "But I don't want to live in castles for the rest of my life. I don't want to pick my friends based on convenience, but on whether I believe they're worth knowing. I don't want to waste time at parties filled with people who can't make me laugh. I don't want to watch you scheme, plan and manipulate this precious tapestry of a world you've woven into submission and still find that lost look in your eyes when you think no one can see. I don't want to frighten you every time I say or do something that threatens your grip and that world unravels." As I spoke, she began to cry without making a sound. I ached, feeling the gravity of what I said. This is real, I thought as I wiped away her tears. This is true. "I want to leave, but I want you to come with me."
She smiled weakly. "You think it is that simple?"
"Yes, it is." My voice was firm, because I wanted it to be an uncomplicated decision. The words Bourbon had spoken in Italian had been regarding the dreams of his dead grandfathers, that she should let them go. Walk away from her blood-running. Walk away from her position and politics. Walk away from her castles, or she'd never truly be mine. "You've always lived in Europe. You've never been farther south than Cairo."
"No," she admitted.
"There's another world across the ocean," I pointed out, excited at the idea. "I'll show it to you."
Lucrece shook her head, rejecting the suggestion as if she was under duress. "I can't leave."
Like I would take that for an answer. "Why the hell not?"
"Because ... " She swallowed and shook her head again. "You just cannot understand what you are asking of me. I was a princess." She spoke urgently, as though the meaning of life rested in that one word.
"And I'm not a prince," I finished.
"No, you aren't," she said plainly. "My world, this thing you do not want filled with lying sycophants, plotting, and miserable duties to maintain the status quo - this is the only world I have ever known. This is what I am. I have always lived this way." She threw her hands in the air with frustration. "I was bred to live this way!"
"But you don't want it any more than I do," I argued. "You aren't living the life you envy, a life where you die standing up and fighting. You're cowering, scared out of your wits someone might take your corner of the kingdom away from you. Does that make you happy?"
She stared at me for an incomprehensible second. Her voice came low and brutal. "You're asking me to give up everything I have to love you." Her fingers wound between mine, squeezing them tightly. "You are not the first man to ask me for that sacrifice, Vachon. Do you really believe I will say 'yes' now? To you?"
No, I don't suppose I did. Maybe that's why I'd asked - to be reminded that love didn't mean the same thing to everyone, and that what seemed simple and easy to me tore her apart. "Serves me right," I said, trying to act casual. I moved to kiss her one last time, but stopped. I couldn't do it. The thought scratched at me - the last time, the last chance to touch her. I didn't want to feel her in my arms, knowing it was over. I preferred holding on to the longing as it stood in invisible ties between us. "I have nothing to give up for you but my freedom. I don't want to do that," I confessed frankly. "I guess that makes us a pair." I offered her a short, farewell nod then withdrew down the dark corridor.
"Vachon!" she called seconds later. Her voice had the power to tighten knots in my chest.
I turned expectantly, willing her to have second thoughts. The strongest temptation, the best temptation, overriding all instincts of what was safe and what you knew for certain - that magic came from the realm of second thoughts. Let her have them. Let her have second thoughts...
Every hope dissipated as she spoke. "If you must go, will you do something for me?"
I couldn't have refused her, despite her nerve. The moment wasn't meant for pettiness or spite, just because she had disappointed me. "Anything."
"Track Bourbon," she said. She was already backing down the tunnel, shrinking from my view. "Keep him from picking fights with anyone who refuses to lose…"
Her voice trailed away, and I couldn't see her anymore. I couldn't smell her fragrance for the spilt blood underfoot, but I could feel her. My eyes drifted shut, and I waited, saying goodbye as I stood alone in the darkness.
Then I had to laugh. Lucrece had given me something - stupid responsibility for keeping Bourbon undead and kicking when he made enemies like weavers strung silk - fast and furious.
Chapter Ten Bourbon wasn't hard to catch. Habits ruling, he'd raced north on horseback. I flew. Within minutes, I'd landed in the road ahead of him.Bourbon, being Bourbon, made a show like he planned to run me down, veering to the left at the last moment then circling his horse back so he could glare at me frostily, as if I was responsible for making his trip so slow.
"You're alone," he pronounced crossly, holding his body stiff except for soothing the dancing stallion beneath him with a hand.
I wasn't going to explain anything to him. I certainly wasn't going to pour my heart out for his amusement. "Yeah."
"Hmmfh." It could have just as easily been the horse making a disgusted sound.
We were wasting time, time better spent making distance, and Bourbon acted as though it was my fault Lucrece didn't love me enough to leave her world behind. I didn't want to talk about it, and he waited impatiently, like I was supposed to give him some accounting of the gory details. I grabbed his boot below one knee and yanked him out of the saddle. He thudded to the ground with an 'Uhf!' Bourbon's fine piece of horseflesh reared once, then the stallion galloped off for all he was worth.
Bourbon reared next, ramming me in the stomach with his head rather than accepting my help back on his feet. "Don't interfere, Spaniard!"
Me? Interfere? I never interfere. I assist when needed. There's a big difference.
I held up my hands, remaining cool. "Fine. You can catch your horse and continue your amateur attempt at rescuing the damsel in distress. Meanwhile, I fly ahead, get the job done, and catch up with you again with enough time to spare that I gloat myself sick until sunrise."
Bourbon dusted off his clothes, forcing his temper into submission. "That's what you plan to do, is it?"
I shrugged then said brashly, "That's what I'm doing," then turned to leave.
"So you know where to find Thomas?" Bourbon called smugly at my back.
Damn. I'd forgotten that part, and the Frenchman was having a disgustingly merry time of reminding me of it. Nevers, Lucrece had said, but where around Nevers would Thomas be? Hell if I knew.
"You don't," Bourbon continued. "You need my help far more than I need yours."
It was incredible how arrogant the man could be sometimes. "You're the one screwing around on your horse while they have almost a day's lead on us. The girl will be dead by the time you gallop the distance."
"If I get there in time," he countered, "I'll need a horse to transport the mortal to safety."
"So we'll grab horses once we're there," I said, stating what seemed to be the obvious answer.
Bourbon lifted his nose in the air. "I'm not a common thief."
"No, you aren't," I agreed. "You're with me." I motioned for him to make up his mind. "So either we stay here and argue about how to attempt a rescue until there's no point, or we fly now and quibble about the petty details later. Which is it going to be?"
Bourbon accepted the flying option, though he made no secret of how he thought it was a tediously un-heroic style of going about the whole mission. I had a sneaking suspicion that his idea of a good plan involved storming up to Thomas, slapping the other vampire in the face with a glove, then demanding he 'Unhand the mortal or die!' Bourbon needed a few hands-on lessons that there were heroics, and then there was stupidity.
We traveled above the river for several hours. Naturally, we wound up at another castle, this one older than D'Asile, complete with a raised drawbridge and a moat. We watched the traffic around it from the edges of the forest: quiet at first, but after a few minutes, the evening clattered with the rumble of chains and the creaking of wood. A cart rolled from the confines of the stone parapets and began its journey down the road toward our position.
"Recognize them?" I asked.
Bourbon nodded. "Mortals who have worked in Lucrece's dungeon. She financed their release from the local prison before they could be executed for their crimes. I dare say that, combined, they have fewer scruples than you do."
"Flatterer. So they've put Thérèse into Thomas's hands. The questions now are, when did they arrive, and how long did they stay?"
"Lucrece would have ordered that they return immediately to D'Asile once they completed her bidding. She likes keeping her pawns where she can see them."
I could have done without that last observation. I ground my teeth silently for a few seconds then asked calmly, "But would they have followed orders if they found they could get away with wasting a few hours outside her supervision?"
Bourbon's eyes narrowed as he predatorily watched the cart draw level with us. "There's one way to find out."
I'd been thinking the same thing. "I'll take the one on the left," I said, my death mask shifting into place.
"Why do you get first choice?" Bourbon complained.
"Because I called it first."
"But I came up with the idea of reading their blood!"
He hadn't. I had, then I'd questioned him, hoping he'd stumble across the logic of my brainstorm. Letting out an exasperated sigh, I experienced a strong longing for Screed's company. I wouldn't have had to lead him anywhere. He'd have known the plan without a word, and when he spoke - come hell or high water Screed would speak - it'd be because he thought he had a better idea, not to bicker for the sake of bickering. "Fine. Take the one on the left."
"No, I'll take the one on the right." As soon as he'd made his pronouncement, Bourbon leapt through the air, jerking his prey out of the cart from behind and tearing into him with little wasted motion ...
... And giving the driver a heads-up to be on the defensive, leaving more work for me. "Wonderful," I muttered sarcastically under my breath. Lifting off the ground, I darted between the branches of the trees, swinging and dodging until I'd gained a hundred yards on the wagon. My target repeatedly looked over his shoulder, expecting me to attack from that direction. He had a pistol in one hand now, and he carried a cross, entangled with the reins in his fist. The next time the driver glanced behind, I broke off a thick tree branch and landed on the empty half of the seat, clubbing the man across his chest.
The firearm went flying into the road as his body jerked backward from my blow, but the knotted strips of leather reins held his arm taut and fast. I heard the limb pop from its joint and seized the driver just below the elbow as he shouted in pain. I took a second to debate - did I want to bother untying him and relieving him of the cross, or should I just go ahead and kill him? He yelled about his injury continuously, wrecking my concentration. That racket made up my mind. I tossed his body over the side, his knotted hand turning him into a human form of tetherball. His skull crashed against the spinning spokes of the front wagon wheel, this time the damage causing more of a snapping thud sound than a pop. A much quieter ride ensued except for a repetitive thunk ... thunk ... thunk ... as the wheel rattled.
I assumed the driver's place, carefully taking his limp hand and unwinding the reins from his fingers and wrist while staying out of contact with the cross. When it dropped to the floorboards, I kicked the icon over the side and slowed the cart, pulling the former driver back into the seat. He was dead, dusty, and unappetizingly headless. Damn. I knew I'd had a good first instinct thinking to untie him, then kill him, rather than the other way around. It's hard to drain someone face to face when their face is missing. Damn.
I turned the cart off into the forest, ditching it just out of sight in the cover of woods, throwing the majority of the dead man's body to his final resting place of leaves and rotted, overturned trunks.
I returned to the road on foot, walking back to Bourbon and scooping the driver's head out of a muddy rut in the trail on the way. The Frenchman had drained his victim, and was now wiping his mouth with satisfaction from the full meal.
"Tell me you found something in his blood. Mine kind of lost his head." So saying, I volleyed the driver's skull face-first in Bourbon's direction.
He caught it with lightning reflexes, holding the muddy, bloody and ragged flesh at a distance. "Did you have to kill him in such a brutish way?" Bourbon asked with distaste.
"No," I said candidly, "but that's what happened. Not really important, when, in one piece or two, I still wanted him dead. Did you get anything out of your man's blood or not?"
"Enough," Bourbon confirmed, discarding the driver's head in the forest. "He had brandy in his blood. I could tell he had a full meal in his stomach."
My shoulders hunched in annoyance as I watched Bourbon swing the other corpse deep within the shelter of the trees. This news was exactly what I hadn't wanted to hear, yet the Frenchman still managed to look pleased with himself. "So Thomas has had the girl for hours. We're too late."
"I doubt it," Bourbon contradicted.
"Right. Like you would take your time in draining some hot piece of neck you already had a taste for, if she dropped into your lap."
"I would if she'd been drugged. I'd wait until the flavor had a chance to clear her blood - until the lady was conscious."
I found myself grinning. "Lucrece used one of her powders to keep Thérèse quiet for the road trip?" Bourbon nodded. "Good for her." My grin became more devilish. "Good for us. You didn't scout the exact location where they're keeping the girl in your blood reconnaissance, did you?"
"East tower. First room without windows," Bourbon replied. "We storm the gate, battle the guards on the lower level - "
I cut off his excited planning. "No, we don't."
"Why not?"
"Because it's the brutish way," I mocked him. "We fight them head on from the front as enemies, we have to bring them all down to get Thérèse out alive. You would have a better idea than I, but I'm willing to guess Thomas isn't the only vampire hanging out in that castle, and he has plenty of mortal reinforcements."
"Then what do you suggest we do?" he clipped, like he'd been on the lookout for the chance to siege the place, and I was pissing on his campfire.
"We work as a team," I said, emphasizing the last word. "You, from the inside. Me, from the outside."
Okay, I admit that I suckered Bourbon into taking the lame job where he wouldn't get to fight anyone unless the plan took a very bad turn, but someone needed to take the lame job, and he was the perfect candidate.
The way my scheme unfolded, Bourbon rode one of the cart horses up to the drawbridge bold as brass, acting as though he was on a friendly mission to visit Thomas. After all, the other vampire had no reason to suspect the Frenchman's motives, as long as he didn't act any snottier than usual. If I'd gone riding up to the front door, it would have stayed shut, and they'd pile up the reinforcements. That's why, while Bourbon inquired after the safe arrival of Lucrece's 'gift' and informed Thomas that there would be a delay in the next month's shipments under the guise of a courtesy call, I flew to the highest window in the east tower and proceeded to work my way down. Bourbon's visit would delay the vampire from enjoying his treat, hopefully giving me enough time to spirit her away without anyone raising an alarm. Best-case scenario, we'd be miles away with Thérèse safe and sound before Thomas noticed her escape. Worst-case scenario, we'd die in a permanent sort of way.
Like Bourbon suggested, the guards had to be concentrated on the lower floors. I crept down the winding stairs with no suggestion of company. A hundred steps passed before I picked out the first heartbeat, then the second. Last, but not least, I identified a third rhythm, this one slow with slumber. Moving closer, I could hear the guards speaking, their deep voices sharing dirty stories about women. Slipping a few steps lower, I could observe them from the shadows. One man sat with his back to me, while the other carved bites from an apple with a hunting knife.
As guards go, they were completely unprepared for an attack. I quickly slit the nearest man's throat with his own blade. Before his partner even recognized the sight of blood, I had already moved behind him and - too late for him to defend himself - his neck snapped with a sharp twist of my hands.
The violence made me even hungrier, but I wanted to avoid any overt signs of a vampire being involved with this prison break if I could help it, just in case it would buy us precious getaway time. I wiped the knife clean on the back of one guard and slid it into my boot. Digging through the pockets of the dead men, I cursed when I found they didn't have any keys. The door was locked, so presumably Thomas or one of the resident vampires was keeping it close and personal. I'd have to break the door down. Hopefully, Thérèse would remain sedated enough that she wouldn't do anything really annoying, like screaming and drawing attention while I needed to think out a revision to the plan.
Crashing the door in on a run would have caused the most racket, raising suspicion from below, so I leaned into the door instead. Using the wall opposite for leverage, I pushed into the lock with my back. The surrounding wood gradually began to creak and splinter, then, suddenly, the bolt gave way under my persistence and cracked in two. The door swung open, dumping me flat on my back just inside the chamber. I glanced up from the floor, and there was Thérèse, from my vantage point looking unconscious and a little upside-down.
I jumped to my feet and rushed over to the divan, hefting the mortal into my arms. Thérèse opened her mouth, issuing a loud, dreamy moan of protest. I rested a finger over her lips and said, "No, shh," like she was in any state to understand instructions. "Be a good girl, and let's play 'Pretend You're Dead' before someone gets the urge to stake the dashing rescuer. Deal?"
She remained limp and silent. I took that as an agreement. I stalked over the threshold, only to discover Francesca du Montagne stepping onto the landing, a key ring swinging in her hand. Yeah, if I could have spontaneously become shadow and mist and disappeared, it would have been a very convenient moment to find out. I could see Francesca's mind working at the sight of me carrying the unconscious woman in my arms, judging the scenario and weighing it against her desired outcome, just like Lucrece would do. But with Lucrece, with every trick she conjured, she remained at her core soft and questioning. Francesca only reflected the hard, cold calculation of guile. She wasn't up to any good, and even as her lips stretched into an inquisitive smile, I knew she didn't plan to do me any favors.
Her voice sounded almost lyrical, a tone engineered to make me drop my guard. "Well, well ... if it isn't Milady de Valentinois's nameless friend." She spun the chamber key hypnotically around one finger then caught it again, pursing her lips in a curious bow. "But you're playing rather far away from Milady de Valentinois, aren't you? Still friends?"
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." I thought I was playing it cool, keeping my words casual and smooth. The twist of the truth still hit me, the longing for Lucrece that matched my words. This was real. So real, I ached. I saw Francesca, I heard her, and yet I was deaf to any song she had to sell. She wasn't the woman I wanted, so I felt nothing except the drive to get out of there unscathed.
"That almost sounds like a toast," Francesca noted, edging closer. She gave her shortened canines a swift lick as she eyed Thérèse's throat, a pale expanse propped into clear view by my arm. She glanced shrewdly at me. "Are you still nameless, as well?"
"Considering the circumstances ... yes."
Francesca looked amused. "Not a very sociable attitude, Monsieur," she chastised lightly, then machinated a deliberate pause, "but then, you are stealing the sweet heiress right from under Thomas's roof." She touched an index finger to her lips, a weak attempt to hide her smile at the notion. "How ironic. I came here planning to do the exact same thing. Monsieur de Bourbon has everyone so conveniently distracted elsewhere ... " Her expression became cat-like with pleasure. " ... though perhaps he is perfectly aware of what he is doing ... ?"
I swallowed. Bad, bad, bad, as in 'not good.' It was quiet except for the steady thrum of Thérèse's pulse, cradled in my arms. I knew Francesca could hear it just as well as I. Her eyes had begun to flicker gold with her thirst. If I made a break for it, she'd shout an alarm. Bourbon would have to fend for himself and, most likely, would wind up skewered. If I fought her, that'd be interesting, but I might as well skip a step and yell down below that I was here, spiriting away the girl. Fighting vampires made far more noise than scurrying mice, probably more than a cannonball hitting the side of the castle. Annoyed that a shortage of alternatives jumped to mind, I asked flat out, "What are you going to do?"
Francesca didn't appear in the mood for a fight, either. I read her face, and she hungered for foul play. "I hadn't planned to share, but since you are here ... we could be friends."
Oh, I could imagine what she was planning now, something that involved splitting the girl's blood, shooing me on my way, then tattling to her regal vampire buddies that I was the culprit so they'd hunt me down.
I was hungry - why not share the mortal and get out while the getting was good? I could deal with the complications later. Much later, with any luck. Sure, that hadn't been the original goal, but Francesca's arrival had shot to hell how I envisioned this rescue unfolding. Why not call it a night? Chomp down, and better luck playing good guy next time.
Watching Francesca steadily, I figured that whatever way I managed to get my ass out of this castle, I'd wind up with someone new tracking my tail.
I moved backward, returning to the confines of Thérèse's holding chamber. "How do you propose we share?" I asked. "Cut her in two with a sword?" My expression immediately slipped, twisting with irritation. No, I didn't want to think about stories of justice. I didn't want to be fair or heroic. That was the old plan. Staying alive. Staying in one piece. Having a bite and bailing. That was the new plan. Luckily, I had my back turned as I replaced Thérèse on her narrow mattress. When I faced Francesca again, my hands were free, and my features were perfectly agreeable, revealing none of my unwise thoughts.
"Cutting her in two ... " Francesca trilled. "Close. My preference is to stab mortals in the heart, then drain their blood into a cup." She leaned over the mortal, caressing Thérèse's cheek with the back of her hand. "Her essence will be especially sweet when her life freezes instantly in her veins."
"Stab her in the heart, huh?" I was having those pesky, reckless thoughts again. Thoughts like the idea of playing along with Francesca made my skin crawl. Thoughts of Bourbon forcing himself to chat obsequiously with the party downstairs only because he believed that I was up here doing the right thing. The honorable thing. The noble thing.
Shit.
I'd had a bad idea. A rash idea. A stinking, what-the-hell-was-I-thinking idea. The kind of idea that made jamming a lit candle in your ear and hoping for a lobotomy sound like a decent plan.
Then again, if you know you're going to do something that'll cause bad blood, you might as well go all out and make them really hate you, right?
I reached down, slipping the hunting knife free from my boot. "Need a blade?"
Francesca turned, her head bent down as she unsheathed a long dagger hidden within her skirts. "I brought my own. Shall I do the honors?"
"No, let me," I countered. Honor. I had some speck of that after all.
In an instant, I'd clasped Francesca by the collarbone and sliced my knife between her ribs. She'd had enough time to feel the shock of it, to drop her dagger to the floor and clutch roughly at me, her tiny choked cry resembling a dying bird. I twisted the blade in her heart until metal scratched bone. Her features froze, a haze of disbelief leaving her mouth open and silent.
The scent of Francesca's blood as it slowly seeped around the edges of the knife struck me as sharp but musty, like a piece of crystal left in an attic to gather dust until it turned gray away from the traffic of everyday life. My hunger still pushed at me, so I sank my fangs into her. Draining Francesca would mean she'd recover slowly, giving Bourbon time to get out of this place without a struggle. She tasted old, far older than me. I drank her emptiness, the ice of her, and my stomach felt filled with lead. No bergamot, no incense, not an atom of wistful hope, but I understood then that this was what Lucrece would become. I'd left her to her little kingdom that made people like this, weaving layer after layer of malice and deceit about them until they didn't realize they were trapped. They thought they were the lucky ones: the rich, the noble, the privileged vampires who ruled their little communities ruthlessly. They believed they should be envied and coveted, all the while unaware that they were the ones bound and enslaved, not free. Move one step out of place, and they smothered themselves with their own snarled web. One loose end, and it came back to whip them.
I dropped Francesca to the floor, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I listened to the mortal's heart rate. The rhythm had grown faster since I'd located Thérèse. Before long, she would awaken, and the situation would become even more complicated. Glancing again at Francesca's collapsed form, I picked up her fallen dagger.
With completely practical intentions, I lifted Francesca's skirts, slicing long strips from the hem. I used them to bind the vampire's wrists behind her back, gagged her mouth, and tied her ankles together. The hunting knife, I left buried in her heart.
A woman hiked over each shoulder, I made quick distance up the stairs, but had a slower job squeezing out the window with so much baggage. I flew straight to the river, heaving one prone form over the banks. I had a tense second as I looked twice, making sure I'd dumped the right one. I still had a grip on the mortal, while Francesca bobbed once, twice, in the downstream rush of the water, before disappearing beneath the pull of the current.
I carried Thérèse to the hidden horse cart, where Bourbon and I had decided to meet if everything went as planned. I laid the girl in the back, then jogged back down the road to watch for any movement of the drawbridge and listen for any outcry.
A half-hour passed, and I began to pace. Would Francesca come to in the water? I should have staked her and been done with it, but I had no idea how far downstream her body might be by now. How long before someone pulled her out? Would it be before dawn?
Finally, I heard the clank of running chains. About damn time someone was leaving. After one glance of the Frenchman riding out, healthy and whole, I ducked back into the woods. I stretched out on the seat of the cart to give the impression that I'd been so relaxed waiting for him that I'd taken a nap.
I opened my eyes when Bourbon roughly slapped one of my boots. "You rescued the girl," he said, nodding with approval at Thérèse's unconscious form.
"You forced yourself to play nice," I countered. "I'm impressed."
Bourbon made a dismissive sound. "It went well enough, considering all I wanted was to draw blood. You were right - there were other vampires with Thomas. LaCroix, and the Comtesse du Montagne ... she slipped away during my visit. We may not have much time," he warned.
"Right. Funny you should mention Francesca, because I had to stab her and throw her into the river," I said casually. "I'm thinking we should ditch the cart and fly."
Bourbon scowled as he lifted Thérèse. "Francesca caught you?" He looked at me like I was an idiot. "If you overpowered her, why didn't you stake her?"
I'd already been kicking myself about that, but that didn't mean I had to admit anything to him. "Yeah, like destroying her would suddenly make the other vampires all cheerful and understanding when they discover what we've done."
"She'll hunt you down," Bourbon argued.
"She'll need to get in line." He was right, but I didn't care. We'd gotten the girl out alive, as agreed. My thoughts had moved on to other things. "Where do we dump Thérèse?"
We flew in the direction of Paris, but an accord went unspoken that we wouldn't travel the whole distance. Thérèse began to make sounds again, threatening to wake up two miles off the ground. Feeling the pressure, we landed at the next large structure we came across. This fortress almost measured up as another castle, with major differences: it featured a bell tower crowned by a divine symbol, and the soft hymns of a vigil floated from within.
We shouted our presence, and they trustingly unlatched the entrance. Bourbon carried Thérèse into the lamp-lit courtyard, while I tried to avoid looking at anything. A mortal woman bustled from the building, a lantern held aloft in one hand to show her the way. Her black robes melted into the night landscape, leaving only her round face and the white halo of fabric outlining her hood visible in any detail. She switched her gaze between the three of us, an owl obsessed with keeping the mice out of harm's way. She honestly looked eager to offer us aid. I ducked my head lower, muttering to Bourbon, "You do the talking."
I listened absently as he told her a story of finding the girl on the road that made us come off as disgustingly honorable types. In the dark, the woman wouldn't see the bloodstains on my sleeves, wouldn't smell the violence soaked into my hands. As I heard Bourbon offer money to help with Thérèse's nursing, I trailed my fingers in the fountain, snatching my hand back as the water burned. I glanced up and found, wouldn't you know it, a statue of the Virgin Mother ebbing holiness in the middle.
I walked impatiently back to Bourbon and said emphatically, "Let's get out of here."
More females cloaked in black streamed into the courtyard, taking Thérèse into their care and ushering her inside. The woman who had spoken with Bourbon lingered and overheard my demand. "But, Monsieur! It is so late, and in helping the poor lady, you must realize the danger! You gentlemen are welcome to shelter here for the night. The Devil works from the veil of darkness," she warned.
"Exactly," I said, jerking on the Frenchman's coat. "Come on."
I swear I could feel Bourbon glower into my back as we left. "She questioned nothing. She suspected nothing! You should have been less forthcoming in your hurry to leave. She's probably praying for our immortal souls as we speak!"
The gate bolted shut behind us, and I rested my back against the heavy wood, releasing a deep breath. I grinned. "Think it'll do any good?"
Bourbon caught a glimpse of my hands, and his eyes, filled with amazement, shot back to my face. "You're shaking."
I gave him wry look. "We just left a convent. I wasn't comfortable, if that's what you're wondering."
Bourbon continued to appear surprised. "It wasn't as bad as I expected, for a sacred place." He issued a confident shrug. "Perhaps it is a matter of perspective."
"Right. Just take away the crosses, the icons, and the nuns, and you've got yourself a party lodge."
He grinned in a condescending manner. "If you shared my family's past ... religion is just another excuse to spill blood and flaunt power. Just another vampire ... I wouldn't quake in my boots over that."
"I'll keep that under advisement," I said sarcastically.
His expression sobered. "We should have remained until Thérèse awoke and wiped her memory clean. She could cause trouble for Lucrece by petitioning for the return of D'Asile," Bourbon reminded me.
"Let her." I pushed away from the gate as I stared up at the ebony of the sky. "I'm returning to Lyon," I announced. "I'll drag Lucrece kicking and screaming out of that bloody castle if that's what it takes."
"Sounds like a brutish plan," Bourbon drawled.
"Rough, tough and perfect," I assured him. "Are you going to help, or what?"
"Absolutely."
Read Chapters Eleven and Twelve Return to Story Index