Part 3 (2/2)

”There is always some danger, but now doubled,” he said impatiently. I realized that when such a mood was upon him, one did not safely question Geoffrey. After a moment he continued. ”You must be made to remember. If you can. I must learn your limits and your abilities, and determine if you are a peril to us.” I did not need to be told my fate should Geoffrey perceive my existence as a threat. ”You have always been a pa.s.sionate, impetuous man, volatile, reckless, and self-destructive. If that part of your nature has survived and increased without tempering, you will be a continuing danger to us.” Geoffrey stood and began to pace again.

Within minutes Nicolas returned and drew another chair up to the fire on my other side, as Geoffrey took his former place. We were silent for a time, until I could bear it no longer.

”What has happened to me? I do not-” Geoffrey cut me off with an abrupt gesture.

”It would be better, perhaps, to let you remember at your own pace, but that I cannot do-” he broke off and it took every ounce of control I could muster not to reveal my impatience. He shrugged slightly and continued. ”I must tell you that forcing your memory may drive you into madness, and such a madness as would compel me to destroy you to protect others; doubt not that I would do so,” he reiterated. Somehow I did not doubt it in the least. ”Look at the portrait,” Geoffrey stood and lit the candles on the mantel, throwing a golden light onto the painting over it. I stood to view it and gasped.

That was the woman from my memory; the wide-set smoky dark eyes, the finely modeled face with its dark sweeping brows, long straight nose, and slightly disdainful mouth over a chin a bit too prominent for cla.s.sical beauty, all setoff by the abundant glossy waves of russet-black hair. But the painting couldn't capture the sophisticated carnality, the pa.s.sion that had permeated my vision.

”We were staying at the Mayor's house in London; there you saw her first,” Nicolas spoke softly.

I realized that I was sitting again-my knees had given out. I took up the narrative in a voice suddenly hoa.r.s.e and toneless. ”The night before the Lord Mayor's Twelfth Night Masque.” The surging memories of my final months of life almost overwhelmed me in their sudden clarity, faster and faster, flooding my mind, drowning my will, until Frizer's dagger plunged at my face and a scream tore at my throat, though no sound came forth. I felt myself falling, but couldn't raise a hand, crippled with shock and terror. I welcomed the darkness that rose up to swallow me.

Chapter 3.

I awoke in darkness, bound once more and this time gagged as well. As my consciousness returned so did memory, and memory was intolerable. My muscles knotted and I bucked against my bonds in convulsion, but my awareness did not forsake me. When the attack pa.s.sed I remained conscious, though sweat-soaked and exhausted. Twice more the agony racked me, each time growing a little less savage. As I came out of the third seizure I realized the room was candlelit and I was no longer alone. Nicolas sat on the foot of the bed watching me compa.s.sionately. Restrained as I was, I could only look at him. After a few minutes had pa.s.sed with no further paroxysms Nicolas stood and removed the gag. ”Why?” I asked, in a voice cracked with fatigue.

”It was necessary, Kit, but you went into such violent convulsions that it was all Geoffrey could do to keep you out of the fireplace. He held you immobile for hours, until the convulsions eased enough for us to get you back upstairs. It happens that way sometimes.”

”Will you untie me?”

”No,” said Geoffrey from the doorway. ”Not for a time yet. We have much to discuss, and you, I doubt not, have many questions.”

”I was . . . Frizer wouldn't have stopped at half blinding me. He meant my death: I read it in his face.”

”Frizer murdered you while Skeres held you down and Poley kept watch at the door,” Nicolas said quietly. Another spasm, though again shorter and less furious, lashed through my bound and weary body. He fetched water and a cloth from the table and bathed my face. ”One of my serving-men was in Deptford when it happened. He told me of your death.”

”I hope they hanged Frizer in Tom's full sight!” I raged, then asked, ”What?” as Nicolas glanced at Geoffrey, who nodded slightly.

”He did not hang at all, Kit. The verdict at the inquest was self defense,” Nicolas told me softly, bracing himself as if he expected me to convulse again, but there was only a single fierce tremor before I brought myself back under control, laughing bitterly.

”Well, Tom was ever a better friend to him than to me. But how is it, then, that I live?” I looked first to Nicolas, then to Geoffrey, but it was Nicolas who finally spoke.

”You remember the night we met, and I read the markings in your hand for you? Yes, well, I did not tell you all that I saw. Rozsa saw it first. The line of your life broke off short: you would die young, and soon. A closer look revealed a star on the line of the head: you would die violently from a wound to the head-Rozsa was most upset. We are not as other folk, Kit. Have you heard of vampires?” I searched my ragged memory.

”Spirits that return from the dead to prey upon the living? But spirits have no flesh. . . .” I forced my mind from its path, my gaze flicking between Geoffrey and Nicolas as Nicolas spoke again.

”We are not spirits, Kit, or at least no more so than are other men. This-condition is pa.s.sed from us to mortals by the exchange of blood.” He saw the hot color flood my face and laughed gently. ”Oh, I know not the details, only that Rozsa found you apt and made such an exchange with you. She was wrong not to give you the choice, to make the exchange and leave you unaware of the possible consequences of your actions.”

”I would have chosen no differently if she had,” I reflected.

”And even so you might yet have died, Kit, for the exchange alone will not make the vampire. It is the will to live, the defiance of death itself that makes us so.

”So there you lay, to all appearances as dead as your enemies could wish you, and none knew that you yet might live save Rozsa and I. The inquest seemed to take an eternity, and we were nearly frantic; it was held on the first day of June, the third day since the murder, and on that night you would rise, if indeed you were not truly dead. We considered stealing your body if necessary, but as it happened, the inquest was swiftly over. We bribed the s.e.xton, your body was secretly handed to us and a pauper lies in the unmarked grave meant for you.” I stared at him blankly for a few seconds then started to tremble. Nicolas started towards me, as if he thought another convulsion was coming on, until he realized I had collapsed against my restraints in helpless mirth, the tears streaming down my face.

”'He gave them the cup, saying this is my blood . . . and on the third day he rose again from the dead'. . . .” I gasped when I could get a breath. Geoffrey and Nicolas glanced at each other, Geoffrey frowning, but Nicolas smiling indulgently, then Geoffrey stepped to the door. ”Jehan,” he called softly, and the serving-man I had seen before entered. He was tall and graceful, with an air of barely-subdued strength. His face was handsome in an unusual, predatory way, with high cheekbones beneath tilted eyes of feral gold. I noticed he had the same curious aspect as Anneke: he seemed almost to glow.

”You must feed, Christopher, if you are to live. We have not fed you these several days, to sap the strength of your convulsions, but soon you will starve. You must now make your final choice,” Geoffrey said. ”You must take the living blood from this man's veins to nourish yourself, and sustain this life you have chanced upon, or refuse, and starve, to find yet the death you might have had.” Geoffrey's face was impa.s.sive as he motioned to Nicolas and the two left the room. Jehan sat on the bed, close to me. I realized with sudden dread that I was expected to bite into a vein and drink the blood of this man, who was, it seemed, entirely in favor of the procedure. My stomach twisted and I viewed the man with some alarm.

”I am Jehan, Master Marlowe,” the big man said gently, and pressed the pulsing vein in his wrist to my dry lips. I had meant to turn my head away, but the scent of his living flesh overcame my reluctance, and instinctively my teeth caught the vein, penetrating the skin. My mouth filled with his warm sweet blood and my body with new strength as the liquid flowed like sparking fire down my throat. There was a different gratification suffusing me, not overwhelming, as when Rozsa had taken my blood, but a warmth of feeling that deepened as I drank. All too soon the wrist was forced from me. Geoffrey had returned and pulled Jehan away. Jehan, his eyes content and sleepy, leaned forward and kissed my lips, still wet with his blood, then turned to rest his head across my knees and sank into slumber. I felt the familiar lethargy claiming me, and I too, slept.

Awaking slowly some hours later, I jerked against the restraints, for the head that rested so warmly on me was not that of a man at all, but that of a large wolf. A very large wolf. The animal raised his head and eyed me with a lupine grin before spilling off the bed to the floor, where, before my unbelieving gaze, a mist seemed to envelop it, a mist that elongated then solidified into a man's shape: Jehan. A very naked and well-built Jehan, who smiled at me, scooped up the tangle of his clothing from the floor by the bed, then left the room. Almost immediately, Geoffrey entered, crossed to the bed, and began to unknot my bonds. ”Mayhap you should wait, for I may yet be mad!” I told him, and described what I had just seen, but he only nodded and finished his task.

”No, you are not mad; Jehan is a wolf, but he is also a man. His clan has served my family for centuries, an a.s.sociation of benefit to us both. His folk are easily swayed by their animal natures and would often run afoul of society if they had not someone to protect and guide them. They serve us in return. Now, do you dress yourself and come downstairs.” Geoffrey did not seem to think that I should require any a.s.sistance, and I was most eager to prove him right.

I dressed in the clothing I had worn before and started down the stairs. At the landing a wave of giddiness swept over me and I might have fallen, had not a serving-wench dropped the bundle she carried and caught me in her arms. She had the look of Jehan about her, the tip-tilted gold eyes and the dark burnished hair. She held me a moment then stepped back before the nearness of her, the vitality, could entice me further. She caught my right hand in both of hers and pressed a kiss into my palm before picking up her bundle and scurrying up the stairs. Bemused, I made my way to the study with no further mishap, and found Geoffrey and Nicolas awaiting me. I sat in the vacant chair between them, as I had before. ”Tell me about vampires,” I said. Geoffrey gave me a long, considering stare before replying.

”There are several kinds of vampires,” he began. ”Bloodlines, we call them. You may think of us as families, with many characteristics, some differing and some the same. Our bloodline is the Alexandrine, but more about that at another time.

”There are many myths about our kind, most of which have no factual basis. We breathe, but perhaps from force of habit rather than need, as a lack of air does not kill us. There is actually very little that may kill those of our family; fire, certainly, or decapitation; wood is harmful to us, but metal is not. Oh, a blade will cut our flesh and we will bleed for a short time, but we heal completely from the most grievous wounds, and do not die. If Frizer had used a wooden weapon you would indeed have died from the injury he inflicted; as it was you were much damaged, and will be healing for some time to come. It is often so, with the wounds that turn us from our former lives.

”We can starve, but that is rare, for our gifts are great. The attraction Rozsa exerted upon you, against your natural inclinations, is an example. It acts as a lure to call our chosen to us.”

”Where is Rozsa?” I broke in. ”She said once that I called her, one night when I was unhappy and alone.” Geoffrey nodded thoughtfully.

”Yes, where we become emotionally involved a link may be forged. She is in Paris now. We sent her away when you first awoke last summer.”

”Last summer? But-”

”Anon, Kit. I will lend you my journals from the period. It was for the best, as you will see,” Nicolas counseled, and with that I had to be content as Geoffrey continued his discourse.

”We do reflect in mirrors, being, as you have pointed out, of solid flesh. That misconception came about, I believe, when men, knowing less of optics, thought that what a mirror reflected was the soul, and it is supposed we have none. The sun is not necessarily deadly to our kind, and still less so the older we are, but prolonged exposure can damage us past the point of healing ourselves without aid, and daylight is not our natural element: it can leave us sluggish and vulnerable. The lethargy it induces is heaviest when we are newly risen, and that is when we are at our most vulnerable.

”We do not change our shapes, but our servants do, accounting for that myth, I think. It is useful to us, is it not, that mortals are misled in so many particulars?” I stared pensively at the fire.

”That is not the first time that 'mortals' have been referred to. Are we, then, immortal?”

”Virtually, Kit, virtually,” Nicolas answered. ”How old would you guess me to be?” I studied the figure before me.

”Fifty?” I hazarded. Von Poppelau nodded solemnly.

”So I was, and more, when I died more than ninety years ago.” He settled back in his chair to tell his story.

”I was in the Low Countries when I received the letter from Rozsa's mother, Anna, my G.o.d-daughter,” he said. ”She was in Barcelona with her husband, Adan Francisco de Salinas y Verdad. They had run afoul of the Inquisition, and she feared for their lives, and for their young daughter. I left immediately, but I came to Barcelona too late to save Anna and Adan: they had been burnt as heretics.

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