Part 24 (1/2)
”How can you prevail against your... kind if they are essentially immortal?”
”Decapitation. The head must be separated entirely from the body or it will heal.”
Ugly. But at least there was some way to kill them. That's why Rufford wanted swords.
”You'll leave that to us, of course,” Rufford continued. ”Fedeyah and I-”
”Fedeyah! Asharti's second in command?”
Rufford nodded. ”We are responsible for clearing the land west of the Atlas Mountains.”
Davie's jaw dropped in horror and surprise. ”Two of you? For all that territory? And one her servant? I would never trust him!”
”I do,” Rufford said quietly. ”With my life. Every night.” He brushed aside Davie's outrage and glanced to the window. Outside it had grown full dark. ”I must get to it. They are converging on Casablanca, which means this place will get more dangerous before it gets safer. That brings us to you.” He turned back to Davie. ”Don't go out at night. Stay at the safe house, no matter what you hear, no matter how badly you want to leave. Never touch us when we are wounded. Examine yourself for wounds and bandage them carefully before you get anywhere near us. A drop of our blood in the tiniest scratch or accidentally swallowed will infect you. You either die a horrible death or get immunity to the parasite from ingesting large quant.i.ties of vampire blood and become a vampire yourself. Not what you want, I'm sure.”
The very concept made Davie's mouth dry.
”Think of your job as setting up a field hospital in a dangerous area.” Rufford stepped back into the shadows. A more intense blackness seemed to whirl around him. ”Begin tomorrow with finding a safe house. Leave the location here. Cover your tracks. They're everywhere.”
And he was gone. Davie wondered where he and Fedeyah would find shelter tomorrow during the daylight. And he wondered just what he had gotten himself into. He had never felt so weak, so mortal. He turned to the window. Somewhere in the darkness Rufford and Fedeyah would do battle tonight with the remnants of Asharti's army converging on the city. He couldn't see them. But they were there. He stepped away from the window. Maybe they could see him.
Emma Fairfield stood next to the champagne fountain at Bedford House. She was very still. Couples danced in the precise dips and graceful patterns of a country dance. Ladies sipped punch and examined their dance cards. Dowagers in turbans and feathers rapped the knuckles of their equally ancient cicisbei. She could see tables of whist and pique through the card room door. It seemed unreal, it was so pointless. Richard danced courtly attendance on a woman he cared nothing for. He hated this evening as much as Emma did but had nothing better to do since Damien was gone up to Northumberland. Richard would have gone with him at any other time. They could be much freer there. In fact, Richard stayed in London only to give her countenance and allow her to have season after season where she refused all offers of marriage. She could not be so selfish as to let that go on forever. He glanced over to her. She made no sign. It seemed too much effort. Richard leaned in and spoke to a man on his left. The man-young Thurston, wasn't it?-glanced in her direction and then started across the room.
Emma breathed in and out carefully. It was only at her brother's instigation that she was here tonight. Actually, ”instigation”
wasn't the word. ”Prodding.” ”Nagging.” In the end it was easier to come. She need only stand and watch after all. But Richard obviously had other ideas. ”Miss Fairfield.” Thurston bowed crisply before her. He wore the uniform of the Seventh Hussars. It matched his blue eyes. Too much gold braid for her taste. ”May I have this dance?”
She looked at him. She should say something. What did one say? ”No, thank you.”
His expression was startled. ”Uh... Perhaps some punch?”
She shook her head. ”No,” she whispered.
”Oh.” His dismay would once have been comical. But she didn't respond to absurdity anymore. She hadn't smiled for ten days.
He glanced back to her brother, who made threatening expressions with his eyebrows. Thurston turned back and chewed his lip.
She looked at him calmly, not letting him see the knot of wormy despair that lurked inside her. No one must see that.
”Well then, I'll just be...” He took two steps back, turned, and retreated in disarray. She saw Richard sigh. She didn't move, just
stood there, her hands folded quietly in front of her. The music seemed a desecration to her mood. She should never have given
in to Richard.
Several young women hurried across to her as the dance finished, abandoning their partners with unseemly haste. ”There you are Miss Fairfax,” Chlorinda Belchersand called. Emma had known Chlorinda almost as long as she had known Davie.
That thought stabbed through her calm and made her gasp against the pain. Davie! Oh dear! She thought she had cried all the tears she had when she discovered he had wound up all his affairs and written out a will. That was when she was sure he wasn't coming back to her, ever. But tears closed her throat now against the thump of her heart. She fumbled at her reticule for a handkerchief as Chlorinda and Jane Campton arrived in a flutter.
”Where have you been hiding for ten whole days?” Miss Campton asked, breathless. ”Did you have the influenza? You look very pale.”
Emma dabbed her handkerchief to her eyes. It was easier to say nothing than to lie.
”Isn't influenza just horrible?” Miss Belchersand agreed, apparently willing to forgo Emma's actual partic.i.p.ation in the conversation. ”It makes your eyes water for days.”
”I heard the posies were piled up in the foyer and you wouldn't see any of the young men who brought them.” This from Miss
Campton in a confidential whisper.
”I heard that you would have had several proposals of marriage if you were in any condition to receive them,” Chlorinda revealed, not to be outdone.
”Well, she can receive them now that she's out and about again.”
Emma couldn't think of anything more likely to send her to a madhouse than a proposal of marriage, or at least any proposal of marriage but one. She stared around the room as sets formed for the next dance. She wouldn't listen to their chatter.
”No one knows who to bet on next now that Ware is gone off,” Chlorinda confided.
”Miss Fairfield would never have taken a second son without a fortune,” Miss Campton sniffed, ”and one tied to the diplomatic
corps into the bargain. All those postings to vile places!”
”Well, she needn't have gone with him. An absent husband is a great convenience, and one dependent upon your money is even better. One would always have the whip hand, wouldn't one?” Chlorinda Belchersand's tone was arch.
Emma turned her eyes slowly toward the two women now talking to each other as though she weren't there. How had she never noticed how small and spiteful their eyes were?
”Well, who do you think it will be?” Miss Campton asked Miss Belchersand.
”I'm not going to accept an offer from any of these silly creatures,” Emma interrupted. It was more than she had said at one time in ten days.
”You were always such a rebel, Emma.” Chlorinda t.i.ttered. ”What will you do? You can't live with that brother of yours forever.”
”I may just set up on my own.” She raised her chin.