Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) (32 page)

She nodded.

He fumbled in his pocket, drew out a white handkerchief, and pressed it to her neck. “Hold firm pressure,” he told her. “Was Jude bitten?”

“No. But he's injured. And he's breathing smoke.”

Father Aeneas hurried into the room. She glanced down at Georgi. He hadn't moved. Without turning, she tracked the monk's footsteps. His sandals crunched over the broken china. She heard a splash, followed by a hiss. She turned. The monk heaved a bucket of water onto the table. The flames sputtered, and black smoke coiled toward the ceiling.

Father Aeneas's robe waffled around his feet as he strode over to Jude. She leaned over the ledge. Georgi still hadn't moved. She was certain he was dead. She glanced back at Jude. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head. The monk set a first-aid kit on the table and rummaged inside. He saw her staring and pointed.

“Watch the
Vrykolakas
,” he said.

She turned away. The sun inched its way up the mountain, spilling light onto the red tile roofs of Kalambaka. She looked down for Georgi, but he was gone. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. She yelled for Father Aeneas, and he ran to the terrace. Jude limped behind him.

“I took my eyes off him a moment,” she said.

Daylight seeped across the valley, moving in a sharp line that divided it—bright on one side, dark on the other. Father Aeneas pointed to a boulder. Georgi crawled on his stomach, his long fingers grabbing weeds. His narrow face contorted as he stared back at the broadening strip of light.

Father Aeneas lifted the crossbow and loaded an arrow. The string hummed. The arrow slammed through the vampire's left calf into the ground. A sharp cry held in the air, bouncing off the rocks. Georgi struggled to pull forward, but his leg was pinned. He tugged at the arrow. The line of daylight inched forward, eating up the shadows. He screamed as it passed over his legs and hips, over his shoulders. The scream snapped off as the light hit his face and moved to his outstretched arms. His head slashed back and forth, and he clapped his hands over his eyes.

“He's blind?” Caro whispered.

Father Aeneas crossed himself. His eyes met Jude's. “He must be decapitated. Caroline should not see this.”

Jude nodded and swiped at his nose, smearing blood and soot across his cheek. He sat down beside Caro and pulled her head against his chest. A pinprick of hope seeped through her, delicate as light streaming through a honeycomb. Something wet and warm tapped against her hand. She leaned back. Jude's blood dripped in the space between them.

“You're bleeding,” she said.

“So are you.” He pointed to the bloody handkerchief that she was holding against her neck.

“I tried to stop him. He was too strong.”

Jude shut his eyes. She stared, fascinated, as light moved over his legs, shining on the folds of his trousers, outlining the intricate peaks and valleys in the corduroy. His right leg was bent at the knee, and the other was braced against a stone pillar. She wondered what he'd do if she pushed her thigh against his, if his repulsion was outweighed by his desire to obey the monk.

Wait, what the hell was happening to her? They'd almost died, and she was thinking of seducing him? No, she'd been tainted by Georgi's horrid stem cells. She inched away from Jude and forced herself to take slow breaths.

Father Aeneas returned, gripping pails of fresh water. She didn't know what he'd done to the vampire, and he didn't offer an explanation. Jude helped her to her feet, and she glanced over the ledge. A dark stain marked the spot where Georgi had lain earlier, but there was no trace of his body.

She followed Jude into the room. Father Aeneas handed her a damp washcloth. She wiped blood from her hair and neck, taking care not to touch the wounds. The icy water trickled down her throat, cooling her blazing skin.

Jude sat down. His nose was swelling, but the bleeding had stopped. He pulled off his sweater and threw it onto the table; his shirt gaped open, showing a smooth neck with an even pulse beat. Her mind filled with prurient images, and she forced herself to look away.

Father Aeneas found a broom and began sweeping up the crockery. Jude glanced at Caro's neck but didn't comment. She doused a cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide and dabbed the wound. Jude looked at her again, then away.

“Any minute now, I'll be turning,” she said. “So you better watch out.”

Father Aeneas stopped sweeping. “Someone is coming.”

Jude reached for his sweater. “Should we go to the cave?”

A short, portly man in a gray wool suit entered the room. He pulled off his hat and smoothed a stubby hand over his straight white hair. His beard was white and wispy, reminding Caroline of a giant dandelion. His hand dropped to the scarf around his neck. As he fiddled with it, his dark eyes skipped from Jude to Caro.

“Permit me to introduce Philokrates Xenagoras Demos. But his name is so long, we call him Demos.” Father Aeneas propped the broom against the wall. “He will drive us to the ferry. Demos, these are the young people I told you about.”

“Kalimera.”
Demos bowed.

Jude stood and sat down abruptly.

“If he can't make it down the steps, we can lower him in the basket,” Demos said. “It may attract some attention, but if there is no other way—”

“Don't worry about me.” Jude waved his hand. “I'm staying here.”

A band tightened around Caro's chest, and her lungs flattened. So this was it? They'd never see each other again? Her eyes filled, and she dug her fingernails into her palms, welcoming the sharp sting. It meant the vampire's numbing venom had passed through her system. She pushed harder, hoping the pain would distract her from a crying jag.

“We should leave right away,” Demos said.

“I'll fetch my bag.” Father Aeneas walked toward the hall.

Caro struggled to catch her breath. Her throat was so tight, she had to push out the words. “You're going with me, Father?”

The monk turned. “I have prayed for guidance. Caroline, you have stepped into the dangerous world of the night. Sir Nigel would expect me to protect you.”

“Thank you, Father.”

He stepped back to the table and put his hand on Jude's shoulder. “Stay at Varlaam as long as you wish. Caroline will not be alone. I will guard her with my life.”

A pinched look crossed Jude's face. He leaned across the table and touched the back of Caro's hand. “If you want me to come along, just say so.”

The band around her chest snapped and she took a grateful breath. Two days ago, she would have answered with a glib “So.” But Jude was plainly struggling with his emotions. The firm set of his jaw clashed with the doubtful, hooded look in his eyes. She imagined his thoughts. He wanted to stay, he wanted to go. He loved her, he loved her not.

“Yes.” She steepled her hands. “Please come to Venice.”

 

Demos angled the black van down a narrow road that led away from Varlaam. Onyx rosary beads dangled from the rearview mirror, clicking against a blue evil-eye charm.

Caro stared out the window. A rabbit streaked across the valley. It stopped and rose on its haunches. Father Aeneas traced a cross in the air, as if blessing the rabbit.

She crossed her arms, and the slight pressure on her breasts set off tremors between her legs. Her breath caught, and she jerked her arms apart. Those last two bites were more potent than the first.

Jude turned. “Your face is flushed.”

She looked at the bruises on his face and couldn't breathe. Because of her, he'd almost died. In a raspy voice, she said, “I'm fine.”

“I thought you might be hungry,” Demos said. He lifted one hand from the steering wheel and grabbed a small wicker basket. “Nothing fancy, but I think you will like.”

Caro peeked inside. Small water bottles. A box of raisins. Honeyed apples wrapped in a white napkin. A small flask of red wine. Her stomach twisted and she looked away.

“Where are we headed?” Jude asked the men.

“Igoumenitsa,” Demos said. “I have made reservations on the
Ikarus Palace
. I took the liberty of reserving deck-class cabins. They are cheap this time of year. The ferry leaves at nine A.M.”

“Have you arranged to leave your van in Igoumenitsa?” Father Aeneas asked.

“I'm bringing it on the ferry,” Demos said.

“But we won't need transportation in Venice,” the monk said.

“Just the same, I will park it at the Tronchetto.”

“What is the point? We will be taking water taxis. A vehicle is one more thing to worry about.”

“Worry?” Demos cried. “This van is no worry. You curse it with your talk of worry.”

“Park it in Igoumenitsa.”

“This is a mistake.” Demos shook his head. “I don't like mistakes.”

The conversation drifted into the best strategy to line up on the passenger boardwalk. “I'll go first,” Father Aeneas said. “The military police will be respectful of clergy. Jude and Caroline can stand behind me.”

“Where will I be?” Demos asked.

“Behind Jude. You and I will shield the young people.”

Caro glanced over her shoulder and squinted at the van's broad rear windows. The highway was empty. Then a small blue car veered around the curve. A twinge of paranoia made her chest tighten. She swallowed and shifted her gaze toward the front seat.

“There's a car behind us,” she said.

“I am watching,” Demos said, then peered into the rearview mirror.

She leaned her forehead against the cool window. A long time ago, she'd traveled down this road with Uncle Nigel, and they'd stopped at a gas station that served baklava, calamari, and goat soup. All these years later, here she was, driving along this same road with a monk and a biochemist. Both of whom had killed vampires on her behalf.

The leather seat creaked as Father Aeneas turned and slipped two white tablets into her hands. “Aspirin. For the fever,” he said. “You may feel parched, as well. Make sure you drink water.”

“Or I'll turn into a vampire,” she said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm, but it seemed to wash right over the monk. His mouth sagged open, and his eyes rounded.

“No, no. Do not worry. I have not heard of a hybrid transforming. You will feel ill after a bite, but the symptoms will diminish in a few days.”

“Or sooner,” Jude said.

Caro tossed the pills into her mouth and opened the water bottle.

Father Aeneas's gaze shifted to Jude. “Last night, Caroline said you'd studied vampiric mice.”

Jude shot her a startled look, then faced the monk. “Yes? What of it?”

Father Aeneas smoothed his beard. “I've heard of vampire sheep in France, but mice? How did you find immortal rodents?”

“I experimented with stem cells and created an immortal strain. It's a long, boring story.”

“An impressive one,” Father Aeneas said. “What did you learn, young man?”

Jude didn't answer right away, as if he felt reluctant to discuss his work. Finally he said, “The offspring of vampiric and normal mice—the hybrids—had fantastic immunity. However, a hyper-strong immune system can be just as dangerous as a weak one. An example would be the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic, when young people died. But I digress.” He pushed his hands together, as if repressing the scientific footnote, and continued with more enthusiasm. “When hybrid mice were bitten by vampiric ones, it caused a mild allergic response in both the host and the recipient. The human equivalent would be a reaction to a flu shot.”

As Caro listened to Jude talk, she imagined him standing at a lectern, his jacket sleeves dusted with chalk, instructing biology students about amino acids. He was a born teacher, just like Uncle Nigel.

“Interesting.” Father Aeneas paused. “I never imagined that hybrids possessed an antibody that is not found in the immortals. Is the opposite true?”

Jude darted a look at Caro, then looked back at the monk. “Yes, vampires have unique antibodies, but they appear to have an exaggerated response to the one found in hybrids.”

Caro squared her shoulders with great dignity, preparing to argue that she wasn't a half-breed. The men fell silent as the van sped through a tunnel, the tires singing on the pavement, toward the dazzling archway. An unbearable glow hurt Caro's eyes when the van blasted out of the tunnel. The sun was up now, glinting on the snow-covered mountains. She blinked, and a stomach-churning dizziness swept through her. A second before she keeled over, she seized the door handle and wrapped her fingers around the smooth chrome.

I'm not a hybrid,
she told herself
. I'm not
.

The road straightened and her head cleared, but she stubbornly gripped the handle, making her wonder if she was clinging to other, bigger things. Love. Normalcy. False hope. Her hand sprang open, and she glared at her fingerprints on the chrome. She couldn't deny the truth another second. Philippe Grimaldi was her father. She had inherited his blond, unruly hair, along with speed, immunity, and a metabolism that burned calories. As she pictured her father, a fierce surge of love spread through her chest. His genes had collided with Vivi's, and Caro refused to be ashamed.

But she was afraid. Was someone following them or had she imagined that car? A band tightened around her chest as she squinted at the rear window. The road was still empty, except for a blue dot. It vanished around a curve and then reappeared.

Father Aeneas tugged at his beard. “A vampire's hidrosis is unique.”