Valerian paused. “And you?”
I answered him honestly. “I do not plan to die.”
He grinned at me, shaking his head as if I had said something to amaze him. “Brave Emma.”
“You mean foolish Emma,” I said sadly.
He suddenly grew serious. “I mean beloved Emma.”
That stopped me cold. My breath caught in my throat. He held his hand out to me, and I took it as we walked back to my room. In the moonlight, we did not need to bother with the light once the door was shut behind us.
He took out a shiny silver crucifix and hung it on the naked nail over my bed. That done, we looked at one another.
He touched my shoulders lightly. “I would like a chance to set something aright between us.”
“It is I who should,” I told him. “I owe you a . . . such a great apology.”
He bent to kiss me. I hesitated, waiting to see what he did next. Pulling back to look at me, he seemed puzzled. “And I am sorry, also, Emma.”
“Why?”
Deep lines folded over his brow. He seemed to struggle for words for a moment, then whispered, “You have had such darkness in your life.”
I felt my heartbeat quicken. “Darkness has touched us both,” I reminded him.
He appeared weighted down by emotion. “That is true. But I did not want
this
touched by darkness. I wanted to be whole before . . .”
“It is too long to wait for perfection. We are imperfect, and, yes, touched by this darkness we despise. But perhaps this is when we need each other the most.”
“Ah,” he smiled. “Wise Emma, too.”
I lowered my gaze, suddenly shy. “I prefer the other one, what you said before.”
He cupped my face in his hands. They were strong, vibrating with warmth and vitality. I fancied I felt the rush of blood where his palms lay against my cheek. “As do I. Beloved,” he said softly, and kissed me again.
That night he erased what damage I had done, what Ruthven had driven me to do. That night we did not think about Ruthven at all. Both of us were flawed, burdened, and tragically imperfect, it was true, but for that short time that didn’t matter.
He slipped out when the sun came up, and I lay awake as the daylight grew strong. I used to feel safe in the sunlight, but for some reason no reassurances calmed me as I thought about the day ahead. Would this be the last one for Lilliana or Margaret, or any of the other girls whose paths had fatally crossed that of the Cyprian Queen? What, if anything, could I do to stop it?
As I lay there, even after the peace and beauty of the night I had passed before, I felt my anxiety grow. By the time I rose, my head was heavy and my limbs sluggish. I was not drugged, I knew. It was despair creeping up upon me.
I noticed again the drooping orchid, Suddington’s latest gift I had neglected to keep alive. I was feeling overset. So much so that the sight of the dying plant pricked tears of hopelessness into the backs of my eyes. I had had enough of death.
I
fought the heavy cloud of dread the following morning when I crept up to the dormitories to check on the safety of the girls. Three of them—Lilliana, Marion, and Therese—were fast asleep in the dormitory. Eustacia was awake to greet me, having not slept a wink.
“He was at the window. All night,” she told me, jumping from her bed. She pulled me aside, speaking in a frantic whisper. “Lilliana wanted to let him in, but we wouldn’t let her. Therese and I had to hold her back.” She shivered. I saw how pale she was, ashen gray with smudges of coal under her eyes. “I could see him, imploring us to open the window. He was beautiful, like he was with Vanessa . . . at the end.”
“He cannot get to you,” I reassured her. I heard the hollowness in my own ears. I wanted to convince her, but the memories of the horrible occurrences the night Vanessa died were fresh in my mind. “I sealed you in, protected you. And you have the cross?”
She shook her head, her eyes wide with terror. “He will find a way, I fear. They cannot withstand his will. He will make them invite him inside. Vampires can only come inside when invited, isn’t that right?” She paused, realizing she’d said it out loud:
vampire
.
“Yes. Yes, you are right,” I replied.
“He will make them do it. I was to be one of the seven. He will come for me. I must leave, Mrs. Andrews, or I will die! Please do not make me stay here another night,” Eustacia pleaded. “Help me or I will go on my own.”
I knew what it would cost me should it be discovered I’d helped her flee. Yet, how could I not help this terrified child?
At last I nodded. “You are right; you cannot stay here. Go pack your things. I will take you to those who will keep you safe.”
I brought Eustacia to the stables and hitched the trap to a sturdy mount. Strangely, our flight down the fell was anticlimactic, for we did so without interruption or trouble. I would have to answer for this when I returned, I knew. I would have to be brilliant to find some manner of plausibility for Eustacia’s absence. But no matter what lies or patent groveling I had to do to appease Miss Sloane-Smith, I must make certain I remained at Blackbriar School, for the sake of the other girls. Just how I would manage to do this, I had no idea.
I
t is so very odd how the mind works. One can labor for a solution—as I had done on this crisis of the Cyprian Queen—in intense concentration and acrobatics of thought and merely find one’s self going round and round the same unanswered questions. And then, something happens—a stray word or a chance association—and it breaks open what all of that mental exercise could not. Such was the case when it all came together for me the very next day during a casual conversation with Father Luke.
He was saying, “Valerian and I have been discussing a possible plan,” as he stirred his coffee at the table in his small room at the Rood and Cup. The day was bitter outside, a grayish overcast quality to the sky paired with a biting wind that whistled around the edges of the window and subjected us, in the cozy room, to drafts.
“I believe we must visit this alchemist in Greece. Valerian, of course, is interested in the possible cure for vampirism.”
“It is always on his mind,” I concurred. “His . . . condition.”
“What I am particularly interested in is this unique situation. The Greek vampire is called
vrykolakas
, a very unique being among the undead. For one thing, as I mentioned to you before, their society is ordered, civilized. As a group, they carry on their country’s classical traditions in philosophy, arts, and sciences. This is no doubt what attracted the alchemist to the island of Santorini.”
“Do you think so? I assumed it was simply because the island is known to be heavily populated with vampires.”
“Ah,” he said. “But it begs the question: why does the vampire flock to the island?”
I gathered the corners of the rug I’d thrown over my shoulders a bit more closely as a chill snaked around my neck. “Well, then, why?”
Father Luke sighed. “It must be something on that island. In Greece, as I said, the vampires are different. Still vampires, do not mistake me. But less bloodthirsty. It is even possible the vampires cooperate with and facilitate this research. There is not much information in the Church archives on this, for as you know, the Greek Orthodox Church is separate from Rome, and their records were not at my disposal.”
I leaned forward, my cold fingers clasping each other for warmth. “You mean to tell me you believe it possible that the alchemist conducts his research into vampirism with the permission of the local vampire establishment?”
He smiled at me slyly. “Think, Emma. How could he exist for all these many years, even in secret, if not for the tacit approval of the Orchid Prince? Athanas knows of the alchemist’s work—he must. And if so, that indicates he is complicit. Therefore, perhaps he can be approached, reasoned with, warned of the Dragon Prince’s plans for domination. Those of his clan are the most highly evolved, and very invested in retaining their freedoms. They might agree to help us.”
My entire body went rigid as his words hit me, sparking a sudden association that set me to shaking. “What did you say?” I managed after a moment, my tone urgent and sharp.
Father Luke paused, puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”
“You called him the Orchid Prince,” I clarified.
“Yes. Athanas—that is his name. His title is the Orchid Prince, just as—”
“You did not say that before.”
He peered at me. “Emma? What is wrong?”
My thoughts were moving quickly. I stepped toward the window with a shake of my head, and as I did, I noticed the disk, which lay uncovered, the sunlight making it glow like a sun.
Like the sun . . .
“Call in Valerian,” I said, burying my face in my hands as my thoughts turned in surges. “Sebastian, too. We need to meet, all of us.”
By the time Valerian and Sebastian arrived, my ideas had begun to knit together. Valerian could see my state, and sat across from me with an anxious expression.
Sebastian went down on his knee to my right, drawing my hands in his so I was forced to look at him. “You know something,” he said. “You know who Ruthven is.”
Valerian laid a hand on his wrist to ease Sebastian’s grip. “Leave her. She needs to think.” He met my gaze, and I saw a fervent light in his eye, his lip curled in cautious hopefulness. “Emma?” he asked.
I inhaled a long breath, my eyes fastened onto the middle distance. “You said the alchemist wanted to cure vampirism, and that the gift of long life Naimah got from him was a by-product of that quest.”
“She wrote of it as a kind of limited exchange of vampire power to human,” Valerian said.
“Then if it follows that it is possible that a similar exchange exists for vampires to attain some of the advantages of humans, a vampire might consume food, wine . . . might walk in sunlight. Not direct sunlight, perhaps, but on overcast days or when nightfall is due. It might, with the proper charm in place—this elixir—venture out of its lair, among the living.” I paused as a thought struck me. “It might fool even me, or any Dhampir.”
“What is it?” Sebastian inquired.
I shook my head and reached for the disk. Its carvings, revealed in daylight, were depicted in exquisite detail. My world tilted, keening first to one side, then the other, as a sick, scalding feeling began to crawl up from the marrow of my bones to light each and every nerve on fire. “My God,” I murmured. I suddenly knew where I’d seen the sign of the Dracula, the dragon rampant, before.
“The seal of the Dragon Prince,” Father Luke said, pointing to the figures carved on the surface.
“Yes,” I said, nodding numbly. I traced my finger along the flow of the cape. Now that I spied the clever reversal, it seemed obvious that the great dragon was drinking the fountain of blood flowing forth from its adversary, which—I could now make out—lay skewered on one sinister talon.
“This . . . this is not a cape,” I explained. “It is a gushing of blood.” I pointed to the dragon figure. “This is the Dracula.” Raising my eyes, I said, “I have seen this before. More than once, and most recently right here in Blackbriar.”
The men waited expectantly, but my thoughts took an unexpected turn. I looked at Father Luke. “The vampire prince of Greece—you just referred to him as the Orchid Prince. Why did you call him that?”
Father Luke was a bit taken aback, but responded readily. “I don’t really know. But you must know the legends associated with that particular flower. It has figured prominently in mystical lore . . . well, forever. The Church has banned it for its . . . er, sensual aspect. It was once outlawed—the forbidden flower. But in Greece, as in all very warm, moist climates, it grows in profusion, and . . .”
He trailed off. It must have been my expression.
Valerian leaned in. “Naimah mentions the orchids on Santorini in her journals. When she went to the island, she became enamored of their charm. She says they are magical, but I dismissed this as merely a romantic notion.”
“No. She is right. They must have magic in them.” I slammed the disk down on the table with a resounding ring. “Suddington keeps an orchid house.” I pointed to the golden disk. “I saw a tapestry in his study one evening, but it was gone when I came in next. I suppose now he did not mean for me to see it, or to see what I saw in it. The figures—exactly like these—were embedded in the overall design.”
Valerian held up his hands. “You are saying Lord Suddington—”
“He is Ruthven, and the Cyprian Queen. He is George Smythe.”
There were several beats of silence, and I used them to gather my thoughts before I continued. “He wears the orchid at all times, on his coat. He surrounds himself with them. That is how he walks in daylight. Not full daylight, but in dusk and on rainy days, he can move among humans.”
Valerian, I could see, was becoming convinced. “Go on,” he said to me, his eyes blazing in rapt attention.
“On the night of his dinner party, he placed orchids all through his house. He gave me two of them.”
Valerian muttered an expletive under his breath as a deep frown furrowed his face. I said, “Why would he do that when he must know I could not keep them alive for long? If he loves his plants so, why would he sacrifice any of them? Unless it was for some purpose. I’ve been sleepless, restless, fatigued. And my dreams have been so vivid and tormented. Now that I think of it, they have been worse when the orchids were fresh and strong, before my lack of proper care took effect.”
Another thought occurred to me and I held up a finger. “I found little packets of dried flowers under the girls’ pillows when I cleaned out their room and set in place new protections. I saw figures like tiny demons dancing in the flames when I burned them. They had been enchanted in some way.”
“Magical flowers?” Sebastian asked skeptically.
“Orchids, somehow able to be imbued with magical properties. What a fool I’ve been not to see it!” I laughed, pinning him with a fervent gaze. “Why would a great prince of the undead name himself for a
flower
unless it represented power?”
I stopped, pausing as another thought occurred to me. “Wait. I don’t understand something. The orchid he gave me is dead, yet I know the reason I was rendered nearly powerless the night Ruthven killed Vanessa was not merely the effects of being drugged. The weakening of my powers had to be due to some charm.”
“An orchid?” Sebastian queried.
“Yes. It had to be. But not the one I was given . . .” I shot to my feet.
“Emma!” Sebastian exclaimed.
But I was already in motion. “I will be back. I cannot take you all. Just Valerian—you come with me.”
I
t was here, in my small bedroom in the staff wing of Blackbriar—it had to be. I tore the place apart, ripping open every drawer, pulling out the sparse furnishings and turning out the bedclothes.
I had not exercised stealth coming in with Valerian. In the midst of everyone’s shock and outrage, I had marched him through the school, up the stairs to this room, and then locked them out.
Outside the closed door, I could hear shouts of alarm spread. They would be coming in soon, Trudy Grisholm in the lead, no doubt. The last I’d seen of her, she had been marching determinedly in the direction of the headmistress’s office.
Valerian inspected the near-dead orchid sitting on top of the dresser. “You are right, this cannot be responsible for the charm. It is almost gone.”
“Help me,” I said, wanting to pull the frame of my bed away from the wall.
He put his back into it as the voices of discontent grew in volume on the other side of the door. And there we found it, tucked into a corner in the safety of the darkness under my bed. Its leaves were a bit blackened, its flower somewhat wilted, but it was still alive, as if it, like its owner, were immune to natural death.
Valerian recoiled at the grisly sight of the thing. “My God, it is hideous. What is it?”
I swallowed against a rise of nausea. “It is the
dracula chimaera
. Suddington showed it to me in his orchid house.”
“But it cannot be the culprit here. It appears to be dead.”
As soon as the answer came to me, I knew I was correct. “It does appear so, but it is not dead, Valerian. It is, in actuality,
undead
.”
Valerian’s head snapped around and he stared hard at me. “Good God.”
“The Blood is the Life,”
I muttered, prodding the thing with my toe. That simple phrase had guided me from the earliest days of my awakening as Dhampir. It always came back to blood. This thing was as good as a vampire plant, sustained on blood. Undead. How else could it have survived without the light, heat, and humidity its species required?
Valerian drew it out with careful hands. The
dracula chimaera
looked like an insect, some kind of predatory thing that might animate at any moment and strike out, drawing blood, or worse. The smell of it was foul. I recoiled, feeling a dizzy falling sensation twist in my gut. This was how I had felt when I awoke to find Ruthven in the girls’ dormitory, when my powers had deserted me.
“He gave the other to you in order to cover the perfume.” Valerian cut a sharp look at me. “Are you feeling any effects now?”
I blinked rapidly to clear my thoughts. I could hardly concentrate, with the wretched plant at such a close distance.
My obvious struggle was answer enough. Valerian took the orchid to the other end of the room. I could hear people gathered outside my door.
Someone pounded. “Emma, dear, open up,” Eloise pleaded.
Sharper voices, angry voices, and then an impatient tone I recognized as belonging to Trudy Grisholm: “Just break it down!”
My stomach tightened with tension. “What are you going to do with it?” I asked Valerian urgently.
“Destroy it,” he replied. He nodded to the orchid nearest me. “Both of them. You start.”
I pulled the orchid from its pot. Dirt scattered over the floor. Crushing it in my hands, I let it drop, stepping on it for good measure. The task was messy, but easily done.
Valerian gripped the thick, almost muscled, stalks of the
dracula chimaera
. Even with his excessive strength, he had to exert himself so that the tendons on his neck popped out as he finally extricated the roots.