The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein (27 page)

Wilder grabbed the branch with one hand, still holding on to the maid. Behind her, Clair heard a hiss that made the blood curdle in her veins.

“Well, bloody hell,” she muttered. She had wanted to find a nest of them, and she had. Leaping away from Wilder, she turned to find herself face to face with an enraged Lady Montcrief. Her face Clair would long remember, with its glistening incisors smiling in satisfaction.

“You’re mine, bitch,” Lady Montcrief laughed, her tone sharp as nails. “Tonight, you die!”

“You won’t get away with murdering me, you bloodsucking witch! Ian will hunt you down and stake you like you deserve,” Clair vowed, her face pale with fear. Lady Montcrief was evil incarnate, and Wilder wasn’t much better. She had been right, in a manner of speaking. She supposed they could write that on her tomb-stone: She got most of the facts wrong, but she was right at least once. It killed her .

“You can’t kill her. Asher will be livid,” Mr. Bear said, appearing, slurring slightly due to the length of his fangs. They were extremely long, Clair noted in an abstractly terrified, rational manner.

She agreed with him wholeheartedly. Meeting Mr. Bear last night at the dinner party, she had found him rather insipid and stupid. Tonight, he was a genius. “He’s right! Asher will be upset!”

Lady Montcrief snarled, her fangs lengthening even more. As Clair stared in fascination, she realized fearfully that there were many ways to die. And half of those were here in the garden with her, where death was sitting on his pale horse in the guise of Lady Montcrief and her nasty friends.

A thump to Clair’s left caught her attention. Wilder had dropped the unconscious maid on the ground, coming to stand next to Mr. Bear. His canny eyes watched Clair hungrily. “We have no choice, Bear. She knows too much now. But I want to play with her first.”

Clair shuddered. Revulsion was thick in her voice when she challenged him. “In a pig’s eye!”

Mr. Bear looked worried as he glanced from Wilder to Clair and then back again. “You’re drunk on blood lust, Christopher. You’re not thinking clearly. Asher will be very angry if you kill his honey pot.” Pointing a finger at Lady Montcrief, Mr. Bear added, “And you’re just jealous of the chit.”

“And you’re afraid of Asher,” Lady Montcrief hissed scathingly. “You want to be master of our little nest, but you’re too afraid to challenge him.”

Bear shrugged. “Asher’s too strong. I won’t beat a dead pony, Jeanette. I still think it’s a grave mistake to kill her. Mesmerize her instead.”

Lady Montcrief turned her fiery red eyes on Mr. Bear. Their heat was almost physical as she growled, “She knows too much. We can’t take the chance. Asher will understand. Besides, the Frankensteins are a queer lot. None of their descendants can be mesmerized. We have no choice. Humans are a devious race, and this one,” she added with loathing, “this one is more devious than most. She alone knew of our nest. She knows what Wilder is. She even accused me, the accursed bitch!”

Seeing the vampires concentrating on each other, Clair began backing away, wishing she had her lucky rabbit’s foot. Wishing Ian were there. Wishing she had told him she would marry him. Wishing Frederick were around. Her uncle. Brandon Van Helsing with his Van Helsing stakes. What a horrendous night! She was all dressed up and waiting to be bitten and sucked to death by a pack of vicious, immoral vampires.

As Clair moved, Lady Montcrief grabbed her and jerked her up close and personal. Using all her strength, Clair shoved back and screamed for everything she was worth. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot she had: the vampires’ strength was much greater than hers.

Lady Montcrief quickly yanked Clair back by the roots of her hair. “I’m going to so enjoy draining all your pretty blood. Then, when I’m finished, I’m going to chop you into little pieces and feed them to Asher’s wolfhounds.”

Clair jammed her thumbs into Lady Montcrief’s eyes, a diversionary tactic she’d read about that actually worked.

“Damn you to hell, you stupid vixen!” Lady Montcrief screeched. “You’ll pay,” she glowered as she slapped at Clair blindly, a blow which sent Clair reeling.

Through the roaring in her head, Clair heard Asher’s voice. “Jeanette, how many times have I told you not to play with your food?” His sounded like the voice of doom.

Clair lifted her head and then quickly had to lay it back down. She felt as if she had a concussion. She blinked and turned her head to the side just as Asher knocked Lady Montcrief a good five feet across the clearing.

Clair blinked, then blinked again as Asher snarled, exposing long white fangs, hissing at Wilder, who was now crouched and ready to attack. She wanted to sink into unconsciousness. She was an idiot. Asher was not a werewolf pretending to be a man. No, he was a vampire pretending to be a man. The master vampire. The leader of the London nest. And she, Clair Frankenstein, was a bona fide idiot. She’d had it all so right and all so wrong.

A scream of pain caught her attention. It was Wilder. Despite the pain in her head, Clair raised herself to her elbows, lifting her head. She had to help Asher, since he was fighting to save her life.

Wilder was pinned to the ground, and Asher had the younger vampire by the throat. “Look out,” Clair managed, as she helplessly watched Lady Montcrief hit her protector with a piece of iron fencing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Bear and managed to whisper, “Help him.”

To her despair, Mrs. Bear appeared, fangs long and wicked-looking. Together Mrs. Bear and her husband also attacked Asher.

“No!” Clair shrieked before she began sinking into darkness. Snarling, hissing and growling sounds swarmed all around her.

Suddenly, from a great dark distance, she heard Lady Montcrief and Mrs. Bear scream, and then Wilder’s curses turned to awful gurgling sounds. Then Clair knew no more, for the world went utterly black.

“My
head aches,” Clair muttered. “Too much port after dinner.” Her head nestled on the downy pillow, she struggled to come fully awake. “No. I was attacked by a vampire.” With a gasp, she recalled that it was two vampires, to be exact.

She moaned, slowly opening her eyes. It was still night. Candles lit the bedchamber, casting shadows on the wall. One silhouette was of her aunt Mary, sitting with her head against the back of an armchair, and her gentle snores were a quiet comfort to Clair. The next silhouette was Asher’s. He was seated on her left. Reflecting a weariness of both soul and body, his face was scratched in several places and his left arm was in a sling.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly.

“You saved my life.” Clair’s eyes showed her gratitude.

He nodded solemnly.

“The maid?”

“I imagine she’s a trifle anemic, but she’ll live. I had to erase her memory of the night, however,” he replied, watching Clair closely, his pale eyes grim.

“You’re a vampire,” Clair whispered, wonder in her voice. “And all this time I thought you were a werewolf. What a bacon-brain I am.”

“The Wolverton name can be misleading,” he said with a smile.

“Yes. It can.” She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed by her faux pas of mistaken supernatural identities or excited by this, the start of her great scientific discovery. “What happened to Mr. and Mrs. Bear, Mr. Wilder, and Lady Montcrief?”

“Wilder and the Bears are dead,” Asher said, a hint of regret in his voice. “Not just undead, but really dead.”

“You killed them to save me?” Clair’s expression was both solemn and grateful. She smiled sadly. “My vampire in shining armor.”

Asher shook his head. “I had help.”

“Who?”

“Ian and Galen,” the vampire answered reluctantly.

“Where is he? Is he hurt? Was Galen? Oh no! Ian must be dreadfully hurt to not be here with me.” Clair weakly tried to rise from the bed, but she fell back with a soft moan as dizziness engulfed her. If Ian died, a part of her would go with him. And she would kill him.

Asher patted her hand. “Calm down, Clair. Huntsley’s not badly hurt. Neither is his cousin.” Asher ached to hear the worry in her voice and to see the tears of relief in her eyes when she realized Ian was all right. “He’s cleaning up the mess. Wouldn’t do for the other guests to find dead vampires—truly dead vampires—lying around the place.” He wiped a tear from her cheek. “It will be dawn in a few hours. I have much to tell you before I leave.”

Clair reached up and held his hand. “You’re going away?”

“Yes. The high council will need to hear about the details. It is forbidden by vampire law for those of our species to kill one another.”

“Will you have to go before a judge and jury like a human trial?” she asked, concerned. “You shouldn’t get in trouble for helping me.”

He explained gently, “I will most probably only be fined, due to the circumstances. Lady Montcrief and Wilder were both hunting in my territory against my express wish, and they both intended to kill their meal.”

“What happened to Lady Montcrief?”

“She’s being punished.”

Hearing the tone of Asher’s voice, Clair, though curious as always, decided not to ask any more about her.

“When will you be back?”

“After the meetings with the council I have decided to take a brief trip to Paris. I have a friend there, a Mr. Bufet. I’m seeking answers to questions which have bothered me for some time.”

“And I imagine you will drink fine wine, visit with old friends, and kiss a few pretty maids all in a row.”

Asher chuckled. “Something like that. Now, listen. I need to tell you a few things.”

And he did just that, patiently explaining why Clair’s research couldn’t be made public. He presented her with all the facts in a concise manner—solid reasons such as wide-spread panic, vampire hunts, and human deaths that could range in the thousands.

He told Clair how the high council had been formed over two hundred years earlier, a council which had required that vampires go virtually underground in the seventeenth century and forbade them to drain their victims dry in the eighteenth century. And that had all been in an effort to stop the vampire-human wars.

Asher explained how vampires, werewolves, warlocks, and other supernatural creatures were very territorial and clannish. They didn’t mix much from species to species, except in desperate situations. Vampires, he explained haughtily, were at the top of the food chain, while werewolves were earthier and lacking in refinement. He informed her that aging warlocks had a tendency to go crazy due to all their researching of spells, but that they were regarded by vampires as necessary evils since they could work a bit of magic on a nest’s enemies. And lastly, Asher reminded Clair that vampires needed to stay a myth, a scary story to tell late at night.

Through this entire astonishing tale, Aunt Mary slept the sleep of the innocent.

Reluctantly Clair agreed to Asher’s request, giving her sworn vow to not publish her findings or talk of them with anyone outside her immediate family. It was a hard decision. The scientist in her was screaming “no,” and the compassionate part of her was whispering “yes.” She had no choice but to agree, she reflected thoughtfully. For her life, she owed Asher a debt of gratitude she could never repay.

As Asher stood to leave, he handed her a folded piece of paper. Then, tenderly, like the soft brush of a butterfly’s wings, he kissed her lips for the last time. It was a kiss of love, she recognized sadly.

“If Huntsley doesn’t treat you well, let me know. I’ll come, Clair. Wherever you are.” And with one more lingering glance, he left on silent feet.

Clair opened his note, tilting it to see in the candlelight:

Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are born.
Every Morn and every Night
Some are born to Sweet Delight;
Some are born to Sweet Delight
Some are born to Endless Night.

Clair fell asleep before she could wipe away the single tear that rolled down her cheek.

The next time she awoke, night had faded. The early morning sun filtered in through the window. Clair felt the warmth of someone’s hand squeezing hers tightly, like a lifeline. That warmth gave her a sense of peace. It was Ian, and he was gazing at her with all the love in his heart. His fortress of solitude had crumbled and to his island there was a bridge.

Ever so tenderly, he leaned close and rested his forehead against hers. “Oh God, Clair. I was so worried.”

Galen leaned against the far wall, a weary smile on his face. His arm was in a sling.

Clair smiled briefly at Galen; then she tenderly stroked Ian’s cheek with her hand. “Asher said you got hurt. How badly?”

“Some bruising, and I took a deep cut to my thigh. But I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“Asher said you and Galen helped rescue me.” Clair cradled his cheek in her hand. “Thank you, Ian. Galen.”

Ian’s cousin nodded briefly, embarrassed by the warm sincerity of her praise. “Now that Sleeping Beauty is awake, I think I will go and have a spot of breakfast,” he said.

“Thanks, Galen,” Ian replied, adding his own heartfelt gratitude.

Galen shrugged and left the room.

Clair turned her attention back to her true love. “I’m sorry I don’t remember what happened after Lady Montcrief slapped me. I can’t believe a lady can hit that hard.”

“The bitch is a vampire. She could have killed you with that slap.”

Ian’s features were grim, his eyes burning with a fierce light. Clair had never seen such raw rage.

“When I saw you there… God, Clair, I thought you were dead. I felt like somebody reached inside my chest and ripped out my heart.” He gathered her into his arms. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he scolded. “You can’t die on me. Promise.”

Studying his beloved face, his deep green eyes glistening with unshed tears, she nodded, awed. “My darling,” she said, hugging him back, “I love you too.”

He released her, sitting back down in his chair. “Asher was your vampire.”

“I know.”

Glancing at the open note on the end table by her bed, he added solemnly, “He’s in love with you.”