Blood to Blood (29 page)

He stumbled into the main room. His breath came hard, his heart fluttered, no doubt low on liquid to pump. He poured himself a glass of water, drank it down, poured another and mixed it with the last of the brandy. Returning to the bed, he sat and sipped the drink slowly. The warmth of it made him feel stronger, more exhausted than weak. He returned to sleep.

Joanna woke him just before dawn, running a finger down the side of his face. He looked at her, and though her expression was frigid, he had never felt such love.

So this was what it meant to be enthralled, he thought. Not so different from what he'd felt before, but then his will hadn't been tested yet.

"I sense there was more you didn't speak of earlier," she said, her voice cold but so beautiful.

She took his hand, helped him to rise and go into the outer room. Colleen already sat at the table. She licked her lips as he sat down. A nervous habit, he hoped. One more feeding like the last and he would be one of them or dead. "There was something else. Most disturbing." He explained about the letter he'd found, his visit with Van Helsing and what he had learned there.

"And this old man, he will be a threat to us?"

"Not if I can help it," Arthur countered, feeling more like himself as the hour went on. "Besides, he's gone to Exeter to protect Mina Harker."

"And the murderer will be there as well—all of them?"

"The murderer lives there. So yes, I would assume all of them."

"Then we go also."

"But you can't." He protested on two counts: the danger to them and his friends, and the distance they would have to travel. It could not ail be done at night.

"I crossed many oceans to get to this land, I am sure you can arrange to get us all to Exeter safely," Joanna replied.

Colleen grinned and looked at him. Too intently. Perhaps the newly changed were like infants and had to eat more often. "I'll go later and arrange for a private compartment on the train, and a cart to get you to the station. We'll handle Exeter when we get there."

"Arrange to arrive there this evening… it will be easier," Colleen said, still sounding breathless but learning quickly.

"Tonight," Joanna agreed. "I am so looking forward to seeing your Mina Harker again."

Light crept through the cracks in the heavy draperies, reflecting off the polished wood of the floor. When Colleen tried to stand, Joanna had to help her. "We sleep now and wake in Exeter. We'll find the one who did this to you,
draga
, and you will feast."

Arthur watched them go, then made his way to the door. A messenger boy on an early-morning run was pedaling his bicycle down the street. Arthur hailed him, gave him some coins and asked for food and a copy of the
Times
. "I'll double what's here if you bring it back immediately," he said. "And you would like, sir?"

"Anything. Anything at all. Just plenty of it." The boy returned with two warm meat pies, a tart and pint of cider. Tipping him lavishly for the service, he carried the food inside, wolfing it down before returning to bed. He'd been awake or unconscious most of the night and needed a few hours of real sleep or he would be no use to the women that evening.

Later, rested and nearly himself again, he sat beside the box containing Joanna and her servant, guarding it as they traveled by cart to the station. As they moved through the streets, he realized that this was the time his own free will should surface, consider, take control. But though he had no inclination to disobey her, it was not the bond she had forced that caused this. Even without it, he would have trusted her still. At her core she was not a killer.

Rhys fled the murder scene with reckless speed; running down unknown streets, tripping over uneven stones, open sewers, a drunk passed out against a hitching post. By the time he was too exhausted to run any farther, his clothes were filthy and torn, his knife dropped in the flight. Streets were no longer marked, and he was lost. He went on cautiously until he reached Lombard Street, then headed west, toward his rooms.

But, of course, he could not stay there. The creature he had encountered twice would have the power to know where to find him, and his only chance lay in getting as far away from her haunts as possible. So he returned to his rooms, discarded his useless clothing and, dressed as a gentleman once again. With another of his surgical blades tucked into his pocket, he headed for the station to catch the morning train to Exeter.

Long after the train left the station, he was still too agitated to rest. Rakshasa! Dakini! Vampire! She would kill his body and claim his soul. He had no idea what to do, how to avoid her, what sort of portent her presence meant for his future life.

But Mina did. He would go to her, confess everything to her, beg her to save him.

Such a good woman. When he explained, she would not refuse to help him.

So he sat in his compartment on the train, huddled against the inside wall, terrified in spite of the daylight and the reluctant sun peeking through the lowering British sky. Occasionally some passengers from a more crowded section of the train would come by and open his door, ask if they could join him. By the time he replied, something in his eyes—fear or madness or fury, or a melange of all of them—made them pause, apologize, leave.

It was a long ride, broken every half hour, it seemed, by another stop to take on still more passengers. By the time he reached Exeter it was nearly evening and his clothes reeked of sweat. Instead of going home, he went to his clinic, where he always kept a change of garments.

It was a sunny afternoon and he chose the native cottons. They carried with them some hint of the philosophy of his mother's land, his own blood. When he wore them, he often felt an Eastern serenity. Today, though their comfort was needed, they did not calm him.

He went in search of Mina, starting at the children's hospital. Winnie Beason, who'd been conferring with one of the nurses in the entrance room, looked up when she glimpsed him, smiled a greeting. It froze when she looked more carefully at him. Was the trouble so obvious in his expression? "Are you all right?" she asked, and without waiting for a reply came close to him as if she intended to feel his forehead.

"The nurse is giving the doctor an exam?" he asked, trying to make a joke.

He didn't succeed. "The nurse is worried, that's all. You look exhausted."

"I didn't sleep well last night. I'll be fine tomorrow. Now I'm looking for Mrs. Harker."

"For Mina? She was here earlier this morning. I'll likely see her in the morning. Do you have something you want me to give her?"

"No, not at all. I just wanted to speak to her. I suppose it can wait."

He opened the door before she could ask another question. As he walked away, he was aware of her standing in the doorway, watching him go.

Rhys had intended to stop at the clinic for a moment before going out again, but someone spotted him going in. Soon one patient came in followed by another, sick with what sounded like pneumonia. He gave brief instructions to each, then went to lock the clinic door. Too late, a patient arrived with a deep cut on his arm that needed immediate attention. Rhys changed from his white shirt into a leather surgeon's apron and began to clean and close the wound. He was so caught up in the routine of his work that when he noticed the blood on his hands, he could only stare at the sight, unpleasantly surprised.

Portents. Judgments. His hands shook as he finished the task. Seeing the man out, he shooed away a pair waiting to see him, then locked the clinic door.

He washed his hands in the sink, far longer than he needed to, trying to clean off every speck of dirt, until even the moons beneath his nails were spotless.

Only then did he dust his torso with talc, put on the white shirt. Departing out the more private rear door, he headed for the river road and Mina Harker. If he had to wait for her there, so be it. Her garden was a much more appropriate place than among the poor of Exeter.

It had been a long week, and as Saturday wound slowly down toward the Sabbath, Essie stopped her work, fixed herself a cup of tea and carried it to the table just outside the back doors. It was a late-afternoon habit she and Mina had fallen into during their first weeks together, one each continued even when alone.

Essie brought a copy of
Ladies' Unity
with her, opened to an article she'd already started and began to read an account of orphans in Manchester. The article was a stretch for her skills, and she had to slow her reading occasionally to sound out an unfamiliar word.

Frantic pounding at the front door made her jump. She ran through the house, peeked through the side window and seeing the doctor, pulled open the door.

"Is Mrs. Harker at home?" he asked.

"No, but please come in. I was just having a cup of tea in the back. The days following storms are always the purest, don't you think?"

"I suppose." He followed her to the garden to sit and wait while she went for another cup and saucer.

"You can continue with your reading," he said when she returned.

She was about to say she had all sorts of news to tell him, and she was happy he'd stopped by when she realized that he wanted the silence. So she did as he asked. Twice she looked up, wanting to tell him something, but he sat with eyes closed, facing away from her and toward the river. He seemed outwardly calm but his hands were gripping the chair arms, his shoulders were taut and though the day was pleasant there were beads of sweat rolling down his neck. Something troubled him, and deeply.

A bumblebee that had been buzzing a nearby rose bush flew close to the doctor. Rhys must have heard it but didn't react, not even when it landed on his hair. "Doctor," Essie warned, walking up behind him. "You've a bee in your hair. Be still." As she went to shoo it away, her hand brushed the back of his head. He whirled, arm outstretched, pushing her away so hard she fell against the nearby table, upsetting her tea and breaking the china cup with her hand.

"A bee," she repeated, surprised that he did not rush to see that she was all right. A piece of the broken china had stuck in her palm. She pulled out the piece and grabbed a napkin to press against the wound. Though he looked at it more intently than even a doctor would, he did not comment, nor move to help her.

But as she picked up the broken pieces of the cup, she noticed him still watching her hand, the blood seeping through the white linen cloth.

Something was wrong with the doctor, terribly so. She pretended not to notice, even a managed a smile when she asked if he would be all right alone for a little bit. "I have some errands to run, but Mrs. Harker will be here soon," she said. "I'm sure she would want you to wait for her."

He nodded—absently, it seemed—and fell back into his taut contemplation. But when she began to leave him, he turned and asked her where she was going, forcing her to repeat herself.

"No! I cannot be alone tonight. Stay until she gets back."

"But doctor, I must—"

"Stay!" he ordered, standing quickly and pointing at a chair.

He seemed almost dangerous, so much so that she dared not disobey him. As she sat facing him in the garden, she could only pray that when her mistress came home, Mr. Harker would be with her.

It began to grow dark. He suggested they move inside. They were just settling into the solarium when someone pounded at the door. Rhys cried out at the sudden sound, and Essie had the urge to lay a hand on him and tell him it would be all right. Instead, she started for the door, with the doctor close behind her, Essie hoping it would be someone who could help her.

Instead it was a messenger boy, too young and thin to be of any help. He handed her a telegram he said was from London and was off again before she could think of how to alert him to her situation.

"Give it here," Rhys ordered.

She gripped the telegram tightly. The doctor might have lost some part of his mind, but she still had hers. "That belongs to my mistress," she countered.

"It's from London and likely concerns us both. Now give it here. Don't make me take it."

The cold way he said the last words, as if he would hurt her more than needed if she disobeyed, left her no choice. She watched him rip open the envelope, read the contents. Shrugging, he handed it over to her as if it would explain everything.

Or nothing. She read it twice, frowned, then set it on the foyer table for Mina. "What does it mean?" she asked.

"It means that I am being hunted, by those same creatures Mr. Harker dreams of. And I need to speak to your mistress to learn what I must do for protection."

Could it be? Perhaps she had misinterpreted his actions, for he did seem most frightened. Even so, she only wished to get away from him. "It's late," she said. "She may stay with her husband tonight."

"We shouldn't try to go there. Not after dark. Is that true?"

Essie would have far preferred the exposed darkness to the presence of this man she'd thought she knew. On the other hand, with no idea of what he might already know, Essie was afraid to lie. "That's what she told me," she admitted.

Rhys gripped her arm, led her back to the main room, where they sat and stared out at the lawn, the lengthening shadows, the growing dark.