Descent Into Dust (33 page)

“You think I could do it?” I shrieked. “You think I could kill you?”

“I think you could save me,” he said gently. “If you have any care in your heart for me, you would.”

I raised my hands, wanting to strike him. I intended to, but he caught both of my wrists, his lightning-quick reflexes like the strike of a snake.

“You dare!” I sobbed. “You dare!”

“I will do it myself if I am able!” he shouted. I twisted in his grasp, but he mastered me like a strapping lad would subdue the struggles of a lamb. “But I do not know what further changes may come. I may lose my will. If I can do it myself, I vow to you that I will. But should I not have the means within me, you must tell me you will not fail me.”

His hands were like manacles. “You used me,” I wailed. I fell against him, my face pressed against his throat, my lips close to where Marius had sunk his razor-sharp teeth into his flesh. “All the time, you lulled me into friendship—for this reason! How could you? How could you?”

“No,” he murmured. His mouth was at my ear; the sound
of his voice, the feel of his breath along the curve of my neck. “No. No.” Then his hands released me and caught in my hair, one broad palm cupping the back of my head. Blindly I turned, sought, and found his mouth, and took it against my own. My hands were suddenly free. I grasped him, fingers curling to grip the hard-muscled shoulders pinning me back into the carriage squab.

It was dark now, the two of us only shadows cramped inside the carriage. We could not see each other clearly when we broke apart. “I am so sorry, Emma,” he said hoarsely. “If you cannot do this, I will find another way.”

I started, thinking of what he meant. Someone else
would
be bound to murderous duty. Father Luke? Whom else would he trust?

“No,” I said, gulping back my grief. “No. It should be me. I am Dhampir, am I not? I was born to serve against the vampire, and for the sake of the caring and friendship between us, it should be me.”

His face spasmed with emotion. “Emma.” He touched my face.

I would not allow him to speak further. “I will be the one,” I said.

To kill you.
I did not say the words. I could not. If it came to it, I would do as he asked. I’d keep him from Marius, just as I vowed, but I would not speak it, not in the dark like this.

“And I must be shriven. You must secure a priest to perform Extreme Unction. Even if I succeed in keeping enough of my will to see to the task myself, you must dispose of my remains in the manner—”

“Valerian,” I said, cutting him off. I could bear it no longer. “You must trust me. Please, speak no more. No more.”

He hesitated, but nodded, agreeing, and silently gathered me to him. I rested my head against his shoulder. He pressed light kisses into my hair and along my temple until the lulling motion of the carriage caused him to lean his head back. Within moments, I heard the soft, easy breathing that told me he’d fallen asleep.

Perhaps he had not slept in a very long while, for he fell instantly unconscious. It was a heavy sleep, not releasing him even when the wheel hit a rut and bounced us up off the squabs.

But I did not sleep. I thought. Hours passed, and I went through every moment of this horrid adventure in my mind, analyzing with a clarity I had never before possessed. I thought about it all, from beginning to end.

I began to plan.

Chapter Twenty-eight

A
t Bassingstoke, I braced for the storm. I knew Valerian was not going to like what I had decided; I knew he would misinterpret it.

He roused when we’d reached town, the paved streets stirring up a clatter under our wheels to awaken him. “I slept,” he said, surprised. He raked his hands through his hair roughly, as if to stimulate a sluggish brain under his scalp.

Pulling back the curtain, he squinted against the light. The day was dreary, a cold mist suffocating the shapes of the houses we passed. I could see people on the street. They did not look at me, busy as they were in their lives, their wonderfully ordinary lives.

“I am not going back to Avebury,” I told him.

His head whipped around. “What? Of course you are.”

The carriage slowed. We had arrived, it seemed. “You make ready with Father Luke and Sebastian. I will follow, I promise. I have something I wish to do first. I will join you in two days’ time.”

His speechless stare made it impossible to meet his eye. The carriage jerked to a stop and I put my gloved hand out to catch myself. He covered it with his own, forcing me to look at him. “Cannot explain? Or will not?”

I knew he would take my secrecy to mean that I no longer trusted him, that my view of him had altered. While he’d slept, I had debated how to tell him of my plan knowing that, coming so soon after his great confession, he would view it personally.

And he was correct. But not for the reason he believed.

I thought of the years he had lived. He looked no more than thirty-five. He was strong, his hair untouched by a single strand of gray. The lines on his face were few. The slowed aging had touched him only slightly, taking only a decade’s toll for each hundred years. He had been changed by the vampire’s bite, and perhaps not even he himself knew exactly how much.

I did not know what he was, living as he did between vampire and human. I would not forsake him because of it, for even knowing what I did, I could not mistrust him. He had given me the hawthorn switch with Marius’s blood, he had come for me. I trusted him with my own life. But Henrietta’s?

This next thing I would do on my own, in secret. Just to be sure.

“I will explain when I see you,” I told him.

“Have it as you must,” he said, the bitterness making his voice as brittle and sharp as shattered glass. The driver opened
the door and folded down the steps. Valerian fairly leapt out, then reached up to aid me.

When I was on the ground, I wished to assure him. “I will see you in Avebury. I will not be long delayed.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, not releasing my hand for a moment of indecisiveness. Then he gave me a curt nod, his face still troubled, and turned his back on me, striding to the station house toward the platform for the northbound rails. His spine was straight, pulling his height up to its full, and his squared shoulders appeared particularly noble. I said nothing, only watched him go, until I turned to the train that would take me west.

My mission took a day longer than I’d planned, and I arrived in Avebury with my boon only three days before the Eve of Saint George. My entrance into town was stealthy. I booked myself into an inn, a different one from where Uncle Peter had lodged for I did not wish to risk anyone recognizing me. No mention of my appearance must make its way up to Dulwich Manor.

I dispatched a boy to alert Sebastian and Valerian of my arrival and unpacked the notebooks I’d taken with me from the chateau at Amiens. Whereas only a few days ago I’d been in a near panic at the shortness of the time to prepare for the night of Saint George’s Eve, now I was calm.

I had made a plan. I had gathered what I needed, and I had trusted no one. The decision to rely only on myself brought a sense of peace, and a deeper determination that locked my insides into a tight knot of resolve. I was used to being alone; it was how I worked best.

The first to arrive at my rooms was Valerian, looking very correct and cool in a dark coat and trousers, his boots polished and his cravat snowy-white and tied to perfection with not a hint of what was underneath.

“Was your journey fruitful?” he asked, bowing to me as he entered the outer of the two rooms I had reserved for my use, a small sitting room with a table and two cushioned chairs.

The sour atmosphere of our parting lingered between us, heavy with mistrust and suspicion. On my journey, I’d thought of the hurt I’d caused him and had wrestled with regret. However, I was satisfied with my decisions.

Sebastian was close on Valerian’s heels, exploding into the room with a declaration of joy. “Thank the stars you are returned! I swear, Emma, you are a sight for sore eyes, sore indeed for lack of sleep. Honestly, when this business is finished I will lay myself down for a monthlong nap.”

He snatched me to himself a bit desperately. “Poor Sebastian,” I declared, “you have stood up well.”

“No I have not! I am wretched. Just look at the circles under my eyes. You do not know what it was like without you, Emma.” Then his eyes grew serious. It was not always easy for Sebastian to be sincere. His larking was a mask, a way for him to make a mockery of the world that condemned him, but it was not the same as making merry. Sometimes, when he was at his most biting, I knew he was not merry at all.

He was solemn now, however. “Really, Emma. It is good to have you back.”

“We have much to discuss,” I said.

We had a tray with coffee and biscuits sent up from the kitchens. Then, I opened my notebooks.

“We must not allow Marius to have Henrietta at any time,
and so that dictates that our confrontation will take place at the house. He will come to her room, and when he does, we will lie in wait and trap him there, after securing Henrietta’s safety.”

I saw the men exchange a glance at my boldly taking a lead, but neither protested. I went on. “I believe I have improved methods to prevent him from escaping. I will teach you what you need to know, and advise you on what positions we should take in Henrietta’s room in order to ensnare Marius when he comes for her.”

“Why do we simply not spirit her away?” Sebastian asked anxiously.

“Even if this were possible, given that her parents are not likely to cooperate, Marius will find her,” Valerian replied. “He has the power to move like a bat in the night, flying swiftly over leagues without tiring. No amount of distance will ensure her safety.”

Sebastian swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing fitfully. “My God.”

“It is best she stay where she is,” I concluded with forced calmness. “And in this way, we can control the situation as much as possible.”

“It is ironic,” Sebastian observed, “that this is what Father Luke has wanted. It always seemed to me his tack was to avoid interference in Marius’s plans but learn as much about the situation as possible so as to be best prepared on the appointed night. So, do we inform him of our efforts?”

Fox’s eyes flashed. “He has made his choice not to help us. I say no.”

“The priest is not working against us on a point of principle,” I mused. “We are not in danger of his sabotaging us—I could never believe that of him.”

“But our goals are not the same,” Valerian reminded me. “We said we would not trust him.”

“Agreed. But another man, one knowledgeable in this supernatural fight, is an advantage. We could use him.”

Valerian looked cross, but said, “The Chinese general Sun Tsu wrote that it is wise to keep friends close, and enemies closer.” He shrugged, acceding the point to me.

We talked about what each of our duties should be. We chose the means we would use to entrap Marius when he entered the manor, and what to do—and who would do it—once he was ensnared.

Valerian insisted on the staking. “I am the strongest. And it will be violent.”

I said nothing because I did not agree with this, but would not argue the point. I would simply do what I must when the time came. “You will take care of whoever is Miss Harris’s replacement in the nursery before then,” I told Sebastian, changing the topic.

“Just how do you imagine I shall do that?” he balked. “The silly creature, a young thing they brought up from the kitchens, is with her all the time.”

I did not flinch. “I know violence is not in your nature, but she must be kept from interfering with us through any means necessary.”

They were heavy words, and they sat like rocks on our shoulders. We then set about to examine the plan, break it down, and think of every possible avenue through which it could fail, and make adjustments where we were vulnerable. By the time we concluded, I was exhausted. Sebastian, too, looked wilted, although Valerian sat ramrod-straight, as intense as ever.

“We will meet tomorrow,” I said, patting Sebastian’s shoulder.

“Lord, save me from my addled senses!” Sebastian suddenly declared, and reached into his coat to pull out a packet. “I nearly forgot. This came to the house for you.”

“It is a letter from Uncle Peter!” I exclaimed, seeing the handwriting. I moved to the window, wanting some privacy with which to read.

It was not a very long letter. This disappointed me. His usual correspondences were lengthy treatises on his travels, or a thoughtful discussion of an important book he’d read, a stimulating conversation he’d had with some country or other’s luminary. This contained only a few paragraphs, which I read quickly.

I folded the letter. “Thank you, Sebastian. Why do you not go back to the house and rest? We will all need to be sharp these next few days.”

Sebastian draped his cape over his shoulder with a flourish and kissed me before slipping out.

Valerian headed to the door as well. I had thought he would take dinner with me, and I was disappointed to see he was leaving. But I had put this distance between us, not him. And if he was not exactly angry with me, he was stung. The same distant, aloof air he had once worn to keep me at bay was firmly back in place.