Incarnation (14 page)

W
hat are you doing here?” Felix asked.

I stepped out of the library, closing the door behind me. Resting my back against it, I mustered a smile. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I would look for something to read.”

“Is there a problem with your chamber?”

“No, not at all, it’s lovely. The problem is me, really. This is all still so new.” I made a vague gesture of confusion that I hoped would explain why I was wandering about the club unescorted.

To my great relief, he nodded. “One forgets how startling incarnation can be. And, of course, you have not had the benefit of a mentor. Shocking, really, that you were abandoned in such a fashion.”

“So Lady Blanche indicated. She has been very kind.”

His gaze narrowed as he assessed whether or not I was sincere. After a moment, he said, “Yes, of course, which is why I came looking for you. Her ladyship has charged me with assuring that you have everything you need, including a proper diet.”

“I’m not sure what you mean . . .” In fact I understood all
too well. A wave of nausea swept over me. The thought of feeding as I had seen the others do . . .

“Come along.” Felix took a polite but firm hold on my arm. Rather than raise suspicion, I had no choice but to accompany him. As we returned to the main room of the club, he said, “I take it you didn’t find anything to read?”

Absorbed in what I was about to confront, I stumbled to answer. “What’s that? Oh, no, I didn’t—”

“Hardly surprising. I don’t think anyone’s read a single book in there.”

Belatedly, I realized that all the bindings had appeared untouched, the pages unturned. “Then why have a library at all?”

Felix pulled out a chair and waited until I was seated at one of the small round tables topped in marble with a gilded filigree edge. Empty but for ourselves, the main room of the club appeared even larger and more luxurious than it had the night before. Silence reigned over all, yet I could not shake the impression that just beyond the range of my hearing the air vibrated like the surface of a deep, dark pool beneath which one might find anything . . . hidden wonders of enthralling beauty or horrors too hideous to contemplate.

“Lady Blanche thought it would appeal to a certain someone who did not patronize the Bagatelle,” Felix replied. “Unfortunately, he proved immune to any such seduction.”

I did my utmost to appear only mildly interested even as I considered the possibility that the library had been intended for Mordred, whose consort she had aspired to be. But if it had not drawn him to the club . . . Did that mean he had not been trapped there after all?

“How curious,” I said. “Judging by what I saw, he must be a highly erudite gentleman.”

Felix settled into the chair across from me. “Indeed, absolutely brilliant. Shall we have coffee? I never feel quite awake until I’ve had a cup.”

“Coffee? I thought . . .” The possibility of a reprieve, however temporary, made me almost sag in relief. With an effort, I managed to keep myself upright.

A smile flickered across Felix’s face. I wondered if he wasn’t enjoying drawing out my anticipation. Yet his intent seemed entirely benign.

“I’m from New Orleans originally. Did I tell you that? We have the most delicious coffee there. It’s flavored with chicory, very beneficial to vampires. If I had my way, all humans would be fed on it to improve the quality of their blood.”

I ducked my head, pretending interest in the swirling marble of the tabletop. The thought of blood unleashed a desperate craving in me at the same time that I was repulsed by my own longing. Part of me was screaming in refusal while the other, increasingly stronger part of myself wanted to thrust the contemptible human side of my nature back down into the grave and silence it forever.

No wonder my head felt as though it was about to split open and all the demons of hell come streaming out.

Through the pain, I murmured, “What an interesting idea. Perhaps we should explore ways to improve the health of humans in general. Strictly for our own benefit, of course.”

Felix raised a hand, summoning a thrall who appeared from behind the bar. The creature shuffled toward us. Its face—assuming that it possessed one—was concealed deep within
the folds of its hood. When it had heard our order and gone away again, Felix said, “I hope you’ll accept a bit of advice, Lucy. Don’t talk about helping humans, not for any purpose. The old families tend not to like it.”

“Do they not?” I spoke absently, still staring after the creature. Its kind possessed great strength and ferocity, as I had experienced all too well, yet it appeared entirely tame, not to say beaten down with no flicker of will left in it.

“No,” Felix said so emphatically that he succeeded in drawing my attention back to him. “They most definitely do not. You would be wise to do nothing more to draw their interest.”

The suggestion that I had already done so surprised me. “More? What have I done already?”

He shrugged as though the answer was obvious. “You appeared here alone, without a mentor. Naturally, there are questions about who incarnated you and why it was done in such an unorthodox manner.”

“Questions that no one wants answered more than I do.” Abruptly, the constraints of caution and discretion became intolerable. My skin was prickling and every nerve I possessed felt on edge. Heedless of the consequences, I asked, “Do you know who is responsible?”

Felix started in surprise and as quickly frowned. “Of course not. How could I possibly?”

His protestations notwithstanding, I was certain that he was lying. The sudden shift of his eyes and the stiffening of his shoulders spoke more clearly than any words he uttered. I tried again. “Do you suspect anyone in particular?”

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me gravely. “Are you so determined to discover who he is?”

“How can I not be?” When he did not reply, I pressed harder. “Wouldn’t you be driven to find the one who stole your humanity, transformed you into a creature unlike any you had ever imagined, and abandoned you to deal with that as best you could?”

Felix shrugged. He would have appeared bored with the subject were it not for the sharpness of his gaze. “Perhaps, but then what? Do you want to thank him or accuse him?”

I wanted to save him; indeed I was compelled to do so. But rather than say anything of that, I replied, “I want to understand why this happened to me. Until I do, I don’t think I can ever fully accept it.”

I was reprieved from saying more when the thrall returned bearing a golden tray set with a pot of fine Meissen china and matching cups. Felix dismissed the creature and poured for us both. We sipped in silence for several minutes. The coffee reminded me of that served in the cafés in Paris, only with a richer, deeper flavor.

Yet I could scarcely enjoy it, not while the hunger for blood was rising so inexorably.

Felix drew a jeweled case from an inside pocket of his jacket, chose a cigarette, and lit it. Looking at me over the glowing red tip, he said, “This is a tricky situation.”

I nodded but did not speak. If he was, as I hoped, on the verge of deciding how much to tell me, I could not risk saying anything that might dissuade him.

“Before we go on,” he said, “I must know you better.”

I was about to ask how that might be accomplished when a thrall—whether the same or another I cannot say, for all the faceless apparitions looked alike—appeared bearing a crystal goblet filled with a bright red liquid.

“It is fresh,” Felix said, as though that would somehow reassure me. “Best not to let it sit too long.”

Slowly, aware of how closely he was watching me, I lifted the goblet to my lips. My hand shook so powerfully that I feared the crystal would shatter. Or, at the very least, I would spill blood all over the table.

“Whose is it?” I asked, rather stupidly, really, for what difference did it make? Warm, coppery human blood was just that and did not need to be anything more. The scent was enticing. The color when I held the goblet up to the light was perfection . . . the shimmer of the light striking it. . . . Never had I seen anything so seductive. My hunger, already so intense, surged suddenly, becoming a ravenous craving I had no hope of controlling.

“A supplicant’s,” Felix said, “thrilled, like all of them, to be of service. It doesn’t matter where it came from. Drink.”

Consumed with need though I was, I hesitated.

“Fresh, you said?”

“Very, drawn minutes ago. Once you have accomplished this, we will begin accustoming you to what is really the very simple process of feeding. But first—”

First, all I had to do was drink the blood already presented to me. Drink it from a lovely goblet rimmed with gold. Drink to satisfy the voracious craving that gnawed at my very soul.

“What are you waiting for?” Felix asked.

I put the goblet to my mouth. The scent, so tempting moments before, was suddenly thick and cloying. Even so, I persisted. A drop . . . another entered my mouth, slipped down my throat . . .

I gagged. The reflex was sudden and fierce. My throat closed. Another moment and I would be retching. That was
my damnable human side, contemptibly squeamish. I could not allow it to control me. Mustering all my newfound will, I lifted the goblet again and drank.

Drank deeply, ravenously, with exquisite enjoyment, savoring every nuance of flavor and texture until not a drop was left. My father had tried to teach me to appreciate fine wine, what he called “educating the palate.” But no complexity of soil, water, grapes, and fermentation could come close to equaling what the human body itself produced. As I set the goblet down, I ran my tongue over my lips, capturing the last enticing traces of blood. Only then did I become aware that Felix was staring at me. The fine lines around his eyes were more in evidence than ever. Suddenly, he did not look quite so boyish.

“You must have been starving.”

I nodded, hoping to give the impression of composure that I was very far from feeling. The experience had shaken me deeply. I was at once disgusted and elated. I ignored the former and concentrated on the latter. Strength flowed in me. I was powerful beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, soaring far above all fear and doubt, liberated from every restraint.

“Is it always that good?” I asked.

He laughed. “Far better when taken properly from the source, as you will discover. But for now, I must say that I am relieved.”

“Why so?”

“Lady Blanche, who as you know has only your welfare in mind, expressed a concern that the unorthodox manner of your incarnation might have led to a regrettable result.”

“What are you saying?”

“That you might be caught in an intermediate state, half human, half vampire. Both identities in one form, each
fighting the other, neither able to win. A halfling, as such a being is called.”

“There are such creatures?” What he was describing fit my own circumstances too perfectly to be a coincidence. Were there others caught in the same indeterminate state as myself?

Scarcely had that hope begun to stir than Felix dashed it. “Only in myth . . . and prophecy.”

Myth did not concern me, but prophecy was another matter entirely. People had been known to take prophetic warnings very seriously, even when they proved to be sheer bunk. I knew of no reason to think that vampires were any different.

“Some believe,” Felix said, “that a halfling will come into the world to destroy our kind.”

“I thought it was Slayers who destroyed vampires.” Scarcely had I spoken than I knew that I had made a mistake, revealing knowledge that I should not have. If I could have taken the words back, I would have done so, but it was too late. There was nothing left but to brazen my way out.

Felix’s gaze narrowed. “What do you know of Slayers?”

“Stoker mentioned them when I confronted him.” I felt no compunction about blaming the Irishman for my knowledge. As far as I knew, he had no regrets for how shamefully he had misrepresented my fate.

“You have met the author of
Dracula
?”

I looked at him innocently. “I came across his book. Recognizing it as a distorted version of my own experience, I sought him out. Did I not say as much?”

“No,” Felix said, “you most certainly did not. What else did he tell you?”

“He mentioned someone with an odd name . . . rather Arthurian. . . . What was it?” I pretended to search my memory.
“Oh, yes, Mordred. Stoker claimed that might be who had incarnated me. Or I think he did. I had my hands around his throat at the time so it was all rather garbled.”

“How odd that you did not tell Lady Blanche about this.”

“Should I have? Does it mean something?”

He hesitated, but I knew that I had him. Whatever loyalty he felt to the formidable Blanche, Felix was far too worldly not to understand that information is the only currency that really matters. It can be hoarded, traded, used as a weapon, and—if only very rarely—offered as a gift. Properly deployed, nothing else is as powerful, not for a human or a vampire.

“Mordred,” Felix said slowly, “is the gentleman for whom the library was created.”

“To lure him here to the Bagatelle? Did he come?”