Night of the Vampires (12 page)

He nodded gravely, those great sad eyes of his upon her. She felt that they were knowing eyes, the kind that saw into the soul.

“It's my understanding,” he began, “that—though we have never openly mentioned such a thing in any correspondence—that many of the generals and politicians involved with the war and government in the South are aware of the serious threat we face.
We
. As one group, united. We—
humanity
.”

She nodded.

“Alex said you were sent here.”

“I was.”

“By one of the highest commanders?”

She nodded again and frowned. “I didn't speak with General Lee myself before my departure north, but rather Lieutenant Colonel Wilkenson of the Jackson Brigade, sir. He had his orders through General Jackson, who had them from Lee. Lieutenant Colonel Wilkenson is a surgeon himself, and the…the incidents that occurred on the battlefields when both sides tried to collect their dead and wounded were horrendous and horrifying to all who witnessed them. After the Wilderness, I wasn't
ordered
to come—I was
asked
to do what could be done. Not many truly understand the…disease. But, like you, sir, they do understand the gravity of it, and that the disease
is an enemy to all men. So I am here to spy? No. No I am not. I am here to help.”

The president looked out the carriage window. They were passing the Smithsonian “castle,” an edifice that spoke of science and industry, and man's thirst for knowledge and understanding.

“Somehow, it seems fitting,” he murmured.

Next to Megan, Alex sat silent. They both waited for the president to speak again. When he did, he seemed to be speaking to himself more so than to them.

“How it breaks my heart! I think of the beauty and grace of the mansion at Arlington, and how dead men now fill the acreage. I think of Lee and I think of Mrs. Lee, who had to leave the beautiful home bequeathed to her by her father. Arlington was built by George Washington Parke Custis, the step-grandson of this nation's most elite founding father and the first president, a man who would not allow himself to be crowned king.” He turned from the window to look at the two women again. “Mary Lee left notes, you know. When Robert warned her that the house would be taken because of its military position, she left notes for the Union troops who were sure to come. She didn't want the house harmed—the house, or the objects that had belonged to George Washington that were of great historical importance to all of us. What heartbreak she must have suffered! And, yet, a good wife, she stands by the loyalty her husband chose. My own dear Mary has many family members fighting against us in this war. She… I digress!” he said. “My apologies!”

“Please, you mustn't apologize,” Alex said, setting a hand on his knee with the affection of a daughter. “How is Mary? I'd hoped to see her soon.”

“Troubled,” he said. He stared at Megan again. “The war draws upon us, all of us, to face such tragedy. I think of Jefferson—Jeff Davis—who I must admit, I pray will be the only President of the Confederate States. No malice intended, but God has willed my journey, I do so sincerely believe. I lost my dear Willie, you know, my precious son, while in the White House. I know that the Davis family lost a precious child in the White House of Confederacy, and I grieve with them, as I have grieved for my own. We serve, and we do our best to be husbands and fathers. We cannot ever really ease this pain. We received condolences from my ‘enemies' in the South, just as we received them from friends here, and we send out condolences to those in the South for such tragedies, as well.”

“Sir, all men rue the death of a child.”

He set his mouth grimly. “Not all men. This disease…my wife cries about it at night. She believes that our Willie comes back to her at night, that he comes with his friends who have died at the hands of the deranged afflicted—and they cry out to her. She speaks to me sometimes, as if she has engaged in conversation with our dead son. It breaks my heart. And I…”

“Yes?” Megan whispered.

His gaze was directly on her. “I dream of a place that is Harpers Ferry. I see the mist, and I see soldiers—they are playing a game with a terrified little drummer boy. They like the boy, and they want to be friends, but they are soldiers, and they tease him. In their play, he falls out a window. He is crushed, and they believe him to be dead. But when he is hastily buried, there is something there, something that is hungry and watching and…it is
a shadow that digs in the darkness, raising the boy and tearing into his broken body. For blood.”

“Perhaps it is a nightmare, sir, and nothing more,” Megan said.

He shook his head. “I dreamed of the battlefield where we first heard of the disease,” he said. “I saw it, I saw the shadow, and I saw the men rise, and begin to tear at one another like rabid dogs.” He looked over at a group of boys teasing one another in the friendly manner of young children. “I am afraid, not of war, not of struggle, not of hardship or privation. I fear the unholy that comes to torment us all indiscriminately.”

His rich, deep, husky voice had seemed to fill the carriage air with something tangible. A sadness so deep that it took on life.

They were all still, and Megan was aware of a shout from the street, of a child's laughter, of the clip-clop of the horses' hooves.

Then he spoke briskly. “I fear that there may be danger yet in the capital, and though Mr. Vincent, Mr. Fox and especially the sheriff, Mr. Granger, have worked with some of our troops and men that they may go into battle rightly armed, I dare not leave the capital here at risk. But as your great general might suggest, my dear, I'm asking that you go to Harpers Ferry, and seek out the truth of my vision, and my wife's tears.”

“So—I'm to go for you?” she asked. She knew that she wouldn't say no. She knew that whatever loyalties she might have once felt, she knew this man now. If he asked her to do something, she would do it.

But it had nothing to do with loyalties, or with the fact that Virginia was her home. It had nothing to do with the war whatsoever, the fact that the North was most
probably far more than right when it proclaimed that slavery was simply wrong no matter how practiced, even if, as some of the politicians in the South argued, it had existed back in Biblical times. They had been wrong then, too, which Ramses II had learned the hard way through the seven plagues of Egypt.

It had nothing to do with men who based their lives on the economy of cotton, with Southern boys who couldn't buy a horse, much less a slave. The war itself and all the politics that went with it meant nothing to her.

She had known that. In her heart, she had always known it.

She was sad, and she wished that she could say no,
because she was convinced that the shadow that had been in the chapel, the shadow that had fought at Prospect Hill, had been her father. And she wanted to find him, so desperately.

What if she was wrong?

Abraham Lincoln looked at her and nodded gravely. “I need someone here, you understand that I still need someone here.”

She swallowed. “You want me to go to Harpers Ferry alone?” she asked.

“No. I'm aware that you arrived in Washington alone, my dear. Many of the Pinkerton agents are really very good.” He waved a hand in the air. “In the private sector, is such secretive spying a detriment to our freedoms? Possibly, but we are at war. No. The Texas sheriff, Mr. Granger, will escort you. He is well aware of all the elements that are involved. Cody Fox will have his knowledgeable wife—” he smiled at Alex, for whom he seemed to have a true fatherly affection “—and you will be escorted by Mr. Granger. I will have Cody Fox remain here
because he is better acquainted with this area, while I'm certain that you're familiar with Harpers Ferry.”

She nodded, feeling as if her heart was sinking.

But I believe our father is here,
she longed to cry out.

She did not. She uttered no protest.

“I'm sure you are aware, as well, since you've nursed men on the battlefields, that enemies may still remain friends,” he said to her.

She frowned and then nodded. “Yes, they manage to trade tobacco for coffee, and to send notes back and forth by way of creeks and streams. And, of course, messengers under flags of truce bring news.”

“I have papers that will take you safely to Harpers Ferry no matter whose battle lines you cross. They have already been delivered to Mr. Granger at your boardinghouse. If you'd be so kind, I'd deeply appreciate it if you would plan on leaving by morning.”

“Of course, sir.” The words came from her lips. She wished she hadn't uttered them. But she had. And she knew that she would go. She knew that she would never be the same again, and it was in a way that seemed to cut into her like a knife. She worshipped General Robert E. Lee. The South's President, Jefferson Davis, was a staunch, well-educated and articulate man. He didn't have quite the same…sadness in his eyes. Varina Davis, however, the first lady, was gracious and warm and truly admirable.

Now she was entranced by this man, as well.

And she thought of all the men fighting one another who were fine, good, giving men, brothers, husbands, fathers, sons and friends, and she truly understood the depth of sadness in the great man's eyes.

The carriage had stopped.

Lincoln leaned across to her, taking her hand. “I am forever in your debt, my dear,” he said quietly.

The door opened. He smiled at Alex. “Alexandra, I thank you.”

“Good day, sir,” Alex said.

Megan managed to murmur something similar.

The coachman helped her down, and she was standing in front of the boardinghouse again. The carriage pulled out onto the street and was away, and all of it might have been some kind of a wild and distressed daydream.

“Well?” Alex asked, the one word soft.

She looked at Alex. The young woman had accepted her completely, she knew, more than the others had. More than Cody even.

“Thank you,” Megan said.

“You're thanking me?”

“I believe I will always cherish the fact that I met that man.”

Alex smiled. “Perhaps some men are born into destiny, truly. Or, perhaps, sometimes, fate simply finds the most honorable men. He mourns the loss of his child. And his wife… Mary is so sad. And frightening—she can be so emotional. Disturbed, really… But…I was asking about the journey you're to undertake. Are you really ready and honestly willing?”

“I'm going with Cole,” Megan said, shaking her head.

“It will be all right. He is always a complete gentleman. Honestly,” Alex said. “But that's not why you're really disturbed. You can hold your own with any man….”

“There's something still here,” Megan said.

“Yes. That's why Cody and Brendan must remain.”

Megan shook her head. “No, no, that's not it. There's something here that—that I'm convinced is good, as well.”

“Your father?” Alex said, reading into her heart and mind.

She nodded. “It could be, Alex. It really could be.”

“All things are possible, so I've learned,” Alex told her. “But you don't need to worry. Cody is always wary, but…” Her voice trailed, and then she stopped speaking. “Cody isn't a fool, Megan. And he—and Cole and Brendan—know that sometimes the afflicted
can
be saved. Cody is a doctor, and he can work with those who might just be…
tainted
. What's happened here, though, doesn't seem to constitute a series of slow seductions, in which a vampire seeks to bring more into a clan or organized family.
This
is a feeding frenzy.” She paused for a minute and then said, “Have faith in Cody, Megan. Have some faith in him.”

“I have faith in him. But do you think that Cody really has faith in me?” Megan asked.

“If he didn't, do you think he would have let that carriage ride happen?”

“All right. I'll be ready to go tomorrow,” Megan said. She looked back toward the house. “I don't think I'll go in though, right now. I'm not needed this afternoon, am I?”

Alex shook her head. “No one knew exactly when we would be back.”

“I think I'll take a ride then,” Megan said. “And, please, don't let anyone worry. I'm not planning a ride down to Richmond with Union secrets.”

Alex smiled a reassuring smile. “I wasn't worried.”

Megan started around to the back, where the handsome
horses they had been given by the U.S. government were tethered beneath the eaves of the house. The saddles and bridles were laid over a wooden sawhorse and she made quick work of saddling the mare that she had ridden the day before.

She detested a sidesaddle, but opted to use it anyway. She didn't want to listen to Cole complain that she'd jeopardized all their lives by making someone ride out on the sidesaddle if some mission presented itself that afternoon.

She was quickly on the road, determined on reaching her destination with as much speed as possible. The day had a tendency to disappear far too rapidly.

She had been to Washington many times when she was younger, before the war had descended.

But in a few years' time, the city had changed completely.

She stopped several times for directions, and was again surprised by the simple humanity of the courtesy she found from those who were happy to stop and help her.

War went on.

But away from those fields, life went on. Children walked the streets with their books belted and carried at their sides.

They kicked cans along the way, old bean cans with rusting, twisted tops.

Women shopped and walked along with their baskets, and businessmen checked their watches as they hurried to banks or law offices or other places of day-to-day employment.

Eventually, she left the crowds of the city behind, reached Georgetown, and the gatehouse to the cemetery.