Night of the Vampires (20 page)

“I have had some dealings with the situation,” Megan
said evenly. “Although, in fairness to the others, Trudy likely didn't see everything.”

“Yes, well, your brother is quite the expert. Cody Fox,” Lisette said.

“Yes, he is. He has worked with Brendan Vincent, and now Cole, for some time dealing with this plague. He is a medical man, you know,” she said sweetly.

“Now, Lisette, you must give my guests the chance to enjoy their dinner,” General Bickford said. He meant that it should be so. Though he had dined already with Lisette and Trudy, they all sat at the dinner table, covered in the original owner's lace cloth.

General Bickford talked about Harpers Ferry, keeping the war from his conversation. “It's sad that Harpers Ferry should have come to be such a strategic location. It is a magical spot on earth, I believe. Two rivers come together here, and the jagged edges of cliffs and mounts look down on the verdant richness of the valley! Commerce was wonderful, with the canal and then the railroad. The great father of our country, George Washington, saw the wonder here. Before him, the native peoples knew the beauty and the magic. It's said that Shenandoah and Potomac were lovers from different tribes—they were forbidden to love and marry, and thus they saw each other across a great chasm, and their tears formed the rivers when they could not reach one another. They tried, of course, and died there, in the flood of their tears, for their love was true and strong. Alas, now, the night comes quickly, fog and mist swirl around in a deep darkness, and a different sort of tears there are, with my men taken by something that seems not quite of this earth.”

“Oh, it's of this earth, sir. But it's a new type of disease, and it spreads quickly. But there's no mystery as to
how,” Cole began. “The only way to stop it is to find all of the diseased, injured, dead and even some appearing to be all right, and see to it that the infection doesn't overtake and revive them. There are methods of dispatching the dead, and your fellow, Dickens, proved himself to be a fine asset this evening. In fact, he shows just how easily one can learn these methods. I think that the men must become aware, and they must not laugh at tactics, or think that they're silly—or assume that a dead man can no longer move and harm them. They must take severe precautions at night. I believe that some instructions have been wired to you, and that Lisette has been able to give you other suggestions.”

When they had finished their meal, the remains were quickly whisked away by the general's staff. Coffee and brandy were served to all of them in the parlor, and the general pulled out a cigar. Cole thanked him, though he refused one of his own.

They were dealing with a harsh situation, but the weathered general still asked the ladies permission to light up with them in his company. Megan appreciated the courtesy, and thought it strange but nice—considering that she had spent part of the early evening severing men's heads from their bodies.

Bickford puffed on his cigar and watched the smoke. “I have been advised, even before now, that survival, faith and the hereafter may often rely upon a man's belief. Take the Catholic church up on the height. Father Costello stayed behind when many fled. He had not cared if Union or Confederate troops were holding the city. When there's fighting, he raises the Union Jack of Britain, and all of us—Southerners, Northerners, strangers!—look for different targets. That church remains, despite its
location, and despite the cannon balls that have riddled other houses of worship.

“He had told me that bricks and stones don't hold God, that a man finds God without any physical doing. And yet, he tells me that I must remain blessed by his holy water, and he watches over many who were his flock, those hardy individuals who have not fled this place of constant struggle! He had told me to see that my men pray at night, that they wear their crosses and crucifixes, and even that they should sprinkle their door frames and window frames with holy water.” The general looked around at them. “What do you say to that—can faith fight disease?”

“I've seen faith work miracles,” Cole said drily.

“Many of the men whisper that this is the work of vampires,” Lisette said, looking straight at Megan.

“Is vampirism the name of this disease?” Megan asked. “I suppose that it's lore in many places,” she said sweetly. “But, the point is, as Shakespeare pointed out, names mean little. But, I will say this—I've seen injured who hadn't a chance survive because of the love they bore for their family. I've seen men pray before a battle that should have been lost, and yet, they prevailed. At a time like this, I think that the good Father's suggestions should definitely be taken to heart. If nothing else, it gives people some feeling of control, some ability to calm themselves while they endure whatever this is. Besides, we do know that the disease will return if the heart is not staked, or if the head of the stricken isn't removed. Call it what you will, Miss Annalise—what must be done to stop it must be done.”

“Of course,” Lisette said. “But we all know, too, that sometimes the disease is stealthy and works its terrors
slowly. Why, that we might be dining with one of the diseased at almost any time.”

“The disease is only truly a disease when the malignance in it comes to a head,” Cole said, stepping in. “And, there are times when those who are barely inflicted can be saved.”

“Oh, yes!” Trudy said, speaking up ardently. She looked flushed when she realized she had actually spoken.

Lisette offered her a serious frown, but General Bickford said kindly, “Oh, do you know something about this, Miss Malcolm?”

“Well, I know that a boy collapsed early this afternoon, and that Mr. Granger and Miss Fox were magnificent. They
transfused
blood from Miss Fox to the boy, and the boy, who appeared to be at death's door, was then cured. It was—awe inspiring!” she declared.

“Do we know that the boy will survive the night? That he won't be further afflicted, or infect others?” Lisette asked pointedly. She looked at Cole. “My goodness—I hadn't known that you'd received a medical degree, Cole.”

“No medical degree, Lisette. I've just worked in the field with Cody many times to help the injured—and the diseased. Like is done in the army every day,” Cole said easily.

“Well, in this matter, it seems, I will follow your lead, Mr. Granger,” General Bickford said. “My men have found that while bullets might slow the diseased animals, it will not kill them. They have been ordered to use knives, and stakes, as you would have them.” He hesitated. “But so far, we've had mostly sneak attacks at night, so little chance to employ these methods. Attacks
so stealthy that we don't even know until the morning that our guards have been killed. What I fear is that the hills are not harboring rebels, but monsters who might be gathering for an attack.”

“We've come prepared for such a possibility,” Cole said. “Tomorrow, if I may, I would like to work with some of your troops.”

“Absolutely. And is there a specific art in which you will train them?” Bickford asked.

“Archery,” Cole said, and Megan smiled inside as the solemn general's eyebrows raised just a little in response.

 

T
HE QUICK WALK HOME
from General Bickford's house was uneventful. Cole and Megan walked alone, Lisette and Trudy being quartered with the general and his aides.

It struck Cole as they walked the few feet from house to house that the town was unusually silent for an army camp, and that, in the shroud of mist it wore, this was a sad and melancholy place, one of such great beauty that it mourned with pain for all that the war had cost it.

When they reached the house where they were staying, he noted that although no one was outside the house, their escorts were on duty inside.

The door opened as they approached the house, and Sergeant Newcomb was there to greet them. “I'll be locking up when you two are in,” he said cheerfully. Megan was glad to see that he seemed to know his business; once they were inside, he didn't just lock the door. He set a large, plain, heavy wooden cross against it. “Windows are all set, sir. The housekeeper, that nice Mrs. Weatherly, she told me that she knew how to keep a Christian
household safe, and we decided that we'd just do everything she said. Though, I must admit, she'd been at it herself already. She said that we were lucky—she already had holy water all around the place, and it wasn't likely that anything would be getting through on
her
watch.”

Cole smiled. “I believe her, Sergeant. I believe her. I guess we'll go on up and get some sleep then.”

“Good night, sir. One of us will be awake through the night, and not one of the boys will strive to be a brave soul and venture out on his own. If anything happens, you'll hear us a-caterwauling as if the devil himself stepped foot inside.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. Good night,” Megan told him.

She preceded Cole up the stairs. This, like General Bickford's quarters, had been someone's home, one set up long ago to accept visitors. It had probably been maintained primarily as a lodging house. A large hallway had become a makeshift parlor, and there was table and chairs arranged for dining. At one time, meals had more likely been brought up to tenants individually instead.

“Good night,” Megan told Cole, pausing in the parlor area.

“Good night. And—”

“Scream, loudly, if anything,” she finished for him.

Cole nodded and walked on into his room, closing the door behind him.

Megan walked into her own room, wondering if she would dream that Lisette Annalise was a monster again. She'd already seen tonight that the woman was a monster indeed, though perhaps only a horned toad.

In the dressing room she discovered that Mrs. Weatherly had left her fresh water, and, with the liberty of time,
she scrubbed well and managed to wash away most of the dirt and dust and death of the day. It felt nice. She took her time brushing out her hair, and wished that she didn't have to turn out the gas lamps; it was darker here than she had ever imagined darkness could be. Of course, she would be best off in the dark, leaving what slim light came from the moon to illuminate any intruder, should one come. But she didn't want to be in the darkness, and that might be why she tarried so long.

Eventually, she had brushed her hair, brushed her teeth, scrubbed and brushed her teeth and hair again, and had no further reason to stay up. She'd given blood twice in two days; she needed to rest. But, still, she didn't want to sleep in the dark.

She left the dressing room for the bedroom and lit the lamp there before walking to the window and looking out. She could see the Catholic church up on the hill, a silhouette in the moonlight, and she could see the darkness, a shadowy drape as it fell over foliage and houses alike. She was at the low end of the valley. The house was barely a block up the hill, but when she listened closely, she could hear the rush of the river so near, and then the soft call of night birds. The sounds were enchanting, and, tonight, the darkness seemed to be filled with peace.

So she was startled when a tap came at her door. And again when the door opened slowly. She was framed by the window, and she knew that she could be seen clearly, just as Cole was caught in the soft glow that emanated from the lamp near the doorway.

“Is something wrong?” she asked him anxiously.

He was shirtless, in his long johns, and the gaslight cast a pattern of gold over the muscular structure of his shoulders and chest.

“No, nothing has happened,” he told her. “I couldn't sleep. I heard you in here, moving. I wanted to make sure that you were all right.”

“I'm all right.”

“I see that,” he replied. He didn't leave the doorway. She didn't leave the window.

They seemed frozen in time, and, oddly, Megan wanted the moment to remain. He was beautiful there—he was what she might have wanted her whole life, someone who knew her for exactly who—and what—she was. He was ever ready to protect her, but he knew her strengths as well, and wasn't loath to the fact that she could help him. Somehow his initial resistance to her compelled this feeling further: she had impressed him with who she was.

She wanted to touch him, and yet she was afraid to move, because she didn't want to break the spell that kept him as close as he was, even though it was too far away.

At last, he moved. “Well, good night,” he said.

And she thought that he would turn, close the door and return to his own room. She wanted to cry out that she didn't want him to go, but the words froze in her throat.

But instead, he paused halfway out, and she thought that he swore just beneath his breath. And then he turned, and he walked across the room to her, pulling her into his arms. For a moment she saw the depths of blue intensity in his eyes, and then he lifted her chin, and he kissed her, and it seemed as if the entire world melted away.

She should protest, of course. She should show some semblance of dignity or pride. She should remember that
she had come from society in which decent young women did not do such things….

But they were so wrong.
That
she knew. All young women dreamed of being held by a man such as Cole, by someone who could be so strong and tender at once, by someone with a voice as rich and husky and sensual as finely polished mahogany.

And his mouth, his touch, his kiss…his lips formed over hers, his tongue prodding an entrance, playing so evocatively in her mouth….

And then he broke away from her, his thumb and forefinger still upon her chin and cheek, and his eyes searched hers, for what she wasn't sure. But again she feared that he would go away—she had to say something or he would do so.

But words wouldn't come, so she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his, and luxuriated in the way that his mouth parted, how his lips pressed tightly and hungrily over hers once again. His arms came around her then, pulling her close to him, so wonderfully close. The fabric of her cotton gown was thin, and she could feel the heat of his body through the gauzelike fabric. She felt his heart and its pulse running through his veins, and she wondered at the vitality and the passion in him, and she prayed that the rest of the world could be this, just being held by him, feeling his body tight against her own.