Night of the Vampires (30 page)

“Megan isn't here. You can't touch her.”

“No matter. I'll just let her see the remains of what I can do!”

She lifted off the ground, fangs bared, ready for him. He splashed a vial of holy water at her, giving her pause—but just pause. “I'm stronger than that, big boy!” she said, though her face had been punctuated by some pockmarks. “But you really are making me angry, Cole. And when I'm angry, I can make it very slow and very painful!”

She pounced again. This time he raised his sword, not at all sure if even injuring her would suffice, but ready to fight until his last breath.

But she never reached him.

Something burst from the sky and caught Trudy Malcolm midair. They flew several feet together and then landed as a clump of rolling bodies just feet away from him. Dust rose, and for a just moment Cole couldn't see a thing.

But he knew Megan had come back. Megan had taken Trudy and was rolling with her in a death grip. When Trudy's jaws opened impossibly wide and he saw the length of the fangs she lowered toward Megan, he burst into a run, wrenching Trudy from her with all his strength and tossing her a good five feet off. Megan, weakened, staggered up.

Trudy herself rose, a cry of fury escaping her mouth to shake the very trees. She looked from him to Megan, and decided to finish Megan first.

There was no choice: Cole flew on top of Megan, forcing them both into a roll. Trudy hit the dirt just feet away from them but swiftly recovered. This time, her pocked face was covered with dirt, and with her spitting and screaming again—a sound more terrible than that of a banshee in the night, or the howl of a thousand wolves. Trudy was a terrifying sight to behold.

For an instant, Cole caught Megan's eyes. Saw the way she looked at him. And he whispered swiftly, “I love you.”

Then he braced his core, because Trudy was coming again, and he didn't know if their combined strength or the vial of holy water he uncorked with his teeth could even give her pause in light of her torrid frenzy. He braced…

But the vampire never touched them. Something, a greater shadow, huge and winged and somehow beautiful, came and swept the woman away. The two conjoined shadows blew past then and went tumbling into a mound of ash in the cemetery.

Something else swept by him; the battle was still on. Yet more creatures emerged from the trees, though perhaps less than in previous waves. From his prone position, Cole launched the holy water vial at the creature nearest him and watched it go down in whirl of screams and cinders. He jumped to his feet, reaching down for Megan, drawing her behind his back and pulling out his cavalry sword all in one continuous motion.

But nothing else came at them.

Newcomb staggered from the chapel. He leaned
heavily against the door frame. “It's done. I think it's done.”

“No, no, be on guard, there will be more!” Cole cried to him. Megan had moved from behind him. He turned to see that she was staring at the graveyard. A winged shadow was rising from the ash.

It didn't turn toward them. Instead, it soared high into the sky and disappeared over the trees.

Megan started running toward the ash. Cole ran after her. When she slowed to a stop he came around by her side.

What remained of Trudy Malcolm lay at their feet. Her head had been wrenched from her body and lay at an awkward angle. Her limbs were still twitching, but as they did so, they seemed to ooze and then blacken, and the flesh turned to powder, which the breeze picked up and blew into the distance. Soon they were staring at nothing but disarticulated bones.

He heard the sound of hoofbeats. General Bickford and his reinforcements had arrived and their fresh bows launched arrows into what was left of the straggling, frenzied creatures still flying about.

 

I
N THE AFTERMATH
, the world consisted entirely of silence.

Then General Bickford dismounted, shouting orders. Cleanup had begun, and Cole knew that neither he nor Megan were required to do anything more. She slumped into his arms, and he lifted her off her feet, cradling her against him. They had done what they needed to.

She looked up, her eyes wide, a curious smile on her lips. “It was my father, Cole. I know it was my father.”

He didn't want to argue with her.
God knows, she might be right.

“Maybe,” he said.

Her smile deepened, and then she frowned. “What did you say to me?” she asked him.

“I said ‘maybe.'”

“Before that.”

He arched an eyebrow. He felt a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, before.”

“Yes, before.”

“I said,
I love you
.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he told her gravely.

She found the strength to thread her fingers through his hair and pull his head down.

And kiss him.

 

T
ELEGRAPH WIRES SENT
an official report to Washington that the strange “guerilla” attacks on Harpers Ferry had been put down.

Cole made sure that it carried the information that a certain drummer boy, a Confederate drummer boy, had been laid to his rest and had received full burial rights.

Megan stood at the window in their lodging house, watching the street and waiting for Cole's return. He and a number of officers—and Lisette Annalise—had been sequestered with General Bickford while the goings-on of the episode were completely reported.

She looked at her hand, and she marveled at the plain gold ring on her finger. Cole hadn't had diamonds or jewels, but she hadn't wanted them. She still couldn't believe that he loved her so deeply, no matter what she was, no matter what her background, no matter the lives
they had led or all that they had been through. It was humbling to think of how she was loved, and how deeply she loved in return.

Their ceremony at the church had been very simple, presided over by Father Costello, with Mary-Anne Weatherly standing by as her witness and Sergeant Newcomb standing by Cole. They had toyed with the idea of waiting until Cody and Alex could have been with them, but they knew that the two would understand.

They were living in perilous times. A time of war, and in such a world, every moment of peace was precious.

Her eye drawn back to the street below, she noticed a man on the sidewalk. He wore a handsome top hat, a long coat and carried a smart walking stick. She was curious, thinking that she hadn't noticed him in the town before.

He looked up. His face was caught in the moonlight, and she held her breath, staring back down at him.

It was Cody, but it wasn't Cody.

It was Cody as he might look in another ten or twenty years.

It was her father.

She froze there; she wanted to run down the stairs and into his arms.

He lifted a hand, and he blew her a kiss.

She turned from the window and raced across the hall, then down the stairs and out onto the street. She searched up and down, but he wasn't there.

Turning, she crashed into Cole.

“What are you doing?” he asked her.

“He was here, he was here! My father. It was my father. I saw his face. He's like Cody, Cole, so much like him, just older. Cole, I swear it was him.”

Cole looked around them. “He's gone now.”

“Why? Why did he see me and leave?” she whispered.

Cole lifted her chin. “Maybe he'll come to you when the time is right, Megan. When war is over. Or maybe he still feels that he has his own war to fight. God knows, maybe we've taken but one monster here, while others still wreak havoc elsewhere.”

She looked at him and nodded at last.

“I really wanted to see that man,” she said.

“Will this man do?” he asked her, a slow grin curving into his features.

“If he's mine for the night.”

He swept her off her feet. “He's all yours. For the night, and forever,” he told her.

“You've already carried me over the threshold. And I'm feeling quite well and strong.”

“I hope so,” he said.

“I don't want you huffing and puffing once we're up the stairs,” she told him.

To his credit, he managed not to huff or puff a bit as he stood her up before the hearth—and their bed that remained a pile of pillows and sheets and quilts on the floor.

They looked at each other and smiled. And then they were in one another's arms, and clothing was flying and ripping, and they laughed all the while.

Soon they were down on the floor, and they made love tenderly, feverishly and tenderly again. And then, when they lay together, just looking at one another, she said, “You saved my life.”

“You saved my life,” he told her.

“No, you saved mine.”

“You saved mine.”

She laughed, remembering when the argument had gone the other way.

She touched his cheek tenderly.

“But you saved my soul,” she told him. “Beat that!”

“You
are
my soul,” he told her, and he kissed her again.