Silver in the Blood (30 page)

“It's not poison, Your Majesty,” Lord Johnny said, not taking his eyes off Lou. “At least, it's not any poison I've ever seen.” He held up Lou's right hand. Her fingers were transparent.

If Lou could have moved her lips, she would have gasped. But she couldn't. She couldn't move anything, because she had nothing left to move.

She was becoming the Smoke, and there was no way for her to stop it.

“Lou,” Dacia said in a quavering voice. “Oh, Lou!”

Theo leaned close to Lou's ear again, as he had when he offered her the screw of paper.

“Lou,” he said in his smooth, deep voice. “Oh, my dear Lou! You must change. You must make the change yourself. Perhaps if you take control of this, you will be able to keep yourself in control . . . and change back . . .” But his voice did not sound as though he was certain at all.

Still, it was the best advice that anyone had to offer, and Lou was rapidly losing the feeling in the rest of her body. She could only vaguely sense Dacia's arm around her shoulders now, and she couldn't even feel the panic bursting in her chest with any immediacy.

With an effort, Lou shut out Dacia's increasingly hysterical
demands that someone do something, and the voice of the maid who came in to ask why Their Majesties had rung, and the queen's request for a doctor. She shut it all out, except for the sound of Theo urging her to transform herself. She thought for a moment how strange it was to find his voice so comforting now, when only weeks before he had sent her fleeing in embarrassment.

“You called me a houri,” she said, though her voice was only the faintest of breaths.

And then she was the Smoke, and Dacia was holding the bodice of her crumpled gown while Theo knelt on the floor, holding a fold of her empty skirts.

 

THE DIARY OF MISS DACIA VREEHOLT

17 June 1897

Lou is quite correct: dressing well is very uplifting to the spirits. I shall have to tell her; she always assumes that she is wrong. She simply has no confidence, poor dear. You'd think she was Mother's daughter, instead of Aunt Maria's. Or perhaps I am so strong-willed, because of Mother? Something there, I think, but never mind that now.

We traveled through the night to Sinaia, and Lou and I are freshening up in a guest room before we meet with the king and queen. Lou insisted that I put on a Parisian gown, and I find that it is very hard to feel monstrous, or sorry for one's self, when wearing the finest Parisian mode. Also, my corset seems to help my morale, which I find surprising. I feel more protected, but also rather finished, as though now I am my best, truest self: upright and polished. It is a strange feeling.

Lou says that I must stop writing for now, Their Majesties await!

Note: I should replace the white ribbons trimming this gown with the blue ones I bought in Bucharest for Aunt Kate. She doesn't deserve them, anyway.

Dacia sat and clutched at Lou's gown in horror. Her LouLou had become the Smoke, but this time not by choice. The way Lou's clothing draped across the sofa seemed so final, like burial clothes waiting for the body to be slipped into them for the last time. Dacia started to sob, but was cut off by a soft touch on her cheek.

Looking around, she saw Lou hovering beside her. Or what had become of Lou. It was only a column of smoke, with no features to speak of, but she knew that it was Lou.

“Are you all right, LouLou? Can you change back?” Dacia dropped the gown and held out her hands to her cousin, sniffling to keep her nose from dripping onto her bodice.

The Smoke swirled about, withdrawing from them all, and became denser. For a moment, Dacia thought she could see Lou's figure forming in the vapor but then it dissolved again, and Lou was nothing but a vague collection of Smoke again.

“We need to find out what that powder was,” Lord Johnny said. He sounded so calm that Dacia hated him for a moment, despite the endearing way his hair fell over his eyes.

“Is there any left in the envelope?” King Carol held out an imperious hand for the little bit of paper, that small white square, folded into an envelope, which had caused so much trouble.

Theo handed it to him, his stunned expression quite raising him in Dacia's estimation. He had to reach across Dacia to give the king the envelope, and when he had passed it over, his hand rested briefly on Dacia's shoulder, giving her a small fluttering squeeze. She smiled at him in gratitude.

“When the doctor arrives, I will have him inspect this,” King Carol said. “I'm sure he can identify the contents.”

“I'm going back to the gates to question the Gypsy who fetched it for me,” Theo said. “For the right price, he might be willing to betray Mihai. And it's very possible that it's a Gypsy concoction.”

“What shall I do?” Dacia rose to her feet, looking from Lord Johnny to Theo.

The two gentlemen looked at each other, clearly nonplussed.

“You need to be on guard,” Lord Johnny said finally.

“Mihai may attempt to drug you as well,” Theo pointed out.

Dacia waved her hand, casting aside their concerns. “Meanwhile?”

“I will require your aid,” the queen said quietly.

Everyone looked at her, startled, and she smiled back.

“My husband will need to see to the guards around the palace,” she said. “And summon more soldiers, if we really are to be under attack tonight. I will meet with the physician, and so
must you.” She plucked the envelope from her husband's hand and set it on a saucer. She set Lou's cup, saucer, and spoon on the tea table beside the envelope. “Miss Vreeholt, you can describe your cousin's special ability better than anyone else. The physician will need to know.”

Dacia knew that the queen was simply trying to pacify her before she made a scene. But it did calm Dacia to know that she was useful. She could help the physician find the antidote. She gave the queen a genuine smile.

“Excellent,” Lord Johnny said with relief. “That will be a great help, Dacia.” He saw the queen looking at him and amended, “Miss Vreeholt.”

“Of course it will,” Dacia said tartly, her smile fading. “Now, you'd better go and contact your colleagues, or instruct the soldiers, or whatever it is you were planning on doing. We only have half a day to prepare for the new Night Attack.”

Lord Johnny took her hand, clicked his heels together, and kissed her fingers. “As you say, milady, so shall I proceed.”

“Oh, just go,” Dacia said, fighting down a slightly hysterical giggle at his courtly manner.

“So we shall,” King Carol rumbled, and Dacia quickly rose and curtsied to His Majesty. Theo tensely bid the Smoke that floated before the hearth a good-bye, and promised that he would find a cure for her, before bowing to the queen and then pressing Dacia's hand in a comforting manner.

When the king and the two young men had gone at last, the queen sighed. “Sometimes men can be so taxing,” she said.

Dacia agreed.

The physician came in a moment later, a satchel in one hand,
and his brow furrowed with concern. “What seems to be troubling Your Majesty?”

Then he noticed the strange column of smoke floating between the two sofas, and the fact that the queen appeared to be perfectly robust. He looked around the room, and licked his lips, his whole face asking the question.

“Dr. Ionescu, do you believe in the supernatural?” the queen asked as if she were making polite conversation.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

Dacia noticed that the physician could not take his eyes off Lou, who was keeping very still.

“I asked if you believed in the supernatural,” the queen repeated.

He dragged his eyes away from Lou, looked with brief curiosity at Dacia, and then focused on his queen. “I have seen some things in my day, yes, Your Majesty. But why—I mean to say—Oh, damn it all! What is that?” He pointed a blunt finger at Lou.

“
That
is Miss Louisa Neulander,” the queen said. “Which is why I sent for you.”

“Miss . . . Louisa . . . Neulander?” Although the physician looked to be at least fifty, his voice cracked like a young boy's.

“Her mother is Maria Louisa Florescu,” the queen said, as though it were of great import.

Judging from the physician's reaction, it was. The man sagged onto one of the sofas without waiting for the queen's permission to sit. His face was gray, and his eyes, once more, were drawn to Lou.

“Then it is true,” he whispered. “It is true!”

“What is true?”

Dacia could not keep the sharpness out of her voice. She sat very straight in her own seat, closest to Lou, her hands folded in her lap. She willed the physician to look at her, to see the elegance of her dress, her hair swept into a smooth, complicated knot, the way she gazed back at him so fearlessly. She willed him to see
her
and gape at her beauty, and not look as though her family were some oddity gossiped about behind closed doors.

Because she knew, she just knew that was what he was thinking. He had heard about the Florescu family, that there was something wrong with them, and now he had seen Lou as the Smoke. Dacia simply could not bear it if this eminent physician went away to carry tales of his own about her family.

Dr. Ionescu did look at her, long and hard. He took in the fine gown, and the way she was sitting; she could see him registering surprise and admiration . . . but then he paled once more.

“You are one of them?”

“I am Dacia Vreeholt. My mother is Ileana Florescu Vreeholt,” she said loftily.

It didn't seem possible, but the physician's face went even whiter. He reached up and fingered his right ear, and Dacia saw that he had a scar across the earlobe, and one on his cheek just in front of it, half hidden by his graying side whiskers.

“Ileana,” he whispered. “You're Ileana's daughter?”

Dacia nodded, too surprised to keep up her arrogant demeanor.

Nostrils flared in disgust, he leaned forward and raked her
with eyes that were decidedly less than admiring now. “And what are
you
?”

Dacia was about to tell him that she was the person who was going to scar his other ear if he didn't watch his tone, when the queen swooped in to rescue her.

“Dr. Ionescu! I am quite shocked! Miss Vreeholt is my guest, and she and her cousin are in dire need of aid!”

The doctor actually shook himself like a dog, bringing his eyes to the queen. The frown on her face made him turn dark red with embarrassment, and he stammered an apology to Her Majesty, and then to Dacia, who only nodded tautly in reply.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said, and made a little bow. “It is only that . . . I once knew Ileana Florescu . . .”

“You knew my mother?” Dacia leaned forward a little, and the physician flinched back.

“Another time, Dr. Ionescu,” the queen said. “But for right now, we have more pressing problems!

“As you can see, Miss Neulander has been transformed into a column of vapor, which among their family is known as the Smoke, I believe?” The queen looked to Dacia, who nodded. “This is a talent that the young lady normally can control. However, she was suffering from a headache, an affliction unusual to her, and took some headache remedy. Almost immediately she became faint and then transformed into the Smoke against her will. The remedy was bought by another of our guests, who had sent a Gypsy to the apothecary for it. We suspect that it was not medicine, but a drug of some kind, and that the Gypsy was a spy for Lady Ioana Florescu.”

All this information caused the doctor to sway a little in his seat as he took it all in.

“I see,” he said faintly. He cleared his throat. “I don't think that . . . that I can do anything to . . . change the—her—back.”

“We are well aware of that,” Dacia snapped.

“Now, Miss Vreeholt,” the queen said, quietly but with a warning in her voice. She addressed the doctor. “It's not that; it's just that we wanted you to look at the powder that she took, and see if you could recognize the ingredients. It might help us to cure her.”

“Cure her? You mean, make her—”

“Make her able to transform at will,” Dacia interrupted. She did not want to hear what the physician was about to say. Normal.
Human
. No matter what word his lips had been about to form, she was certain that she would not like it.

“Oh. Yes. I will look at it,” Dr. Ionescu said.

He stood up, and the queen rose as well, offering him the two saucers, one with its twist of paper, the other with a teacup and spoon. He looked at them, and sniffed the dregs of the tea.

“She drank from this?”

“Yes,” the queen said. “She stirred it into the tea herself. And we all drank from the same pot, so it was not in the tea.”

“Very good.” He paused, and looked around. “May I use your stillroom? I need a spirit burner, and perhaps some small dishes . . . ?”