The Book of Life (36 page)

I did some rapid calculations. That meant Jack was made a vampire in 1603. “The plague.”

The disease had swept through London with a vengeance that year. I noticed a mottled patch on his neck, just under his ear. It looked like a bruise, but it must be a mark left by a plague sore. For it to have remained visible even after Jack became a vampire suggested that he had been moments from death when Hubbard transformed him.

“Aye,” Jack said, looking down at his hands. He turned them this way and that. “Annie died from it ten years earlier, soon after Master Marlowe was killed in Deptford.”

I’d wondered what had happened to our Annie. I had imagined her a prosperous seamstress with her own business. I’d hoped she would have married a good man and had children. But she’d died while still a teenager, her life snuffed out before it truly began.

“That was a dreadful year, 1593, Mistress Roydon. The dead were everywhere. By the time Father Hubbard and I learned she was sick, it was too late,” Jack said, his expression bereft.

“You’re old enough to call me Diana,” I said gently.

Jack plucked at his jeans without replying. “Father Hubbard took me in when you . . . left,” he continued. “Sir Walter was in trouble, and Lord Northumberland was too busy at court to look after me.”

Jack smiled at Hubbard with obvious affection. “Those were good times, running about London with the gang.”

“I was on very intimate terms with the sheriff during your so-called good times,” Hubbard said drily. “You and Leonard got into more mischief than any two boys who ever lived.”

“Nah,” Jack said, grinning. “The only really serious trouble was when we snuck into the Tower to take Sir Walter his books and stayed on to pass a letter from him to Lady Raleigh.”

“You did—” Matthew shuddered and shook his head. “Christ, Jack. You never could distinguish between a petty crime and a hanging offense.”

“I can now,” Jack said cheerfully. Then his expression became nervous once more. Lobero’s head rose, and he rested his muzzle on Jack’s knee.

“Don’t be mad at Father Hubbard. He only did what I asked, Master Roydon. Leonard explained creatures to me long before I became one, so I knew what you and Gallowglass and Davy were. Things made better sense after that.” Jack paused. “I should have had the courage to face death and accept it, but I couldn’t go to my grave without seeing you again. My life felt . . . unfinished.”

“And how does it feel now?” Matthew asked.

“Long. Lonely. And hard—harder than I ever imagined.” Jack twisted Lobero’s hair, rolling the strands until they formed a tight rope. He cleared his throat. “But it was all worth it for today,” he continued softly. “Every bit of it.”

Matthew’s long arm reached for Jack’s shoulder. He squeezed it, then quickly let go again. For a moment I saw desolation and grief on my husband’s face before he donned his composed mask once more. It was the vampire version of a disguising spell. “Father Hubbard told me his blood might make me ill, Master Roydon.” Jack shrugged. “But I was already sick. What difference would it make to change one illness for another?”

No difference at all, I thought, except that one killed you and the other could make you a killer.

“Andrew was right to tell you,” Matthew said. Father Hubbard looked surprised by this admission.

“I don’t imagine your grandsire gave him the same consideration.” Matthew was careful to use the terms that Hubbard and Jack used to describe their relationship to Benjamin.

“No. He wouldn’t have done. My grandsire doesn’t believe that he owes anyone an explanation for any of his actions.” Jack shot to his feet and traveled aimlessly around the room, Lobero following. He examined the moldings around the door, running his fingers along the wood. “You have the sickness in your blood, too, Master Roydon. I remember it from Greenwich. But it doesn’t control you, like it does my grandsire. And me.”

“It did once.” Matthew looked at Gallowglass and gave him a slight nod.

“I remember when Matthew was as wild as the devil and nigh invincible with a sword in his hand.

Even the bravest men ran in terror.” Gallowglass leaned forward, hands clasped and knees spread wide.

“My grandsire told me about Master—Matthew’s past.” Jack shuddered. “He said that Matthew’s talent for killing was in me, too, and I had to be true to it or you would never recognize me as your blood.”

I’d seen Benjamin’s unspeakable cruelty on camera, how he twisted hopes and fears into a weapon to destroy a creature’s sense of self. That he’d done so with Jack’s feelings for Matthew made me blind with fury. I clenched my hands into fists, tightening the cords in my fingers until the magic threatened to burst through my skin.

“Benjamin doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.” Anger was building in Matthew, too, his spicy scent growing sharper. “I would recognize you as mine before the entire world, and proudly—even if you weren’t my blood.”

Hubbard looked uneasy. His attention shifted from Matthew to Jack. “You would make me your blood-sworn son?” Jack slowly turned to Matthew. “Like Philippe did with Mistress Roydon—I mean, Diana?”

Matthew’s eyes widened slightly as he nodded, trying to absorb the fact that Philippe had known of Matthew’s children when Matthew had not. A look of betrayal crossed his face.

“Philippe visited me whenever he came to London,” Jack explained, oblivious to the changes in Matthew. “He told me to listen for his blood vow, because it was loud and I would probably hear Mistress Roydon before I saw her. And you were right, Miss—Diana. Matthew’s father really was as big as the emperor’s bear.”

“If you met my father, then I’m sure you heard plenty of tales about my bad behavior.” The muscle in Matthew’s jaw had started ticking as betrayal turned to bitterness, his pupils growing larger by the second and his rage continued to gain ground.

“No,” Jack said, confusion wrinkling his brow. “Philippe spoke only of his admiration and said you would teach me to ignore what my blood was telling me to do.”

Matthew jerked as though he’d been hit.

“Philippe always made me feel closer to you and Mistress Roydon. Calmer, too.” Jack looked nervous again. “But it has been a long time since I saw Philippe.”

“He was captured in the war,” Matthew explained, “and died as a result of what he suffered.”

It was a careful half-truth.

“Father Hubbard told me. I’m glad Philippe didn’t live to see—” This time the shudder traveled through Jack from the marrow of his bones to the surface of his skin. His eyes went full black without warning, filled with horror and dread.

Jack’s present suffering was far worse than what Matthew had to endure. With Matthew it was only bitter fury that brought the blood rage to the surface. With Jack a wider range of emotions triggered it.

“It’s all right.” Matthew was with him in an instant, one hand clamped around his neck and the other resting on his cheek. Lobero pawed at Matthew’s foot as if to say,
Do something.
“Don’t touch me when I’m like this,” Jack snarled, pushing at Matthew’s chest. But he might as well have tried to move a mountain. “You’ll make it worse.”

“You think you can order me about, pup?” Matthew’s eyebrow arched. “Whatever you think is so terrible, just say it. You’ll feel better once you do.”

With Matthew’s encouragement Jack’s confession tumbled from some dark place inside where he stored up everything that was evil and terrifying.

“Benjamin found me a few years ago. He said he’d been waiting for me. My grandsire promised to take me to you, but only after I’d proved that I was really one of Matthew de Clermont’s blood.”

Gallowglass swore. Jack’s eyes darted to him, and a snarl broke free.

“Keep your eyes on me, Jack.” Matthew’s tone made it clear that any resistance would be met with a swift and harsh reprisal. My husband was performing an impossible balancing act, one that required unconditional love along with a steady assertion of dominance. Pack dynamics were always fraught.

With blood rage they could turn deadly in an instant.

Jack dragged his attention from Gallowglass, and his shoulders lowered a fraction.

“Then what happened?” Matthew prompted.

“I killed. Again and again. The more I killed, the more I wanted to kill. The blood did more than feed me—it fed the blood rage, too.”

“It was clever of you to understand that so quickly,” Matthew said approvingly.

“Sometimes I came to my senses long enough to realize that what I was doing was wrong. I tried to save the warmbloods then, but I couldn’t stop drinking,” Jack confessed. “I managed to turn two of my prey into vampires. Benjamin was pleased with me then.”

“Only two?” A shadow flitted across Matthew’s features.

“Benjamin wanted me to save more, but it took too much control. No matter what I did, most of them died.” Jack’s inky eyes filled with blood tears, the pupils taking on a red sheen.

“Where did these deaths occur?” Matthew sounded only mildly curious, but my sixth sense told me the question was crucial to understanding what had happened to Jack.

“Everywhere. I had to keep moving. There was so much blood. I had to get away from the police, and the newspapers. . . .” Jack shuddered.

VAMPIRE ON THE LOOSE IN LONDON
.
I remembered the vivid headline and all the clippings of the “vampire murders” that Matthew had collected from around the world. I bowed my head, not wanting Jack to realize I knew that he was the murderer whom European authorities were seeking.

“But it’s the ones that lived who suffered the most,” Jack continued, his voice deadening further with every word. “My grandsire took my children from me and said he would make sure they were raised properly.”

“Benjamin used you.” Matthew looked deep into his eyes, trying to make a connection. Jack shook his head.

“When I made those children, I broke my vow to Father Hubbard. He said the world didn’t need more vampires—there were plenty already—and if I was lonely, I could take care of creatures whose families didn’t want them anymore. All Father Hubbard asked was that I not make children, but I failed him again and again. After that, I couldn’t go back to London—not with so much blood on my hands.

And I couldn’t stay with my grandsire. When I told Benjamin I wanted to leave, he went into a terrible rage and killed one of my children in retaliation. His sons held me down and forced me to watch.” Jack bit back a harsh sound. “And my daughter. My daughter. They—”

He retched. He clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late to keep the blood from escaping as he vomited. It streamed over his chin, soaking into his dark shirt. Lobero leaped up, barking sharply and pawing at his back.

Unable to stay away a moment longer, I rushed to Jack’s side.

“Diana!” Gallowglass cried. “You must not—”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Get me a towel!” I snapped.

Jack fell to his hands and knees, his landing softened by Matthew’s strong arms. I knelt beside him as he continued to purge his stomach of its contents. Gallowglass handed me a towel. I used it to mop Jack’s face and hands, which were covered with blood. The towel was soon sodden and icy cold from my frantic efforts to stanch the flow, the contact with so much vampire blood making my hands numb and clumsy.

“The force of the vomiting must have broken some blood vessels in his stomach and throat,”

Matthew said. “Andrew, can you get a pitcher of water? Put plenty of ice in it.”

Hubbard went to the kitchen and was back in moments.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the pitcher at Matthew.

“Raise his head, Diana,” Matthew instructed. “Keep hold of him, Andrew. His body is screaming for blood, and he’ll fight against taking water.”

“What can I do?” Gallowglass said, his voice gruff.

“Wipe off Lobero’s paws before he tracks blood all over the house. Jack won’t need any reminders of what’s happened.” Matthew gripped Jack’s chin. “Jack!”

Jack’s glassy black eyes swiveled toward Matthew.

“Drink this,” Matthew commanded, raising Jack’s chin a few inches. Jack spluttered and snapped in an attempt to throw him off. But Hubbard kept Jack immobilized long enough to empty the pitcher.

Jack hiccupped, and Hubbard loosened his hold.

“Well done, Jackie,” Gallowglass said.

I smoothed Jack’s hair away from his forehead as he bent forward again, clutching at his visibly heaving stomach.

“I got blood on you,” he whispered. My shirt was streaked with it.

“So you did,” I said. “It’s not the first time a vampire’s bled on me, Jack.”

“Try to rest now,” Matthew told him. “You’re exhausted.”

“I don’t want to sleep.” Jack swallowed hard as the gorge rose again in his throat.

“Shh.” I rubbed his neck. “I can promise there will be no nightmares.”

“How can you be sure?” Jack asked.

“Magic.” I traced the pattern of the fifth knot on his forehead and lowered my voice to a whisper.

“Mirror shimmers, monsters shake, banish nightmares until he wakes.”

Jack’s eyes slowly closed. After a few minutes, he was curled on his side, sleeping peacefully.

I wove another spell—one that was meant just for him. It required no words, for no one would ever use it but me. The threads surrounding Jack were a furious snarl of red, black, and yellow. I pulled on the healing green threads that surrounded me, as well as the white threads that helped break curses and establish new beginnings. I twisted them together and tied them around Jack’s wrist, fixing the braid with a secure, six-crossed knot.

“There’s a guest room upstairs,” I said. “We’ll put Jack to bed there. Corra and Lobero will let us know if he stirs.”

“Would that be all right?” Matthew asked Hubbard.

“When it comes to Jack, you don’t need my permission,” Hubbard replied.

“Yes I do. You’re his father,” Matthew said. “I’m only his sire,” Hubbard said softly. “You’re Jack’s father, Matthew. You always have been.”

19

M
atthew carried Jack up to the third floor, cradling his body as if he were a baby. Lobero and Corra accompanied us, both beasts aware of the job they had to do. While Matthew stripped off Jack’s blood soaked shirt, I rummaged in our bedroom closet for something he could wear instead. Jack was easily six feet tall, but he had a much rangier frame than Matthew. I found an oversize Yale men’s crew team shirt that I sometimes slept in, hoping it would do. Matthew slipped Jack’s seemingly boneless arms into it and pulled it over his lolling head. My spell had knocked him out cold.