The Devil & Lillian Holmes (16 page)

Put this melancholy aside and concentrate on finding the boy,
George reminded himself.

Bess straightened her dress and hat as they took the short staircase to the front door. It was locked, so George knocked.

“Unusual,” he said. “It is not even twilight.”

“I imagine they must guard the children from the outside,” suggested Bess, “as well as keep them in.”

“True.” He knocked again, but still no one answered.

Bess found a bell and rang it several times. She peered through a side window and said, “I believe someone is coming.”

A rough-looking man opened the door a foot and peered out. “Didn’t have to knock to wake the dead.”

“It seems we did,” George retorted. He had expected a kindly old lady, not a man who looked as if he’d just come up from the docks. He carried the unmistakable odor of liquor on his breath, too. “We have business with the director of the orphanage.”

“Do you now? If you’re looking to donate or adopt one of these ruffians, she’ll be happy to see you. If it’s anything else, good luck to you.”

George bit back several curses and wanted to bash past the man. The sun was losing warmth, he had been in the light too long and was losing strength and patience, and soon Marie would be free to move about the city. “Happily, it is one of the former matters.”

“And, we are in a great hurry,” said Bess.

“All right, all right. I’ll tell her. No guarantees she can see you today… Depends on her mood, the new director.”

Bess whispered behind George, “Have all the establishments hired new directors?”

They followed the orphanage employee down a dimly lit hallway to a door that was open wide. Without introducing them or going inside, the man pointed and strode up a staircase, leaving them alone. The office beyond seemed large enough to double as a ballroom, but in a corner a plump matron in a garish gold and scarlet striped dress rested in an oversized chair. It made her look like a grotesque doll abandoned in the corner of an empty doll house.

“I don’t like this, George,” Bess whispered.

George took in a deep breath, and the particular smell of old blood in the air and a vibration of power filled him with foreboding. “No, I would think not.”

The woman stood at the sight of George, or perhaps the smell of him, and dropped the papers she’d been reading.

“Stay here, Bess. Better yet, why don’t you go outside?”

“I don’t think—”

“Go outside. Now.”

He heard Bess leave but kept his gaze attached to his unfamiliar foe. He crossed the room in several strides and faced her square on. She feared him, and she should. They both knew instantly that he was older and much stronger.

“I’m surprised Madam left such a youngster to guard this place of castaways.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, sir. I am Miss Defarge, the director of the orphanage.”

“Defarge?” He laughed and heard the woman’s pulse quicken. “That was the first name that came to mind? My, you must be more prepared in the future. If you have a future.”

She lifted her chin and stared at him defiantly. “What do you want here?”

“I know why the wolf guards the henhouse. Now I would like to know what Marie has done or plans to do to these children, although I have my suspicions. And I would have the whereabouts of one boy in particular.”

“I am not Marie’s servant,” the woman said, forgoing at least that much pretense. “Of course I know of her. We all do. I am here for my own purposes.”

“You imprison children so Marie can feast on them at will? I have heard many things in my day, madam, but that is one of the most repulsive.”

He took another step but she didn’t back up. She tried to appear defiant, but her chin quivered in fear. “It is not against the commandments.”

“The boy. Don’t make me ask again.”

Her eyes now red-rimmed and dark, her skin pale and veined, she prepared for battle. “Fool. I am not alone here. You cannot defeat us.”

“You
are
alone. My senses are not impaired in any way. You are one of many pawns that Marie cares not a whit for, and unless you tell me where the boy is you will soon be vanquished. You have a choice. Give me what I want, and I will shelter you.”

A flash of anguish in her eyes made George realize how welcome his offered sounded. But, “You offer nothing. Your shelter is a paper house in a hurricane, George Orleans. We will take you, and your brother, and everyone you hold dear. We will take this city for our own, and then we will take this continent. The Houses will fall, all of them.”

“When did Marie give that speech? You are a newborn, so you can be forgiven for believing her lies.” In two strides he was on her, hand around her neck and teeth ready to tear free the truth. Her chair fell, and he pushed her against the wall. “You will not live another minute unless you turn over the boy.”

Her tears ran in red rivulets down her cheeks, and she shook, feeling his power and wrath. “She will kill me.”

“I will kill you first.”

“I don’t know where he is. They took him. I swear, George, it is the truth.”

He saw it was. She was limp in his hands now, had given up everything. “Who took him?”

“Two men. That is all I know!”

“Why? Because they know the child means something to me? To my beloved?”

She looked puzzled. “What? No. It is not your child. Jacques is part of the…”

“The what?”

“The experiment of the men. One was a doctor. Jacques has been gone a few months. I cannot tell you more. I truly know nothing else. He was raised here but never allowed to be present on adoption days.”

“Schneider. Was that the name of the doctor?”

“I don’t know!”

“Was there a lawyer, a Pemberton?”

A flash of recognition crossed the woman’s face. She wiped the blood from her cheeks, and George loosened his grip.

“Perhaps—I cannot be sure. I wasn’t privy to the conversations. I simply watched the boy.”

Oh, Lil, she does have your child.
“Did they say anything that would indicate where they were taking him?”

“No! As I said…” The woman paused.

“What?”

“Someone mentioned a castle once. I know of no castle.” She wept again and covered her face. “I swear, that is all I know. She just left me here to keep prying mortals away. The children are mostly gone; we’ve taken no one new in ages. Take me now and be done with it, before she does.”

George sighed and clenched his fist. “Is the boy still mortal?”

“He was when he left here.”

A wave of relief calmed his tension, and he released Marie’s minion. “Kill yourself or let her do it.”

She leapt at him as he turned, clawing his neck and scalp, trying to force him to end it. He shrugged her off. Killing this pitiful creature, as Bess would call her, would be kind, but he didn’t feel kind. The only revenge that would satisfy him would be to destroy the destroyer.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

An unusual love.

Sullivan sat while Phoebe tied his cravat. He knew how to do it, but she simply loved to fuss over him. He would deny her nothing. Except the truth.

“When can we go home, love? I’m tired of these hitey-titey vampires. Shoulda never come here. I can feel your anger at them brothers coming outta your pores. Let’s quit this town, Chauncey.”

She sat in his lap and pressed a pleading kiss on his lips. He shouldn’t have brought her. Another selfish move, another sin added to an endless list.

“I can’t quit it yet, Phoebe. Soon, though. Very soon.”
God, I hope,
he didn’t add. The vial of Elder blood kept him awake during the day, made him restless all night. He wandered the city when Phoebe slept, hoping for a glimpse of Vasil, terrified also that the Elder would reappear.

He’d tried to find his maker on his own, as these bickering Orleans fools seemed to have no plan at all except to bring him into the battle. Now they had started talk of a child when they didn’t think he was around, and he was certain there was more to this story than they said. He could easily wring the truth from them, but he just wanted to finish the task and ensure Phoebe’s safety.

“Where you going now? Take me. Why do you go without me? Tell me, Chauncey.”

The fear in her eyes made him nauseated, but it was better that she suspected him of infidelity than know the truth. And it felt like infidelity. Would Vasil come tonight? Demand to know why Marie still lived?

He quickly pressed a kiss on Phoebe’s forehead and left. Clutching the vial under his coat, he now relished its burn on his palm. One drop would kill Marie, Vasil had said. So why did Chauncey so badly crave one drop for himself? The Elders were demons, for sure. Tricksters.

After walking only a few yards down the street, the burn on his hand grew stronger and he released it.
Here I am,
he heard, and he looked up. Vasil held out his arms in mock greeting, his long cape flapping in the night breeze, his hair swirling into a confusing halo of gold around him.

Chauncey leapt up on to the roof and rested his back against the water cistern several yards away from Vasil. “I am trying, Elder. I will find her soon.”

“She righta under your nose, ya no see it?”

Chauncey winced at his imitation of Phoebe, a reminder of what was at risk. “Tell me where she is, then, to make this better for us both.”

“The Frenchmen are close.” Vasil shrugged. “A day or so and you’ll see her. That is not why I’m here.”

“Why, then?” Chauncey could barely speak, and he couldn’t take his eyes off Vasil.
Is this what it is to worship a God, to feel the love that Phoebe feels for her Jesus?

“You keep calling me. It’s annoying, profoundly annoying. I hear it day and night. Your voice is strong, Mr. Sullivan. Your devotion is adorable.”

Chauncey looked away, ashamed. “I’ll try to do better. I…it is the blood, I think. It’s muddled my mind.”

Vasil chuckled and motioned with one finger for him to draw near. Chauncey tried to avoid eye contact as he walked to within a few feet, and Vasil’s icy breath smelled of warm sunlight on pine branches, of freesia, of cloves and oranges. All of Chauncey’s favorite smells, one after another.

“You mock me,” he accused. “You cast this terrible spell on me and now you mock me. I don’t think Phoebe’s God would do that to her.”

“Spell? I’m no warlock. You’re very confused.” Vasil sighed and pulled Chauncey in closer, one scalding hand on each of his shoulders. His eyes shone silver and blue. To his horror, Chauncey felt hot tears fall down his cheeks.

“
Ogottogott!
My good friend, attend to me.” Vasil put a finger under Chauncey’s chin to collect his gaze. “You have had a bad romance, yes? One in which you are shunned, one that can never be, that breaks the heart and spirit?”

“I am not a lover of men,” Chauncey said.

“I am no longer a man, Herr Sullivan. I am everything you hate and love about yourself. You are very, very strong, to even be able to endure my touch. But it is your own true nature you long for, the terrible beautiful power you see in me.”

Chauncey cried and listened, hating everything he said, hating him, his beauty, his power. “I hate you! Leave me be. I’ll kill Marie, just lift this spell!”

Vasil shook his head and smirked. “There is no spell. You crave my blood.”

“You told me it was poison! You are poison!”

The Elder shrugged. “It all depends on who drinks it.”

Chauncey’s head spun at the words and smells and urges pouring through him. Vasil’s touch no longer felt gentle. When he opened his eyes, his knees buckled at the gleaming fangs and black pupils only inches away. Vasil’s nails dug into Chauncey’s neck as the Elder lifted him off the ground. Gone was the pale icy beauty. This was a demon.

“I am not your God and I am not your Satan. I will make your life
more
of a living hell or reward you well, yes? Kill Marie, and stop calling for me!” Vasil dropped Chauncey to the ground, where Chauncey hugged his knees to his chest and cried. “One more thing, my friend. If there is a child, and if he is special in any way, kill him. If he is not…I think I would like him. Call to me then, and I will come.”

Chauncey watched the Elder drift noiselessly into the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Some doubts erased.

Between caring for the boys—a task akin to herding snakes—trying to be a good and soothing friend to Bess, and fretting constantly over Marie and her own missing child, Lillian was exhausted and longed for some escape that her medicine didn’t provide. At least the guest vampires didn’t need to be fed, and she could have food delivered for the boys from Eisner’s grocery. She didn’t have a clue how to prepare meals, nor did she have time or interest. Perhaps she could hire a cook?

“What would Uncle do?” she repeated to herself again and again. In the old days thoughts of her Uncle Sherlock brought her respite. “He would not have gotten himself into such a mess. I would have Mr. Doyle write a different story for me.”

The boys needed clothes, though, and more time outside. And to be enrolled in school. Aileen and Johnnie had never managed to teach them properly on their own, nor had they found a public institution. Bess and Kitty had agreed to take them to buy new shoes and clothes the next day, and that would have to be enough for one week. School could come later.

How had it come to this? Constant fretting over meals for humans, clothes, household chores? All the evil in the world seemed to be crashing down on her, and yet the needs of her charges and friends couldn’t be ignored. The boys still grieved for Aileen, each in their own way. Darby had asked the night before if he could see his sister again, and Lillian hadn’t known what to say. She’d brushed his hair aside and kissed his freckled cheek.

Is this what being a mother is like?

Everyone in her house had known nothing but loss. Was life that way for everyone? Was happiness a foolish wish?

She walked back and forth in her parlor, alone with the unsociable Sullivans. Phillip and Kitty had gone to their home, the boys were asleep, and George late. He had promised to be back before sundown, after making sure Bess made it home safely. Lillian had been left “for her own protection.” But she did not want to be protected. She wanted to find Jane or destroy Madame Lucifer.