The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (29 page)

“Reveal yourself,” I said.

“
Nu sunt speriat
, vechi grec.”
You don’t scare me, ancient Greek.

His bellow blew out the speakers and the
gallery fell silent. It occurred to me then that the only way the impaler could
defeat me was by blowing up the very spot on which I stood. With him out of the
room, that could have been my reality. The speakers crackled again. “Revenge,”
he said, “is that what you’ve come for?”

“I am here to make you an offer,” I
said. “A truce.” Though his frequency was constant, his silence was unnerving.
“We have a common enemy,” I said.

“
Împărăteasă
,” he said with
aspirated esses.

“She has taken the girl,” I said.

“Wallach’s girl?”

“Mine—”

“What about mine!” He was volatile and
unforgiving and completely perplexing.

“Yours?”

“Maxin-n-n-ne,” he said. Maxine was
Jean’s progeny, not Vlad’s. “My venomline,” he said.

“Crocodile tears,” I said.

“
Du-te dracului!”
Go to hell!
His voice cracked and the speaker cut.

I saw the flame from the corner of my
eye. The fabric of one of the costumes in the glass case beside me caught fire
and soon the whole thing was burning. It exploded within seconds and I barely
avoided the flying shards. His cackle erupted in the gallery but not from the
speakers this time. His frequency was so strong it blew out my ears, as he
swooped down from a balcony above me and landed in the center of the pillared
heads. He glared up at me with steely eyes. His upper lip curled, drawn up by
some imaginary wisp—the sneer his default mien. “She sent you,” he said.

He could not have known.

“The steel,” he said. “It bears her
insignia.” The blade was still readied in my hand, though the hilt was covered.
“I have several in my collection,” he said. “Damascus steel—the strongest
metal-l-l-l.” He smiled at me with his iron grill; he was the ugliest vampire I
have seen.

“She will give me the girl back if I
give her the collection,” I said.

“And how do you plan on seizing it,” he
said. “By force?”

“I would rather not,” I said. “I am
looking for an ally.”

Vlad grumbled something and placed his
hand on the crown of one of the severed heads. “
Ceea ce e în ea
pentru mine?”
What’s in it for me?

“I will get you her blood.”

“
Sânge
împărătesei
,” he said. “A costly price even for you.”

“You know we can take the ship
together,” I said. “And all I want is the girl.”

“One sip.” He smacked his lips and ran
his tongue across his metal grill. “One bite directly from your sweet source.
Sângele
ei.”

His demand made my venom sour but I
agreed.

“Veni,” he said.

I still do not know how I convinced him
to join me so easily. I had no idea he was such a fickle vampire. He catapulted
his body upward from mezzanine to mezzanine using nothing but his talons. When
he reached the top, he called to me again.

I took the stairs and met him on the
upper level where he ushered me into a vaulted chamber off the gallery. The
room was concealed behind a floor to ceiling tapestry of the Far East and a
large metal door that looked like part of the wall. He lit several candelabra
and the room came to life. One of its walls was covered in
weapons—throwing stars, knives, swords, crossbows, spearheads, chains and
daggers littered the concrete divider. An elaborate glass armoire, containing
antique libation goblets from the great dynasties of China, sat across from the
weapons display. The sealed chamber was full of secret treasures. I smelled the
greatest one as soon as I entered—a human girl hidden somewhere in the
room.

“To each our own, Ahile.”

I did not know if his statement referred
to his girl or mine. I made on I was studying his wares, the goblets first and
then the jade and bronze cups. When I turned my attention to the weapons, he
busied himself with the floorboards. I will admit I was not surprised his girl
was kept in the crawlspace beneath them.

“The ship is heavily guarded,” I said.
“We will have to take a boat to it before sunrise.”

“We’ll need a diversion,” he said. “An
explosion makes a fine surprise attack.”

“Yes, a surprise attack.”

“I have just the thing,” he said.

I did not doubt it, as he perused the
accelerants he had piled up in one corner of the room and picked up a porcelain
jug. “Frumos,” he said. “It was perfect for your plants.”

My insides hardened but I stifled my
rage. “At dusk,” I said, “we will take a skiff from the piers of Il
Crocifisso.”

“Tedious,” he said. “Let’s make plans
after we drink.”

Vlad’s tongue danced in his mouth like a
serpent’s. He reached down into the open floorboards and pulled up the girl.
She was wretched, wasted and barely alive. “I’ll take first bite,” he said. The
girl was limp in his arms.

“Why not bleed her and drink from the
goblets?” I asked.

He looked at me with suspicion and then
smiled with his iron grill. “
Pact de sânge,” he said.
A blood pact
.

He seemed flattered by my offer of
ceremony and told me to choose the goblets. I twisted the lock on the door of
the armoire with one of my talons. The cups were pristine, sealed up in the
display case for years. I pulled a pair of pale jade cups with a porcelain base
from the top shelf. The girl barely moved when Vlad pierced her frail skin with
his talon. I handed him the first cup when the artery began to gush. The dark
ichor oozed down the rim of the pale jade goblet. He filled it to the quarter
mark and then handed it back to me. I passed him the second cup. When the
girl’s blood clotted, he pierced the inside of her thigh. He squeezed her leg
but was unable to fill the second cup as much as the first. I insisted he take
the more plentiful one. “She is yours,” I said. “I only need a sip to seal the
pact.”

It was easy to appeal to his vanity. He
switched cups with me and held his goblet up to the candlelight. “La nemurire,”
he said.

“To immortality,” I repeated.

When the rims of our antique jade
goblets clinked, his fate was sealed. I watched Vlad, as he licked his lips and
placed the cup to his metal mouth, scarfing down the blood that would be his
last. The girl’s tainted ichor slid down his throat, dripping at the sides of
his mouth and staining his lips. He licked the blood greedily, dragging his
tongue along the inner rim of the goblet, and then sighed and tossed his empty
cup across the chamber, knocking one of the spears off the wall. “Amar,” he
said.

“It is bitter,” I said.

I had downed mine quickly, enjoying it
far less than he did his.

“Nothing like my Evelina,” I said. “But
you will never know.”

His pleasure faded and his mouth went
taut. “What?”

“Yes,” I said, “
răzbunare
este a mea.”
Revenge is mine
.

He looked confused and then his face
contorted with the pain. He reached for his throat and cradled his stomach,
bending forward and dropping to his knees. He landed next to the wasted girl. “
Ce-ai
făcut-t-t-t-t-t …”
The convulsions began as his insides turned to stone. I cringed, as
I recalled the agony of the blood substitute, the burning, the hardening, the
sheer blow of it. It was easy to slip the contents of my cherished vial into
his cup. Though I had wanted to save the last of the blood substitute as a
souvenir, I did not think Byron would mind my using it to destroy the impaler.

I took the head of the Romanian boar and
placed it in a glass case, a fitting end for a legend, living forever as a work
of art. I left the museum with the head under one arm. The sun was already up
when I arrived at the pier and the bloodthirsty vampires were waiting for the
ferryman to come. A few of them admired my artifact but none named the vampire
they all feared.

High with the promise of seeing her,
tasting her again, I thought about where I would take her, how we would begin
anew, and whether I was consolation for the family I had promised her. As Zhi
launched his skiff and sailed toward the pier, I felt something like a sting
within my veins at the anticipation of her blood. When the little vessel
finally pulled up, the ferryman did not toss the line to be tied to the dock
but motioned for me to come to the front. Some of the starved vampires groaned
until they saw the treasure I held in my hands. I caught their whispers:
The curator was no more.

Zhi examined the head and invited me
alone onto the skiff, assuring the others he would return shortly. He did not
tell me why I was given the private escort but I could guess. We skidded along
the sea and I was up the gangway and on the weather deck with Vlad’s head in no
time. Zhi told me she was in the deckhouse awaiting my return. When I threw
open the hatch to the cabin, Youlan stood in the corner and the Empress sat on
the same wooden daybed she had been sitting on for our first meeting. Her
visage was as stoic as ever and a cigarette dangled between the blood red lips
of her slim mouth. She did not greet me when I entered, though Youlan gave me a
slight bow by dropping her chin. She looked at her mistress and awaited her order.
When the Empress finally waved her hand at the vampire, she exited the
deckhouse through the hatch that led to Evelina. I anticipated her smell, but
it did not come.

“The museum is yours,” I said.

I placed Vlad’s head on the bench beside
her. She put her hand on the case and tilted it upward. “
Jīngrén
,” she said, as she
stared at the petrified visage.

“Not really,” I said. “His pride got the
better of him.”

She peered into the glass, taking
several drags on her cigarette. She blew the smoke at the figure and pulled the
case closer with both hands. The semblance of a smile showed on her face, as
she gazed at the stony head. I told her the museum was secure but her vampires
would have to disarm the incendiary devices before they could gain access to the
art.

“
Yùcè
,” she said.

“He was predictable.” I assumed Youlan
had gone to fetch Evelina and I felt anxious for her to return with the girl.
When she did not, I pushed the Empress to fulfill her part of the bargain. “Are
you taking me to her?” I asked.

A gust of smoke escaped the vampire’s
tight mouth and rolled up into her nostrils, as she exhaled. She tapped the
glass case with the palm of her hand and stood up. “Come,” she said.

I followed her out of the deckhouse, as
one of the guards waiting on the other side opened the hatch, anticipating our
exit. She gave me a curt bow and ushered me into his company. He led me through
the passageway I had taken to see Evelina once before. I sniffed the air trying
to catch a whiff of my sweet morsel, but it was in vain. When we passed the
compartment where I had viewed her from behind the glass, I knew I was close. I
thought I felt her heart beat in tandem with mine. I could almost sense her
warm touch on my callous skin. I would kiss her neck first, I thought, and then
raise her in my arms. My mouth watered in preparation for her soft neck against
my lips. She was close. I was close … so close.

The guard pointed to a compartment and I
almost missed the smirk he tried to contain. Though his lips did not move, I
could see the smile in his eyes. It was beneath me to reciprocate and I simply
grunted, as I pushed him out of the way. I opened the hatch and went in. The
smell of blood greeted me, though it was not Evelina’s. I hesitated until I saw
the shaded figure on the berth.

The light in the compartment was dim, as
a lone candle cast shadows on the mantle. My girl lay on the berth with her
hands gently across her stomach. She looked peaceful, as if asleep. She was
still wearing the elegant imperial dress of the Qing dynasty but the gold and
red embroidered diyi was stained with her blood. The mass of dried serum was
clotted on one shoulder, and stuck in the hair that now hung over her left
breast. The Phoenix crown with its gold dragons and kingfisher feathers was gone.

As I approached the sleeping beauty, I
was certain I could see her chest rise and fall with her breath. She is only
sleeping—I repeated the mantra until I felt her for myself and knew she
was beyond sleep. I suppose I should have realized the truth sooner. I should
have known the beauty for which I had embraced all hell was merely a transient
fancy. I should have noticed the human features gone from her face, that she
was merely an outline of what she had once been. I should have sensed the loss,
the congealed and coagulated blood now fetid and dry on her ashen skin, no
longer pulsing beneath it.

The black cloud of grief shrouded me, as
madness and sorrow hit me in equal waves. I lamented her lifeless body like a
father mourning his dead child, as I had grieved for my cousin long ago.
Evelina’s figure offered no solace, despite its tranquil perfection. She had
taken her own life with the only weapon she could find. Her captor’s decorative
claw was still caught up in her nest of blood-clotted hair, and the gash in her
neck revealed her fate, just as the wound in Penthesilea’s nape had wasted her
blood on the sticky Trojan air. I knelt down beside the corse, just as I had
done on the battlefield then.