The King's Vampire (28 page)

Amelia’s blue eyes widened in equal terror and her eyes met his. “You can’t possible believe that . . .” She stopped, unable to put what they both must be thinking into words.

Lance faced Amelia. “Fear not, Your Ladyship. We’ll find Elizabeth. I promise you.” He limped along beside her.

“You’ve been hurt.”

“Don’t worry about me, Your Grace. It was just the sweet kiss of a mini-ball when I was helping Her Ladyship rescue Sir Michael Horbury from the Tower.” He gave a slight bow. “That’s what I do. I take mini-balls for the ladies.”

“What does any of that mean now? We’ve got to find Elizabeth,” Darius said gruffly. She was his heart and soul whether she knew it or not. He had to find her.

Chapter 29

Darius looked around. Beth had cleared the mess in the great hall. No evidence of the psychic vampire demons could be detected, and even the bodies of the immortal vampires were gone. He sent for his carriage, and the pounding of horses’ hooves thundered in his ears. Dazed, he climbed inside, ordering the driver to take him back to his apartments. Perhaps Elizabeth had made it back there, or maybe she’d gone to Amelia’s estate. But Amelia had promised she’d send a messenger if she heard any word from Elizabeth, and so far, no word.

Back in his own library, Darius paced restlessly. If only he’d done something differently, Elizabeth would be here by his side. The weather had turned, and a fire blazed in the fireplace with the oak paneling gleaming from the reflected light of the fire.

Beth knocked and he let her in. “Here you are, Your Lordship, maybe this will warm you some,” handing him a mug of mulled ale.

His head ached, his eyes ached, his body ached, and the last thing he wanted was hot ale, but his manners kicked in anyway. Darius took the ale with an absent, “Thank you, Beth.”

She stood for a minute, but he continued to stare unseeing into the flames, so she left. He stepped in front of the fire, trying to warm his cold hands, wishing something would warm the stone cold lump lodged in his chest. He imagined Elizabeth’s snowy face in the flames, her auburn hair haloed with the color of the firelight. He’d sworn to protect her and he’d failed miserably.

Surely he hadn’t destroyed Elizabeth the way he’d destroyed some of the psychic demons. How could he live with himself for all eternity knowing what he’d done? He’d kill himself rather than live without her.

All his life he’d managed to fail at protecting those he most cared about. The guilt washed over him in continuous waves of pain. He should have stayed in the monastery where his parents had put him. He would have made a far better monk than a warrior.

While these thoughts splintered in a thousand directions in his head, a great booming noise came from the stone fireplace. He jerked his hands away from the fire and pulled his sword from his jewel-encrusted scabbard. “What the devil?”

His former liege stood towering in front of him. He seemed to have formed himself from the flame of fire. Darius lowered his sword and went down on bended knee. “My liege, forgive me for my great failure in protecting Elizabeth.”

Charlemagne crossed his large hands over his chest. “It’s not what you need forgiveness for,” he said in his high-pitched voice. “It’s your self-pity and lack of faith for which you should drop on your knees and apologize.” He shot a blazing blue stare at Darius.

That gave him a jolt. “Emperor, what do you mean?”

When he looked down at Darius, Charlemagne gave him a hawk-like glare. “Isn’t it apparent? I spent my entire earthly life overcoming impossible challenges, and it’s what I do in the hereafter. How can I expect less from you, my son in all but name?”

“I’m sorry, Sire.”

“Sorry means nothing to me. Do you not remember how I struggled to learn how to write my own name, even while I fought for education for the people?”

In a voice filled with humility, Darius said, “Yes, I remember.”

“Think not that was a humiliation for me to have monks laughing in their fists at me?”

“It must have been horrible.”

“I didn’t give up though, did I?”

“No, Sire, you did not.”

“Then, stand up, Darius, like the powerful man I know you are and face that which you most fear.” Charlemagne gave him a sharp slap on the back, causing him to leap to his feet.

Even though he knew what was coming, it was a relief to have his greatest fear named. Darius trembled when he asked, “What do you mean, Emperor?”

“I suspect you know exactly what strikes terror in your heart.” Charlemagne drew in a deep breath. “There’s no need for you to fear failure in anything you attempt to do. I know I made the right decision when I snatched you from that Benedictine monastery and trained you to become my warrior.”

“Do you mean to say I will never again fail as a demon slayer?”

Charlemagne broke into his nasal-pitched laugh, snorting through his nose before he could stop. “Don’t you wish such a thing to be true? I meant that God will guide you on the right path whether you fail or succeed. It’s your faith that will help you find Elizabeth, and it’s your faith will help drive back the psychic vampire demons. Love and faith are a powerful combination, together, not to be defeated by the dark ones.”

It had always been there in front of Darius. Whenever he’d counted on his own powers, he’d failed, but when he trusted God to guide him, success flowed naturally to him. That’s why Elizabeth was so desperate to recapture her soul. Without God, her eternal life felt like hell. Since he’d ceased to be a vampire, his life had grown much richer and worthier, although he hadn’t understood why until now. Still, he’d continued to measure his success by his own actions.

Darius held out his arms in supplication, and Charlemagne gave him a suffocating embrace. His emperor still smelled of sweat, horseflesh, and the musky scent of the forest. Memories of the past surged through Darius, recalling when he had fought valiantly for his lord.

“Remember when I was crowned emperor by Pope Leo III on Christmas Day?”

“I’ll never forget the gloriousness of that day, my liege.”

“Do you realize Christmas Day will be in two days?”

“What does that have to do with Elizabeth?” Darius asked, but Charlemagne was already dissolving like smoke.

Alone again, Darius forced himself to remain calm. Elizabeth must be alive. He’d feel it if she was dead. He had to save her. Even without a soul, she radiated a purity and kindness few could compare with. Such goodness didn’t deserve to subsist in a soulless, bleak world. Darius swore to himself that, with God’s will, he’d find a way to save her from life as an immortal vampire.

Even while he prayed, he knew he must take action that would save his beloved and destroy the psychic vampires. How he wished he had John with him. His friend had always had good common sense and could look through a problem to find the simplest action leading to a solution. But John was no longer of this world. He prayed his friend rested at peace now.

Whatever else happened, he knew there must be a final confrontation with the psychic vampire demons. Evil never slept and there would be no peace until the abyss was closed for good. First though, he would make sure the immortal vampires had a chance to escape London and find their way to the Carpathian Mountains. After all, he’d once been one of them, and he owed it to them to give them an avenue of escape.

It was far too dangerous for the vampires to remain in London. Amelia was strong and she had the courage of ten thousand. If anyone could lead the vampires to safety, then surely she’d be the one who would succeed. Once the immortals were safely on their way to Transylvania, another confrontation with Julian and his demons was necessary.

If only he could direct the time and place of the meeting, perhaps he’d have an advantage over them. Julian was powerful, but he had a weakness of overconfidence, and his minions merely followed orders, with no original thought of their own. This could be to Darius’s advantage. What about King Charles? Julian wasn’t about to give up on his plan to make him a vampire he could dominate. Now that many of the aristocrats from France had already danced with the devil, many would be crossing the channel soon, and the demons would quickly claim them, creating another temptation for Charles.

Only two days remained until Christmas, and Elizabeth had to recapture her soul by then, or all would be lost for her. With so little time, Darius had much to do. The first course of action was to find Elizabeth. He couldn’t rest until she was safely by his side. He tossed his empty mug into the fireplace and it clattered against the stone.

He left his apartment swiftly and called his coachman. Riding along in his carriage, he watched fingers of pink and rose spread across the sky as the sun rose. He directed his driver to head toward Ludgate Hill, since St. Paul’s seemed the best place to look for Elizabeth.

On impulse, he had the driver stop off in Cheapside at the church, St. Mary-le-Bow, before they continued on to the ruins of St. Paul’s. Without understanding why he felt compelled to do so, Darius climbed out of the carriage and entered the west door of the church.

The early morning light gleamed through the stained glass windows. He headed toward the rainbow of light streaming through the windows at the front of the main altar. The mighty silence merely amplified the spiritual beauty of the magnificent church. Towering Corinthian columns held up the blue, white, and gold arched roof, while the cross of Christ, along with the images of those who had loved and followed him in life, hung above Darius’s head at the altar. He collapsed to his knees in complete humility and prayer. His childhood vows of obedience, chastity, and poverty washed over him in waves of repentance at all those vows he’d failed to keep.

It took him a few moments to realize someone else knelt at the altar beside him. Darius glanced over at the tall man who wore an elaborate chestnut periwig, dressed in a long black velvet jacket with brass buttons, with an immaculate cravat tied at his throat, while lace covered his wrists, and black velvet breeches hugged his legs. He suddenly realized he was kneeling beside the greatest architect the world had ever known.

“Sir Wren,” he said in a whispered voice, “this is an honor indeed to meet you. Is this not one of your architectural masterpieces?” He felt a surge of energy flow between himself and Sir Wren. Darius sensed this must be the soul guide he’d been seeking.

The aristocratic-looking gentleman looked in Darius’s direction, his hawk-like features proud and elegant. “No. This is only a rehearsal for my true masterpiece, St. Paul’s Cathedral, which I vow to complete before I die. I can tell you are troubled, my son. Can I help?”

Darius stared at his hands, discovering sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows had caused his hands to be stained blood red. He fisted his hands together, recalling the blood of all the men he’d slain in the past.

It took him a few minutes to gain courage to speak again. “I’m searching for my beloved, but I don’t know where to find her. I fear I’ll fail her when she needs me most and prove myself unworthy of her love.”

Silence built between the two men. Time pulsed on until Christopher Wren spoke in a quiet, calm tone, “Thoughts can change the truth we perceive. What seems impossible now might actually be the thing we are destined to do. Always look to your destiny. No one wants me to build the dome of St. Paul, which will truly reach to the heavens. But God has spoken to me and told me what must be done.

“How can you be sure the building of St. Paul’s is truly the will of God?” Darius turned and looked into Christopher Wren’s dark sunken eyes, which burned like fiery coals.

“Through God’s great grace, I’m given the intention to build beautiful buildings that honor the majesty of God. If you listen, then you will hear what God’s will is for you. Just remember to listen and focus on what it is he whispers in your ear. Remember, if the message comes to you in a great shout, then it’s probably not from God, but rather man. God speaks softly.”

Suddenly, Darius realized his life wasn’t about him and what he could do, but about God’s grace and how his will was to be done. He leapt up from the altar, and grasped Sir Christopher Wren by the hand. “I thank you, Sir Wren.”

“Life is magical when we follow the will of God. No matter what we do or what we want, there’s always a power far greater than us. Follow and trust that power.”

“I believe I understand now.”

Remember, it’s never about us,” the great architect said, “but rather about what is for the greater good in our world.”

Bowing, Darius stepped back outside into the bright sunlight, knowing he had to find Elizabeth soon. He wouldn’t fail her again. He couldn’t.

Chapter 30

Elizabeth awoke, screaming aloud. At first, she thought she was trapped inside a coffin, but quickly realized it was merely velvet draperies closed tightly around her on a narrow bed. She slipped out of the bed and found a candlestick in the near-darkness. Nightfall must be coming on apace. How long had she been in this place? She lit the candles in the sconces on the walls, making her surroundings appear less threatening.

It was a simple room, with an oak wardrobe and bureau in one corner, and a nightstand with a china pitcher and bowl in another. Where could she be? The last thing she recalled was the battle between Darius, the shape-shifters, and the demons. Darius had struck a demon which had been attacking her and then she’d collapsed. All she remembered after that was being scooped up, and the smell of rotting death smothering her before she was transported to this place. Searching the room, she hoped to find clues to where she might be. She tried to force open the huge oak door, but it was built solidly and bolted securely.

The sound of high heels clacking down the hallway caught her attention, so she paused before grabbing a silver hairbrush from the bureau. It made a pitiful weapon, but at least it was better than nothing. She heard the rattle of keys and then a creaking sound as the door opened. She stood pressed against the wall with her silver brush lifted over her shoulder.

“For the love of God, what do you think you’re doing?” Nell Gwynn shouted when Elizabeth brought the brush down upon her head. She shoved Elizabeth’s hand away, and the two women scuffled for a few minutes before both stepped away, panting heavily.