The Midnight Guardian (14 page)

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Authors: Sarah Jane Stratford

BOOK: The Midnight Guardian
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“We'll have another chance.” Brigit spoke with simple authority, knowing it was what Eamon would think. Mors grinned at her.
“Of course. And one thing is certain. They are sleeping far less peacefully. I like that.”
 
As the summer passed, however, Brigit had a bad feeling that they had only spurred the Nazis on to greater ambitions. The German Jews were kicked out of government jobs, Eichmann was given yet more power, and still the vampires came no closer to achieving their goal. The word from Otonia was to keep at it, to not lose faith. They had done well, they were making progress; it was just taking longer than they'd thought. But they should be encouraged: The world was getting nervous and paying attention to Germany, so surely, between their good work and the growing censure of other governments, war could be averted and the Nazis brought down.
For the first time in her life, Brigit knew Otonia was wrong. She admired their fine leader's optimism, as she admired her power, intelligence, and courage, but she was wrong. The Germans loved Hitler, questioned nothing, adored him more than their families and themselves. And other governments? Those that hadn't blinked when the Treaty of Versailles was so flagrantly violated upon the Anschluss? They as good as
shrugged when Hitler helped himself to the Sudetenland, yawned when Czechoslovakia went down, and continued to placate and tolerate him. Brigit wanted to laugh, to shake every single world leader and slap them round the head to make them see that this was not the way to avoid war, that appeasement was pointless, that the world was only forestalling the obvious. It wasn't going to end, it was never going to end. The Nazis were hungrier than a new vampire and they were going to eat with abandon the way no self-respecting vampire ever would. Now that they'd been allowed forks and knives again, they could eat even more readily, with refinement, and malice. Possibly, like so many empires before them, they would gorge themselves until they burst, but that would still mean the world had been stripped bare. Humans and vampires would starve together, waiting for life to start again.
Brigit lurked in the shadow of the U-Bahn station door, counting down the seconds till it was safe to go forward to her date with Gerhard. At four other doors, she knew the others did the same. Mors, back to his cheerful, assured self, would wink at her if she caught his eye. From far, far away, she felt loving fingers brush her cheek. Eamon believed in her, in all of them. And that trumped all doubt. Once again, she felt that thrill of certainty. What did it matter that this was all taking longer and seemed more difficult than they'd originally envisaged? They were here. They'd dealt a hard blow, left a bruise, and were continuing to twist their way in like corkscrews, as well as eating steadily, chipping away at the foundation. From them, there would be no appeasement, or mercy.
The world may not know quite what you're up to, but we do. And every day, we learn more. And you, you learn nothing. You seek to plunge the world into darkness, but there is no darkness but ignorance, and you do not even know you cannot see. Master race … huh. You will learn indeed. It is we who will be the masters of you, most assuredly.
As Brigit set out for the restaurant Gerhard had named, she held her head arrogantly high and her eyes snapped with anticipated delight. Men ogled her as she passed, but she saw none of them. All she saw were the frightened faces of Hitler and his inner circle as they realized that the impossible had befallen them, and that it was indeed creatures they feared and despised almost more than any other who had found a way to bring them down.
London. August 1939.
“You're lucky, you know that?”
Padraic collapsed next to Eamon on the grassy knoll, rubbing his belly.
“Why, because I don't have indigestion? Who did you eat?”
“Some drunken arse who smokes too much.”
“They all smoke too much. It's the tension, I think. Or maybe they like the taste.”
“Well, I don't.”
“Nor I. But it's only really bad the first hundred years.”
They sat silently, watching the flickering of the lights in the city. Padraic's stomach rumbled and he poked at it in frustration. Eamon grinned and Padraic continued.
“That wasn't what I meant, anyway, about your luck, I mean.”
“I didn't think so.”
“You hoped so.”
“Maybe.”
The younger vampire assessed his companion. He went on, hesitating only slightly.
“It's a bit of a bastard, being his second love, d'ye know? I mean, it's awful hard not to feel like there's still some comparing going on. He wouldn't have made me if he hadn't lost Raleigh, of course.”
“No, but that's just how these things happen. You wouldn't want to not be here, would you?”
“Aye, no, I'm happy here and that's sure. What would I be otherwise? Some dead and forgotten Irish poofter, right? I tell you this, it was a damn sight easier being a poof in London, even with them not much cottoning to the Irish, than a poof in Ireland. And easier yet being a vampire poof.” He studied Eamon again, and chuckled. “Would you have ever believed there'd come a time when it was better to be a Jew in England than a queer?”
“That's the advantage of a long life, you see things change. Neither still have the easiest time, I suppose.”
“No, we have the advantage of them there.”
Eamon fell silent, impatient for and yet dreading the moment when Padraic was to get back to his main point.
“It must make a difference, it can't not so, knowing that you're the only one she's ever loved.”
“You shouldn't think such things, you'll upset yourself, and that does Cleland no good. He waited a few hundred years before he found you. He knew it was real, and you did as well, you know you did. So he loved once before, so what? All that means is he learned how, it doesn't mean he loves you any less.”
Padraic nodded. Eamon understood how he felt. That was the trouble with a long separation, it allowed your mind to wander to some dangerous places. Hanging between them was Padraic's unasked question, “Why was there no one else, all those decades?” and it wasn't the easiest question to answer. It was one he'd asked her more than once, as he was learning her, but although she was never less than honest, it seemed as though even she didn't really know the reason. Her sins had been expunged at last and her heart was clean and ready to lay itself open, and that was when she found him.
But first, there was Aelric, and all the years in between.
 
No one in the tribunal could believe how much taste Aelric had shown in choosing Brigantia, nor how much luck he'd had in such a pick. Despite a temper that could be sudden and often vicious, she took to the dark life with alacrity and was admired by all.
Otonia made a point of tailing the new ones in their early days, so as to evaluate their potential. Brigantia was a preternaturally powerful predator, Otonia found, with an impressive knack for zeroing in on choice prey. When she ate, she seemed to be sucking more than blood; she wanted to imbibe the essence of the world with every kill. This was a vampire who wanted more than the hunt and food. A vampire who needed careful nurturing.
This was where Aelric created yet another problem. A maker didn't have to instruct, but he should be a guide. He should initiate her into the deeper complexities of undead life, its trials as well as its joys. To begin to delve these was the path to a long and prosperous existence.
Brigantia learned to read faster than any vampire Otonia had taught, and she was quick to learn several languages as well. She devoured books like blood.
“Careful, lest you tear through the whole library in a year and have nothing left.”
Brigantia grinned and tossed her head.
“I'll just start all over again, won't I, and learn it even better. And the humans will have to write more. They don't seem to have the same passion they did in your day, why do you suppose that is?”
Otonia ran a loving hand over a volume of Aristophanes.
“Times ebb and flow. Life was richer then, but humans don't always appreciate what they have. You wait, though, things will change again, I'm sure of it. Our England will have its excitement, and so will we.”
The hungry young vampire's eyes shimmered in eager anticipation.
 
She was intelligent, far more so than Aelric, but she did not know how a vampire's life could be ended. This was one of the first things a maker was meant to teach, in a loving and tender manner, so as to dissipate the fear. Aelric had no subtlety, but that didn't excuse his failing. It didn't seem right for another to step in on this crucial duty, but Brigantia was reckless, even beyond the scope of new vampires, and the tribunal would prefer to keep her. They'd never seen a vampire who ran through the woods chasing storms, whose wild laugh echoed down through the moors, who could spend hours on a cliff, calling down all her newly learned poetry into the
sea and daring the waves to reach out and grab her. She once overheard Mors mutter something about “furious happiness and happy fury” and knew, with a fierce pride and pleasure, he was talking about her. And quite some time later, she discovered he'd talked about her again, to Otonia.
“Marvelous creature, our Brigantia, isn't she? Who'd have thought Aelric had it in him?”
“Everyone gets lucky at least once in their lives.”
“Quite a taste for risk she's got. I saw her leap into a whole circle of Vikings to grab one. The others shat themselves. She held down the prey and shot their own arrows after them as they ran. Missed, as it happens, probably on purpose, but the laugh in her was something to hear. I shouldn't be surprised if they heard it in Cumbria.”
“Yes, hers is an especially virulent demon. It's not wise, though, for one so young to draw so much attention. Too many will know her face.”
“Face like that, they should be grateful.”
“Indeed. But it's too soon for a legend. She needs control first.”
“And Aelric won't help her there. Couldn't, even if he wanted to. So what do you think, shall I step in and be of use?”
“Yes. Take Aelric on a long journey of distraction so that I have uninterrupted time to talk to her.”
“Oh. Well, yes, I can certainly do that. He's terrified of me. It's such fun. I'll take advantage of it, take him on a nature walk. Perhaps drop him off a cliff.”
Otonia smiled but said nothing.
On an evening when Brigantia was working in her new garden, Otonia sat down on the edge of the freshly dug earth, pulled a distaff from her robes, and began winding wool.
“Was there any talk of vampires in your human world?”
“None whatsoever, but to be frank, I never paid much attention to what our elders said. Except for the healer. They didn't inspire confidence.”
“I imagine that's often the case. But has Aelric told you of hunters?”
Brigantia looked at her quizzically.
“No, I didn't think he had. Simply put, the humans have teams
amongst them that learn to kill vampires. It is the same theory as the parties that go forth to slaughter animals, only these are a rather more elite group.”
“They actually hunt us?”
“Well, sometimes. Other times, they just protect the village. It rather depends. The Romans were crack hunters, you had to be skilled indeed to thrive in Rome, but it was worth it. Here, they're less focused. Life in general is rough, I suppose, and so they can't be bothered to cull the vampire community too much. Also they go to bed early.”
“But … I don't understand. They can … they can kill us?”
“They can, and they often do.”
“I thought it was just sunlight …”
“And fire. Although that's a bit slower and considerably less reliable, as they found out when they burnt the library at Alexandria.”
“That was to destroy vampires?”
Otonia smiled. “Accounts vary. It's actually quite a story. But no, predominantly it was a political act, with a bit of religious conflict thrown in for good measure, of course. The fact that vampires were using it after-hours was just a bonus. As is typical with that sort of human thinking, they lost more than they gained. In the aggregate. But we got a nice haul.” She smiled blissfully, contemplating the library inside the caves, then returned to her theme. “Anyway, a well-swung blade can take off our heads, and there's no recovery from that, as you may imagine.”
“I can imagine. But would rather not, if it's all the same to you.”
Otonia grinned.
“Well, so their favorite method of execution, it seems, is also the most ingenious. How they discovered it, I cannot say, but it would seem that a sharpened bit of wood, of the correct length, can be driven into our hearts. Quick, clean, and effective.”
“Why should our hearts be vulnerable? They don't do anything useful anymore.”
“Perhaps that's not as true as we may think. Even if we had scientific wherewithal, a vampire corpse cannot be studied.”
“Why not?”
“It disappears.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Unfortunately, you will see yourself, someday. We all do.”
Brigantia was already accustomed to, and generally amused by, Otonia's cryptic way of speaking. She liked everyone to wonder about things, and think. In this instance, however, Brigantia sensed her reticence came more from a place of pain.
“So they hunt us, then?”
“Yes and no. They've been known to seek and destroy lairs, but focus on the smaller families. It's why our own caves are so deep—they would have a time getting to us, and we older ones would hear it. The hunters might get in, but they wouldn't survive us. I suspect they know that. They work in pairs, often, and seek out pairs. Carelessness on our part, that's what helps them. Bloodstained shoes that leave tracks. Too much revelry too near human settlement. The like.”
Brigantia nodded, thinking of her own revelry and carelessness. Now a bit more of the sunlight of this life was snuffed out. And Aelric should have told her. She wondered why he hadn't. Perhaps it was that delicacy of his, the way he wanted to protect her. Perhaps he was hoping she'd warm to him. She still shared his bed, after all, even though little happened there besides sleep. She knew she could request her own chamber and no one would think the worse of her, but it felt too soon. She didn't want anyone to think she was cold.
To her surprise, Brigantia laid a hand on Otonia's arm, pleading for the reassurance of contact. It was not something she recalled ever needing to do as a human.
“Some hunters must be skilled. It can't only be our carelessness that draws them.”
Otonia smiled, and squeezed Brigantia's hand.
“No. As with most men, the ones who are most determined to carry an act through … well, they manage.”
 
Several weeks after this conversation, Brigantia was still puzzling the ways and means of hunters, and wondering how it was that they didn't find the vampires in these caves during the day. She wondered how they learned to do what they did and how strong were their numbers. This feeling she had about them wasn't fear, that she could tell, but it was a powerful, morbid curiosity.
Aelric saw that her mind was occupied and unsettled and vainly sought to help.
“What is it, what's wrong? Is it all those books you've been reading? You should come and play more, that's what this life is for, come and have some fun.”
In no mood to debate, Brigantia gently and even politely rebuffed him, which should have been a warning. Aelric assumed the slight upgrade from tolerance was warmth and renewed his attempt to soothe and please with vigor. It quickly began to wear on Brigantia, but she didn't want to pick a fight. She tried to keep away from him, but he clung to her like a leech. Her voice grew softer and softer as she asked him to let her be, and still it never occurred to him that she might mean it.
A week later, Brigantia was coming home late from a fruitless prowl when Aelric dropped down from a tree into her path.
“Hello, my Brigantia, bad night?”

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