After Midnight (7 page)

Emily slapped the book shut and let it fall from her hands, as if merely touching it could somehow harm her. She leaped off the ladder and dashed for the hallway. She ran out of the library and into the cold darkness. She didn't stop until she reached the front door.

What am I doing
? she thought, gripping the doorknob with both hands. All around her the darkness was oppressing, yet as her panic subsided, so did her fear.
What am I doing
? she asked herself again.
I've never run from anything in my life
. She released the knob and turned to rest her back against the door. She was breathing hard, her heart pounding.
I can't run from this either
.

Why
? she argued with herself.

Because I love him.

The thought was startling. Yet it felt right.

"
I love him
, " she whispered.

Still shaky, Emily walked back to the candlelight of the library. Inside, she slowly approached the book, lying harmlessly on its back. She stared at it for a long moment before she had the courage to pick it up.

How can it be true
? she wondered, as she flipped the pages to the center of the book. But as she stared at the sketch of the dark-haired, fanged man, she knew it was true. She knew it in her heart of hearts. Gordon Fraser was a vampire.

"No," she whispered as she sank onto the bottom step of the ladder. Tears filled her eyes. It was true. Everything he had told her was true. And it all made sense. His vast knowledge. His collection of books and artifacts. All true. All real.

Her heart ached for Gordon. How could such a good man deserve such evil?

She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown. So was what Gordon told her that first night at Fraser Castle true? Was there no escape from his damnation?

Emily knew she should be afraid. She knew that she should fear for her life and that of Ruth's, but right now all she could think of was Gordon's life. How horrible it must have been for him to have become what was in this sketch. A man with fangs. A man who must suck the life's blood of others to sustain his own life.

But surely there had to be a cure… an antidote. Wasn't there always a way to reverse a spell or a curse? Just thinking such thoughts made her heart spin. Emily had spent her entire life thinking analytically, rationally. There was no room in her world for fanciful tales or belief in myths.

"There has to be a way," she said, rising. She began to pace, the book open in her palm. "There has to be an answer, Gordon. And it just might be here."

She flipped through several pages.
But Pictish
, she thought. Even if the answer was here, how could she read it? If the answer had been here, wouldn't Gordon have found it centuries ago?

The moment her head began to fill with negative thoughts, she caught herself. She knew from experience that nothing could be solved with pessimism. She had to believe in herself. She had to believe that good conquered evil.

She closed the book and brought it to her chest. She had to believe that the answer was here and that she could find it. She had to believe her love for Gordon could save his soul.

Ruth was the first to appear in the morning to break the fast. When she entered the great hall, Emily was sipping coffee she'd made for herself in the kitchen, and poring over the pages of the vampire book. She'd been up all night.

"Morning," Ruth called cheerily.

It had not escaped Emily that Ruth had been all smiles for more than a week. Nor did it escape her that her companion's cheer had something to do with the fisherman-turned-manservant.

"Good morning," Emily said.

Ruth plopped herself down in a chair across from Emily and poured herself a mug of coffee. "And where were you all last night? Tending to Gordon, I suppose?" She winked. "Keeping him warm and comfortable?"

Emily closed the book. "Ruth, I have to talk to you. About something serious. I found a book last night."

"A book in this place?" She made a face. "Imagine that."

"Ruth. It's a book written in Pictish." She raised it as proof. "It's about vampires."

"Certainly would make for a nice bedtime story, if I read Pictish, of course."

"Ruth, listen to me." Emily took a deep breath. "He really is a vampire."

Ruth burst into laughter, spewing coffee. "He… he…" She couldn't speak for choking.

"It's not funny."

Ruth wiped her mouth then the table with a linen napkin. "Is this something you two lovebirds cooked up last night? Pretty strange bed games if you ask me."

"I'm utterly serious. Look at me." She gestured. "Look at my face. I'm not laughing."

Ruth peered at Emily's face, then laughed again. "You do look serious." A frown creased her brow. "Tell me you're not ill, too."

Emily rose, leaving the book on the dining table. "I'm not ill, but I'm scared."

"Think he'll bite us?" She pulled the necklace she always wore from beneath the collar of her dress. "I don't have a crucifix. Do you think my Star of David will fend him off?"

Emily was suddenly so frustrated she could have screamed. "Just look at the book. Look at it!" She gestured. "The pictures in the center."

Obviously to mollify her, Ruth reached across the table and retrieved the small book. She sipped her coffee as she flipped through the pages. "Pictish, hm? Refresh my memory. What is Pictish?"

"An ancient dead language. The Picts were here before the Celts."

Ruth found the center of the book. "Hey, looks like Fraser Castle."

"Exactly."

"So?" Ruth turned to the last picture and studied the vampire for a moment. "Handsome hound." She tilted her head one way and then the other. "Looks a little like Gordon, don't you think?"

"No. Yes. I suppose so. I don't know, but I don't think he wrote it or drew the sketches." Emily threw up her hands. "All I know is that that's a picture of a vampire and Gordon is one of them."

Ruth set down the book. "That would be a reasonable deduction, dear friend, except for one thing."

Emily rested one hand on her hip. "Being?"

Ruth leaned over, pressing both hands on the table, and spoke slowly. "There are no such things as vampires. "

Emily turned away just as she heard a footfall in the hallway. It was Gordon.

"Good morning to you, ladies," he said brightly, as he entered the great hall.

Emily kept her back to him, trying to gather her wits about her. "Ruth, could you please excuse us?"

"Certainly. I'm to the kitchen to see what my fisherman has in store for today. He thought we might actually go fishing, from the shore, of course."

Emily heard Ruth leave.

Gordon approached Emily from behind. To her surprise, he lowered his hands to her shoulders. "How are you this morning, my—"

She spun around. "I found it."

He drew back. "Found what?"

"The book."

He stared at her with those dark eyes that seemed so familiar to her now, as if she'd known them her entire life instead of just a fortnight. "Which book?"

Emily circumnavigated him and snatched the book off the table. "This one."

Gordon looked startled for a moment. Then a darkness clouded his face. "Give that to me. It's not meant for you."

He reached for the book, but she pulled back.

"It's true, isn't it?" she said softly. "You're a vampire."

"Yes, it's true," he snapped. "What do ye think I've been telling ye for days?"

"Don't you shout at me!" She shook the book at him, taking a step closer to him. "What makes you think you can just walk up to me and declare you're a vampire and have me believe it? This is the nineteenth century! People don't believe in vampires in the nineteenth century, Gordon."

He lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry."

Her heart was breaking. It was true. She could see it in his eyes. She could hear it in his voice. "It's all right," she finally said softly. As she spoke, she reached out and touched his arm. She found no coldness as she feared she might discover. He was still the same Gordon she had come to care for, to love.

He glanced up. "You're not afraid of me?"

"A little. But…"

"But?"

She was lost in his gaze. "But… but I think I love you, Gordon. No." She drew back her hand. "No, I know I love you and even if you don't feel the same—"

"I do," he interrupted. "I have. I have since the first time I saw you here in the room." He glanced at the floor in front of her. "I've said nothing because I felt I had no right. I have nothing to offer. There is no future for us… for me."

Emily could feel her heart fluttering. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hold him tight. Let him hold her tight. But that wasn't how it was to be, was it? They were both too logical. "There could be a future," she said.

He shook his head. "Haven't you heard anything I've said?"

"I want to help you. I want to save you from this curse. I want to make a future possible."

Slowly he lifted his head until his gaze locked with hers. "There is no way to save me."

"The book. It could be in the book." She shook it. "Have you read it?"

"I don't read Pictish. You should put it back. It's not for… mortals. It's mine. Inherited with this house, this damned immortality," he finished bitterly.

"You give up too easily. Come sit down. We'll have something to eat." She walked to the table and he followed. "We'll do this together, Gordon."

He caught her hand and stopped her. "Wouldn't it be better if we spent our last days together doing something else? Something fun. Something we'll… you'll remember the rest of your days."

"Like what?" She sat back in her chair, set down the book, and poured them both coffee. "Books are what we do, Gordon. It is what we enjoy. Sit down." She indicated his chair.

"Yes, madame." He saluted, his mouth twitching with amusement. "Had I known you were going to get militant with me, I'd have dug up that coat of Napoleon's for you."

She glanced over the coffee pot. "
The
Napoleon? You have one of Napoleon's military coats?"

"Aye." He sipped his coffee, frowning. "I think it's in the same box with a pair of your George Washington's pistols. I can't remember just where. It's in one of those crates somewhere in the house."

Emily laughed. She couldn't help herself. Gordon just looked so utterly perplexed. It tickled her to hear him speaking of misplacing Napoleon's coat as others would speak of misplacing a shoe horn. It made him sound so human. It gave her hope.

"Emily, we've less than a week." Gordon paced behind her as she sat hunkered over the
Vampire Book of Rules and Regulations
at the dining table. "Let's go out to the rose garden, or walk along the shore."

She held up one finger. "In a minute." She was trying to separate two pages of the book with a razor blade and was not having much success.

"Not in a minute. Now." He grabbed her hand and tugged.

"Gordon, don't. I'll cut myself."

"Then put down the blade. I've resigned myself to my inevitable fate. Why can't you?"

"Don't talk like that." She removed the glasses she wore when doing intricate work. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was tired. Weary. Afraid. The sands of their hour glass were falling and she was still no closer to finding an antidote. She was sure the answer lay in this book. She just couldn't find it. "I told you, I won't have it."

"I've resigned myself to my death. You need to do the same."

She raised her palm, rising from the chair. "I don't want to hear it, Gordon. I don't want to cloud my thinking with any of your vampire wisdom."

He walked to one of the windows to peer out. "Ye be a stubborn woman, E. Bruce."

She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Somehow in the last week they'd fallen into a very comfortable relationship with each other… almost as man and wife.

He sighed and leaned back. "Look at them."

"Ruth and Angus?"

"Aye." He indicated the window with a nod of his chin. "Outside walking hand in hand. I think they've fallen in love."

Emily smiled, glancing out the window. She rested her cheek on his back. He folded his hand over hers. He felt so warm, so steady. "She's making noises about taking him home to Philadelphia to meet her parents."

"How does she propose to get him there?" he teased. "Hot air balloon? You know Angus will not take a steamer all the way to America. I can't get him to take the steamer to the mainland."

"I don't know. Ruth hasn't said how. She just said Angus would be quite a sight at her father's dining table. I think he's asked her to marry him," she finished wistfully.

"Ah, Emily." Gordon turned to her, wrapping her in his arms. "I wish that I could… that we could—"

"We can."

He kissed the top of her head. "All right. I surrender for the moment. If you say there's an answer in the book and that you can find it, I'll believe you."

She looked up, into his eyes. "You better."

"But…"

"But?"

"But ye must promise me that if, if ye do not find an answer, that ye will take Ruth and leave on the mail steamer that arrives Saturday."

"Gordon—"

"Emily," he said firmly. "Ye must promise me you'll go. Angus can join you. I have a feeling he'd swim across this bay to be with Ruth."

She smiled tenderly. "You're such a romantic."

He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Emily, I haven't kissed ye because I thought it wouldn't be seemly. But—"

"I wish you would."

He lifted one eyebrow. "Kiss ye?"

She smiled. "Aye. Else I'm going to have to be an independent American woman and kiss you first."

"I'll make a bargain with ye. Meet me halfway?"

Emily let her eyes drift shut. She had never been kissed by a man. Never wanted to kiss or be kissed until Gordon.

His mouth met hers with warm, gentle pleasure and she sighed, parting her lips. Their breath mingled. She felt lightheaded, ecstatically happy, dismally sad.

"I love you," he whispered.

The kiss was so innocent. So perfect. But she wanted more. She knew by the way he held her, he wanted more.