Curse of the Nandi (Society for Paranormals Book 5) (23 page)

“Proud,” Mr. Timmons at once replied as I hurried into the room. “You ought to be proud of your daughter.”

I leaned over to check the fallen man’s pulse. While the narcotic I utilized was generally safe, there were always those few unfortunate souls who experienced an adverse reaction that caused the cessation of the heartbeat. Dr. Spurrier was not one of those.

“Well, I’d always hoped my children would be accomplished,” Father said as he and Mr. Timmons strolled over to the window while I removed the dart and returned it into my stick. “I’d just assumed that would include such attainments as playing piano or writing a novel, or…”

“Overrated,” Mr. Timmons interrupted. “Not to mention those are only fit for providing a bit of entertainment. Your daughter’s skills on the other hand are rare and very useful. As is your son’s, for how many a parent can boast that their child can transform into a bat?”

I spun about to face them. “What would be very useful and just as rare is if you two natterers would stop your chitchat and assist me. This big lug isn’t going to move himself.”

“Did she just refer to us as
natterers
?” Father asked, his fingers brushing the windowsill as he peered up at Mr. Timmons.

“She did indeed,” Mr. Timmons said. “You’ll need to accustom yourself to your daughter’s propensity for name calling, not to mention breaking into houses and stealing items.”

“Since when have I stolen?” I demanded, put out by the implication that I was involved in such thuggery.

“The chloroform.”

“I didn’t steal that from Dr. Cricket,” I reminded him with a huff as I heaved the officer onto his back. He promptly began snoring, his thick lips flapping with each noisy exhale. “I simply refused to untie him until he agreed to provide it for me.”

“Who tied up the unfortunate man?” Father asked as he became very still in anticipation of the answer.

“Her previous husband,” Mr. Timmons jovially replied.

“Goodness me.”

“Gentlemen,” I said. “If you have finished with your bantering, I’d be eternally grateful for your assistance.”

“Eternally is a long time,” Mr. Timmons noted as Father vaulted through the window with enviable and effortless grace.

“It’ll be even longer for you if you don’t hurry it up,” I said.

We stood around the comatose form of Dr. Spurrier who was to all appearances enjoying a deep sleep, albeit on the wooden floor.

“Do we leave him here?” I glanced around. “He might fit in the trunk once we remove the clothes packed in there.”

“My adorable kitten,” Dr. Spurrier mumbled in between snoring.

“To whom could he possibly be referring?” Mr. Timmons asked.

“Certainly not me, I hope,” I said.

“Perhaps he owns a cat. Did that not occur to either of you?” Father asked while glancing about for the nonexistent cat.

“That’s an unlikely story,” I said as Mr. Timmons replied to the negative.

“Come here, my kitty, tell me how much you adore my…” Dr. Spurrier said, his last word mercifully drowned in a raucous snore.

“I thought those darts knocked a person out cold,” Mr. Timmons said, amused by the Medical Officer’s commentary, in stark contrast to Father, who was as equally appalled by it.

“His girth is rather substantial,” I pointed out, “so perhaps the drug has more area to travel.” I lifted the lid of the trunk and eyed the space therein. “I’m not sure he’d fit, unless we flattened him considerably, or cut off a few limbs.”

Father frowned while Mr. Timmons chuckled.

“There’s nothing for it then but to carry him away,” I hastily added for Father’s sake, as I didn’t wish to be subjected to his disapproval. It was, I mused, an unusual reaction from a vampire, most of whom had little compunction at engaging in nefarious activities, and wouldn’t think twice about stuffing a person into a cavity too small to accommodate the body.

Dr. Spurrier hugged himself and smiled in a ghastly manner, his pasty white face sickly against the wood beneath him.

“He called this upon himself,” Mr. Timmons said to Father, in way of reassurance. “We did try to warn him.”

“About the Plague, yes, but not about being drugged and kidnaped and then impersonated,” Father said as he cast a pitying glance at our victim.

“If it would make you feel better, you’re welcome to take a sip,” Mr. Timmons said, smirking.

“Simon,” I admonished him while suppressing my own smile. “Let’s get on with it then. That would be your cue, dear.”

Mr. Timmons lowered himself to one knee, as if presenting himself to the Queen to receive Knighthood. That was an unlikely event, and I shook my head at the imagery I’d conjured at the sight. After all the shenanigans he’d been involved with, I could better imagine him presenting his neck to the executioner. Instead, I banished my imagination for a moment and focused on the scene.

With a hand hovering above Dr. Spurrier’s ample stomach, Mr. Timmons closed his eyes. Only when I squinted could I see an interaction occurring between the two men’s energy fields. Mr. Timmons’ energy seemed to be drawing the other into itself, absorbing colors and textures.

“Don’t drain him,” I warned. “Unless you wish to impersonate him for a long time to come.”

“I shudder at the thought,” Mr. Timmons said and he did indeed seem repulsed by the very notion. After another minute of silence, he stood and shook his hand out as if to flick away some bit of dirt. “I really have to wonder where Her Majesty finds such nasty characters.”

“I can’t imagine there’s a long line of volunteers willing to relocate to Africa,” Father remarked, gazing at Mr. Timmons in morbid fascination as my husband’s face began to grow pale and round.

“What’s not to love here?” I asked. “The heat, the dust, the insects, the wildlife, and all of it out to kill or consume you. It does keep one on one’s toes.”

“I prefer to be on my feet, if you don’t mind,” Father said, but in an absentminded fashion, for all his attention was fixed rigidly upon the face of a second Dr. Spurrier who was standing next to the comatose body of the first.

The body remained that of Mr. Timmons, and I could only assume he hadn’t completely changed because his clothes would all pop off if forced around the doctor’s substantial form. So the big, round, pale, blubbery face sat upon a broad, muscular set of shoulders, presenting a disconcerting vision that I hoped I could expunge from my mind as soon as this sorry business was completed.

“I’ll find you a set of his clothes to wear,” I said as I peered into the trunk and began thumbing through the selection. “You two figure out what to do with him.”

“I rather fancy your initial idea of stuffing him in the trunk,” Mr. Timmons said in the higher voice of Dr. Spurrier.

Still focusing on my task, I shuddered, for I found the doctor’s clothing selection to be rather lacking in terms of taste and fashion. Having spent enough time with Lilly, I had absorbed some of her fascination with matching colors and properly hemmed cuffs, an interest that the Medical Officer clearly did not share.

“The poor man will be a trifle uncomfortable, won’t he?” asked Father.

I pulled out the best that I could find and flung the items on the bed. “He’ll sleep through most of it, I imagine,” I said and gazed about the room. “I believe a better option is that wardrobe.” So saying, I went over and opened the doors. A few jackets were hung inside. “It’ll be a bit snug but if we prop him just so, he should fit. I can’t see where else we can store him without being observed.”

That decided, the two men set about heaving the corpulent doctor into his new accommodation. Floppy limbs seemed to catch on every possible obstacle, but they finally succeeded.

“When should I make the announcement?” Mr. Timmons asked while leaning against the wardrobe doors until they clicked shut.

“Before sunrise, when the workers normally depart the camp,” I said. “Inform the troops that are garrisoned here to assist you in locking down the area. Dr. Ribeiro will then identify the Plague victims, all of whom will be quarantined under armed guard. That’s the only way we’ll be able to prevent people from running off.” I glanced at my watch; we still had a few hours before sunrise.

“And he’ll last until then?” Father asked, his eyebrows furrowed in a manner so reminiscent of Tiberius that I wished my brother were here as well.

“I’ve never seen anyone recover from that particular narcotic in less than twelve hours,” I said. “There shouldn’t be any problem at all.”

And on that note, we left my husband with a set of unfashionable clothes and a mission: to stop the Plague.

Chapter 26

Although I was famished and wouldn’t have minded in the least bit stopping in the dining room for breakfast, I could see Father eyeing the sky. Although there were still a few hours remaining of the night, sunrise was a sudden affair on the African Savannah and he still hadn’t eaten. We managed to slip down the stairs and out the door with no one the wiser. On reconsideration, I was grateful we were departing, for the hunters were far too boisterous for my liking, gloating about the number of gazelle and lion they would shoot that day.

“Wouldn’t it be a fine thing if we could arm the lions,” I said, hoping that my were-lion friends were far away. I would’ve been far less fierce in my condemnation of the men if I’d had a pot of tea before me. It was rather difficult to be fierce while sipping that delightful beverage, or at least so I’ve found.

Father said nothing as we mounted our horses and set off for home. The horses clopped along, stirring up dust that smelled of dried herbs and dung. Their hooves and the distant rustling in the tall, dry grass provided a soft accompaniment to our discourse.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said.

“The Maasai,” he promptly replied to my unasked question.

“What?”

“The Maasai supply me with blood,” he elaborated, smiling. “They take it from their cows. Did you know their traditional drink is a mix of cow milk and blood?”

I stifled my initial reaction, for I didn’t wish to offend him with any indication of disgust at that diet. “Well, I’m glad to know it.”

His smile sagged under a heavy sigh. “I oftentimes marvel that I of all people should be a vampire.”

As I’d never had the opportunity to inquire from a vampire what his or her sentiments were on the dramatic change in lifestyle, I asked, “How so?”

“I was never drawn to the sort of violent distractions so many of my peers engaged in,” he said. “Be it duels, hunting or riding off to war, I detested it all, for I loathed to inflict any sort of suffering on another being. How ironic then that I became the epitome of everything I had avoided.”

He laughed, a mirthless sound that was swallowed up by the cacophony of the insects’ chorus. “I’ve contemplated on more than one occasion walking into the sunrise and letting what will be, be. But then, I had reasons to survive.” He glanced at her. “So I only take from willing humans or from animals. All of my sources walk away from the experience.”

“I am most relieved to hear it,” I said with more force than I intended. But shouldn’t I be grateful that my father wasn’t a bloodthirsty monster of the night? We said little else of consequence after that, each mulling over our own private thoughts.

Upon reaching the Hardinge house, Father retreated to his darkened room, while I paced around the kitchen in my cottage, sipping tea and waiting for the sun to rise, for I couldn’t find it in me to calm down sufficiently to sleep. Jonas had thoughtfully lit a small fire in the fireplace and a large kettle steamed happily above the flames. I was grateful he had, for nothing quite declares homey cheer as well as a cozy fire does.

“Will this work, Gideon?” I asked as he materialized through the wall. I didn’t bother lecturing him about the inappropriateness of walking through solid objects. It seems that death robs one not only of a beating heart but also of a set of manners.

He shrugged, not overly concerned either way. “What else could you do?”

“Take up the Adze on their offer,” I said, a little too promptly for good taste. “They would have been very efficient and effective at it, I’m sure.”

“Yes, and entertaining at that,” he said, pretending to lean against the wall. “A triple ‘E’” At my puzzled expression, he clucked his tongue and added, “Efficient, effective and…”