Flight of the Crow (5 page)

She felt like there was no amount of preparation for this ritual that would suffice, but had to be satisfied with what she'd done. She'd just finished wrapping the veil around her body when the knocker on the door sounded. It echoed through the house like a death knell. She knew Fingle would escort Lazarus to the morning room so she went to fetch Quinn. He'd already left his room so she went into the nursery to get Fenix.

The baby was deeply asleep. Bryn stared down at her sleeping sister. Fear so profound she felt dizzy washed over her. What if she was making a terrible mistake? Tears filled her eyes as Fenix sucked her tiny thumb while sleeping. Her red-gold hair was a cap of curls framing her perfect face. Her skin was porcelain traced with delicate blue veins. Bryn touched the soft curls with the flat of her hand, stroking them lightly. Fenix smiled around the thumb and her rosebud mouth twitched.

Bryn took a deep shuddering breath and lifted her sister, wrapping her in the gold silk coverlet she'd slept under while a babe since they'd lived in Rome under the rule of the Medici. She carried Fenix down the narrow staircase into the morning room where she found Quinn standing like a thundercloud over Lazarus and a nun. The nun's face held a familiar note but Bryn could not place her. From her habit, with its white wimple, white collar and black gown, Bryn knew she was of the order of St. Madeleine. She'd drawn her purple cape close about her and sat huddled in a chair next to Lazarus. Every few minutes she would glance at Lazarus with such a look of love and devotion, Bryn's stomach lurched. What had he done to seduce this young nun to the dark side?

Lazarus wore a black velvet suit popular in the early part of the century. White lace foamed at his collar and cuffs. His shoes sported enormous silver buckles and a gold chain hung around his neck with an enormous ruby pendant.

Quinn gave her no time to wonder about the nun. He grabbed her arm. “He says I am not allowed to see or participate in his oh-so-secret ritual.”

Bryn sighed and gently removed his hand. “Then you shall not. I am committed to this course of action and cannot draw back now.”

She glanced at the black slate clock on the mantel. It was ten minutes to midnight. Lazarus saw where she was looking and his thin lips turned up in an evil leer. “Ready, my dear?”

Bryn shrugged and clutched Fenix tighter. “As I will ever be.”

“Then let us go to the roof.” He held his hand out to the nun. “This is Sister Mary Francis of the Order of
les Madeleine's.
She will assist me.”

Bryn shuddered. Whatever Lazarus had in mind for the nun could not be good. She hesitated, almost ready to call off the entire thing, but knew Lazarus would do whatever he had planned for the nun even if she stopped the ritual. Sister Mary Francis was doomed.

Quinn protested one more time. “You need me up there to protect you,” he hissed into her ear.

“There is nothing you can do to protect me from him,” she said in an under voice. “If he wishes me harm, I will suffer. But remember, I cannot die. Either wait here or in your chamber. I will come to you when it is over.”

He let go of her. His face reflected gross distaste when he glanced at Lazarus. The vampire grinned at him showing his fangs. Bryn had to lay an admonishing hand on his arm to stop him from lunging at Lazarus. “You are mortal,” she said. “You, he can kill. Please do as I say.”

“I love you,” he said as he shot Lazarus a glare from under thunderous brows.

She patted his hand. “And I you.” She turned to Lazarus. “Is there anything you need to perform this sacrament?”

“A brazier, if you have one.”

She pointed to Fingle and he nodded. “So it shall be.”

She led the way to the third floor where she opened the garret door. The third floor of the house was old attic space with a sloping low ceiling. It was filled with forgotten furniture, leather trunks and wooden crates. She stepped around them to access the circular staircase to the roof through a low door, ducking her head to pass through. At the top of the steps, she opened yet another door and stepped onto a balcony built onto the back of the roof. It was meant for moonlight dinners and romantic evenings. Tonight, it would be used for quite another purpose.

Fingle was the last to emerge onto the roof. He carried a brass brazier supported by long brass legs. He set it up in the middle of the terrace and backed away to stand behind Bryn.

“Tell your dog to leave,” Lazarus snarled.

“I say he stays. You have your support.” She indicated Sister Mary Francis. “I will have mine.”

Lazarus narrowed his eyes. “Very well. He is a powerless creature anyway.”

He pulled a small bag out from under his robe and dumped its contents into the brazier. It ignited at the point of his finger sending off a rancid scent that made Bryn gag. Drawing the nun close, he pushed her purple cloak off. It puddled at her feet and Bryn saw a red stain on her white collar. Lazarus had already fed from her. She was ensorcelled, completely under his power.

“Is she a willing participant in this?” Bryn demanded. She would not suffer this young woman to be used without her consent.

“She came to me quite willingly, begging me to take her. In fact, when she discovered I am Lazarus, she became my slave. But what right have you to question my methods? I am doing you a great service. We are actually exchanging services. You have skills I need and I have this small talent you need.”

Bryn closed her eyes. “Just do it.”

Fenix seemed to sense her unease and began fussing. Her golden eyes filled with precious tears like crystalline drops gleaming in the moonlight. Lazarus removed a long shroud from another pocket in his robe. “Wrap the child in this.”

Bryn took it. The gauzy linen felt ancient in her hands, the fabric crackling like dry leaves. The threads were stiff with blood in places. She handled it carefully, terrified it would crumble to dust. This had to be the shroud Lazarus had been buried in. “This was yours, wasn't it?”

He nodded and waved his hand for Bryn to continue.

When the shroud was wrapped around Fenix, she looked at Lazarus. He had pushed the nun's wimple and headdress off and Bryn was startled by the resemblance to Fenix as she had appeared when she was an adult. She could only wonder if it was intentional. The expression of trust and devotion in her face as she stared at Lazarus had never been on Fenix's face. Her light brown eyes were not the true gold of Fenix's, but were wide open as she stood quietly for Lazarus while he removed her habit. When the nun stood in her old-fashioned pantalettes and chemise, Lazarus held out his hands and took Fenix from Bryn.

Bryn's throat closed as she handed her sister to Lazarus. She didn't trust him and handing the baby over took all of her willpower. Lazarus held Fenix in the reeking, oily smoke issuing from the brazier and chanted in a strange language Bryn did not recognize. She clutched Fingle's forearm, held her breath and swallowed a flood of bile.

Lazarus's face reflected extreme concentration. This ritual was not easily accomplished. He took the nun's habit and draped it over Fenix. The baby lay unnaturally quiet under the shroud and the robe. Lazarus took a small poniard out of his sleeve and stabbed the vein in his wrist. Thick, black blood dripped slowly from the wound onto the robe and shroud covering Fenix. When the blood hit the robe it smoked and Fenix began screaming.

The baby's shrill cries ate into Bryn's ears. She clutched Fingle's arm tighter as more blood dripped onto the baby. The smoke from the blood gathered into a solid black mass and spread to cover Fenix in a roiling, churning cloud so thick Bryn couldn't see her. The baby's screams intensified until Bryn was ready to yank her sister into her arms. Fingle must have felt her intention from the tension in her grip and grabbed her shoulders to keep her from doing it. She struggled in his grasp as the cloud around Fenix spread and the amount of pooling blood seemed enormous. The fluid spread across the decking an evil blue glowing in the moonlight.

The nun's face grew paler and paler as the blood from Lazarus's wrist dripped out in a steady flow. Somehow, the vampire was draining her life force without even touching her. His face remained intent as he continued chanting in the strange language. The words suddenly began to appear in the air above Fenix. Each word was silver and sparkled. They were solid for a moment and then dissolved into sparkling dust which spread across the cloud of smoke making the entire cloud shimmer as though covered with fairy dust.

Fenix's screams stopped and tears flowed from Bryn's eyes. Her heart felt like it was climbing out of her mouth. When she glanced at the nun, she gasped. The woman seemed to be fading into thin air. Her form was almost transparent as she sank into herself. She grew paler and paler until Bryn could see the balcony's railing through her. Her expression never changed. She continued to stare at Lazarus with trust in her eyes as the cloud over the baby grew. When she suddenly disappeared, Bryn screamed and Lazarus stumbled and wavered. He made the sign of the cross over the thick swirling silvery cloud surrounding Fenix.

Lazarus stepped away from the cloud as it slowly dissipated. Bryn saw movement in the cloud and moaned. A slim hand shot out of the cloud. Bryn grabbed it and pulled. Her sister slowly emerged from the fog wearing the nun's purple cloak. She looked to be around twenty. Her golden eyes sparkled as she shook out her mane of red gold hair. She smiled, a crooked grin Bryn easily recognized, and spoke. “Dearest sister, where on earth have I been?”

Draak Priest slipped down a dark alley off the
rue de la Victoire
, avoided an overflowing trash container, jumped a puddle of disgusting water and shook out the long robe of his cassock. As he strolled by three Parisian street walkers smoking thin cigarettes, he made the sign of the cross and passed them by. They were grouped under a gas light probably believing there was safety in numbers. They were right in that, he didn't wish to pluck one bird from a group. He wanted a solitary woman, maybe one not so pretty, who needed money badly enough to follow him back to his apartment close to Saint-Sulpice Church and the entrance into the catacombs.

He kept strolling, finally spotting likely prey. A young woman dressed like a street walker leaned against an old building. He slid into the shadows and watched as she lifted her skirt and took something out of the garter holding her left stocking. It was a purse. She counted the coins in it, made a sad face, and replaced it. She had an amazing mane of red-gold hair and desperation oozed from her. She was perfect.

He did not question why she was in an isolated place. Often one whore would be ostracized for having no pimp to protect her or maybe for stealing a customer or even for not paying enough respect to the queens on the block.

With one look down the dark alley to make sure he was not seen, he advanced on the woman. When he got close, he saw she was very young, maybe new to the profession. He lifted a finger and she came across the street to him, tripping on the rough cobblestones. She caught herself, stumbled to her feet and brushed dirt off the torn knee of her stocking. He smiled and took her arm. She looked into his eyes and nodded.

He led her through a maze of filthy alleys finally emerging on
rue de Seine
in front of a six-story building. He glanced once down the block, saw nothing and ushered the young woman through the door and into the dark stairwell. Once in his rooms on the third floor, he shut the door, locked it and covered the whore's mouth with his hand. Her eyes were dark and wide with fear as he gagged her and bound her. She struggled briefly and he quieted her with a wave of his hand, whispering into her ear as she fell against him. “Hush, my dove. Soon you will be with God. I will make sure you receive the last rites.”

He tossed her limp form onto the bed and went to the window. The lights of Saint Sulpice glowed in the distance. He smiled and drew the curtains.

* * * *

Lazarus folded his arms and drew his velvet cloak tightly around his thin form. “You have your sister. I will expect delivery of my dagger by the next full moon. Failure to steal it will result in grave repercussions, my dear. I advise you to work earnestly on my behalf as I have done on yours.”

Fenix huddled close to Bryn. Her eyes were wide as they followed Lazarus to the first floor. He turned before he left and lifted a sculpted eyebrow. “I shall be here on the first day of the full moon to collect my property.”

Bryn nodded. “That's only three days from now.”

“Are you trying to back out?”

“I wish you had told me this sooner.”

“Tut, tut, my dear. You can either do this thing or you can't. An extended amount of time is not going to help you and besides, Priest plans to use it on the full moon. I would love to thwart his plans, but even if you fail, he will disappear after he performs his ritual and we shall never recover my possession.”

“You shall have it,” Bryn snapped, but in her heart she was panicking. How could she get the dagger in only three days? It would take a miracle.

Lazarus bowed to her one more time, spun in a swirl of robes and followed Fingle out.

When he was gone, Bryn let out a long breath and grabbed Fenix in a crushing embrace. “Oh, how I've missed you.”

Her sister briefly returned the hug and then pushed her away. “What did you promise?”

“Come sit with me,” Bryn said. “Are you tired, hungry or thirsty?”

She drew Fenix to a chair by the fire and urged her to sit. Fenix drew the nun's purple robe close. “Where are my clothes? Did you bring them?”

“Yes, they are upstairs. Are you feeling well? Do you remember New Orleans?”

Fenix leaned forward with a sly smile on her face. “I remember everything.”

Bryn's eyes flew open. This was the first time Fenix had carried her memories from one incarnation to the next. That she could remember was startling and wonderful. “Then Lazarus made good on his promises.”