Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (40 page)

CHAPTER ONE

LONG ISLAND, SEPTEMBER 1776

“But this is miraculous,” said Dr. Beldon, lifting my bared elbow closer to his large, somewhat bulging eyes. He ran his fingers over the point where the bone break had been. “It’s not possible. There’s not a single sign that you were ever injured.”

Which was of great relief to me. For a time I’d feared I would never recover the full use of my badly broken right arm. Beldon chanced to look in on me this evening just after my waking and had been surprised to see that the sling I’d worn for nearly a week was gone.

“And there is no more discomfort when you move it?”

“None,” I said. Days earlier, Beldon had expressed the unpleasant necessity to re-break the bone so as to properly set it again, but I’d been putting it off. Now I was glad for that procrastination.

His fingers dug a bit more deeply into the muscle. “Make a fist,” he ordered. “Open. Close. Now stretch your arm straight. Twist your hand at the wrist.” Eyes shut, he concentrated on what his touch told him about the movement beneath the flesh. “Amazing. Quite amazing,” he muttered.

“Yes, well, God has been most generous to me of late,” I said with humble sincerity and no small portion of gratitude. Eyes open now, Beldon’s brows went up. “But, Mr. Barrett. . . .”

“You said yourself that it was a miracle,” I reminded him. Our gazes locked. “But I don’t think you need take any notice of it. Should anyone be curious, you may certainly inform them that my arm has healed as you expected.”

He didn’t so much as blink. “Yes. I shall certainly do that.” The only clue that anything was amiss was a slight flatness in his tone and a brief slackening of expression.

“Nothing unusual about it at all,” I emphasized.

“No . . . nothing un . . . .”

I ceased pressing my influence upon him and asked, “Are you finished, Doctor?”

Blink.
He smiled amiably. “Yes, quite finished, Mr. Barrett, and may I express my delight that you are feeling better?”

We exchanged further courtesies, then Beldon finally took his leave. My valet, Jericho, had observed everything from one corner of my room, silent, his dark face sober and aloof yet somehow managing to convey mild disapproval.

“It’s only to spare us all unnecessary bother,” I reminded him, shaking my shirtsleeve down.

“Of course, Mr. Jonathan.” He stepped forward to fasten the cuff.

“Very well, then. It’s to spare
me
unnecessary bother.”

“Is the truth of what’s happened to you so evil?” he asked, helping put on my waistcoat.

“No, but it is wholly unbelievable. And frightening. I’ve been frightened enough for myself; I’ve no wish to inflict that distress upon others.”

“Yet it still exists.”

“But I’m not afraid anymore. Bewildered, perhaps, but—”

“I was speaking of other members of the household.” He held my coat ready. I obediently slipped my arms—both working perfectly—into the sleeves. Then Jericho saw to it that just enough shirt cuff showed at the wrists. He was exceedingly particular about my appearance. I was never allowed out until he was satisfied with regard to my presentability in polite company.

“What other members? Who?”

He made a vague gesture rather akin to a shrug. “In the slave quarters. There are whisperings that a devil has jumped into you.”

“Indeed? For what purpose?” That any creature from the pit might find me worthy of attention or use seemed unlikely. I had considered the possibility at length, as an explanation for my changed state, then dismissed the absurdity.

“That has not yet been decided.”

“Who is it that thinks so?”

His lips uncompromisingly sealed, Jericho busied himself at brushing lint from the shoulders of my coat.

“I hope you have discouraged such idle gossip,” I said, adjusting my neck cloth. It had become rather tight in the last few moments.

“There will be no problems from it. I only mentioned this because you were seen.”

“Doing what?”

“Something . . . extraordinary. The person I spoke to said he saw you . . . flying.”

“Oh.” My belly suddenly churned.

“Of course, no one believed him, but his fear disturbed the more gullible.”

“You hardly surprise me.” One or two of our slaves, not as well educated as Jericho, would certainly be prey to all sorts of midnight imaginings, especially if they’d been listening to fanciful tales before bedtime. But if they had seen something they shouldn’t . . . .

“You do fly, do you not, Mr. Jonathan?” Jericho’s face was utterly expressionless.

I gulped to keep my voice steady. “Well, if I could—what of it?”

There was a lengthy pause before he replied. “Then I would suggest that you be considerably more discreet about it.”

My belly ceased churning and went stone still. “You . . . you’ve seen me?”

“Yes.”

Oh, dear.

He stopped brushing at lint and turned his attention to the shelves in my already orderly wardrobe.

“You seem to have taken it rather calmly.”

“I assure you, I was most disturbed when I saw you floating over the treetops yesterday evening . . . .”

“But . . . ?”

“But you looked happy,” he admitted. “I concluded that anything capable of giving such joy must not be a bad thing. Besides,
my bomba
has told me tales of his childhood about men turning themselves into animals. If a man can learn the magic to become a lion or a bird, then why can a man not learn the magic to fly?”

“This is not magic, Jericho.”
At least, I didn’t
THINK
so.

“Are you so sure? Then what is it that turns a tiny seed into a tree? Is that not a kind of magic?”

“Now you’re speaking of science, of philosophy.”

He shook his head. “I speak only of what’s been said. If I choose to ascribe all that has happened to you to magic, then it is magic.”

“Or superstition.”

“That comes in only when one is afraid or ignorant. I am neither, but I have adopted an explanation that is . . . tolerable to me.”

“Maybe I should adopt it for myself, as well. Nothing else I’ve considered has come close to accounting for things so handily. Especially things like this.” I touched my miraculously healed arm.

“And this?” he asked, his hand hovering over a small mirror that lay face down on one of the shelves.

“Yes, that, too. You can get rid of it, y’know.” Since my change, I’d found that particular item of vanity to be singularly useless, not to mention unsettling. It had given me a sharp turn the first time I’d looked into a mirror and not seen a damned thing except the room where I
should
have been. I’d briefly and irrationally worried that that was what I’d become: “a damned thing,” hence the question of demonic intrusion into my life. My father and I discussed it thoroughly, for I was upset at the time, but we’d been unable to explain the phenomenon. Perhaps Jericho was right and it was magic.

“As you wish,” he said, tucking the offending glass into a pocket. “Does Mr. Barrett know about the flying? Or Miss Elizabeth?”

“Not yet.” How to explain
that
to Father and my sister was not a task I’d put much thought into. “I’ll tell them about it later. The news won’t grow stale for waiting. And I promise to take your advice and be more discreet.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

After a moment, I added, somewhat shyly, “It’s . . . not really flying, y’ know.”

He waited for me to go on.

“I sort of float upon the air like a leaf. But I can move against the wind or with it as I choose.”

He thought that over for a long time. “What is it like?”

A grin, then a soft laugh bubbled right out of me. “It’s absolutely wonderful!”

* * *

Indeed it was. Last night I’d done the impossible and broken away from the grasp of the earth to soar in the sky freer than any bird. It was surely the most remarkable portion of the legacy I’d come into since my . . . well . . . death.

Or rather, my
change.

The details of that particular story—of my violent murder and escape from the grave—have been recounted elsewhere. Let it suffice for now that upon my return, I soon discovered I’d acquired the same characteristics that governed the waking life of a certain Miss Nora Jones, a lady with whom I had shared an intimate liaison.

Liaison. Such a scandalous word, implying secrets and intrigues.

How accurate, too. The lady’s life had swarmed with secrets, her very existence maintained by constant and ongoing intrigues. Nothing truly hurtful, for she had the kindest of hearts, but not the sorts of things a gentleman is inclined to speak of openly.

But the truth of it is I’d been quite deliriously in love with her and still was, and love is most forgiving, turning large faults into small eccentricities. At the time I’d been certain she returned those feelings in kind, that she loved me just as much. My certitude was less robust now, because of her treatment of me during our last days together. She had dealt with me as I had with poor Beldon, using a strange kind of influence that caused me to forget all that was important between us. I was slowly approaching the belief that she’d done it to spare me undue sorrow when we finally parted. Had she known those memories would come bounding back after
my
astonishing resurrection? Had she anticipated any of it?

If she had loved me, then her passion inspired her to bestow upon me a most strange legacy, the peculiar aspects of which I was still attempting to grasp.

Her dark gift manifested after my death, somehow changed me, enabled me to forsake whatever lay beyond the veil and return to walk the earth, a living man, yet not wholly alive.

Like Nora, I was now able to influence the minds and thoughts of anyone around me, thus allowing a resumption of life with my family almost as though no calamity had ever happened. Because of my ability to influence, the curiosity of poor Dr. Beldon, along with many others, would go forever unfulfilled.

In addition to that, ill luck and chance had revealed to me the secret of how to heal swiftly and completely. Linked to it was the ability to fly . . . so to speak. Though I’d never actually witnessed Nora indulging in such a pursuit, I had no doubt that she was capable of doing it, since my own condition so completely replicated her own.

I was also unable to bear sunlight, which might be considered a heavy burden, but for the fact that my eyes were so improved. The night had become my day; the stars and moon my welcome companions in the sky. When the sun was up, I slept—or tried to; I had dire difficulties there, but more on that later.

My strength was that of a young Hercules, and my other senses enjoyed similar improvements. Each evening I discovered a new delight to the ear, a fresh appreciation of touch, and, though I was not required to breathe regularly unless I chose to speak, I could pick out and identify a scent almost as well as one of our hunting hounds. Taste had also undergone significant alteration, though I no longer exercised it upon what was considered normal provender.

For, like Nora, I had come to subsist solely upon
blood
for my sustenance.

But again, more on that later.

* * *

“What are you writing, little brother?” asked Elizabeth, peering across the library as she walked in from the adjoining music room. Her nightly practice at the spinet was ended, but I’d been so absorbed in my task that I’d not noticed the silence settle upon the house.

“A letter to Cousin Oliver,” I replied, glancing up. It was a mild September, too soon to commence the general use of the fireplaces, but she’d draped a shawl about her shoulders. There was no chill in the air that I could perceive, but Elizabeth, like many of her sex, was sensitive to the cold. Come the winter she would wrap herself like a Russian princess and practically live by the fire.

She drifted toward the cold fireplace, as if memory of its warmth might return. Hanging above the mantel was a portrait of our mother when she was about Elizabeth’s age. I could not help but notice that in this light at least, they bore a marked resemblance to each other with their milky skin and dark hair. Elizabeth would not thank me for the association. Mother was a brusque, impossible person to get along with on her best days, and Elizabeth’s relationship with her was especially difficult. Tonight had been rather peaceful, though; they’d not exchanged two words.

The early part of the evening passed pleasantly enough amid familial congratulations on my recovery. Diverting attention from myself, I had given all the credit to Dr. Beldon, much to his enjoyment. Father and Elizabeth, who, along with Jericho, knew the full truth about my changed nature, required a more detailed account, which I’d promised, but had yet to provide. By subtle gesture and with a well placed word or two, I gave them to understand that my healing was connected to my change, and thus not a topic for general discussion. We quietly arranged to talk later. As I had no interest in Mother’s card game and was too restless to read, I’d taken sanctuary in the library to deal with some necessary correspondence.