One With the Shadows (10 page)

He pulled away. The vibrations that battered at Kate’s psyche ramped down a notch. But he didn’t let the barmaid go. She swooned in his arms, her eyelids fluttering.

“You have a secret charm every man values,” he whispered. “Know that. Be sure of it. They will come to you because of it. And one day you will find one who worships you, in a place and time that will surprise you. Know this, and be sure of yourself.”

What? Kate straightened, frowning.

He set the girl on her feet. She looked dazed, but happy. No. She looked … sure.

“Go,” he whispered.

She turned to the door. Kate was about to step aside and run down the hall, when she saw it. Two tiny rivulets of blood trickled down side of the girl’s neck from twin wounds. Bites?

“Wait!” he whispered. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, the embroidered initials clearly visible.
GVU.
He gently wiped her throat and then tied the snowy cloth around her neck. “A souvenir,” he murmured. “Wear it for the next few days.”

The smile that lit the girl’s face was genuine. “When will I see you?”

His expression was wistful. “You will not, mi amante. I am only a passing shadow on your life. But a grateful one.”

The barmaid came to herself. “I should think so,” she said archly. “Perhaps we will play together again if you pass this way.”

Kate was confused. What had just happened? She melted into the shadows of the doorway opposite as the girl exited the room. Kate followed her silently down before Urbano could appear. She had expected to see seduction, even a quasi-rape. Is that what she had seen? His tenderness with the girl … his gentle encouragement … That didn’t seem like rape. And what, for God’s sake, were those wounds on the girl’s neck?

Had he …
bitten
her?

Of course not. A man’s bite would be a semicircle of even marks. Bruises perhaps, but they wouldn’t puncture the skin like that. To break the skin would require something sharp. The girl must have been bitten by some insect or animal. His kisses had just opened the wounds.

Hadn’t they?

*   *   *

Kate was even more tired than hungry. She meant to remain rigidly awake in case Urbano joined her in the carriage. She had questions. But did she? What would she ask?

Some things were niggling at her mind. The wounds in the girl’s neck, the strength of Elyta, her red eyes, the way Urbano slipped up on one without anyone seeing him, the fact that Elyta, Urbano, and the man from whom she had stolen the stone all seemed to be related by their scent, their vibrating energy …

And there was something about the story of his mother …

But it wouldn’t come together. If he joined her, she wouldn’t know what to say to him. That she was uneasy? He wanted to have that effect on women. And she wasn’t about to give him any kind of satisfaction.

But then, he did not join her.
That is a relief,
she told herself. And she was so tired. She’d slept only a few hours at his house in Rome. Fighting off Elyta unsuccessfully, the fire, the tension of the carriage ride with Urbano, all had taken their toll. Before she knew what she was doing, she laid herself out on the comfortable upholstery of the carriage.

What did Urbano want with a stone you couldn’t cut down and sell? It must cost a pretty penny to keep that town house and staff, to buy his servants cottages for their retirement … Didn’t men like him always need money? Perhaps he wanted to give it to a “patroness” to curry favor. Somewhere between fussing about Urbano’s patroness and her general dislike of men like him, she slipped off into oblivion, dead to the world.

She only woke when the carriage door opened. She sat up, disoriented. Once again she hadn’t even noticed when the rocking movement stopped. Urbano swung himself up and into the corner of the carriage, and peremptorily pulled the blinds.

“Am I not allowed a stop?” she asked, querulous with sleep.

“Soon,” he said shortly. “There is no inn hereabouts.”

“Where are we?” She felt rumpled. Her mouth was dry and coated with dust.

“Very near Montalcino. A mile or two. I can see the towers on the hill. We can stop there to break your fast and change your clothing, or you can wait for Siena.”

“I can
not
wait for Siena.”

He paused. “I can get out if you would like to use the chamber pot under the seat.”

“No,” she said shortly. She would not make him get out in the sunrise. The pale light was leaking in around the shades already. She could wait a mile or two. Wait! “Montalcino? But that isn’t on the route to Florence.” A little tendril of fear wound round her.

“No. But then, the direct route would be easier to follow.”

“You think she might follow us?” She might be uneasy about Urbano, but she was actually frightened of Elyta.

He nodded. “She wants the stone.”

Kate shook her head. “I wonder why she would be so persistent. I mean, it’s beautiful, but really too big to wear, and of course it’s hugely valuable, but one can’t sell it as it is … oh.” Kate felt stupid. “It isn’t because it’s beautiful or worth a lot of money, is it?”

“No.”

“It’s because it drives people mad?” She still could hardly credit that. It hadn’t driven her mad. But the stone cutter … Perhaps it didn’t affect the owner of the stone.

He nodded in the darkness.

What could one do with a stone like that? Have revenge on one’s enemies, or on important people? “How … how does it do that?”

He paused as if considering what to tell her. “Some say it tells all possible futures. The human brain cannot accept the myriad possibilities, and just … shuts down.”

That was actually very like her first experience with it. She remembered those flashing scales that grew into little scenes, going by so fast one couldn’t quite comprehend them and then … then she might have had a vision of the future, where she saw Urbano run into a burning building. Had the stone provoked her vision? No. “Stones don’t tell all possible futures,” she managed to scoff. The carriage began to head up a long rise. “No one knows the future.” Of that she was a little less certain these days. She hoped her voice didn’t show it.

“Then what drove the jeweler mad?” he asked softly.

“I … I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Well, well. Then there are some things that cannot be explained, Lady Charlatan, by what one can see and what one can touch.”

That had her.

“Montalcino, signore,” Luigi called. “Shall I stop?”

“Si, Luigi. All’Osteria de Quattro Fiumi.”

“Luigi must be terribly tired. Shouldn’t he rest?”

“I drove through the night while he dozed beside me. Adolpho rode inside with you. And to answer your next question, we stopped three times last night to change horses, so they are not being mistreated either. I know that disappoints you. You like to think the worst.”

“I’m a realist.” Was all that true?

He seemed to guess her thoughts. “You slept through everything.”

“I was … tired.” The carriage now clattered through narrow cobbled streets.

“I should think you would be. Here we are. You may wish to freshen up.” The carriage rolled to a stop. Adolpho opened the door. Urbano didn’t even speak sharply to him for letting in light. He merely squinted painfully and thrust himself farther into his corner.

Very well,
she thought crossly
. So he’s considerate to his servants, to his horses, and to me. That doesn’t mean there isn’t something strange about him.

The young postboy handed her down from the carriage with a bow.

“Take in her trunk,” Urbano ordered. “Don’t dawdle.” He pulled the carriage door shut.

Kate stalked across the early-morning piazza. Women were already queued up at the well in its center to get their morning water. Around her were arched stone houses and shops. Several carriages lined the edges of the little piazza. Towers thrust up everywhere around the town. Eleven, fifteen—there were dozens of them.

“Signorina,” Luigi called. He and Adolpho carried a leather-covered trunk between them. She hurried after them.

Luigi bespoke a room. He and the proprietor carried up the trunk and left her alone to her ablutions. Three maids soon arrived with buckets of water for a bath set near a coal fire. No matter how he got his money, she could not regret that Urbano was prone to spend it on luxury. She sank into the hot water gratefully. As the last maid went out the door, Kate glimpsed her lying in a bed, a bloody child in her arms. It was not dead though, thank God. It was screaming in protest. The maid was weeping and crooning to it. The moment was one of extreme joy. The maid had thought that she could never give her husband a child; but here was a boy, healthy and screaming in her arms. The girl felt fulfilled. She herself was in pain, but she didn’t mind that. A man bent over her, murmuring endearments, and kissed her.

Bloody hell. Another of these blasted glimpses into … into nothing! This was
not
that girl’s future. This was wishful thinking because Kate herself would never have a child. Enough. She was
not
going to have these daydreams anymore. She was exhausted, her thoughts muddled. What did she expect, with all that had been happening to her recently?

As she washed the grime of the journey from her body the gears of her brain got moving again. She could practically feel them chunk into place. Sleep and a bath worked wonders.

Her thoughts turned to Byron. She had read
Don Juan,
this afternoon, holding the book up to the channel of light made by raising the window shade an inch.
Something
was niggling at her. She just couldn’t quite bring it out. Was it about Byron? She was amazed she had never read him before. How like Urbano to be enamored of his muscular, active poetry. Not unpleasing verse, though, on the whole. What was it she had heard about his secretary really writing one of his works? Polidori was the man’s name. Which book? Oh, yes, the one about the vampire. There had been quite a flap because it was quite clearly about Byron himself …

She froze, the sponge in mid-sweep down her soapy arm. Vampires.

Who couldn’t stand the sun.

Who moved from place to place silently as they transformed into bats.

Who hypnotized their victims with red eyes. It was red, wasn’t it?

Who sucked souls!

She found herself trembling as though with cold in the steamy room. All she had heard of vampires came crashing in on her. They drank blood from people’s throats—my God! Just like the girl in the hotel. They couldn’t stand crucifixes or … silver (or was that werewolves?) or garlic. They were dead; corpses come to life. And strong—horribly strong. They had no reflections in mirrors. Had she ever seen Urbano in a mirror? She dropped the sponge. Where had he said his mother came from?

Transylvania.

An old family, he said.

Two parts of her began to argue.
It makes such sense,
the first part shouted.

Are you mad? There are no such things as vampires,
the second said, more reasonably.

You know it’s true in your soul.

I believe in what I can see.

Like you believe you’re having visions of the future, or that stones drive people mad?

But I don’t believe those things!

Then how can you explain them?

“Stop this!” she whispered, shivering. She rinsed herself, stood, grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her torso. She believed in proof, not superstition. But what proof could there be that Urbano was or was not a vampire?

Dear Lord, she was going to have to dress herself and go down to that carriage or slip out the back way and set off on her own. He would come after her. She was sure of it. What she wasn’t sure of was whether he would do it so that he could suck her blood and her soul, or to protect her from her own rash action. Because if she escaped with no money, no connections … she’d be back fending for herself on the streets. Or in a brothel. Oh, she didn’t like that thought. At the very least, her dream of a cottage would be up in smoke. She raised the lid of the trunk with a shaking hand. What would she do? The next minutes held a decision that was … unthinkable. Her mortal soul was in danger, but something else was in danger too. She had to know whether the world held things like vampires or not, because if it did, then everything else that was happening to her might be true too, in which case the world was a very different place than she’d imagined.

Why hadn’t he sucked her blood?

He’d sucked the blood of the tavern maid instead. Who hadn’t seemed the worse for wear. Indeed, she had been given a new confidence and the joy of feeling valued. But vampires are monsters. How were they killed? A stake through the heart.

Dear me. I can’t imagine stabbing anyone in the heart.

You who have lived on the streets by your wits? Is there anything you couldn’t do?

Perhaps there was. She took a breath. She must know for certain what he was before she cast herself away from all chance of realizing her dream. Her eyes had been seeing nothing of the room around her. Now her glance fell to her trunk. There, on top of the folded dresses in tissue laid neatly inside, was the garnet crucifix she had refused. It was set in silver filigree.

At least she could know.

Seven

Gian tucked into a beefsteak in the little osteria that served the hotel, feeling better for a quick bath and a change of raiment. He should be thinking only of how he could get the emerald to Mirso Monastery where the world could be protected from it. That was his sworn duty. And he had always lived his life by duty and honor. Why else had he fought those damned wars in North Africa against appalling odds? He’d paid the price for that duty in nightmares and an ennui that left him uninterested in any aspect of life, including women. The girl had been right about the impotence just as she’d somehow guessed about the violence and the pain in his past. Perhaps LaRoque had told her when she had wormed her way into his confidence to steal the stone. Blast the girl. He should be concentrating on his mission. The Elders had sent him to find the stone. He had a purpose. That might be his only hope of finding a way back to what he had been.