The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (48 page)

“I assume it’s extremely valuable now,” I said.
“Especially since they’re dying off.”

She smiled and said, “Yes, but they’re also
returning to life, aren’t they?”

“The bloodless aren’t human,” I said.

“Bloodless?” She asked. “Ah, that’s what the Du
Maurier clan called them, it’s true. It’s a good name, if not a bit clichéd.”

My maker spun circles around me, though I didn’t
know it then. She distracted me from the truth, planting seeds to manipulate me
for her purposes.

“Back to my original question, which you’ve answered
correctly,” she said. “Yes, they fetch a high price and there are those willing
to pay outrageous amounts for the right bouquet.”

Her reference to the blood in viticultural terms
wasn’t surprising since she’d run a black market of sorts for both products at
one point.

“I happen to have a buyer for Lú xiya,” she said.
“So I wanted you to say goodbye.”

I hadn’t cared for the bundle one bit, but when she
mentioned selling her off, it fed my ire. It was one thing to know the child
was safe and cared for on the ship, but quite another to think of her as a
delicacy to be sold to the highest bidder. The thought made me territorial.
“Who’s buying my child?” I asked.

The Empress tapped her tongue against the roof of
her mouth, making a sharp ticking sound. “No, no,” she said. “She’s not your
child. She’s my asset.” I bit down hard and she could see my jaw tense. I had
no poker face with the Empress. “Humph,” she said. “Perhaps there’s a trade to
be made.”

I had nothing to trade, if in fact I actually wanted
the child, which I didn’t. I just wasn’t ready for her to be with someone else.
I suppose it didn’t anger me to know that Muriel and the others took care of
her. “I’ve nothing to offer,” I said.

“Oh, but you do.” She reached out for me with her
decorative claws but I didn’t flinch, braced for whatever blow I had coming.
She didn’t scratch me or hit me or push me, though. She simply stroked my cheek
with the point of her longest ornamental tip, the jade one that covered her
pinky finger. “Ei wai lina.” She purred my name like a cat. “Ei wai lina, you
can get me the book I want. You’ve won Vincent’s heart. I’m sure you can charm
him into letting you read his tale of your time together.”

I was fully aware she contradicted herself, telling
me Vincent hates me one minute and that he loves me the next. I looked at her
questioningly, though I knew exactly to what book she referred.

“The journal in which he’s stored all sorts of
precious little notes,” she said, hissing her final syllable.

“And if I give you his journal,” I said, “you’ll
keep the child onboard and safe with the girls?”

She took a long drag, smoking a whole cigarette with
one inhale, letting the ash fall onto the deck. She pulled the wasted butt from
her holder and stubbed it out in the crystal ashtray and then reloaded with
another before she said, “It’s agreed, then?”

“Agreed,” I said.

I rose from the throne and left the cabin without
shaking hands on my deal with the devil’s mistress.

I was only a few steps down the passageway when
Peter caught up with me, and said, “I’m coming with you.”

“I can’t—I’ve got to—”

“I know exactly where you’re going,” he said. “Is
she referring to his diary?”

“I’ve no idea why she wants it,” I said. “That’s the
second time she’s mentioned it. I don’t know how she even knows about it.”

“Ah!” Peter’s revelations usually didn’t faze me
since they occurred so frequently, but this one stopped him in his tracks. “Oh
my,” he said.

“What is it?”

He looked around him, and then shook his head. “Not
here,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes and counted five frequencies
nearby, and seventeen voices wrapped in conversation. But I couldn’t tell if
any of them were spying on us. I assured him we’d discuss it later. “I have to
go,” I said.

“I’m taking you to see Muriel, as you asked.” He
said it as though it had been rehearsed, like it was for the benefit of
another. “Shall we?” He gave me a knowing look and I yielded.

“Take me to her,” I said.

We stayed on the level where we were and headed to
what seemed like the ship’s fore. I knew the human section would be tidy, but I
didn’t expect it to be even more luxurious than the Empress’s section. When
Peter opened the door that led to the donors’ cabins, I stopped on the edge,
admiring the rich, velvet carpet running along the deck. I wondered if I should
remove my boots, but Peter ushered me in. I didn’t ask how he gained access to
a part of the ship that seemed off-limits to the rest of us. There were no
guards at the first door, but deep in the passageway, I noticed Veor and two
others, standing upright like pillars at the gates of a temple. They
acknowledged Peter with a nod, but ignored me. He didn’t say why we were there,
but instead brought me to the door Veor guarded. “She’s expecting you,” the
blond pillar said to Peter. “But she is unwelcome.” He gestured to me with his
chin, keeping his eyes on Peter the whole time.

“I’m certain the donor is awaiting Evelina,” Peter
said. “But I’ll go in first to be sure.”

Veor moved closer to my side to block me, as he
opened the door for Peter. My mentor slipped into the cabin, and I felt a wave
of nausea as I anticipated Muriel’s feast. My gut hardened and I flexed my
fingers to rid the revulsion. I concentrated on Veor’s frequency, as I waited
for Peter. His, as with most, didn’t match his outward appearance. He couldn’t
have been an attractive man, for he wasn’t a handsome vampire. His features were
uneven, which might have been due to the large scar that cut his face in two,
running from his forehead to his chin. His blond hair deflected some of his
facial faults, but his brows were dark and his eyes unevenly set, and he
brooded too much to be charming. Perhaps if he smiled he’d gain some advantage.
I wondered if Muriel could make him smile. He seemed sweet on her.

“What are you staring at?” His register was deep,
which made his Mandarin pronunciation difficult to understand.

“Nothing,” I said in Italian.

“Skadadiur,” he said. He used a word I assumed was
Swedish.

Muriel popped her head out and beckoned me to her.
Veor stood in my way until she reached out and touched him gently on the arm
and said, “Hona tir lotat.”

He yielded to her touch, but sneered at me as I went
in.

Her cabin was tidy, though clothes were strewn about
and cosmetics open on her dressing table. By the look of her cabin, as with
most of the nicer ones, you wouldn’t think you were locked in a giant metal
can. She had a small rug on her deck in the center, and a larger tapestry close
to her bed. Like Vincent, she had a double berth that could easily sleep two
and I wondered if Veor paid her visits at night. I hadn’t doubted a vampire and
a human could love one another. I could have easily shared my life—and my
bed—with my vampire.

“Evelina,” Peter said. “Muriel doesn’t have long.”

“Come, Evelina,” Muriel said. “I have time for a
quick feeding.” Peter left us, telling me he’d wait for me outside. I didn’t
envy him keeping company with Veor. Muriel sat on the edge of the large berth
and pulled up the sleeve of her sweater. She let me bite into the groove on the
inside of her elbow, and I felt as though I’d barely had a taste when she
touched my head and whispered I had to stop.

“I’m feeding another soon,” she said.

“Who else shares you?”

She smiled and said, “We don’t feed and tell.” She
pulled her sleeve down and tapped the back of my hand. “I promise to come to
you before you go into the ring.”

I’d forgotten about my wretched fight with the
Fangool. It seemed irrelevant with all the other demands on me.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she said. “I can see you’re
upset.”

I don’t know how she could tell anything from
looking at me. My face was stony and cold, a mask of ease and unfeeling.

“I saw the child,” I said.

She gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. “How?”

“The Empress brought her to me,” she said. “She’s
selling her to another unless I give her something she wants.” I don’t know why
I confessed my troubles to Muriel so easily, but she seemed a perfect priest
and I the needy penitent.

“She can’t,” she said. “She mustn’t.” My words stung
and she claimed all the fear and trepidation for my child that I would’ve if I
were human. “You must tell Vincent,” she said.

“What will he care?”

“Believe me, Evelina,” she said. “He cares more than
you know.”

I believed her, though I didn’t understand it. I
thought he’d given up the dream of my child’s salvation when he’d lost me.

“I’ll tell him,” I said.

She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. “I hate
to send you away,” she said. “But you must go see him now—tell him
immediately.”

Though I was desperate for another shot of serum,
the small high her blood gave me would satisfy me for several hours. But I
didn’t forget why I’d come and said, “Forgive me for losing control earlier.”

She brushed it off, waving her hand in the air.
“It’s forgotten,” she said. “I understand your need more than you know, and
Veor was there to save me.”

Her words cut, as I remembered the vision of the
vampire swooping down and saving the girl from her monstrous attacker—I
regretted those days deeply.

I insisted Peter let me go to Vincent’s cabin alone.
“I have to speak with him about something,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “But you don’t have long. The
Empress expects you to meet Mindiss in the ring before dawn.”

“What is her deal?” I asked. “Why is she on the ship
if she poses such a threat to my maker.”

“She doesn’t pose the threat,” he said. “You
do—but we can’t talk here.” He looked behind him. “I promise to come to
your compartment after you’ve seen Vincent, okay?”

Peter studied me with the intensity I’d come to know
from him. He smiled and touched my cheek. “Ah, I see what I’ve done,” he said.
“Fear not, Evelina. You’ll figure this out.”

“Figure what out?”

“How to kill her.”

He left me then, and I headed in the opposite
direction, following the sparrow’s call. Vincent was in his cabin. Guided by
his frequency, I let myself float to its rhythm as though it were the only
sound on the ship. I still hadn’t mastered my gift for collecting and synching
up signals, but I was better at only hearing the ones I chose to hear. As his
call grew louder, the loop gained momentum and soon I thought I could hear two
sparrows. Muriel’s small blood offering sat in my stomach like a stone, keeping
company with my pit of fiery rage. I seethed, as I thought of the match with
Mindiss, and my maker’s treatment of me. She was filled with tricks and lies. I
would never betray Vincent, and she was foolish to believe so. I would tell him
everything as soon as I was alone with him. I would warn him she wanted his
journal, and he’d know why she wanted it, why she thought it so valuable.

Several vampires came toward me from the other end
of the passageway. They’d been talking about an incident whereby several men
went overboard, but stopped speaking when they saw me. They didn’t know I’d
heard their ramblings since the beginning. I didn’t care for the story of the
men and how they were lost at sea. I turned away from the vampires, snubbing them
as they passed me. I’m certain one of them hissed as soon as he was out of my
reach.

When I finally entered Vincent’s passageway, I
stalled, making certain he was alone. I didn’t hear his voice or another’s
until I was just outside his door and poised to rap on the metal. The low
murmur of a whisper stopped me, and I closed my eyes. “Please make me yours,”
she said. “Please drink from me.” It was the same small voice that mocked my
own. It was Vincent’s other donor, Gia, the one Muriel told me about.

I stood on the cusp of terror and hatred, wanting to
throttle the girl inside but fearful to actually see her face. My fingertips
burned more fiercely than ever, and I clenched my fists, despite my control. I
swayed back and forth, deliberating what to do. Whether I waited outside for
her to leave or entered his cabin to witness their embrace, I was bound to look
at her face. I remained undecided until I heard the thing I dreaded most to
hear, “Let me call you Evelina.” Vincent’s voice was plain, clear and uncensored,
as he seduced the girl inside.

Overcome with rage, I lost all self-control and
abandoned my reason, letting the fierce and instinctual modes of being take
over. I turned an irrational creature with one goal in mind—to kill the
girl in my beloved’s arms. I don’t remember throwing open the door, rushing
in-between them, tearing her from his embrace and throwing her down on the
deck. I don’t recollect pulling her up by the hair, so that she had to stand on
tiptoes to keep her roots from being torn out. I don’t recall her scream of
terror or that I recognized her as the mute girl who’d once bathed me and
dressed me and placed me in front of the glass wall. I don’t remember my talons
ripping through my marbleized fingertips, sharp and ready to strike. I don’t
recollect my piercing her neck with the tips of my new weapons and driving
their sharp points into her jugular. I don’t remember her blood spilling out
like the spout of a geyser, and her dropping to the deck dead within an
instant. But I can’t forget his face—a look that was between pride and
horror. He was not a father admiring a child balanced on a bicycle; rather a
father facing a son who had killed his cherished daughter.