The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (54 page)

“Here,” I said.

“Did you know I was in
lower Asia when the worst of it hit,” she said. “My palace was a mile from the
largest eruption?”

I waited for her to make
her point, though she seemed bent on indulging herself.

“My immortality was
tested then,” she said. She went to the sideboard and pulled out the untouched
cigarette stash. She refilled her whalebone holder twice before speaking again.
She paced the cabin in the meantime, and then asked, “Do you know why I collect
art?”

“All refined creatures
love art,” I said in jest.

She smiled, but her ugly
face looked all the more oily. “Because it is the only tie we have to
humanity—their artifacts, not their blood, remind us of our power. To
overcome the human is to own the human. To own the human is to own humanity. My
works of art, Vincent, are all that is left of the beast we called man.”

I did not go in for her
cryptic wisdom. She had proved her lunatic state of mind time and again. She
was infected with power and it had laid waste to her common sense long ago, if
she ever was a rational being. Xing Fu had made quite a choice when choosing
her—one of my many regrets.

“You believed Evelina was
a work of art once,” I said. “Is she not still? Do you really want to
relinquish the masterpiece you made?”

My feeble attempt at
brainwashing the master manipulator failed when something on the opposite
bulkhead caught her eye and absorbed her attention.

“Her memory lives on,”
she said, “in her human child.
Lú xiya
is the masterpiece.” She made for the
door
.

“Unlock me, Cixi,” I
said. “Let me go.”

Willful, she looked back
at me and scowled before shutting me in my new prison.

I will not tell you how
insane I went in that cabin, Byron. How deeply I felt the loss of my sparrow. I
vowed to spend the rest of my life seeking her out the moment I was freed. I
would forego the child, the ship of donors, the safety of the vampire army. I
would live in a barren wasteland of bloodless if it meant I could commune with
my counterpart for the end of my days. Our bond is greater than me, Byron, and
I felt her absence more greatly than your dissolution. I know you understand
me, though you are gone. I sense your presence still, your comfort, through my
words, despite their emptiness. Will we meet again, Byron? Is there a god who
can bring us together?

I do not know how long I
was trapped in the cabin, but when Muriel came in, I thought I was dreaming.
She brought Veor with her.

“We don’t have much
time,” she said. “But you must feed.” She unbuttoned her collar and bared her
neck. I did not hesitate, and Veor turned aside as I fed on the donor. I
prevented her swoon, stopping just before she reached the cliff’s edge.

“How far out to sea are
we?” I asked.

“We are still coasting
along the shore,” Veor said. “I have secured a boat.”

“Veor will take you,
Vincent,” Muriel said. “You must hurry.” She turned to Veor and he reached over
with the keys to unlock my anklets. “This is from Peter,” she said, handing me
a small device. “Veor will explain it. Now come—there’s no time.”

The Viking and his maiden
ushered me out of the compartment and led me through the passageway toward the
donors’ quarters. Once we reached the human section, I felt as secure as if I
had been behind enemy lines. We were close to the Empress and her clan of loyal
vampires. At the end of Muriel’s passageway, we climbed a ladder to a portal
several levels up. The maze of secret passageways that is the cargo ship will
have anyone turning in circles. When we reached topside, twilight greeted me
with its familiar aspect and a gale pushed against my body but could not toss
me about, as I bounded along the path following Veor. We had abandoned Muriel
at the bottom of the ladder, wishing us luck as we climbed up. Neither she nor
Veor showed signs of parting for long, and I wondered how we would return to a
ship that was fast sailing west into the night.

Veor’s boat—a small
lifeboat with two oars—was towed by the ship, waiting for us as he said,
and we dove into the foamy sea like cormorants plunging for supper. The Viking
commandeered the little skiff and got us away from the ship in record time,
heading north toward the coastline leading to my Evelina. I would have sat in
silence, anxious to get on land, but the Viking knew things I did not, and so I
encouraged him to spill his secrets.

“They will return once
they realize you’re gone,” he said after strokes of silence.

“Will Muriel tell the
Empress?”

“She better not,” he
said. “She can’t be caught for this, and you better not give her up either.” He
defended the human with a ferocity I recognized.

“What do you know?” I
asked, trusting Veor as I trusted Muriel.

“When they brought you
back, she wouldn’t let Muriel go to you,” he said. “Peter too. She kept him
away. Huitzilli and the others told her about the attack, and she insisted you
needed the blood of the false ones.”

“The false ones?”

“You know the
difference,” he said, wryly. “I know you do. It’s why you drink from
Muriel—it’s why she does too.”

“Who else feeds on her?”

He rowed without speaking
and I asked if he wanted me to take over. He grinned and said, “I’m
Viking—rowing’s what we do.”

“So she insisted I feed
on the den donor,” I said, trying to pick up where we left off.

“They have the power to
heal us,” he said.

“All blood does,” I said.

“Not like this.”

“Why did she lock me up?”

“I don’t know but it’s
the same reason she lured you to the ship,” he said. “The same reason we came.
That’s what my sister told me.”

“Your sister?”

“She’s not actually my
sister,” he said. “But Muriel’s my blood.”

Veor is a kinblood, a
vampire loyal to his human line. He had probably been feeding on his
descendants since he was transfigured, refusing to contaminate his constitution
with any blood but his own. Muriel is from his family tree, though I doubt she
knows it. Kinbloods are discreet about their picky tastes, often hiding their
reasons for choosing a quarry. But it means he does not kill easily, and I
wondered if it was because he had shed enough blood as a Viking.

“Why is Muriel loyal to
me?” I asked.

“The baby,” he said.
“She’s loyal to the baby more than you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “The last
child was supposed to be hers,” he said. “But when she lost—it doesn’t
matter. She’s attached and that’s to your benefit.”

“Who is Muriel to the
Empress?” I asked, wondering why the donor received special treatment.

“It’s not about who she
is to the Empress,” he said. “It’s about her maker.”

“Xing Fu?”

The Viking looked to the
shoreline, pointing out the shoal ahead. “We’ll dock on those rocks,” he said,
maneuvering us to the landing point.

I looked up at the rocky
pass, and wondered how we would find my Evelina. The sky was purple, and she
could be anywhere.

“Let me see the device,”
Veor said. “The one from Peter.”

I pulled out the trinket,
which fit snuggly in the palm of my hand. The monitor was dark.

“It should light up when
we’re close,” Veor said.

“What is it?”

“A tracker,” he said. “It
should lead us to the novice.”

The Empress had put a
tracker on my Evelina, and I wondered if it was for my benefit, in case the two
of us left the ship together. I did not question how Peter had gotten it, but
silently thanked him for pulling through. We would make quick work of locating
her with the instrument, though I would rely on our union too.

Veor secured the lifeboat
to some rocks a few miles south of the cargo ship’s original position. He was
well equipped and tossed me a dart gun from the bag at his feet. We sloshed
through the shallow water, up the rock face, past the collapsed villas and
fallen trees. Like every coastline, this one had not escaped the facelift the
world’s environmental disasters had insisted upon. Once we reached the peak, we
turned a full circle, surveying the landscape.

“Where to?” Veor asked.

I had no idea how to
locate her, but relied on instinct. I banked on her being with Wallach. I was
only a little familiar with the layout of the land since we were close to the
hill town, but I headed toward the most populated region.

“How is your sense of
smell?” I asked.

“Excellent,” Veor said.
“What are you looking for?”

“Small game, rabbit and
fox,” I said. “Anything easy to catch.”

“Are you hungry?” He
asked.

“I am looking for a
furblood,” I said.

“Sjuk.”

Veor raised himself
higher on a rock and opened his arms, throwing his head back. He stood in the
Christlike position for a time before pointing in a direction, reporting that
an abundance of weasel carcasses were rotting several miles north. I suppose I
should have recognized his gift as one similar to Alessandra’s, but my mind was
elsewhere. I wonder now though, Byron, if he is like her—if Veor is made
with artificial venom.

We raced across the rocks
and into the trees, weaving through the landscape as though we and it were one.
Everything was more rich in the absence of daylight. The cool air clung to me,
buoying me up, carrying me through the trees and over the land like a raft.
Veor raced alongside me, our strides in sync, our minds soldered together as we
clung to the same goal, finding Evelina. I let Veor direct us to the spot, and
sure enough he had been correct. A pile of carcasses, dried out and drained,
sat heaped on the ground. Veor bent down to smell them and reported they were
hours old.

“She must be close,” I
said.

The monitor was still
black, and I relied on my inner tracker instead. I pushed through the sound
waves and reached deep for Evelina’s sparrow. When I failed to hear her, I
could not know it was because she was too depleted to send out a signal.

“Where to now?” Veor
asked.

“Can you pick up
anything?” I asked. “Do you hear the nomad’s signal—any signal?”

He shook his head. “I
don’t hear anything.”

The tracker lit up then,
and I almost dropped it. I studied the screen, entranced by the movement of the
small blue dot. I wanted to make sense of the map, but the blue dot was all I
saw.

“She’s on the pass,” Veor
said. “Over there.”

I wasted no time and ran
in the direction the Viking pointed. I looked down at the monitor every few
feet, and the blue dot held steady but radiated bigger as we approached her. I
could practically sense her there with me, and wanted to call out, but Veor
pulled me back and I could have taken off his head for it. “No,” he said. “It’s
not her.”

The nomad appeared then,
and said, “Buna seara, Du Maurier.”

I rushed at Wallach,
grabbing him by the neck and pulling him off his feet. He laughed and I
launched my fist through his mouth. We tussled but I pinned him on the ground
at the foot of the Viking. I stuck my talons deep into his neck and Veor
reached down to stop me.

“We need him,” he said.
“He knows where she is.” The Viking grabbed the nomad’s hand and held it up to
me, revealing the signet ring the Empress had given my Evelina—the
tracking device she had placed on her progeny. Veor did not stay my anger, but
I gave the nomad a chance to speak.

“I will take you to her,”
Wallach said, using a sophisticated English. “I kept her safe for
you—safe from Rangu.”

“There is no bargain to
be had,” I said. “Take me to her now before I sever your head from your spine.”

“Meu vampir,” he said. “
Ea a fost a mea, esti lui.”
Rangu had promised him Evelina once he had me. But
this
was not the first time Wallach was backed into a corner, and on the losing end
of a deal. My Evelina would never replace his Veronica.

I yanked him to his feet
and held his collar, as he guided us through the rock plain. We had come out of
the green and reached the stony surface at the base of the foothills. She would
be there, hiding out in the shade, I thought. But when Wallach brought us to
the place he claimed she was kept, the trench was empty and I was convinced he
had tricked us. I refused to deny myself this time, and—well, I cannot
say I killed him, though I will describe what I longed to do to the pesky
nomad. I wanted to string him up, cut out his tongue, and cover him in animal
guts to await the wolframlike jaws of the bloodless.

“Ea a fost aici,” he
said. “Lavanda.”

I cringed at the thought
of Evelina suffering the animal blood when I saw the carcasses in the trench.
She would need to feed. I turned to Wallach and was about to whale at him again
when Veor said, “Lavender.”

“Her smell,” I said. “Do
you smell her?”