Immanuel's Veins (24 page)

“You don't believe me?”

He walked over to a cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy, threw it back, and swallowed in one gulp.

“I don't have all night, man!” I said. “She's up there at this moment, turning into whatever they are.”

The bishop faced me, stern. “You've never been baptized?”

“No.”

“You're not Christian?”

“Of course I am.”

“But you aren't a member of the body of Christ. You're not in the church. So then you cannot be Christian.”

“I am a warrior for this church, fellow!” I tried to calm myself. “I have killed a thousand of her enemies. Forgive me, Your Eminence, but I must know how to defeat evil. I love the woman!”

“While I appreciate your loyalty to defeating Christ's enemies, you're clearly ignorant. You speak of love? I can tell you that passions of the heart have nothing to do with defeating evil.”

“Then what does?”

“Obeying the church. Fleeing immorality and washing your hands of all sin. Fasting, almsgiving, holy communion, repentance, unction; these will cleanse you. You must believe in the triune God, the death and resurrection of Christ, and the bride, which is his church today.”

“I don't have time for all of that tonight. Come with me. You can expose this evil for what it is! Bring your crucifix and your holy book and help me strip Vlad van Valerik of his charade.”

“He's a Christian, you fool.”

“Then he's an evil Christian who drinks the blood of innocents.”

This statement brought an immediate scowl to the bishop's face, and I regretted making it. “No Christian can be evil,” he said. “They are cleansed by the church.”

“Please, I don't know what makes a man good with God. I only know that I need you to rescue Lucine from this evil. If I were a proper Christian, I would do it myself.”

He studied me.

I pressed the matter. “Surely you've run into this sort of thing in your service.”

The bishop stared past me. “Not personally, no. But I've heard whispers on the wind. Tales of this blood drinking.”

“And?”

He spoke in a soft voice, as if hardly able to believe it himself. “Carpathian devils, made so by drinking the blood of the dead. Creatures of the night that have extraordinary powers and feed on innocent blood. It is said that a wooden stake through the heart will kill them. It is said that they fear water blessed by God.”

He broke his stare from the wall and looked at me again. “Are you sure it was blood that you drank?”

“I believe it was, yes.”

The bishop turned away. “Hmm . . . Then we will help you. You must go back to the Cantemir estate and wait for us. At first light—”

“I can't wait until—”

“We can't go in the dark. Evil is always stronger in the dark! If you want my help, it will be at first light.”

An eternity! The thought of waiting twisted my gut.

“Those are my conditions,” he said, and he drained another splash of brandy.

“So then, you will be able to help me?”

“We'll see. With God's grace, I think we can set you straight.”

“It's not me I care about. It's her. It's him!”

“So you've said. We will dispel evil, I can promise you that.”

I had no good alternative. So I dipped my head in agreement.

“So be it. I will wait for you. First light.”

“First light.”

“Not a moment later.”

He turned and walked through the door to his sanctuary.

TWENTY-FOUR

S
he woke and it was dark, but she couldn't be sure if she was really awake. It felt more like a dream. A nightmare.

Her eyes were indeed open. She'd forced her eyelids to slits, then pulled them wider, despite the sensation that someone had sprinkled sand under her lids while she slept. Orange light shifted shadows on the wall. She was still in the bedroom. This was Vlad van Valerik's bedroom.

The man was a beast.

A shadow formed like a massive frog crawled up the wall. A ghost. But that was in her mind's eye, her dream. It had to be. She was still in her dream. Possibly sleeping in her bed at the estate, disturbed by what had happened to Natasha these past few days.

None of what she'd dreamed could be true. She hadn't turned her back on Toma or accepted the offer from the duke. She hadn't let Vlad take her to the meadow or kiss her. She hadn't dined with them or tasted that bitter blood when he held the goblet to her lips.

And she surely hadn't let him bite her and taste her blood. Or let him inject his blood into her mouth.

This was all a nightmare. She was safe in bed and Toma was near, vowed to save her from any harm.

Something pressed into the back of her leg and pulled her from her thoughts. A soft groan followed by a sharp cry.

Natasha! Her sister had come to comfort her after that beast had tossed her about and left. Then that was part of the dream as well?

Her sister's laugh cut the stillness. “No, Stefan,” she breathed, but then laughed again, as if being tickled.

Lucine parted her mouth. Pain spread down her chin, through her breast, down her legs. The pain hit her like a hammer and she gasped.

“Natasha!”

The form behind her jerked up. “Lucine?”

She dared not move again. Tears stung her eyes. “Natasha?”

Silence for a moment, than a tender hand on her shoulder.

“Shh, Sister,” Natasha whispered. “Try to stay calm.”

“It hurts.”

“I know. I know, it's the turning. The pain is part of your transformation. Accept it, it will pass.”

“I'm changing?”

“You'll like it, Lucine, I swear you will. It feels terrible at times, being like this, but there's so much love and fear together, you know?”

“I don't want that, Natasha! What's happening to me? What did I do?”

Her sister went deathly quiet. Lucine tried to roll over to see her, but the pain in her joints was too much. She pushed her hand into the mattress to help ease herself and saw her arm then.

Her skin was gray. Covered by a disease. Flaking!

She panicked. Rolled despite the pain. “Natasha!”

“Shh, shh, shh.” Tears glistened in her sister's eyes. “It will pass.”

“Am I dead?”

“No. Shh, please stay calm. He's given you his blood. It's much more powerful than the others', so your change is quicker. You'll be his bride, Lucine. He's the master, the direct descendant of a queen. He can have only one bride. You'll be very special to him. It's a great honor.”

“I don't want to be his bride!”

“No, you will! When you change, you will want it.”

“Why didn't you tell me about this pain, Natasha? You betrayed me!”

Natasha sniffed. Then she lowered her face onto Lucine's shoulder and she sobbed.

“I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry, Lucine. It all grows fuzzy.” She lifted her face and stared with glassy eyes. “But you'll adore him. You'll be so happy. I swear it, I would never hurt you, Sister!”

“What's . . .” She lifted her arm and stared at her flaking skin. “What's wrong with me?”

“When you emerge, your skin will be pure and white, so beautiful. They will all be in awe of you. The bride! It will be wonderful, Lucine.”

She had enough good sense to know that her sister had lost all her objectivity. She herself was surely not far behind.

“Natasha?”

“Shh, Sister. Sleep.”

“Natasha . . .”

Natasha began to cry again.

TWENTY-FIVE

I
could not sleep that night.

I could not eat. I could not fix my hair, nor change my shirt, nor bathe. These tasks seemed pointless to me, utterly trivial in the face of my fear for Lucine. I thought about them but I could not summon the energy to break away from my misery.

Instead, I stood on the balcony outside my room and I paced, arms wrapped around my chest, eyes on those tall Carpathian peaks to the west. The weather had cleared down here, but ominous clouds still hugged the mountains. It was all I could do not to rush back up the road on my horse.

Indeed, I considered every possible rescue. A stealthy climb up the tower wall or a bold entry right through the front, up the tower, and out the window with a rope.

If not for the promise of the bishop, I would have attempted anything that held the slightest hope for success. The Russians wouldn't expect such a quick return after beating me so soundly. I would have at least that in my favor. But I knew that I had confronted evil up in that castle, and the church was now Lucine's best hope. If I went and failed, she would be doomed.

So I paced and I wondered about this love that had enslaved me. And it was in those wee hours that I remembered again the old man with the crow, the messenger from God who'd come to warn us.

Why warn me? Why single me out? Why go to such trouble to deliver a few words? Having discovered that God must be real, I found new meaning in the old man's visit. God had come to me in the form of that crooked bird.

I recalled his words directly:
“God was the one who told me to tell Toma Nicolescu that evil is in contest with you.”

He knew? A contest over what? It could only be Lucine! Perhaps this explained my nearly inexplicable and immediate attraction to her.

That the old man knew Vlad and I would be in this predicament was astounding. Had I known such a dark horse was on the horizon waiting to take her away, I would have kissed her feet and hands and vowed my love when I'd first fallen for her!

And did this mean that I was
meant
to love her? Yes, it must!

Which could only mean that she now depended on me alone.

From that moment forward I thought of myself differently. I was no longer the servant of Her Majesty, Catherine the Great, but the servant of God himself, on a mission to save the one who was courted by this devil.

I was indeed the savior, aching to love and save she who would be loved and saved. It was scandalous to think of myself in such an esteemed way. But it must be! I was her only savior, and the beast up the mountain was the devil on bat's wings, as the old man had said.

The moment this became clear to me, I raged. I could not stand there and stare up at those mountains a moment longer.

So I rushed into my room, pulled out my journal, and wrote by candlelight.

My love, Lucine,

Forgive me! I would cut my hands off for not taking yours sooner. I would sever my tongue for not speaking my heart. Now you are there in that beast's castle, enduring his torture . . .

I lifted the quill and thought. For all I knew she was laughing with hilarity up there, as Natasha and Alek had. I had no evidence that Lucine was not madly in love with the duke. But I shoved the thought from my mind because it only made me rage all the more.

. . . and I am here, enslaved by my own regret.

I am destroyed by an unearthly love for you, my tender, beautiful one. Nothing matters to me now except that I destroy the evil that threatens you.

I will bring all the armies of Russia here to level these mountains if that is what I must do to save you. I will fire a thousand cannons on that tower, I will crush those infidels with a hundred blows each.

I will take the hand of God and drag him into those walls so that the darkness must flee. Then I will be the light that crashes in and sweeps you into my arms.

I dipped the quill and hovered over that page. My chest felt as though it might burst.

Lucine, my love, I beg you, hear my cry in your heart even now.

Love me. Love me, I beg you, love me . . .

It was too much, this pathetic plea! I dropped the quill on the desk and lowered my head into my hands to contain my tears.

When gray was yet an imagination on the black sky, I was out on the road, pacing again, like the father waiting for a prodigal. The darkness receded far more stubbornly than I believed it could, but day finally came.

And there was still no sign of that cursed bishop and his big ears. Still, I had no good alternative except to stand and wait, so I did.

“Toma!”

I turned to the house and saw that Kesia stood at the front door. A clergyman stood beside her. The bishop! Dressed in his red robes and black hat. How Petrov had gotten there I neither knew nor cared. He'd probably come before sunrise.

I hurried up to the doors. “Thank you, Your Eminence. Thank you for coming. I was worried.”

“I am a man made of my word.” But he looked more like a man made of stone.

I stopped and glanced between them. “You've brought what we need?”

“What would that be?”

“The weapons, man! The books, the blessed water, the crucifix, that wood stake, whatever you need to defeat evil. We should go immediately!”

“A word first, if you don't mind.”

“Then let's hurry. Speak.”

“Come inside, Toma,” Kesia said, turning into the house. “A cup of tea perhaps.”

“Madam, begging your pardon, but we don't have time to make small talk.” I hadn't spoken to her since coming down from my journey to the Castle Castile but I assumed that the bishop had. “You know what we're up against here?”

“His Eminence has explained it, yes. And it's a delicate matter. Sit.”

We'd crossed the main room to a small tea table where a silver pot already steamed. I was far too anxious to sit, but when the bishop took his chair, I felt presumptuous standing, so I sat on the edge of the sofa.

“So then, let's speak,” I said.

Kesia looked at the bishop, who wore a deep frown. He nodded and looked at me. “You are aware of who the man you accuse is.”

“Yes. And frankly I don't care who he is. He could be the king of France and I would still carry out my charge.”

“Perhaps if he were, I would be less reluctant. But you're charging a man who may hold the future of Russia in his hands. Of witchcraft, no less. Do you know the punishment for the dark arts?”