The Burning (25 page)

“Mr. Van Helsing fetched a Bow Street runner,” Mrs. Simpson said in a stage whisper, as though that were the worst news in the world. “He’s looking into the matter.”

“Really? I have never met a Bow Street runner. That will be an adventure.” She began to plan how she could throw suspicion away from Mr. Sincai.

“You’re a brave one, you are, Miss Ann. But you shouldn’t ought to worry. Mr. Van Helsing gave orders not to admit strangers.”

“Did he now?” Ann felt anger rise for the first time since she’d awakened.

“He did.” Her cousin stepped up behind Mrs. Simpson. Suddenly, he sniffed the air and then his head snapped back to her, his eyes narrowing. “You may go, Simpson.”

Mrs. Simpson looked rebellious, but Ann gave her what she hoped was a reassuring look. No good could come of Mrs. Simpson challenging her cousin. She could handle Erich Van Helsing. But a thrill of repressed revulsion washed through her and she remembered that Mr. Sincai had told her
not to receive him. Mrs. Simpson took the tray with a sniff and left the room. “I’ll be back in half an hour,” she promised.

“Come calling?” Ann asked sweetly. She would not show a single chink of fear in her armor in front of this bullying cousin.

“Apparently, I’m not the only one. Have you been receiving strange men, Cousin? We’ll have to put a stop to that.” He loomed over her bed.

Ann felt as though she had been slapped. How did he know?

“Your secret lover leaves a scent.”

Ann stared him down. “Mrs. Simpson brought me some new perfume.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Erich sneered. “You have no idea what you have let into your bedroom.” He peered at her. “I do. I should think in your condition you couldn’t spare what he wants of you.”

Ann flushed. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” But she put her hand to her neck for reassurance that there were no twin wounds there. She had not looked in a mirror in days. Was that why she had such erotic dreams about him?

“And I think you do,” he marveled softly. Then he straightened and his voice grew hard. “He murdered four men.”

“Men?” she asked pointedly. “I think
you
have no idea what is happening hereabouts.”

“
Au contraire,
my simple cousin. I will tell you exactly what is happening. Your mystery visitor is called the Harrier. He is the ultimate evil. He has been trained to kill innocents and he does his job most effectively. But his days are numbered.”

“And will
you
dispose of this ‘Harrier’?” She tried not to let her voice shake as she said it.

Erich shook his head, chuckling. “Not I.”

“I hardly think a Bow Street runner will do the job.”

Erich turned and ambled over to the fireplace. “No. But
given the proper tools, he can make life very inconvenient for the brute.”

Several things connected themselves in her mind. She opened her eyes in surprise. “You were fixing up the hunting lodge . . .
You
let them in.” The conclusion was inescapable. “You work for Kilkenny.”

“How do you know—” Erich’s head snapped around. His startled look gave way to smirking realization. “Of course. You have an inside source. I’m surprised he would tell you.”

If he expected Ann to tell him anything about Sincai, or how she knew things, her cousin was doomed to disappointment. “Well?”

He shrugged. “Anyone who can’t go about by day needs an agent. They pay quite well.”

“In return for your soul.” How could her own cousin work for evil incarnate and stand here in her bedroom looking so ordinary?

He laughed outright. “You’re a simple creature.” He looked her up and down. “But rich and not bad looking, if one fancies the exotic. I will enjoy plowing your every last orifice.”

Ann felt a chill run down her spine. “I want no husband.”

“I don’t care whether you want one or not.” His voice grated on her. “I want your portion. I’ve grown accustomed to living well these days. But one must provide for the future. My . . . employers might not want my services forever. I need some reliable income and some standing in the world. Your father took care of any chance I had to inherit this place.”

“Is that why you’re so bitter?” Ann asked. She hadn’t been sure until this moment that Erich knew that Maitlands would revert to the Crown if she died without issue. She had always wondered about that provision of her father’s will. But the land was not entailed and it was his to dispose of as he pleased once he had it through her mother’s dowry. Her father had made certain the provisions of the will got about
before he left for the Peninsula. He said it was to protect her. But Erich had been on the Continent. Had her father specifically written about it to him?

“Bitter, why should I be bitter? I am the last male Van Helsing, and yet he leaves me nothing? Instead he leaves it to a mad female who has no idea how to enjoy it! Not bitter, I’m . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, but pressed down the anger in his voice and continued in a lighter vein. “I’ve grown fond of Maitlands Abbey. I shall like being master here. After you have fulfilled a suitable stint servicing me, I shall have to find a place to care for your sad malady. Who will blame me?”

“An asylum.” Ann kept her voice steady as her heart raced. His rape could go on as long as he liked. The asylum was a foregone conclusion. It might be a relief.

He shrugged and smiled. It was not a pretty smile and that had nothing to do with the condition of his teeth.

“My uncle will have something to say to that,” she said, hating that her throat was full.

“Your uncle is not long for this world.” He shrugged again. She hated him more.

“I’m of age.”

“The world thinks you’re mad. Or a witch. They’ll tell themselves they’re doing the right thing for you, and coincidentally, they’ll be relieved to have another be responsible for you. I’ll have Maitlands in spite of your father.”

What he said was true. She glanced around, frantic. “There is one who will protect me.”

“The
Harrier
?” Van Helsing barked out a laugh. “He is single-minded, and his mind isn’t on you, my simple creature. Besides, he will be disposed of.”

“Kilkenny?”

But Erich only smiled. “I made arrangements while I was in London.”

“What kind of arrangements?” she pressed. If she knew she could warn Sincai.

“Several kinds. A special license, for one. It should arrive any day.”

“I will never marry you,” she hissed.

“Of course you will, my dear,” he said lightly. “And by the by, I would advise your amorous visitor to keep his distance. The next time I sense him here, I’ll call in reinforcements. I know the ways of his kind. I can put him out of the way permanently.”

Ann ran through what she knew of Stephan and his kind. Could Erich and Kilkenny decapitate him and separate the head? That would be what it took to kill him. She shuddered in revulsion. Or they could drug him. Drugs depressed his Companion’s power. Could they accomplish that against his will? “I advise you to keep
your
distance,” she returned fiercely. “Go, or I’ll tell the runner you were the one who murdered the creatures at the hunting lodge.”

“Would he believe that the man who came to fetch him was guilty of the crime?” Erich only pretended to muse. “He is more likely to believe it of your cinnamon-scented suitor. Now fair cousin, adieu. Think about your prospects. I know I shall. We shall talk again.”

Ann watched him saunter out the door. Inside she was shaking. Maitlands was starting to feel more like a prison than a refuge. Her threat about Stephan Sincai coming to her defense was all a lie. He would never risk his mission to defend her. And what did she expect him to do? Kill her cousin? She shuddered at the thought that she would be responsible for murder.

Her only refuge now was her uncle. She wanted to go to him. But she had another problem. Stephan Sincai might come back here tonight, and Erich could well have the runner and some villagers waiting for him. If anyone could take care of himself it was Sincai. Couldn’t he? Her cousin wouldn’t really resort to drugs or decapitation. But if he knew Sincai’s weaknesses, that was bad. And if Sincai defended himself,
people would die. She could not have those deaths on her conscience, either. She must warn him so he could disappear. Regret shot through her. She would never see him again. She would be even more alone against her cousin than she was now. But that didn’t matter. His safety did.

Ann threw back the quilts and tottered to the wardrobe. It seemed unbelievable that her cousin could be involved with the vampires at the hunting lodge. But he had not even bothered to deny it. She shed her night shift and laced up a halfcorset. Then she pulled a round-collared blue kerseymere walking dress over her head. Stockings were rolled up and feet shoved into some sturdy walking shoes. Had he brought Kilkenny’s army here? Or had they just discovered him and used him for their own foul purposes? Easing herself down the stairs by clinging to the banister, she called for Jennings. She had to get into the Hammer and Anvil and warn Sincai.

Where the hell was Kilkenny? Stephan lay on the bed at the Hammer and Anvil in his shirtsleeves and breeches. The sun was still high outside the shutters. It had been six days. Shouldn’t Kilkenny have arrived by now? Surely he would seek Stephan out first thing. And Stephan had not troubled to hide himself. He could not sleep for an itching anticipation of Kilkenny’s arrival. Or was it that he was looking forward to another night in the company of Miss Van Helsing? At least she might keep away the memories . . . And at the thought they came welling up again. No! he thought, sucking in a breath. But it was too late.

After Freya’s adjuration to sacrifice and courage he tried to use his purpose as a shield against his fear. From that time of his first punishment, they fed him by hand, touched him as he relieved himself, caressed him as he bathed. He tried hard to control his sexual urges with what he thought were mixed results. He was obedient. He licked them, sucked their breasts, penetrated them as required. They handled him tenderly, roughly, sucked him, and they penetrated him as well. Now his baths included anal cleansing rituals to which he submitted docilely. Almost every day one of them would suck his blood, usually from his carotid. They were careful not to take so much as to weaken him. It became a normal part of sex
.

Dee was pleased that his fear of punishment had such good results. Freya only smiled
.

During the daylight hours he lay chained to his stone, often erect and needing. But he understood that as a part of his atonement now, and accepted it. If he had a wet dream and they came in to find his semen spilled over his belly, they took it as a sign that it was time to milk him, and he would be made to come until he was dry in the next session
.

Their schooling had its effect. His sexual energy increased. Often they did not have to rouse him artificially at all and he had enough control that he could pleasure them for hours without their aid in restraining his release. Freya whispered more than once that she was proud of him. Months went by and still they coaxed him to greater levels of performance. The periods of restraint and forced ejaculation grew closer together, until one day, after a night of ejaculations, he dreamed that he was burning like he had in the sunlight but from within. He woke to semen on his belly
.

He waited for them, staring at the stain on the wall, knowing he had crossed some line
.

The monks arrived. Brother Flavio, glancing to him, stopped to stare. His eyes softened. “Well, boy.” Fear and pride chased each other across his features. “I’ll get them.”

“My, my,” said Stancie said, “just what I’ve been waiting for.”

Freya brought the towel from the bath and wiped his belly. “Congratulations,” she said softly. “You have made it to the second phase.”

“Now we can strip you every night,” Dee remarked, as she loosed his wrists
.

“And I can start your lessons in a new kind of control.” Stancie’s eyes gleamed
.

“Don’t be afraid, Stephan,” Freya soothed as she unlocked his ankles. “You are up to it, I know.” They led him to the bath. He stepped in and they washed him, more tenderly than they were wont, though just as thoroughly. They drew him up when they had finished and he stepped out of the bath. He was fully erect now from having their hands upon him, and they took him, each in turn and two at once, on the bench and on the carpet as he controlled his ejaculation
.

“Excellent performance,” Dee remarked as she took a break for some wine. “I shall have to tell Father how well you are coming along.”

“Can I have him now?” Stancie pouted. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Yes, yes,” Dee said impatiently. “Though I’m sure you’ll have to bring him up.”

“Perhaps not,” Freya said, sitting down by his side where he lay on the carpet and stroking his hip gently. She ran her tongue over his lips, and then let him sip from her glass of wine. He suckled at her breast as Stancie pushed his legs apart and fondled him. Soon he was filling her hand. Stancie straddled him and began to ride him, but then she changed her angle and slid her full breasts up along his chest. Her nipples teased his own. Freya continued to whisper to him. Now she was saying nonsense words in some rhythm and Stancie was riding him hard. He knew what would happen here. Freya had told him. He could bear it. He knew he could. Suddenly he felt a little whoosh of power and Stancie, instead of biting his carotid, bit his chest and dragged a furrow down it. He jerked away from the pain involuntarily. Stancie began to lap at the wound. The pain threatened his erection. But Freya said sharply, “Listen to me, Stephan. Listen.” He looked up at her and was captivated by her eyes, red sparks winking in their depths. The nonsense syllables she whispered seemed to have a power of their own. He focused on her voice
. “Tuatha denon. Beluorga lefin. Argos pantid.”
She whispered them over and over again. They were teaching him the Tantric chants at last. Stephan felt himself harden to bursting in spite of the pain. Stancie licked at the wound, keeping it open. “Come now,” Stancie commanded as she began to contract around him. “Come!”