The Devil & Lillian Holmes (20 page)

It would be tricky, he admitted, as no one would mistake them for birds, but they managed to leap to the castle without being seen or creating a disturbance. George wondered if Marie were here, was expecting him, had already sensed his nearness. Hopefully she slept, and all of her lackeys slept as well.

Sullivan grabbed him by the shoulders, his massive hands making George feel like a boy himself. “Look at me, Georgy. You could flee, be halfway around the world within days. You will likely die here. Your Lillian may still not get her boy, and she will have lost her love as well. Are you really willing to let that happen?”

“No, I’m not. That is why you will help find the boy after killing Marie, even if I do not survive this. Promise me.”

“You’re still a bit bossy, do you know that?”

“I know quite well that you could kill me easily, Chauncey. I’m not the boss of much anymore.”

Chauncey nearly smiled. “I’ll do my best to find the boy if there’s time, George.”

“I’m growing on you, aren’t I?”

“Don’t push it.”

They climbed down the back of the house and stopped at a second-story window. The room beyond was empty, and they slipped inside without raising an alarm.

The pistol George carried had started to burn against his back. He’d loaded it beforehand with silver, knowing that the casing would offer some protection, but it grew more uncomfortable by the moment. He only needed one good, clean shot—to kill himself should his attempt to kill Marie fail. It might be worth a try to use it on her if she were sleeping, although he’d also brought a silver dagger. He shifted the pistol, thinking he’d much prefer to shoot himself than stab himself.

He and Sullivan moved to the door, and George opened it quietly and peered around the arch to a long empty hallway. The boy could be anywhere in here, and if still mortal he would not emit a particularly strong scent. Or, what if Jacques and Marie were not here at all? Was he simply about to disturb the family of an innocent congressman? Anyone would get quite a scare when they saw the massive Sullivan bearing down their staircase.

He exchanged glances with the other vampire, and his heart slammed into his chest at the decision he’d made, at what he was about to do.

“Which way?” he mouthed.

Sullivan shrugged. George indicated they should start in the cellar.

“There’s a lot of house to cover here, George. She probably knows we’re here. Just call out if you find her before I do.”

“I’ll be screaming for you if I do,” George mumbled.

Sullivan nodded and moved to the next doorway to begin his hunt for Marie. George took the side staircase to make his way to the basement. A power so strong as Marie’s needed constant feeding and long periods of darkness. And then there was Marie’s personal dramatic flair. Perhaps she even slept in a makeshift grave.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A goodbye.

Upon return to her house Lillian immediately noticed that Sullivan was gone, and that Phoebe moved uncharacteristically about the parlor. She introduced the woman to Mr. Doyle as “a servant,” and Phoebe thankfully played the game, but still Doyle’s face paled and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Well, she’d introduced him to more terror and murder than he’d penned in all his books taken together. She wondered if she hadn’t been exposed to more chaos in her shorter lifetime than he. He’d written about murder and betrayals galore, but those were fiction. Hopefully he thought her the only nearby vampire.

“Where is George?” she asked. “Is he with Phillip and Kitty?”

Bess came running down the stairs, chased by the Musketeers, and dodged behind Lillian’s skirts. “I cannot keep this up, Lil!”

“You are doing splendidly. Boys, we have a new cook, and I believe she has made some lovely cookies! You will help her clean up, taking great care to follow her instructions, and then you may play in the yard.”

She wasn’t sure they had heard a word except for the mention of cookies.

Bess sighed and straightened her dress at the sight of Mr. Doyle. He approached rather meekly, examining her from head to toe as if to determine what nature of woman she was.

“Miss Elizabeth Wheeler,” Lillian said, “I have the great honor of presenting Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle.”

Bess allowed him to take her hand and then let out a loud squeal. He jumped back a full foot.

“Oh! Excuse me, but are you…?” She looked back and forth between Lillian and Mr. Doyle.

“Yes, he is, Bess. I told you that I knew him.”

“I am honored. And a bit perturbed, to tell you the truth.” Her tone said she spoke in jest, but Lillian knew that she took the meeting quite seriously. “Because you completely entranced my dearest friend, I was forced into some very awkward situations, Mr. Doyle!”

“Bess!” Lillian protested.

“Do tell.” Doyle’s smile was nervous as he kept running his gaze about the parlor. Phoebe had noiselessly slipped out.

“Let us sit,” Lillian suggested. They surrounded the card table.

“About a year ago, wasn’t it, Lil? I was forced to follow an innocent Chinaman all over town, as Lil thought he was a criminal in disguise. I’ve had to pretend to be at least five different women, have snuck out of my house at all hours, given up on having a normal social life with my friend here, and I have you to blame. I mean,
thank.”

“Ah-ha! A veritable Watson, I see.” He’d relaxed a bit in Bess’s company, as most everyone did. “I hope it wasn’t all odious work?”

“Mostly. But I also think that Lillian has taught me a great deal of what she knows, and that is far more valuable than what I could offer her.”

Lillian shook her head. “Nonsense. Miss Wheeler underestimates herself in every respect. Bess, Mr. Doyle knows about me, about the Orleans brothers. He has agreed to help us.”

Bess shook her foot under Doyle’s scrutiny, as if her deformation proved her mortality. “I am not a ‘creature,’ if that is what you are trying to ascertain.”

The author blanched. “Oh! I’m very sorry. I…I’m not often made speechless, but I am new to this entire idea of… Well, of course you are not. I can see that clearly.”

“Because of my foot?”

“I don’t understand.”

“If I were a creature, my foot would heal properly. Lillian and George will not admit it, but that is to spare me from attempting anything foolhardy.”

Doyle looked aghast. “That would be quite a poor bargain, Miss Wheeler. Given everything I’ve heard, I must agree with your friends. Frankly, I’m not sure what I think about any of this.” He ran his fingers along his mustache and let out a great sigh. “Our bargain, Miss Holmes?”

“Yes, I will locate Johnnie, I promise.”

The author gathered himself and patted Bess’s hand. “Might I see your foot?”

“See it? Everyone can see it. I walk on my toes.” She lifted her worn, deformed shoe slightly.

“I am a physician, my dear. Very little upsets me, and very little disinterests me. Now, you do not have the worst kind of affliction. There is a man in Germany who has had some mild success, although usually with children, in lengthening this tendon, called the Achilles…” He manipulated her ankle and pushed against the ball of her foot. “Tsk. If caught earlier, this would not have been a very bad case at all.”

“We lived in a small town near the border of Delaware when I was born. My parents…they did not know, you see. We were not in a big city.”

“Oh, well, times are different now. But I do not think this a hopeless case.” He sat up and patted Bess’s hand again as a few tears of hope escaped down her cheek. “There, there, I offer no guarantees, but I will correspond with my friend and see what might be done. Now, don’t cry, this is nothing. I am a physician, it’s my sworn duty to help.”

“I do not think…I do not think I can go to
Germany.”

“Nonsense,” Lil said. This had to end. What had all her money brought her? No happiness, no sense of peace or pride. Here was a way to change that. “When things have calmed down, I will accompany you to Germany, pay for our trip and any charges for your treatment, and take care of you while you recover. I have been learning German in any case, so I will be a great help, indeed!”

Doyle nearly smiled. “Most admirable, Miss Holmes.”

“Now,” Lillian said to Bess, “give up this ridiculous notion you have of becoming a ‘creature,’ as you would say. Mr. Doyle, if you would excuse me for a moment, I must find George and tell him of your presence and what you have told me so far. And I will send someone off to fetch Officer Moran.”

She left Bess and Mr. Doyle in the parlor and climbed the stairs to her room, each step feeling higher than the next. Her head pounded from hunger and exhaustion, and she prayed George had fed and brought her back a vial or two from his victim, which was his habit if he was worried about her sustenance. She would chase down a few pills with that or have to venture out again.

What would he say, though? She’d brought Mr. Doyle home. Did makers ever punish their children for being wayward? She was sorely testing George’s devotion.

He was not in her room. Perhaps he hadn’t returned from his meeting with Phillip. She sat on her bed and took off her hat and jacket, untied her street boots. As she went to her desk to find her bottle of Mrs. Winslow’s, she saw an envelope addressed to her in a strange ornate hand next to a velvet jeweler’s box.

She froze. Not again! What tidings did Madam Lucifer have for her this time?

She sat and opened the envelope, and smelled the peculiar woody smell that George’s blood had, that his clothes carried, that she loved so much. Realizing this, her hand shook. He had changed his mind. He had fled, was saying goodbye. She had pushed him too far by bringing mortals into the mix and had gone off alone. He had run off to save himself. He—

Her heart slamming against her chest, she unfolded the single sheet.

My love,

You will never forgive me, so I will not ask forgiveness. I have not done a single good thing in my life, and it has been a long life, as you know. I now have one last chance to redeem myself, at least in the eyes of my brother, if not yours.

Sullivan has told me of some remarkable, nearly unbelievable visits from one of our Elders. It seems that Marie has been targeted, and he is the intended weapon of her destruction. More disturbing is that our Elder would like all of Marie’s family killed, and of course that includes me, her maker, and anyone I love. You and Phillip are thus in grave danger—but not from Sullivan. I believe him. He sacrifices himself for Phoebe, and I can do no less.

My goal is to return to you with Jacques. If not me, Sullivan. He had no real interest in rescuing a child but has agreed to help if he can. He believes he goes to his death, but I like to believe at least one of us will survive. He is the stronger.

I could not face you with my plan, for one look, one word from you and I would have weakened. It is imperative that you and Phillip, Kitty and Bess, perhaps even Johnnie Moran, leave the city quickly with the boys in tow. Sullivan would be grateful if you took Phoebe with you. Perhaps Mr. Doyle, if you were able to come to an arrangement, can act as some counsel, as I know how you admire his intellect. But do pay close attention to whatever Phillip advises over all others. Please share this with him, as he must know about the threat from our Elder.

I pray that Jacques will become your fourth Musketeer.

You are a wonder, a miracle.

I would taste your lips again, Lil.

Yours,

G.

PS, The money is for Bess. It is one small thing I would like to do for such a brave woman. Please tell her how I admire her.

Lillian’s tears mixed with the red stains on the parchment. She opened the smaller envelope numbly and thumbed the small fortune in notes. Bess’s family would have their respite from financial ruin. George had thought of everything.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Old lovers reunited.

“You haven’t changed in the least, George.”

He stood at the bottom of the stairs. The voice came from the far end of what seemed, in the darkness, to be a full suite of rooms. How long had she lived here? Annaluisa had said she was in Europe; gossip had put her in New Orleans.

“
Au contraire,
Marie. I am a shadow of the man you knew. Old enough now to have a pale reflection, to have done everything there is to do. No wonder, no surprises.”

“And just as full of self-pity. You never felt a bit of pity for me, did you? Or for my husband?”

“Phillip does not need my pity. He is superior to any man I know, despite the misfortune of being my brother and child. For you, no, I will give you that.”

A rustling of skirts and scuff of shoes sent chills through his veins. She walked toward him. He’d hoped to battle wits with her for a bit longer, to stall and give Sullivan time to find Jacques. Was Marie the sole vampire in the house besides them? Were there others to fight Sullivan? George couldn’t tell. Her power overwhelmed his senses.

Candles flared to life as if by her mental force alone. At first he couldn’t find her amidst the brocade and velvet couches, pillows, and chairs. The room looked like an ancient Eastern marketplace. The woman’s taste had always been excessive.

Then she moved.

George suppressed a gasp. Madame Lucifer indeed. So, this was what came of a life of cannibalism, of building blood power, of fully embracing one’s darkest nature. Sullivan must be a newborn among cannibals compared to Marie. He showed no such signs of deterioration.

A glimmer of a pretty woman still resonated somewhere beneath the black veins, red-pupiled eyes, decayed-looking fangs, and nest of coarse hair. She’d done what she could with women’s pastes and potions, he supposed, but the result was frightening. Marie’s dress revealed much of her copious figure, but her bosom was also scarred with rivulet-like black veins that covered her in a cloak of spider webs.

Marie brushed her long fingers along her white gown in a practiced provocative fashion, but George knew it to be a sarcastic gesture. She laughed at his expression and seemed not at all insulted or surprised.