The Devil & Lillian Holmes (28 page)

“Oh, Johnnie, I was going to call on you today.”

“Call on me, Miss Holmes? Where? In the street where I left you and the dying Mr. Doyle? At the congressman’s mansion where there has been a double murder?”

“A murder-suicide,” Lillian corrected, wondering how Mr. Mencken had gotten on with his story.

Johnnie brushed his cap on his trousers and cursed. “Hopefully you’ll visit me at Spring Grove, as the doctor at Johns Hopkins must think me insane. I brought them to the spot and found barely a splotch of blood where Mr. Doyle lay dying. At least the congressman and his wife were still in the mansion, or my job would have been taken from me.”

“Come in, Johnnie. I have but a moment, but I promise I will get to all of your questions in due time.”

“You’ll get to them all, Miss Holmes, right now, or we’ll be having a chat down at the station. I want to know about what Mr. Doyle told me. But first, where is his body?”

Jack looked bored. He sat on the floor, running his fingers along the carpet and making the noise of cannons and guns while Lillian weighed how much she could safely relay. George was right—she’d been a terrible vampire. She prayed that Vasil would not make a visit to exact some terrible form of Elder justice just because she had to tell Johnnie something believable.

“I see you at least kept your hands on the boy.”

“My son.”

Johnnie nodded. “If that is so, I’m happy for you, miss. Now, Mr. Doyle?”

“He is…alive. He can’t see you now, but…it’s quite miraculous, actually.” Lillian bit at her lip, thankful at least that Johnnie didn’t know to look at her left brow.

“I don’t believe in miracles, Miss Holmes. I’m not sure I believe in anything I’ve been told these last few days, but I can see I won’t be getting the truth from you. I’ll give you today to produce Mr. Doyle, dead or alive, and then I’ll be calling in the paddy wagon.”

“Johnnie, don’t leave! I promise, we will sit with Mr. Doyle in a few days and he can explain everything to you.”

The young man just shook his head and put his cap back on. “I’ll see him today or I’ll take you to the station. It is your choice.”

Jack suddenly stood. Pointing past Johnnie he said, “The lady says to trust Mama.”

“Mama?” Lillian murmured the word, letting it roll off her tongue, saying it again. Then, “Wait. What lady, Jack?”

“The lady in the white cap with the red hair. She is trying to talk to you, mister, but you aren’t listening to her. She says you do that a lot.”

“What new trick is this, Miss Holmes? A cruel one, for sure!”

“Quiet!” Lil squatted and looked into Jack’s eyes. “How old is the lady?”

He shrugged. “Maybe like you, or a little younger. She’s pretty.”

“And can you ask her what name she uses?”

“She says her name is A-leen. She talks like the women down Fell’s Point. The Irish women, not the Negro ladies.”

“My God.” Lillian looked at Johnnie, who stood frozen with his hand over his mouth.

“Did you tell him her name?” the young man accused.

“No, we’ve barely spoken. Perhaps one of the boys mentioned her?”

Jack spoke again: “And she said that this man will understand about everything if you give him a chance. He’s smarter than you think.”

“Lord.” Johnnie sat in a chair. “That sounds like Aileen.”

“Do you see anyone else, Jack?”

“Right now, or ever?”

“Ever. Let’s start there.”

“You mean the spirit people?”

“Yes, the spirit people.”

“I always see them. They’re mostly nice to me.”

“Well,” Lillian said. “Wait until Mr. Doyle meets my son!”

Johnnie pulled her aside by the arm. “Is this another one of your tricks, Miss Holmes? I know you’re clever, but you’re not too clever for me.”

“I swear, Johnnie. I swear on my friendship with Aileen, it is not a trick of mine.”

“Well, you don’t believe him, do you? Maybe he’s…not quite right, if you take my meaning.”

“I do believe he is ‘quite right,’ and I do take your meaning. But I also know the one man who can help tell us if this mystical talent is real or imagined. And as you wish to see Mr. Doyle, we may as well kill two birds with one stone. Come with us, Johnnie.”

“Doyle? Where is he?” Johnnie squinted, one eye closed, still doubtful, which was quite understandable.

“At the home of George and Phillip.”

“Splendid. Right into the lion’s den.”

“Oh, now, they aren’t as bad as they seem. Just a pair of quarrelsome brothers.”

“Mr. Doyle said some fantastical things about them. I would have the truth. Before we go there, will you tell me one thing?”

“Ask away.”

“Did one of them kill my Aileen?”

“No!” Lillian said. “You do them a great injustice! They would never harm an innocent. Well, not in a good long while, at least.”

“Did
you
kill her?”

Jack looked up at her, and Lillian reminded herself that there was nothing wrong with the boy’s hearing. Many a time as a child she’d listened to adults talk as if she weren’t there, and she should be circumspect about what came out of her mouth.

“No. The one who did that is destroyed. Gone forever, Johnnie. We will tell you the full story, but not now.” She cast a glance at Jack.

Johnnie nodded in understanding. “All right, then. Lead on to Mr. Doyle. But this had best not be a trick.” Contrary to his words, he stood still for a moment, staring at Jack. “Could you talk to the lady anytime you like, young man?”

Jack nodded, and Lillian’s heart broke. She hoped for Johnnie’s sake it was true, and he’d finally be able to tell Aileen all he’d ever wanted to say to her but never had the chance.

“All right then. No tricks. I am armed, Miss Holmes.”

“As you should be. As we all should be.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde…

“It’s intolerable!” Phillip complained, pacing the room. “I cannot abide another minute of it! Can’t Lillian take him to her home?”

“Whatever is wrong?” Lillian asked as she took off her coat and ushered Jack into the house.

“Hello, Jack!” Phillip bowed and smiled.

“Hello!”

George came out of the kitchen, swept Jack up into a spin then propped him on his shoulders. The pair laughed and ran about the room, dancing to piano music coming from a small chamber off the parlor.

Phillip tapped Lillian on the shoulder. “Who is that, and what has he done with my brother?”

“It’s a lovely sight, isn’t it, Phillip?”

“Yes, I dare say it is. Ah, Officer Moran, good day to you!”

Johnnie managed a nod but didn’t bother changing his scowl. Lillian feared for him. He loathed the Orleans brothers; that much was clear. She knew neither George nor Phillip would harm him out of hand, but they wouldn’t tolerate mortal interference either. They’d been through too much to eke out this partly tolerable existence. She must convince Johnnie to accept reality and, somehow, to become their ally. The full truth was key, for he would love whoever killed Aileen’s attacker. At least, Lillian dearly hoped so.

Phillip tapped her on the shoulder again. “Lil, please go chat with Arthur. He’s driving us all mad with that playing. Bess and Kitty went shopping to escape it.”

“Arthur is playing the piano?”

“Nonstop. I’ve not seen the likes of it. He’s not very good. I think we’ve heard ‘The Band Played On’ twenty times already today.” Phillip tapped his foot as if to correct Arthur into playing the waltz rhythm properly. “Awful.”

“Could he play before he became a vampire?” she asked.

“Droll. Go speak with him. I fear he is going off in some odd direction. George seems to think it’s fine, being that he is a child of yours and likely to be unusual, but I disagree.”

“I will see him now. Please distract Officer Moran for a while.”

She turned to find Johnnie mere inches away. “I’m not easily distracted, Miss Holmes.”

“No, no, I suppose you aren’t. You must listen to me, my friend. Aileen meant a great deal to me, and by extension you became dear to me as well. I love your brother, and her brothers. I would have things go well for them—for all of us.” She turned and called out, “Phillip! George! While I visit with Mr. Doyle, please tell Johnnie everything. I mean every single thing. From the day you met me until Mr. Doyle came to be at that piano. Will that suffice, Johnnie? I truly must speak with Arthur alone for a bit.”

George shook his head. “Lil, you are playing with fire. I—”

“It is the only way. Please. This once, please trust me. What do you say, Officer?”

Johnnie mulled over her offer. “Only if you let me lay eyes on him for a second. Just to see for myself that the man is not dead.”

“Yes, that might be best. Then you will be more likely to understand, as you saw his state last night. My God, was it only last night?”

Lillian peeked into the music room, and indeed, Arthur sat at the piano, a man obsessed, playing the same chorus again and again. She opened the door a bit further, and Johnnie looked in. He let out a gasp, and Lillian quickly shooed him away.

“Will that do?” she said as they returned to the parlor.

Johnnie nodded and scratched at his chin, looking completely baffled.

“I will leave you all to catch up,” Lillian promised, “and see what to do with Arthur.”

George came to her side and placed a kiss on her forehead. He leaned in and whispered, “No matter what, tell Doyle it will be fine. Even if you don’t believe it. He must hear that from you now.”

“I remember the things you said to me. Has he eaten yet?”

“No, he won’t have a bite. You must convince him. He can fade, Lil. Your hero can still die.”

“I will not let that happen. Unless, unless he wants to. That would be his choice, but he’s not in his right mind now, so I must choose for him. Oh, and I have something quite important to discuss with you about Jack.” She squeezed George’s hand and cast a glance at her son, who watched her carefully. “It seems he sees spirits.”

“What did you say?”

“Hmnn.” She let out a sigh. “Never mind. Let me attend to this serious matter before that serious matter.”

She put down her messenger bag on a chair and took off her hat, steeling herself for Arthur’s anger.
Dear Mr. Doyle,
she thought.
If I had only known, I never would have written to you. I would have simply read your books and then put them aside and gone on to others. I am so sorry that I was not in my right mind.

“Well, you cannot undo anything, Lillian,” she muttered then. “So do what you can do.”

She returned to the music room, approached the writer-turned-newborn-vampire with care and slid onto the piano bench next to him. He hesitated for a moment, and she knew it was the nearness of his maker affecting him, but he played until the tune ended and finished with a flourish even though the notes were not correct.

“You play with great vigor,” she said.

“I am terrible.”

“Not quite terrible. Perhaps rusty?”

“Terrible.”

He turned and stared at her, and she felt tears well up in her eyes. She said, “I made the choice for you. You were a breath away from the end.”

“I only remember the boy, and then crushing pain. I awoke to this.” He gestured to himself, if not at any part in particular. “Your friend Phillip explained the rest.”

“I have no way of thanking you for saving my son from certain death. I presume you would have acted equally heroically to save any child in that predicament.”

“I have never acted heroically in my life. Anyone would help a child in danger.”

“No, not all of us, Mr. Doyle. I knew you were a kind man from the first letter you wrote to me. My regret is—”

“How great would your regret be if you were shipping my body to Scotland? Greater, or less?”

“I imagine that depends upon what you think of my choice. Perhaps you loathe me now; that would be quite normal. Perhaps you will come to loathe me; that also would be quite normal. I do not know. But I also know that this life is not all horrible.”

“I will die shortly in any case, will I not? How can you drain blood from innocent people? I refuse.”

“You will not be able to stop yourself,” Lillian warned. “I am shocked you have lasted this long. Hunger usually drives one insane in those first hours.”

“I…I am ashamed of the hunger. Phillip made me drink. I cannot bear to know what…who it was. That is what I loathe you for most. That I want to drink and kill. I did not truly understand what you were until I became like you. You are a monster, and now I am one.”

“There is a way to make it less monstrous. We—George, Phillip, and I—we feast only on those who are dying or who are clearly murderers.”

“That is less odious? It’s a mere excuse to justify your existence. If you cared about justice you would do yourselves in and take me to Hell with you.”

“That is an option, always. But I am in love, Mr. Doyle. And I have a son. In many ways, I am now alive for the first time.” She sighed. “Our circumstances are clearly different. You have had a good life, and now it is made less good by me.”

“A good life? What do you know of me, of my life? You think I am one of my characters.” He choked out a half sob. “I have a dying wife. But I also have children, a home and my studies. All are lost now.”

“They would have been lost anyway if you died,” Lillian said. Then, “I am sorry.” She choked back sudden tears. “I am very, very sorry. I made the best choice I could at the time.”

What good would it do to tell him he could blend in, that his wife and children wouldn’t know if he played things wisely, that he could go on as if nothing were different? Was it true? Probably not. Her companions were vampires; she was to marry one. He
had
lost everything.

She wept and couldn’t stop herself.
I was wrong. So wrong.
Doyle put his head on her shoulder and cried with her. His sobs made him shake, and the two held one another in consolation.

He sat up and wiped at his tears, was clearly shocked that they smeared his hand with blood. “Damnation. Is there no water in my body?”

Lillian sniffed out a laugh. She was no good at this. George had been so much better.