pile. Eyeballs sloshed in a yellowish fluid. Julian pointed to the counter and grinned sheepishly.
“Those
weren’t there last night either.”
Heath noted a tag attached to one. DRIED ELEPHANT PENIS, it read. “Poor buggers.”
A stack of books rested at the end of the counter. Heath looked at the first, a treatise on herbs and plants for medical treatments. The next two were texts on human anatomy. Normal, acceptable books for a place that sold cures.
“There are three bedchambers beyond this room,” Julian explained. “The largest is at the back and is the only one being used. The other two are empty.”
“Many chemists are more successful than this one appears to be,” Heath mused. “Most raise families within their shops.” There was something wrong, something missing.… “Stairs.”
“Over there,” Julian said.
“No. I mean there should be stairs up to another floor. These narrow stores all have three floors. We’re only on the second, and I saw no stairs that led upward. So they must be hidden.”
He began tracing his way along the walls, tapping, until his fist made a hollow sound. The plaster appeared unbroken. So how did the door to the stairs open? Magic, obviously. With a spell he didn’t know. So he raised his boot and slammed it through plaster and laths.
Julian jumped. “Hades, I thought we were supposed to be quiet.”
Ignoring the younger vampire, Heath kicked a hole largeenough to climb through. He found himself on the landing of another narrow stair. There was no sound, only the soft flutter of bits of plaster settling. Then he charged upstairs. The stair opened onto a room that took up the entire floor, decorated like a gentleman’s study with an ornate desk of black wood and large leather chairs.
It took only moments to know the room was devoid of demons or apothecaries. Heath searched the desk first. He ripped open drawers and found them also empty—except for the last, which held a heavy seal. He turned and lifted it to look at the pattern.
He knew the design well. It was a thick cross decorated with curves and loops. The sight of it shot his thoughts back into his past. He remembered the flame of a campfire, howls of wolves, and the barking of frightened dogs. A man wearing furs lifted a brand from flame, and the raised cross had glowed red.
Heath remembered searing pain, the stench of his own burning flesh, as his sire’s servant had branded him while the ancient vampire placed the curse on his head.
“What is it?” Julian asked.
“Nothing.”
Now he knew how Mrs. Holt had known who he was. The vampire who used this room was his sire. Nikolai, the five-hundred-year-old vampire who had made him, who’d cursed him.
What was Vivienne’s part in this? As her payment for her medicine, was she supposed to unleash the demon in him?
Night had settled by the time his lordship bothered to come downstairs. Vivienne knew from stories that vampires had to stay out of the light and sleep in the day. But they slept in coffins. And vampires did not really exist.
She watched him with pursed lips as he prowled into Sarah’s room, all long legs and mobile shoulders. He appeared obliviousto the anger stewing inside her, the arrogant wretch. He was dressed in trousers and a shirt, but he moved on bare feet. Silent, graceful, stealthy.
He paused at the end of the bed and studied Sarah with his head cocked. He took a deep breath as though he scented something in the air.
Vivienne opened her mouth, but he spoke first. “Does she normally sleep so much?”
And with one question, he probed the deep fears boiling inside her. “She has never slept a whole day before. She must have been very tired—”
“She must be getting weaker and the medicine isn’t helping. That’s what you fear.”
She watched, hands fisted, as he approached Sarah. She flinched as he touched Sarah’s throat with two fingers until she realized he was checking the pulse.
“If I try to help your
“Those
weren’t there last night either.”
Heath noted a tag attached to one. DRIED ELEPHANT PENIS, it read. “Poor buggers.”
A stack of books rested at the end of the counter. Heath looked at the first, a treatise on herbs and plants for medical treatments. The next two were texts on human anatomy. Normal, acceptable books for a place that sold cures.
“There are three bedchambers beyond this room,” Julian explained. “The largest is at the back and is the only one being used. The other two are empty.”
“Many chemists are more successful than this one appears to be,” Heath mused. “Most raise families within their shops.” There was something wrong, something missing.… “Stairs.”
“Over there,” Julian said.
“No. I mean there should be stairs up to another floor. These narrow stores all have three floors. We’re only on the second, and I saw no stairs that led upward. So they must be hidden.”
He began tracing his way along the walls, tapping, until his fist made a hollow sound. The plaster appeared unbroken. So how did the door to the stairs open? Magic, obviously. With a spell he didn’t know. So he raised his boot and slammed it through plaster and laths.
Julian jumped. “Hades, I thought we were supposed to be quiet.”
Ignoring the younger vampire, Heath kicked a hole largeenough to climb through. He found himself on the landing of another narrow stair. There was no sound, only the soft flutter of bits of plaster settling. Then he charged upstairs. The stair opened onto a room that took up the entire floor, decorated like a gentleman’s study with an ornate desk of black wood and large leather chairs.
It took only moments to know the room was devoid of demons or apothecaries. Heath searched the desk first. He ripped open drawers and found them also empty—except for the last, which held a heavy seal. He turned and lifted it to look at the pattern.
He knew the design well. It was a thick cross decorated with curves and loops. The sight of it shot his thoughts back into his past. He remembered the flame of a campfire, howls of wolves, and the barking of frightened dogs. A man wearing furs lifted a brand from flame, and the raised cross had glowed red.
Heath remembered searing pain, the stench of his own burning flesh, as his sire’s servant had branded him while the ancient vampire placed the curse on his head.
“What is it?” Julian asked.
“Nothing.”
Now he knew how Mrs. Holt had known who he was. The vampire who used this room was his sire. Nikolai, the five-hundred-year-old vampire who had made him, who’d cursed him.
What was Vivienne’s part in this? As her payment for her medicine, was she supposed to unleash the demon in him?
Night had settled by the time his lordship bothered to come downstairs. Vivienne knew from stories that vampires had to stay out of the light and sleep in the day. But they slept in coffins. And vampires did not really exist.
She watched him with pursed lips as he prowled into Sarah’s room, all long legs and mobile shoulders. He appeared obliviousto the anger stewing inside her, the arrogant wretch. He was dressed in trousers and a shirt, but he moved on bare feet. Silent, graceful, stealthy.
He paused at the end of the bed and studied Sarah with his head cocked. He took a deep breath as though he scented something in the air.
Vivienne opened her mouth, but he spoke first. “Does she normally sleep so much?”
And with one question, he probed the deep fears boiling inside her. “She has never slept a whole day before. She must have been very tired—”
“She must be getting weaker and the medicine isn’t helping. That’s what you fear.”
She watched, hands fisted, as he approached Sarah. She flinched as he touched Sarah’s throat with two fingers until she realized he was checking the pulse.
“If I try to help your
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