Revelations, page 17
Emerging through a patch of trees, Edmond found himself on the bank of a wide river. Renie’s trail abruptly stopped, and he knew in an instant what she had done.
“She’s gone into the river,” he snapped, breaking into a run.
“The scent’s fresh, she can’t have gone far,” Ludovic said, drawing level with him.
That didn’t ease the tight knot in Edmond’s chest. Renie wouldn’t freeze to death in the wintry water and she couldn’t drown, but if she lost consciousness, there was no knowing how far the river would take her or what would happen if someone else found her—and that was if the sun didn’t get her first.
He ran for half a mile before he saw her, and then he was hit by a wave of fear so strong it almost sent him to his knees. If his heart still beat, it would have stopped then.
Renie floated facedown in the middle of the river, her limbs splayed around her, softly bobbing with the movement of the water.
He knew she couldn’t drown, but she was so still, so fragile looking that Edmond couldn’t fight off the cresting panic threatening to suck him under.
He leaped into the river.
The water wasn’t deep, and he easily waded through it until he reached Renie and gathered her into his arms. Her face was porcelain white and her eyes were closed, but they fluttered open when he grabbed her. Droplets of icy water clung to her eyelashes like tiny diamonds.
“Edmond,” she whispered.
Silver cuffs were on her wrists and ankles, leaving angry gouges all around, and partially healed cuts lined her arms, and Edmond bit back a snarl of fury. He wanted to charge back to that wooden shack and tear apart every single bastard who’d hurt her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Renie whispered. “You should have gone to Ireland without me.”
“Never!” he said fiercely.
“I hate to interrupt the charming reunion, but we need to get away before Jemima and Etienne come back,” said Caoimhe from the bank.
She was right. Edmond’s blood burned with vengeance, but Renie was injured, he himself hadn’t fully healed, and Ysanne hadn’t recovered from her stab wound. They were in no state to fight.
Cradling Renie, Edmond waded out of the river. She moaned and turned away from the sun, pressing her face against his chest.
“Here,” said Ludovic, pulling off his shirt and handing it to Edmond.
Edmond draped it across Renie’s head and shoulders, covering her as best he could. “Hold on, mon ange,” he whispered, and her shirt-covered head moved in a nod.
Edmond ran.
Renie
I sat in the back of Andrew’s black van, leaning against Edmond’s chest. He hadn’t taken his hands off me since pulling me out of the river.
I knew that vampires couldn’t drown or catch hypothermia, but could they go into shock? It felt like there was a block of stone wedged in my chest. Everything that Etienne and Jemima had told me went round and round in my head, taunting me.
June had fantasized about a vampire falling in love with her.
She’d watched all the vampire romance films, obsessively stalked every fan site, and read fan fiction until her eyes ached. In the end, she believed she’d achieved her dream. Only it had ended up killing her.
While Caoimhe crouched at my feet, examining the cuffs, Edmond gently lifted my injured hand. The bleeding had stopped, thanks to Baldy, but I hadn’t taken enough of his blood to knit the broken bones back together. An image of Baldy staring down at me as I ripped out his throat flashed through my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that would block the memory.
I’d killed someone today.
I didn’t know how to process that.
“Who did this to you?” Edmond asked, his voice low and savage, still looking at my hand.
“I did,” I said, flinching away from the memory. “It was the only way to get out of the cuffs.”
Approval flared in Caoimhe’s blue eyes. “You’re tougher than you look.”
“Thanks?”
“You’ll have to be tough again now, because without a key, the only way to get these cuffs off is to break them, and that’s going to hurt.”
“Can’t you pick the lock?” Roux asked.
Caoimhe looked blankly at her.
Roux rolled her eyes and fumbled in the tufts of her hair until she found a hairpin. “Please tell me someone’s done this before.”
“I have,” Jason said.
“You’ve had to pick your way out of handcuffs?” Roux tried for a light tone, but I heard the strain in her voice. This day was weighing on all of us.
“If you’re really lucky, I’ll get drunk and tell you about it sometime,” Jason replied.
He took the hairpin from Roux and twisted it into the shape he wanted. It was dark enough in the van that he had to pat his way down my leg until he found the cuff on my ankle. Even the slightest pressure of his fingers sent fresh pain shooting through my system. I hissed and clutched Edmond’s arm.
“Sorry, honey, but Caoimhe’s right. This will hurt,” Jason said.
It did, but I buried my face in Edmond’s chest, inhaling the smell of him, and using his body as a buffer to absorb my sounds of pain.
Even in the dark, Jason worked quickly, unlocking first one cuff and then the other, before moving to the one on my wrist.
Roux peeled the metal bracelets away from my skin, wincing and whispering sorry every time I whimpered.
When the cuffs were finally off, and that awful feeling of burning wasn’t quite as bad, Roux held her wrist to my lips. “Don’t even think about refusing,” she said fiercely, and shot Ludovic a hard look.
I was too exhausted to protest, and this time, Ludovic didn’t say anything.
I sank my fangs into her wrist, and warm blood rushed into my mouth, making me moan, but I only took a few mouthfuls before sealing the wounds with my tongue. As long as I was strong enough to stand, I could wait until we arrived at Fiaigh to feed again.
Assuming we were still going there.
“How did you know where to find me?” I asked.
“Jemima sent a couple of her human lackeys to watch your mother’s house. They turned out to be quite talkative,” Edmond said.
“Did you kill them?” If they’d threatened my mum, I didn’t care if they were dead, but at the same time, the memory of my fingers curling into Baldy’s throat, the sensation of his blood pouring over me, made me feel ill. I was tired of death.
Edmond glanced at Ludovic. “No. We tied them up and left them in the trunk of their own car. Someone will find them eventually.”
“What about my mum? How am I supposed to keep her safe?” I said.
“I don’t think she’s in any danger now. There’s no point in Etienne going after her again, not when he doesn’t know where any of us are or how to get a hold of us. A hostage is only good if he can use them,”
Roux said. “But I did leave your mum a note, telling her to leave Southampton. It was all I could do—you can’t risk calling home again.”
“Are we still going to Fiaigh?” I said.
Nobody answered. Ysanne sat in the corner, her shoulders slumped, her hands loose in her lap. She’d already known about Jemima’s betrayal by the time Edmond had found me, and it had cut a lot deeper than Etienne’s.
“We have to,” Caoimhe said. “If Etienne doesn’t know I’m with you, there’s no reason for him to suspect you’d go to my house.”
“Is it safe for us, though?” Roux objected. “If Etienne and Jemima have supporters in other Houses, how do we know we’re not walking into another trap?”
“Ysanne, Edmond, and Renie need blood, and my donors can provide that. We all need rest, and Renie needs to be somewhere safe for new vampires. My castle is the best place.”
“Unless it’s been compromised,” Roux said.
Caoimhe pursed her lips. “Even if that’s the case, which I think is extremely unlikely, Fiaigh’s location makes it impossible for anyone to sneak up on it. That’s one of the reasons we decided to go there in the first place. If Etienne learns that we’re there, he won’t take us unawares, and if the worst should happen, and we’re forced to run again, then at least we’ll have time to prepare first. If you have a better suggestion, I’m open to hearing it.”
Roux sighed. “I don’t.”
“How do we get there, though?” Jason said.
“Ferry?”
“None of us have passports or money.”
“Vampires don’t have passports,” Caoimhe said.
“We still need money. Or are you counting on free tickets because you’re famous?” Jason asked.
Caoimhe’s expression suggested that was exactly what she expected.
“Even if you could get free tickets, do you think it’s a good idea to go somewhere as public as a ferry port?” Roux cautioned.
“Surely that’s the perfect place,” said Caoimhe. “Etienne won’t risk making a move with so many witnesses.”
“Maybe not, but you guys will get recognized, and if that info makes its way back to Etienne, he’ll guess we’re running to Ireland. If Fiaigh is safe for us, we can’t risk jeopardizing that.”
“Could we steal a boat?” I asked.
“You mean a speedboat or something? Does anyone here know how to pilot one?”
No one answered.
“I was thinking more like a rowboat,” I said.
“Sweetie, do you have any idea how long it would take to row to Ireland?”
“No,” I mumbled. “But vampires can row faster than humans . . .”
I trailed off because Roux was looking at me like I’d just said something incredibly dumb. Which I probably had.
“Even if vampires row twice as fast as humans, we’re talking hundreds of miles. We’d be stuck in a rowboat for days,” Roux said.
“Oh.” Unexpected tears prickled my eyes. I was so tired. Lack of blood had made my stomach squeeze into a hard knot, and my gums ached where my fangs wanted to emerge. Pain from my injuries had filled my head with fog, making it hard to think, and the horror of everything that had happened today—the attack on the house, the torture, the fact that I’d killed someone—was lurking below the surface of that fog.
“Then we only have one choice.” Caoimhe looked up at the roof of the van. “We fly.”
“Wait, do you mean . . . you guys can’t actually fly, can you? You haven’t been keeping that secret all this time?” Jason said.
“In a plane,” Caoimhe said.
Jason rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”
“And it’s not over yet,” I muttered.
“There’s a private airport at Lee-on-the-Solent, only half an hour away from here,” said Caoimhe.
Ysanne spoke for the first time since my rescue. “Tell Andrew to take us there.” She didn’t look at anyone, and there was a hollowness in her voice that I’d never heard before.
Caoimhe knocked on the partition, and Andrew obediently braked. The Irish vampire moved to the van doors, then paused and looked back at me.
“Even once I get us a flight, it’ll take a couple of hours to reach Fiaigh. Will you be all right until then?” she said.
I tried to smile, but it felt like more of a grimace. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
“No.”
Caoimhe climbed out of the van and closed the doors behind her, sealing us in darkness. A few moments later, we started moving again.
I closed my eyes and rested my head on Edmond’s chest, trying not to think about how much everything hurt.
“What do we do if Fiaigh isn’t safe?” said Jason in a small voice.
Even Ysanne didn’t have an answer for that.
—
We reached the airport within half an hour.
“Wait here,” Caoimhe said, and stood up, fluffing her blond curls with one hand.
“What are you doing?” Roux asked.
“Getting us a flight.”
“With no money?”
Caoimhe smiled. “Let me worry about that.”
She climbed out of the van, giving us a glimpse of the airport.
The sun was starting to set, spilling red light across the sky. It made me think of the man I’d killed, the way it had been so easy to rip the life out of him and drink the blood that had poured onto my face. I looked away.
Caoimhe closed the doors again.
Roux still looked troubled, her forehead wrinkled, her teeth nibbling her lower lip.
“Caoimhe is one of the most famous women in the world. Don’t underestimate the influence that celebrity can bring,” said Ysanne.
“Influential enough that she can charter us a private plane at the last minute, with no money?” Roux said.
“Yes.”
Roux still didn’t look convinced, but whatever Caoimhe did worked—within twenty minutes she was back to inform us that a small private plane was willing to take us to Ireland.
I was barely aware of the journey across the sea. I spent part of it huddled under Andrew’s T-shirt, shielding myself from the dying sun, and even once the sunset faded into slate-gray evening and I came out from under the shirt, I couldn’t focus on anything. The sea rushed by beneath us, but I hardly saw it. I didn’t even realize we’d landed in Ireland until Edmond kissed my forehead and told me we’d arrived.
We’d been forced to abandon the van back in England, and I thought that Caoimhe would work her Irish magic again, but instead Andrew stole one, and before I knew it, we were driving along the N22 to Killarney, a town in County Kerry, in the south-west of Ireland.
I had no idea what time it was, but the sky overhead had darkened to indigo, studded with stars and a grinning slice of moon. Now that the sun was no longer a threat, Andrew had swiped a van with windows, and I was glad; the new van was no bigger than the old one, but the windows made it feel less claustrophobic.
Fiaigh was located on the outskirts of Killarney National Park—a magnificent sprawl of lakes, mountain peaks, and woodlands of oak and yew. The road leading to the house was carved into the countryside for the convenience of tourists who didn’t want to hike too far to catch a glimpse of the only Vampire House in Ireland.
Caoimhe visibly brightened as we drew closer to Fiaigh, and it made me think how hard this must have been for her. Not only had she lost friends, but she’d been stranded in another country, separated from her home by miles and miles of land and sea.
Fiaigh was more of a castle than a mansion. It soared up from the wild, rugged landscape, a huge building of gray stone, with many wood-shuttered windows, and chimney stacks protruding from turreted roofs. Two round towers flanked the main building; one was crenellated, the other capped with a small pointed roof like a witch’s hat. The only resemblance it bore to Belle Morte was that the building was surrounded by a stone wall, broken only in the middle by a large gate. Unlike the wrought-iron gate leading into Belle Morte, Fiaigh’s was a slab of solid black wood. I could see nothing of the house below the top of that gate.
“It’s beautiful,” Roux murmured, mashing her face against the window.
It was, but at the same time there was something bleak about the grayness of the stone and the cluttered shapes of turrets, chimneys, and roofs cutting a silhouette against the sky. All the way out here in the wilderness, it seemed like the sort of stereotypical castle that traditional vampires of fiction were expected to live in. I could imagine Dracula, dressed in a sweeping black cape, lurking in one of the upstairs rooms.
Caoimhe leaned forward—there was no partition in our new ride—and tapped Andrew on the shoulder. “Stop here,” she said.
Obediently, he braked a short distance from the gate. Caoimhe climbed out and approached her house. Almost immediately, the huge wooden slab swung open and two men strode down the path that led to the castle.
They were both dressed in similar uniforms to the Belle Morte guards, only these were olive green rather than black, and each bore a silver brooch engraved with Celtic knotwork—a ring pierced through with a long, straight pin. They wore polished brogue shoes with silver buckles, and green caps on their heads. Black radios were clipped to their belts.
“Lady Caoimhe,” the taller man said, executing a small bow. “We weren’t expecting you back so soon, and . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked at our van.
“Seamus,” Caoimhe said, “I’m afraid a lot has happened since I’ve been away. My friends will be staying with us for the foreseeable future.”
Seamus nodded, and I wondered if he was head of security here—
the Irish Dexter Flynn. Thinking of Dexter brought a pang to my chest.
“Gather the donors,” Caoimhe instructed. “My friends need to feed.”
The entrance to Fiaigh was less grandiose than Belle Morte’s; in fact, I almost didn’t see the small door that led into the castle, until Seamus opened it with a flourish, bowing as we passed.
The door led into a stone vestibule, which was brightened by tapestries hanging on the walls. Suits of armor occupied all four corners; they’d have looked foreboding if not for the tapestries.
Directly ahead was a stone staircase, wider than the one at Belle Morte, which led up to a wall—hung with another huge tapestry—
before bisecting off into two separate staircases, one to the left and one to the right.
A cluster of donors in expensive pajamas appeared from the left staircase. Architecturally, Belle Morte and Fiaigh didn’t have much in common, but when it came to fashion, their ruling women shared the same tastes.
Caoimhe swept over to them, as graceful and imperious as Ysanne had ever been, and spoke quietly with the donors standing on the lowest step. They all looked at me, and I lowered my eyes to the floor. Edmond’s arm tightened around my waist, trying to silently reassure me, but for once it wasn’t enough. I felt sharp al over, like my skin didn’t fit properly, like I was completely out of place here.
I didn’t even look up when Caoimhe came back over to us.
“Jennifer will escort you to the guest bedrooms, then I’ll send some donors up,” she said.
At Belle Morte, the west wing was where visitors stayed, so before Ysanne had hidden June there, I guessed it had been out of bounds for donors. Were donors normally allowed in vampires’ rooms in Fiaigh, or was Caoimhe bending the rules because of the circumstances? I was too tired to ask.
