Stardust Souls, page 25
"Please watch your step."
Jeremy cursed again.
"You certainly have an interesting choice in reading material."
Frances scrubbed harder at her skin, and blood bloomed like roses in the water before turning it crimson. She turned her palm up, noting the cut from the rose was already healing. Good.
"It wasn't much of a choice," she muttered, though it was still loud enough for Jeremy to hear.
"Someone's forcing you to read these?" Jeremy asked, and Frances shook her head, even though she knew he wouldn't see the movement.
The memory of Cesaire's smiling face as thunder cracked through the sky branded itself behind her eyelids, and Frances tasted blood as her fangs punctured her lower lip. She let out a curse and retracted them. I can tell him about my father, can't I?
"My father was murdered a year ago. No one looked into it further than necessary. They say it was a hunting accident, but it wasn't. A rogue vampire killed him." Jeremy remained silent, and Frances continued. "I couldn't live with the knowledge that, if I had known more about causes of death and the signs of struggle, I could have helped. And so I began reading, though it hasn't done me any good thus far."
"That's not true," Jeremy countered, and Frances tensed, surprised by his statement.
Hands now clean, Frances dried them off with a fresh washcloth and started for a spare dresser next to the bathtub. She let the question slip from her lips as she opened it and rifled through silk and velvet.
"How so?"
"You were able to distinguish the victim's cause of death just now," Jeremy said. "I couldn't have done that, even if there was a sign in bold letters saying that his heart was missing."
Frances snorted and pulled out a pair of soft trousers and a blouse, deciding against a dress for a change.
"It was quite obvious; I don't think that a trained eye was needed to come to that conclusion."
Frances removed her ruined dress, pulling on the trousers. Blood still coated her feet, and Frances shivered, running back to the wash basin after she was fully dressed.
"Thank you."
Frances jumped and turned to find Jeremy leaning against a wall, watching her. She was glad to be clothed, but even still, she'd never felt more naked in her entire existence.
"Why are you thanking me?" She asked, the washcloth paused above a bloodied foot.
He simply stood there, flame-colored hair disheveled and swept slightly over his forehead. His clothes hadn't been spared by their embrace, and there were still twin smudges of crimson on his cheeks. Yet he seemed uncaring of his state, nor the fact that Frances was now working a dead man's gore from between her toes.
"Thank you for telling me about your father."
Frances paused, her chest seizing slightly.
"Everyone in Astrum knows of his passing. He was one of the oldest rulers in the realm."
"I know," Jeremy murmured. "But I didn't know you or anyone from the Baudelaire clan then. I didn't care, nor did I know a rogue vampire killed him."
"And you care now?" Frances asked, raising an eyebrow as she continued her scrubbing.
"Yes, even though I shouldn't," Jeremy replied.
Frances bit her lip but kept scrubbing, hating the sound of shouldn't on his tongue. The silence was brief, and then Jeremy was speaking again.
"Lennora is not—" he paused. "Was not, my real mother. She found me when I was six, after a group of rogue vampires slaughtered my family.
"It happened in the dead of night, and my real mother told me to hide under my bed and not to make a sound until they left. I heard the screams of my parents and siblings for hours. I still hear them now."
Frances looked up from her now clean feet, but didn't say anything. Jeremy's expression was still unreadable even though her own body felt like it might cave in.
"How did you survive?" she asked.
"I almost didn't," Jeremy admitted. "One of the vampires found me and dragged me into the main room so that I could see what they had done to the rest of my family. They hadn't only drunk them dry, they had torn them apart. The vampire who'd grabbed me was about to bite when Lennora appeared and killed them all before they could fight back."
Frances opened her mouth, then closed it again. She knew that story. It was famous amongst vampires, and a significant reason why every single rogue group had been hunted down for years after the incident. She remembered being afraid for her own family when it had happened, knowing rogue vampires killed anything, anyone, for sport. It had made her loathe the idea of growing soft, of caring. The monsters couldn't get you if you were one too.
Yet the fact that the poor boy who had witnessed the attack, who had been tossed against the dead bodies of his family and nearly killed, was the man standing before her now. It was almost unbelievable.
"Jeremy," Frances breathed, and realized that she had moved closer to him.
He stared at the floor now, stare blazing with hatred and pain.
"I didn't sleep for weeks afterward, and Lennora had to give me potions to knock me unconscious for a few hours at a time so my body could have even a little bit of rest. I've hated vampires every single day after that, and wished that Lennora hadn't killed them so that I could have done it myself."
Frances yearned to take another step forward, but the fury in Jeremy's eyes suggested that it was not a wise idea. So she moved back to the dresser and pulled out a pair of thick socks, even though she didn't need them.
"It's why you hated me," Frances said, more as a fact than a question.
It made so much sense, and a sudden crash of guilt punctured her heart at the annoyance she'd felt by his animosity.
Jeremy dipped his head.
"It is why I've been so confused by you, and by Sage."
Frances blinked. "You fancy Sage?"
"No!" Jeremy exclaimed. "No, I don't. I simply don't mind him. He has made Milo smile almost as many times as I have."
"An impressive feat indeed."
Jeremy's expression turned wistful for a moment, and Frances knew he was thinking about Milo. Their relationship wasn't romantic; she had realized this fact after some time, although she wasn't so sure if either of them had felt something more.
"You frightened me the first time we met," Jeremy said.
"I did?" Frances snorted. "I thought you hated me."
"I did hate you," Jeremy said easily, and though his words stung, she now understood. "Yet you were also the first vampire I'd spoken to since that night, and it scared me that you were so kind."
He wasn't looking at her while he spoke, yet she could still see the guilt and confusion radiating from him. She knew that they needed to find Milo and Sage, yet it was the farthest thing from her mind as she took another step closer. Frances reached out and brushed the sleeve of his coat. It was not a good idea to touch him right now, but she wanted to.
"It's maddening in here sometimes," Jeremy murmured, and Frances knew he wasn't speaking about the manor.
"It's a constant state of mild madness inside my head," Frances shrugged. "We get used to pain if it's handed to us every day. It simply turns into noise in the background."
Jeremy looked up, seemingly surprised by her words. Frances grinned back, and her skin felt like it was prickling with electricity again. He moved, and soon his arms were around her. She welcomed the embrace, not caring about the faint smell of death that clung to his coat.
"Thank you," Frances whispered, and his arms squeezed slightly. The muscles in his chest tensed, and Frances pulled away slightly. "What's the matter?"
"I forgot about the other night, with everything that has happened," Jeremy growled.
Daithine and Duncan, wrapped in each other's arms, punched through Frances's mind, and she shuddered. Jeremy pulled away slightly, and Frances stepped out of his embrace completely.
"We can't tell Milo."
"Why not?" Jeremy frowned, though his expression was, once again, on the verge of rage.
"Because, no matter how much I believe in my strength to convince my court that something happened, I cannot convince my brother," Frances huffed. "Malichi will find some sort of loophole to ensure that Milo and I are wed, no matter if our parents…"
She couldn't even speak the words out loud, and Jeremy grimaced. After brief consideration, he nodded, and his features softened again.
"It's best Milo doesn't know unless entirely necessary."
Frances let out a sigh of relief. If either the king or her mother spoke to the court, something of real change could be obtained. Yet for now, she and Jeremy would have the secret looming over their heads.
"We should find the others," Jeremy murmured.
Frances turned away, unable to hide the strange medley of emotions racing through her tired soul. Her conversation with Jeremy pushed aside the less-than-favorable one of her mother, and her shoulders relaxed. It was as though a layer of Jeremy's armor had been peeled back, and she could see his soul a bit clearer. Frances pulled on a pair of worn boots before leading to her bed chambers, the memory of his touch still on her skin. She was about to turn away when the gleam of light against polished wood caught her eye. Anton's knives had been placed on a shelf in the dresser, waiting patiently for her to do with them what she pleased.
"Fine," She grumbled under her breath, snatching up the box.
It would be smart to have some protection that went beyond her teeth and faint magical powers. Jeremy raised an eyebrow as she opened the box and withdrew the daggers, tucking them into her belt without a second glance.
"Those are beautiful," Jeremy commented. "Where did you get them?"
Frances snorted and started for the door.
"No one important."
Jeremy suggested they try Professor Binks's office once they'd left Frances's rooms, and they spent the majority of the trip in companionable silence. A balding ghost wearing a sheet around the waist in place of clothes passed by at one point, and Frances thought she saw the flash of Mary Edmunds cross her peripheral vision. The ghosts didn't bother Frances in the slightest, and by the relaxed grace in Jeremy's movements, he wasn't disturbed by them either.
Frances was about to open her mouth to speak when an all too familiar French curse echoed through one of the adjoining hallways. Shouts and yells followed suit, and it was now Jeremy's turn to freeze.
"That's Lyra yelling."
"And that's my mother cursing her to hell in French," Frances frowned.
They glanced at each other in confusion and turned down the hall. The yelling approached them, however, and soon the flustered image of Lyra came storming toward them. Frances's frown deepened. Why was she yelling at my mother? The image of Daithine and Duncan wrapped in each other's arms sent another wave of disgust through her body, and Frances shook her head slightly to find Jeremy catching Lyra by the wrist before she could slip past them.
"Lyra, what in the gods' teeth is going on?" Jeremy demanded, and Lyra wriggled her wrist from his grip.
"Nothing is the matter. I only needed to have a chat with the queen."
"You were yelling, not chatting," Jeremy said, and Frances angled her head toward a small black door that appeared at the end of the hall.
Her mother was nowhere to be seen, which was odd.
"I really must be on my way," Lyra insisted, taking a step away.
"We're on our way to Professor Binks's office," Jeremy replied. "I thought you were going to join."
She glanced between Jeremy and Frances, scowling. Frances only pressed her lips together, unsure whether to be kind to the witch or reprimand her for cursing at her mother. But what if she had a good reason?
Lyra shook her head.
"I have other business to attend to now."
Jeremy's expression hardened, and Frances watched as he and Lyra engaged in a silent battle. After a moment, Lyra still hadn't budged, and Jeremy crossed his arms with a sigh.
"Fine," Jeremy said. "Keep your secrets."
"We all have secrets, Cousin," Lyra said, though her skin was rather pale as she spoke.
Lyra turned and stalked off without another word, leaving both Frances and Jeremy standing in the hall watching her retreat. Frances shook her head and again wondered where in the hell her mother had gone.
"Well, that was odd," Jeremy muttered.
"Just a bit," Frances agreed, and they continued on their way, though an odd sensation that something terrible was about to happen followed Frances all the way to their destination.
“A hundred suspicions don’t make a proof.”
- Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment
Chapter 41
Milo
Sweat ran down Milo’s back as he entered Professor Binks’s office.
Once he and Sage had reached the manor, they went straight to the office, where they had previously discovered a great many things about each other. He only prayed that the giant man didn’t have some power that detected past lust or other passionate activities.
“It will be fine; I promise,” Sage murmured.
Milo glanced at him sidelong and sighed.
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
Sage knocked on the door. The sensation of being watched prickled Milo’s neck, and he whirled around to find Frances and Jeremy approaching. Both appeared slightly confused and disgruntled.
“You two took a while to get to the professor,” Jeremy commented, and Milo glared.
“Shut up.”
Sage paused. “Where’s Lyra?”
Jeremy’s expression hardened slightly, and he shook his head. “No longer joining.”
Milo frowned. It wasn’t like Lyra to miss out on essential conversations, even if only to stay informed about everything going on in the world. Her behavior had changed since Lennora’s death, however, and Milo could hardly blame her for being less inclined to be around others. He thought that Jeremy would have also turned into a recluse, but it seemed as though his assumptions were incorrect.
Sage shrugged and cracked the door open, poking his head through before opening it further and gesturing for Milo and the others to come inside.
Professor Binks sat at his desk, rifling through a pile of parchment as they entered, and Milo gave his teacher a slight nod as the man lifted his head to watch the four of them file inside.
“Is this all of you?” Professor Binks asked.
Sage took a step forward, and Milo silently thanked the gods for Sage’s confidence. It was also painfully attractive, but that was beside the point.
“Yes, Professor,” Sage began. “We had a few questions about the recent murders, and we thought you might know more about what’s going on.”
Professor Binks studied each one of them in succession, though his eyes lingered on Milo and Frances a bit longer than what made Milo comfortable.
“I’m afraid I don’t know very much about what has happened. I only know there was a third victim this morning,” Professor Binks said.
Milo’s hope sank like a ship in the sea, yet it was Frances who stepped forward and spoke.
“Bonjour, Sir,” She began, and Professor Binks inclined his head.
“Your Highness.”
Frances’s smile tensed, but she continued, “I felt inside the last victim’s chest, and it appeared that his heart was missing.”
Professor Binks’s expression turned blank at her casual proclamation, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“The previous victim’s chests were open as well,” Jeremy added. “If that helps.”
Silence enveloped the room, and Milo could do nothing but focus on breathing. Professor Binks considered them again, and his impassive expression was almost maddening.
“I will start by saying that you all must work on easing into heavy conversations,” Professor Binks began. “However, I believe that your gruesome discoveries do change a few things.”
Frances didn’t appear to feel abashed in the slightest, though Jeremy had the good grace to look down.
“I have been doing my best to investigate and find out who is behind these attacks, though with my limited time, I have not been very successful.” Professor Binks admitted.
“Have you come up with any theories?” Sage asked, and Professor Binks nodded slowly.
“I have, and I’m afraid that this information about removed hearts has only deepened the belief that my fears might be correct.”
“Well, what is it?” Frances asked impatiently.
Professor Binks looked at her, then sighed.
“I have reason to believe that someone is trying to find and use The Book of Silver.”
Cold seeped into Milo’s chest, and he had to blink away the darkness and bite his own tongue to stay grounded in his body. Frances cursed and grumbled something about a little girl speaking in riddles, but Milo didn’t have the mind to focus on her words.
“Why?” Sage asked. “And what do the hearts of vampires and witches have to do with it?”
“Please sit down before I explain. I feel slightly cornered with the four of you staring down at me like vultures.” Professor Binks waved them to sit at the long table, upon which Milo had been taught a great deal of things, which unfortunately had little to do with his powers.
They all sat, and Milo forced himself not to glance at Sage to see if he was affected at all by where they had sat down.
“Much better.” Professor Binks grunted. “Now, to answer your question, we must first remember the origins of the book’s creation.”
“I think we’re all aware of the book’s creation,” Jeremy was the one to speak now. “The gods each removed one of their fingers and put them inside of a comet, which then turned into a book bearing the knowledge of everything.”
“Correct, yet that’s not that part of the origin to which I am referring. It is the part when they gave the book to the angels and demons on Astrum.”
“The gods made it so that only the mix of blood from both heaven and hell could open the book,” Sage said. “That, or a stardust soul could do it, since they have the Infinite Galaxy inside of them.”
