Valerian stood for a moment, deep in thought. "Something has been troubling me, something Naimah told me."

My spine stiffened, as it did every time Naimah's name was mentioned.

He regarded me carefully, and I wondered if he knew how sensitive I was on the topic of his mentor and former lover. "Naimah guarded many secrets. I mentioned to you the alchemist who gave her the gift of long life. She writes in her journals of him, how he devoted his life-his many lifetimes, I should note-to studying vampirism."

"He is not a vampire," I said, stating what seemed obvious. My heart kicked with excitement. "How does he know how to cheat death, then?"

"Not cheat, not completely, but evade." Valerian nodded slowly. "He has made it possible for mortal man to evade death for a long, long time. He has done this in the hopes of finding a cure one day, a cure for vampirism." His eyes were dark and intense as they watched me.

"But . . . is it possible?" I asked, incredulous.

"He has not succeeded yet, not completely. But during his quest, he has discovered something scarce to be believed."

"A way to give a human long life?"

"Exactly that, but there is more. Naimah writes in her journals of hearing a tale many years ago of a German man whose young daughter had been transformed into a vampire a very long time ago. This young girl was purported to still live as strigoii vii, imprisoned by her father on the island of Santorini, where he has studied and conducted extensive research to cure her. There is something about that place that has made it possible to develop this elixir for long life. Through this elixir, he has been able to sustain her in her state of strigoii vii."

"Of course," I offered, "so that if he can cure her, she will still be alive."

He nodded. "How Naimah learned of this, or got him to give her the elixir, I do not yet know. Perhaps it will be revealed in one of the other journals. I know only that she was sworn to secrecy, a vow she honored until the hour of her death. That was why she made me promise a long time ago that I would come to her, no matter what, when she neared death."

"She wanted to give you her journals," I said, understanding now why it was Valerian had been gone so long, unable to communicate with me. "She must have thought there was a chance that this information might save you."

His jaw worked. I found I was not jealous at this sign of emotion. I realized, suddenly, that petty state no longer bothered me. "In death, she is no longer bound to her vow of silence."

"You want to find the alchemist, don't you?" I inquired. "You must. He might have the cure by now, and it will release you. Why did you not go directly to Santorini to search for him? Why did you come here?"

He looked at me as if I were daft to not know already. "I came for you. What if you needed me? And you did-you do, don't you?"

A lump pressed painfully in my throat. "But what of you? Now that we know the reason you were bitten, now more than ever it is imperative you find a way to be released. You cannot become part of this war Ruthven warned about . . ."

"But I will be. What was it Ruthven called me? Ah, yes: Marius's 'half-made brat.' Seeded with the blood of the vampire so that I will become a soldier one day as a vampire newly born, vicious and hungry, ready to fight for my maker." His voice grew reedy and thin, filled with disgust. "I would be strigoii mort, a monster robbed of all personality or . . ." He choked off, his brave exterior deserting him. I reached out my hand and grasped his arm. Cutting a self-conscious glance my way, he cleared his throat. "What point is it to wonder?"

My heart broke at the dispa.s.sionate way he spoke, as if he were trying desperately not to care. "We shall not let that happen to you," I vowed. "You came to me because you knew I would be stronger with you. And you also know that you are stronger with me. I will help you. When this is done, we will search for the alchemist of Santorini."

He smiled at me, kindness and gentleness in his eyes. "So then, dare I hope that you have forgiven me?"

"Forgiven you?"

"For deserting you."

I cast my gaze away from his. "There is nothing to forgive. You have explained it all. And I feel rather foolish, so perhaps you should be the one to forgive me."

He stepped forward, frowning. "Whatever for?"

"I could have trusted there was a good reason for your leaving. And after all, we owed each other nothing after Avebury. What more could I ask from you? You saved my life several times over, and gave up Marius-and your freedom-in order to keep me from harm . . ." To my utter shame, I felt tears welling up. "That is why I did not understand after you left, why there was no word month after month. I knew why you had to go-I accepted that. You had to hunt Marius, of course. But it was as if-"

"Emma." He gently but firmly pulled me about so that I had to look at him.

I dashed away the tears splashing onto my cheeks. "Pay me no mind. I . . . I am overset these days. Ever since the cottage. Shriving that child took a terrible toll on me and then the business with Ruthven after . . . I . . . I am not myself."

He shook his head. "You have been angry with me, I know. I am sorry."

I was trying desperately to gather my composure, to distance myself from the upsetting emotion of this conversation. "You have nothing to regret. You've come here to help me when you have urgent business elsewhere. It is very nice of you, and-"

"I am not nice," he murmured. "And I did not come here just for you."

My tongue failed me, and I stared blankly at him, my heart hammering wildly. I was afraid to speak, and yet somehow the words in my head escaped in a whisper. "What did you come for, then?"

His gaze swept my face. And then he kissed me.

His hand came to cradle the back of my head, holding me fast, and I felt overcome. If the earth had opened up right then and we had fallen together through s.p.a.ce, I do not think I would have known it. This was what I had been wanting. My entire body wanted to melt, but my pride bit deep and I remained rigid in his arms.

He pulled back after a moment, staring at me. Dark questions lingered unspoken between us. My bravado was failing me, but I did not relent. He released me at last and turned toward the window.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked. His face in profile was sad, reflective. "From Blackbriar, I mean?"

"No!" The word exploded from me.

He smiled bitterly, casting me a sidelong glance over his shoulder. "But can you say you want me to stay?"

I threw my head back, closing my eyes as emotion swept over me. "What I want, Valerian, you cannot give me. I want to not want you. You do not know how much I pray to be free of this ache to have something I can never possess. I must be too weak, for I cannot seem to achieve it."

He opened his mouth, and I cut him off with a sharp movement of my hand. "Do not dare tell me a thing-I know all of it already. Yes, I know, I must understand-your situation, and therefore our situation. And I do. I do understand, more than anyone else, perhaps, for I have my own demons to torment me, do I not? But I have noticed that being understanding has no reward. What has it brought to me, what favor, what advantage? Why must I always understand ? Do you know how tired I am of it?"

There was an interval of silence, during which I glared at him until the realization of what I'd just blurted so furiously settled on me, bringing a flood of shame. I cut my head sharply to the right. I could not look at him.

But I could feel him staring at me. "My G.o.d, I never saw it."

I finally forced my gaze to his. He appeared bemused. He gave me that smile, the secret, tender one that always made me want to weep.

"You've always dazzled me," he said. "You are so brave-always, without fail. Oh, do not scowl at me, you are brave, you know-braver than anyone I've ever known in my life, and it has been a long, long life, Emma. And you are good. Such goodness I've scarce dared imagine. And then, as if that weren't enough, you are-we all forget, all of us who've come to depend on you. Except maybe Sebastian, he knows. Yes, Sebastian knows, but he is the only one."

"Knows what?" I whispered. It is a truth of human nature that we both fear and crave being known, and although I was not sure I could bear to hear more of this, I wanted more than anything for this man to know me. As I waited for him to answer, I felt my heartbeat throb against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"How vulnerable you are." He reached out, then thought better of it and his hand dropped to his side. "Strong, brilliant Emma. In some ways-Lord, curse me for a dolt for not seeing it before this-but in some ways, you are so vulnerable."

My entire body began to shake. I thought I would scream. A feeling welled up inside me, something like joy and terror mixed together in a blend that made the world tilt on its axis. I struggled to remain calm. Strong.

His arms were on me, suddenly, hands cupping my shoulders, giving me something steady. But he did not embrace me. We were not lovers, no matter what our hearts wished, for we were still separated by the blood of Marius, by the part of himself he despised. If it came to it, he wanted to die rather than be made over. And he had made me promise that if he could not see it through himself, then I would kill him. Of all of the sacrifices anyone could have asked of me, this was too much.

He had bound me by solemn vow to kill the man I loved.

How I hated him for that.

Chapter Sixteen.

Sebastian brought me the news of Janet's death. She was found hanged from a tree in the woods, an apparent suicide in precisely the same location where Victoria Markam had claimed to have found all the dead bodies that had subsequently disappeared.

That spot had to be significant to the girls, and I suspected I knew why. Miss Markam had found the cache of corpses by following the girls when they snuck out of the dorm. I could only surmise this was the place where they had conducted their lurid revels.

I do not know why, but the loss of the young girl with whom I'd only had a glancing acquaintance affected me deeply. She had been beautiful, and she'd been so young, with all of her life ahead of her.

"She was one of them," Sebastian said. "She belonged to the coven girls. I've heard enough rumors about her, since she disappeared, to have little doubt." He grasped my shoulder, forcing me to look at him. "Then we must see to her," he said.

I felt my stomach twist in on itself, clenching itself into a knot. Darkling I listen: And for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death.

One day, I would do this for my mother. I could not grieve over it. But that baby I'd had to shrive haunted my nightmares, and I was still tender.

Sebastian had more news when he, Valerian, and Father Luke came to fetch me the following dawn. "This might not be necessary," he told me before I climbed into the carriage with the two men. "I heard in the village that Janet was pregnant. She'd been to see the doctor and he confirmed it."

With so clear a reason for her despair, perhaps her death was not linked to the business with the vampire. I was so eager to avoid this duty, I almost turned around right then and returned to my warm bed. I was also of a mind to avoid Valerian, who sat in broody silence in the dark interior.

"We should be certain," I said instead, and climbed in.

Sebastian sighed, and nodded in reluctant agreement. He'd been affected by the child vampire, too. He would not have argued had I called off our sojourn this day.

But the shriving was uneventful. Janet, pale and strangely beautiful in death, had not awakened, and I felt a sense of peace as I did my duty to protect her soul.

Father Luke stood beside me, wearing his vestments, and I made no comment as he raised his hand, the first two fingers extended, and traced a sign of the cross, first in the air, then over the corpse. This was the first time since last spring that he'd taken his proper role in the shriving of the dead.

He began his prayers, and I bowed my head, finding myself silently reciting the Latin along with him: Absolve, we beseech Thee, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, Janet, from every bond of sin, that being raised in the glory of the resurrection . . .

When he faltered, I glanced at him. His pale skin shimmered with a sheen of fine sweat. He swallowed with difficulty, as if emotion dammed in his throat.

He began the prayer again, and once more he stumbled over the blessings.

I exchanged a worried look with Valerian. Sebastian, too, was staring hard at the priest. Finally, he managed to finish his prayers, picking up the edge of his embroidered stole draped around his neck and kissing it in conclusion of the rite. No sooner had he done so than he spun on his heel and quit the cottage.

"Perhaps it is what happened, that last time with the woman and the child in the cottage," Sebastian said, quietly coming up beside me. "G.o.d knows it was horrible."

I nodded. I was sure that was it. The carnage of that dawn was very much with us all on this day. "Thank G.o.d we've been spared another scene like it," I murmured.

As the sun broke over the horizon, we set about packing our belongings back into the carriage. We were anxious to be away before we were discovered. That was when we noticed Father Luke was no longer with us.

He was not in his room at the inn, either. I waited by the trap, eager to get underway lest I be late returning to school. Sebastian brought out the troublesome news. "He's gone," he told Valerian and me with something akin to panic. "He's gone to find opium. I was afraid of this. The melancholy still weighs on him."

Valerian was quick to reply. "I will search for him. He can't have gotten far. He's got to be up in the woods where we just were."

"I am coming with you," I said.

"Do you think that wise?" Valerian said. "They will miss you."

My position was precarious with Miss Sloane-Smith, and the gossiping Trudy Grisholm was watching me closely. That, in addition to Sebastian's rightful a.s.sertion that I would slow them down-"You are a dreadful horsewoman," he reminded me-convinced me to leave the two of them to it. I hurried back to the school and managed to stable the trap and the horse, get inside, freshen my appearance, and change my clothes just in time for my first cla.s.s.

I waited the entire day for word, which came in the form of a sealed note late that afternoon. Eloise Boniface brought it into the dining room when we gathered for supper.

"The innkeeper sent this up from the village for you," she whispered, and I noticed gratefully she made certain Trudy was nowhere in sight.

I hastened out of the dining hall to a private spot and tore open the note with clumsy fingers. "We have him," it read in Valerian's spidery hand. "He is safe. He is asking for you. Come when you are able."

It was not until Sunday that I was able to get free and go down to the village. As painfully impatient as I was to have to wait until then, I realized my position at Blackbriar was on thinner ice than I would have thought. I could tell by the manner among the teachers I counted as my friends, Eloise and Ann Easterly particularly, for they tried to give me gentle advice.

"Why don't you come and sit with me this evening?" Eloise had prodded soon after we returned. "You are alone far too much."

And Ann always was there to fetch me for every meal, during which she made special effort to draw me into conversations. I suppose her intention was to make me seem friendlier, less aloof, and I was touched by her loyalty.

I became aware that there was a line being drawn, with me on one side and the sly Trudy Grisholm on the other. So I was present at every meal, sat with the teachers in the parlor in the evening, joined in their discussions, and in every way tried to appear dependable, sensible, scholarly, and untroubled. But all the while I was biding my time, and after services on Sunday I slipped away to the inn at last.

Valerian was in the common room when I arrived. He knew better than to approach me in a public place. Mrs. Danby greeted me in between her rounds seeing to the tables. While she was occupied, I wandered over to the empty hearth. Madge was not in her chair, but I wanted to get another look at the headstone.

I found it a curiosity, more so since the name Winifred had come up in the story about my mother that Eloise Boniface had told me.

"Are you that chilled?" Mrs. Danby said as she found me by the hearth.

"No. I was looking at this," I said, pointing to the headstone.

She frowned. "It's depressing, isn't it? Well, at least they put it in upside down so it's not so obvious there's a gravestone there."

"Why was it put in the wall?"

"Well, now, we aren't ones here in the fells to waste." She clasped her hands together under her ample bosom. "When that wall was built-hundreds of years ago it was-they used all the stone they could scavenge. That's how it's always been around here, make use of what's at hand. So, they put the headstone in there."

"So it was removed from the grave?"

"Well," she said, giving a sigh, "that's an ugly tale. That Winifred's grave got opened up after she was gone and her remains burned. They said it was because she was a witch, but women like that-known to have the sight, and maybe know a thing or two about herbs-were always regarded with suspicion. It was how it was with all the women in that family, through the generations."

I wondered if that suspicion was due to her healing gifts, or the close a.s.sociation with Holt Manor. I was still unsettled by the connection of that dragon necklace I'd seen; I didn't know what to make of it.

"I heard of a Winifred whose son, Alistair, was a groundskeeper up at the school," I said. "They also took care of Lord Suddington's house. Was this her relative?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, that's right. The husband and son did the school, took care of Holt Manor before Lord Suddington came back. She was the last of the Winifreds around these parts."

This made sense. I felt anger at the prejudice against women whose only crime was a desire to help others with their healing talents. I felt it for this Winifred whose grave had been defiled and her headstone stolen and placed in the inn's wall, and for the Winifred who had tended my mother. And I felt it for me, for the tale of this poor woman's persecution was a cautionary one. Women with powers were thought to be dangerous, even if those powers saved your life. You could be thought a witch, or insane, or worse . . . evil.

I shook off this dark thought. "Well, thank you for telling me," I said. "I had wondered. I notice your mother is not in her usual place in her chair. Is she well?"

"Oh, bless you for asking, Mrs. Andrews, but she's having her rheumatism today. I keep her in bed through the worst of it."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear she is suffering," I said sincerely. "Please send my regards."