London, December 1777
"You're certain that he's all right?" asked my cousin Oliver, shifting closer in an anxious effort to see better. "He looks like a dead fish."
Which was a perfectly accurate observation; however, I had no need to be reminded about the effect of my special influence on another person. I really had no need for Oliver's interruption, either, but he'd asked to watch and at the time there seemed no reason to deny his request. Now I was having second thoughts.
"Please," I said in a rather tight voice. "I must concentrate."
"Oh." His hushed tone was contrite, and he instantly subsided into silence and went very still, enabling me to put forth my full attention on the man sitting before us. Focusing my gaze hard upon his slack face, I softly spoke into his all too vulnerable mind.
You must listen very carefully to what I say...
In this moment I truly felt myself balanced on the edge of a knife. With Oliver along to witness things, I was steadier than if I'd been alone, and yet I was very much aware of the lamentable consequences should I make a mistake with this fellow. A single word on my part or a brief surge of uncontrolled rage let loose, and the man would most likely be plunged into a madness from which he might never recover. I'd done that once before unintentionally and would be a liar not to admit this present circumstance offered me a great temptation to repeat the action. God knows, I'd more than sufficient cause to justify such a malfeasance.
His name was Thomas Ridley, and last night he and his cousin Arthur Tyne had done their damnedest to try to murder me. For this and other crimes they'd committed or participated in, I had been informed it would be too much to expert a just retribution by means of the law; therefore I'd taken upon myself the responsibility to guarantee that they would commit no further mischiefs. Arthur had already been dealt with and would soon be sent away home when he was fit enough to travel. I'd drained quite a lot of blood from him last night surely for the purpose of survival, not revenge, and he'd been but half awake and easy to influence.
Ridley was another matter.
We'd confined him to one of the more remote cellar storage rooms far beneath Fonteyn House, well away from any ears with no business hearing his bellowed curses. When I'd awakened that evening, had finished with the befuddled Arthur, and was ready to deal with Ridley, he'd worked himself into a truly foul temper, if one might judge anything by the coarsely direct quality of his language. Much of his invective involved both general and specific profanities against myself and my many relatives for his treatment at our collective hands.
Coming down to the cellar together, Oliver and I had dismissed the five footmen detailed to stand watch, and announced our presence to Ridley through the stout oak timbers of the door to his makeshift prison. He responded with a statement to the effect that it would be his greatest pleasure to kill us both with his bare hands. He saw no humor in Oliver's comment that he'd just given us an excellent reason for keeping him incarcerated until he was starved into a better disposition. Ridley's reaction was another tirade against us, accompanied by a solid crashing and thumping to indicate that he'd found something in his cell with which to make an assault on the door.
"I think we should have the footmen back," Oliver advised, casting a nervous eye at me. "We won't be able to handle him alone, he's far too angry for reason.''
"He'll not be difficult for me once I'm inside."
"That's a proper lion's den in there and I must remind you that your name's Jonathan, not Daniel."
"And I must remind you that I have a bit more than just my faith to protect me in this instance."
"From the sound of things, you'll need it."
Ridley roared and smashed whatever weapon he'd found upon the door, causing it to rattle alarmingly. I hoped that his improvised club was not made of wood. For reasons unknown to me, wood presents a rare difficulty to my person when brought to bear with violence, and to it was I as susceptible to bodily harm as any ordinary man; I'd have to take care not to allow Ridley the least opening against me.
Easier said than done, Johnny Boy, I thought, steeling myself to enter. More out of trepidation of what was to come and to put it off just a bit longer than out of concern for Oliver, I paused to make an inquiry of him.
"You know what to expect, don't you?"
Ridley's commotion must have distracted him. "I expect he'll pulverize you, then come after me."
"He won't be able to. I was asking if you remembered what I was going to do to get inside.''
"Oh, that," he said with wan enthusiasm. "Yes, you've mentioned it, but I'm not so sure that I've quite taken it in."
"I've never had cause before to demonstrate it for you. You're not going to swoon or do anything silly, are you?''
''For God's sake, how bad can it be?''
"It's not bad, just something of a surprise if one is unprepared for it."
"I should be able to manage well enough. Once one's witnessed a few amputations there's little enough the world can do to shake one's calm. Nothing like seeing a man getting his leg sawed off for putting you in a proper mood to count your blessings and to ignore most troubles life has to fling at you." As if to give lie to his statement, Oliver jumped somewhat at Ridley's next fit of hammering.
"Steady on, Coz." I found myself near to smiling at his discomfiture and wondered if he was playing the ass on purpose just to lighten things.
He scowled, jerking his head in the direction of the clamor. "Well, get on with it before he has the whole house down. Do what you must-just promise you'll try to come out in one piece."
"I promise." And with those words, I picked up one of the lighted candles left behind by the footmen and vanished.
Oliver emitted a sort of suppressed yelp, but held his ground as far as I could determine without benefit of sight. My hearing was somewhat impaired while in this bodiless state, but I could clearly sense his presence just in front of me-or what had been my front but a moment before. Now I floated, held in place by thought alone, and by that means did I propel myself to one side, find the crack between the cellar bricks and the wooden door, and sweep down and through to become solid once more in the little room beyond.
I say little, for Ridley seemed to fill the whole of its space. I was a tall man, but Ridley was just that much taller, possessing a large and fit body heavy with muscles and all of them full charged with his anger. The remains of some bandaging circled his head; he'd suffered injury last night and taken a shallow but colorful wound. It had probably opened again because of his exertions; the blood had soaked through, and I instantly picked up the scent of it. His right arm had been in a sling the last time I'd seen him. The sling was gone now and his arm hung slack at his side. He still had much energy in him, for he slammed at the door again using his good arm and called us cowards and damned us thrice over. His back was to me when I caused myself to reappear.
The candle I held yet burned, and its sudden radiance drew his instant attention upon me. He whirled, one hand raised holding what had once been a table leg and the other shading his eyes from the brightness of the flame. We'd left him in the dark for the whole of the day lest he work some damage by having fire, and so my tiny light must have been utterly blinding to him. Despite this, he was very game for a fight, and without warning threw his improvised club right at me with a guttural snarl. I wasted no time vanishing again, an action that plunged his room into full darkness once more since I still clutched the candle.
He must have been so lost to his emotions that it had made little or no impression on him that I'd appeared from nowhere and departed in the same manner. I'd held some hope that the surprise alone might slow him enough for me to soothe him to quiescence, but was forced to abandon it as he charged over to the spot where I'd been standing and tried to grab hold of me. I felt his arms passing this way and that through my invisible and incorporeal body. He, I knew, would feel nothing but an unnatural coldness.
Now he blundered about trying to find me, cursing like a dozen sailors.
"Jonathan?'' Oliver called out in a worried voice.
I could not answer him in this form, nor could I count on him to be especially patient. We were as close as brothers, and his concern for me would soon cause him to fetch the footmen and come to my rescue. Even with the odds at seven to one Ridley would probably break some heads before being subdued.
I didn't care for that prospect one whit. When Ridley had crossed again to the door in his blind search, I allowed myself to assume a degree of visibility, but not solidity. He saw the candlelight immediately as before, but this time it was pale and watery, the brass holder in the hand of a ghost, not a man. This was so startling that he finally paused long enough to take in a good view of me. I was fairly transparent yet; doubtless he could see right through me to the damp brick wall at my back, an alarming effect that more than served. In the space of a moment Ridley went from a man who looked just short of bursting a blood vessel from his fury, to a man frozen with a profound astonishment beginning to edge into fear.
It was as close as I'd likely be able to come to a favorable condition for what needed to be accomplished. Quick as thought, I assumed full solidity, fastened my gaze unbreakably on to his, and told him to be still. Perhaps fed by my own heightened emotions, my order to him must have had more force to it than was necessary for he seemed to turn to cold marble right then and there. An abrupt twinge of dismay shot through me, and for an instant I thought I might have killed him, but this eased almost as quickly as it had come when my sharp ears detected the steady thunder of his heartbeat. I sagged from the relief.
"Jonathan?"
"I'm fine," I said loudly so Oliver could hear through the slab of oak between us. "It's safe now. You may unlock the door."
I heard the clink and rattle of brass, and the barrier between us swung hesitantly open. Oliver, his lanky frame blocking the lighted candles behind him, stood braced for trouble with a charged dueler in his hand.
"Where on earth did you get that?'' I asked, staring.
"F-from my coat pocket, where d'ye think?''
"You won't need it; Ridley's asleep on his feet, as you can see."
Oliver narrowly examined my charge, then reluctantly put the pistol away."He's under your influence, then?''
"For the moment."
His gaze alternated between my face and Ridley's. "First you're there and then you're not, and now this. You should have a conjuring show. It's just too uncanny."
"I quite agree,'' I said dryly.
"Something wrong?"
"I'm tired and I want to have done with this."
And more than that I wanted to feed again. Though outwardly I'd fully recovered from the attack Ridley and Arthur had made upon me the previous evening, I was still mending within. My vanishings just now had depleted my strength more than I cared to think about; my very bones felt hollow.
Perhaps Oliver realized something of this. He stood well aside allowing me to lead Ridley to sit at the table the footmen had recently used for their supper. I sat opposite him, checked on the number of lighted candles, and decided there was enough illumination for me to work by. The single one I'd used in the cell would have been insufficient for the sort of detailed project I was about to attempt.
Finally settled-as well as unable to put it off any longer-I began the dangerous process of rearranging another man's thoughts.
Oliver, after his initial question, was content to leave me undisturbed as I cautiously worked. Whenever I had to pause and think on what to say next, I'd steal a glance at my cousin and find him watching with rapt attention. Since first learning of them he'd been highly curious about my unnatural abilities; I hoped this demonstration would content him, since I wanted it to be the last one for the time being. I had no liking for forcing my influence upon another and took such a liberty with people only when dictated by dire necessity. At the worst it was a terrible and sometimes hazardous intrusion upon another and at the least any lengthy encounter like this one always gave me a god-awful headache.
But for all our sakes and his, Ridley very much needed to forget certain past events, as well as remember to abide by a new pattern of behavior in the future. Though presently under my control, he was as hearty in mind as in body, and I found it a difficult and exhausting task. I not only had to constantly maintain my hold against his strength of will, but labored hard to keep my own perilous emotions in check lest I cause him a permanent injury of mind.
You're not to pick any more duels, Ridley, do you understand that? It's past time that you assume more peaceful pursuits than harassing honest citizens. No more violence for you, my lad.
Light enough words, but it was the force I put behind them that counted. He blinked and winced a few times, a warning to me to ease off. I did, but damnation, I'd come so close to dying again...
You know well enough how to cause trouble, so you must certainly know how to avoid it, and that's exactly what you'll be doing from now on. If I hear about you being in any more rows...well, you just behave yourself or I'll know the reason why.
When I'd run out of things to tell Ridley, which were mostly instructions I'd already given to Arthur but requiring much less of an exertion, I leaned back in my own chair to pinch the bridge of my nose and release a small groan of sincere relief that it was finally finished.
"Now you're the one who looks like a dead fish," said my good cousin.
"Then serve me up with some sauce, I'm ready to be carried out on a platter after all this.''
Oliver pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. "No fever, but it's clammy down here, so I can't be sure."
"I'm not feverish, only a bit worn down. A little rest and some additional refreshment and I'll be my own self again."
"Which is something more than amazing from what you've told me about your adventure."
"Less adventure than ordeal," I grumbled, rubbing my arm. Arthur had nearly severed it with his sword last night, and though muscle and sinew were knitted up again with hardly a scar to show for the injury, it still wanted to ache. Another visit to the Fonteyn stables might help ease things.
"And I want to hear the full story of it, if you would be so kind. Elizabeth's only been able to repeat the high points you'd given her."
But I'd told my sister all that there was to tell and said as much now to Oliver.
"That's not the same as hearing from the source. Besides, I'm full of questions that she was unable to answer.''
"Such as?"
"I'll ask 'em as they occur to me, so expect to be interrupted. For the moment, all I want to know is what do we do with Mr. Ridley here?"
Our guest was still blank-eyed and slack-jawed. Perhaps the experience was tiring to him as well. One could but hope. "Take him upstairs and put him with his cousin, then pack the two of 'em off as soon as Arthur's ready to travel."
"Tomorrow, whether he's ready or not.''
That suited me very well. Wearily I stood and instructed Ridley to do the same and follow us out of the cellar and upstairs. He did so, as docile as a sheep. Oliver, leading the way with the one candle we'd not extinguished and left behind, cast a worried look back at our charge.
"We'll not have any more trouble with him? You're sure?"
"Quite sure." At least for the present. Ridley and Arthur would behave themselves for a time, but past experience told me that even the most firm suggestions would eventually erode away and be forgotten. I'd have to make a point of visiting them from time to time to strengthen what had been constructed in their minds tonight. My hope was they would eventually embrace my compelled guidance as their own desire, and no longer have need of my influence to keep out of trouble.
"Seems unnatural, that," Oliver muttered.
"I can readily agree."
"It also doesn't seem...well, enough, somehow."
"In what way?"
"After all that he's done and tried to do, just to tell him to run along and sin no more hardly seems fitting. He should be hanged."
"Did Edmond not explain to you how unlikely an occurrence that would be?''
"In rare detail if nothing else about this business. He also said the scandal would be bad for the family, though I'm getting to the point where I think a scandal would do the lot of 'em a world of good.''
"I could almost agree with you, except for how it would involve and affect us. I am content to put it all behind me and get on to more rewarding pursuits."
"Damn, but you almost sound like him."
"I suppose I must. After all, think how much we have in common." I meant it as a light jest, but it didn't come out right. Oliver looked back again, eyebrows high with shock. "I'm sorry, Coz. That was very rude of me."
"Think nothing of it. You've had a hard time of things."
Wasn't that the grand understatement? And not just for last night but for the last year or so of my life. Oliver's sympathy coupled with his kind dismissal of my poor manners crushed me down as much as the weight of recent events seemed to be doing. My death, my return to life, my search for the woman who had made such a miracle possible, all pressed close, crowding out any other thoughts in my brain for the next few moments. So thoroughly did they occupy me that I was genuinely surprised to come to myself in the central hall of Fonteyn House with no recollection of how I'd gotten there.
"Now what?'' asked Oliver, setting his candle on a table.
As an answer, I looked hard at Ridley until I was certain I had his full attention. "You are a guest of Fonteyn House and will conduct yourself in a gentle and honorable manner. The servants will see to your needs, and don't forget to give them a decent vale when you leave tomorrow morning."
Ridley responded with a slight nod of acknowledgment, and I cocked an eyebrow at Oliver. He regarded each of us with no small amount of wonder.
"He can stay the night in Arthur's room," I said.
Taking the suggestion, Oliver called for a servant. One of the household's larger footmen appeared, stopping short in his tracks to give Ridley first a surprised, then highly wary look. He'd apparently heard tales from the men who had been on duty in the cellar. Of course, Ridley's appearance might have had something to do with it, what with all the bandaging, blood, and damage his clothes had taken from last night's fight and this day's incarceration. Add to that his abnormal calmness of manner and you had the makings of what promised to be some very speculative and animated below stairs gossip.
"Show Mr. Ridley here to his cousin's room," Oliver instructed the man as though nothing at all was or had ever been amiss. "He'll take his supper there, and see that he's cleaned up and has all he needs to stay the night. And be sure to have someone fetch along a very large brandy for me to the blue drawing room."
The fellow looked ready to offer a few dozen questions, but was too well trained to make the attempt. Oliver's mother, the previous mistress of Fonteyn House, had not been one to encourage any kind of familiarity between servants and their betters, and her influence still lingered. The footman bowed and cautiously invited Ridley to follow him upstairs. Our prisoner, now our guest, went along as nice as you please without a backward glance at us. Oliver breathed out a pent-up sigh and let his shoulders sag a trifle. He exchanged a quick look with me; I gave him a short nod meant to reassure him that all was well and would remain so.
We watched until they reached the upper hall and turned into one of the rooms off the stairs where Arthur Tyne had been placed. More heavily concussed than Ridley and missing a goodly quantity of blood, he was slower to recover from his injuries. Bedrest and broth flavored with laudanum had been prescribed and administered, and he'd slept the day away under the watchful eye of one of the maids. The girl, her duties no longer required, soon emerged in the company of the footman and both quickly crossed our line of view to take the back way down to the kitchens. They were doubtless in a great hurry to carry the latest startling developments to the rest of the servants.
''Wonder what they'll make of all this?'' I mused.
''Who knows, but we may be certain it will in no wise even remotely approach the truth."
''Mmm, then shall I thank God for such a mighty favor."
We moved along toward the blue drawing room, Oliver's favorite lair, to await the arrival of his brandy. By now I was in very sore need of a restorative as well. That hollow feeling in my bones had progressed to my muscles, and the pain in my head from all the influence I'd exercised against Ridley seemed worse than before. I wanted a deep draught of blood in me and fairly soon; the dull pounding that had taken up residence behind my eyes was threatening to become a permanent lodger.
"Please excuse me for a few minutes," I said as we approached the room. "I'd like to get some air to clear my brain."
"Go out to the stables for a drink, you mean," he corrected. "Of course, you've more than earned it. Would you object if I watched?''
"Good God, why on earth would you want to?''
"I am impelled by scientific curiosity," he stated, full of dignity.
"The same curiosity that allows you to sit through amputations?"
"Something the same as that, yes."
I shrugged, not up to trying to talk him out of it, and, as before when he wanted to see how I was to influence Ridley, there was no reason to deny his request. "Come along, then, let's get it over with."
"Such eagerness," he remarked. "You weren't like this that time with Miss Jemma at the Red Swan."
"That was for pleasure, this is for nourishment. There's a difference."
"So you've said, but don't you look forward to a nice bit of supper as much as any other man?''
"I do, but how would you feel having someone closely watching while you eat?''
"If you really mind that much?'
"I don't, I'm just reluctant lest the process disgust you. But then if you can witness an amputation without so much as batting an eye..."
Oliver went somewhat pink along his cheeks and ears. I'd caught him out, but decided against pressing him for embarrassing details. We found a maid to fetch our cloaks and wrapped ourselves against the outside chill, then ventured forth into the night.
The air was cold and clean as only a newly born winter can make it. My lungs normally worked just when I had need of breath to speak; now I made a real bellows of them, flushing out the stale humors lingering from the cellars. Oliver must have felt the same rejuvenating effect, for like schoolboys we contested to see who could make the greatest dragon plume as we crunched our way over the frozen earth to the stables.
Last night's sleet had transformed the world into a silver-trimmed garden that turned the most mundane things magical. My sensitive eyes found delight wherever I looked, a happiness that was somewhat dampened when I realized Oliver was unable to share in it. After my second attempt to point out an arresting view was accompanied by his complaint that he couldn't see a damned thing except that which was in the circle of his lantern light, I gave up and kept my appreciation for nature's joys to myself.
My cousin's presence was not unwelcome to me, though, particularly concerning this errand. In the London house that my sister Elizabeth and I shared with him, the servants had all been carefully influenced by me into ignoring some of my more singular customs, especially any after-dark excursions to visit the stable. The retainers at Fonteyn House were not so well prepared, making me glad of Oliver's company as an insurance against discovery. He was master here now, following the sudden death of his mother, and should anyone interrupt my feeding, he'd be the best man to deal with the problem.
He then demonstrated his own keen understanding about my need for privacy, for when we encountered some of the stable lads, he invented a minor household duty to take them elsewhere.
"Will you be long at this?'' he murmured, watching them go.
I shook my head. "Having second thoughts?"
"No. Not trying to discourage me are you?''
"Hardly, since you're doing a fine enough job of it on your own."
"Am not," he stoutly protested, eyes all wide with mock outrage.
Laughing a little, I led the way in, picking out an occupied stall. Within stood one of the estate's huge plow horses. Placid to the point of being half asleep, the beast would hardly notice what would be done to him, and his vast body would provide far more sustenance than I could possibly take in.
Oliver fussed a bit to make sure he was in a position to have a clear line of observation and that his lantern was well placed for the best light. I spoke to the horse in my own way until I was utterly certain of its tranquility. The inner anticipation I felt building within had swiftly prepared me to sup. My corner teeth, sharp enough to pierce the toughest of hides, had budded to a proper length for the work they were to do. I knelt, closing my eyes, the better to hear the heavy beat of the animal's great heart, the better to shut away my awareness of Oliver's presence. His own heart was thumping madly away, but the sound quickly became a distant triviality as my immediate bodily need was at last free to assert its supremacy over all outside distractions.
Now did I cut hard and fast with my teeth into the thick skin of the animal's leg to tap the vein that lay beneath. I was dimly aware of Oliver's strangled gasp somewhere to one side, and then I heard nothing else for a brief and blessed time as I sucked in all I needed and more of the fiery red vitality that had become my sole nourishment for life.
The night before I'd drunk deeply from another of the animals here, but then I'd been weary beyond thought, hurting, and in need of haste. There'd been no time to savor, no enjoyment to be had beyond the basic sating of appetite. Now could I hold the rich taste in my mouth and revel in it and give wordless thanks for its roaring heat as it rapidly suffused throughout my chilled flesh. The injuries, the worries, the cold failings of a harsh world thawed from my soul and melted into nothing.
Would that all the problems of life could be dealt with so easily.
I drank for as long as necessity dictated and beyond. No imbibing only enough to sustain myself for an evening or two, tonight I felt like playing the glutton. Perhaps I could take in enough blood to hold me for a whole week-an interesting, but questionable accomplishment. To achieve it might mean that my present enjoyment would be less frequent in occurrence. There had ever been a touch of the Hedonist in my nature, and, knowing that quality would not suffer, but quantity would, it seemed most reasonable to bring things to a stop.
But not until many, many delicious minutes passed by.
Reluctantly drawing away, despite the fact that I was full near to bursting, I pressed the vein above the point where I'd gone in and waited until the seeping blood slowed and finally clotted. My handkerchief took care of the few stains on my face and fingers. Practice had made me very tidy in habit.
The pain in my head was quite abated, and the strength had returned to all my limbs. Satisfaction, in every sense of the word, was mine.
Then I looked over at Oliver.
The golden glow of the lantern light lent no illusion of well-being to his face, which had gone very pasty, nor did his cloak seem to be of any use keeping him warm. He shivered from head to toe, exhibiting a misery so palpable that I felt its onrush like a buffet of wind.
...
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