The Icon Thief

Book Two of

The Pharaoh’s Promise

Liv Rancourt

The Icon Thief © copyright 2024 Amy Dunn Caldwell

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

ISBN 979-8-9893002-8-0

Editor Meg DesCamp

Cover Art Jo Clement – Covers by Jo

Dedication

To Rachel, Irene, TJ, Connor, and Anastasia, for sticking with this crazy little project. I’m so proud of what we’ve accomplished!

Table of Contents

Dedication

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Thank you!

Bio

More Books by Liv

Chapter One

Alexandria, April 7th, 1855

To call myself a fish out of water implies that I once knew how to swim. I do not. Water should be properly warm and used for bathing, or nicely cool and used for drinking.

Everything else should be left for the fish.

Yet here I was at the Place El Mansheya, a lovely stretch of green surrounded by buildings whose design showed French fingerprints. Bunches of flowers—hot pink and orange and coral—tumbled over many walls and corners, making it clear I was in Alexandria rather than the South of France.

I was one of a handful of men wearing British Army drab, a costume I’d been instructed to obtain. All around me, men swathed in yards of fabric and men in business suits argued in Arabic, Greek, and French, their occasional use of English drawing my attention if not my understanding.

I knew no one and my presence drew only the mildest of curiosity, so I waited, grateful for the shade cast by the trees lining either side of the square. The place was much warmer than London in May, and a slight breeze came from the direction of the Mediterranean Sea, carrying the scent of salt and fish to compete with the horse manure from the road. It all had the tinge of fantasy, and I patted my breast pocket, reassuring myself the letter did, in fact, exist.

The letter. The missive that had prompted a desperate ride from London to Southampton, then two weeks in a steamship that could have been two years for as slowly as the time had passed.

The letter whose instructions ordered me to send a message to an unfamiliar person. A reply had come. I was to wait here, dressed in borrowed clothing, at the corner of the square closest to the water, with a boutonniere of red carnations pinned to my collar. Someone would approach me and say the word “ridiculous,” then take me to find my cousin Randall

Randall MacKinley. Keeper of my childish—and not so childish—secrets.

Ridiculous did seem like an appropriate choice for the situation. I was a doctor, a scientist, not a spy. That was Randall’s calling, though I deliberately kept myself in the dark as to the particulars of his profession. As boys, we’d been thick as thieves, quite literally, and while he’d fashioned a more-or-less legal career out of our propensities, I’d long since put such childish things away.

All I knew was that it had been some months since I’d had any word from him at all, and that the letter, when it came, was written in a stranger’s hand.

The same hand as the note that had posted me under this tree, where I tasted the dust kicked up by a hundred pairs of horses’ hooves.

While I waited, I ran through any number of scenarios of varying degrees of outlandishness. And the situation must have been outlandish, otherwise why send for me under such cloak and dagger circumstances? More likely he needed some manner of rescue, though if I’d ever possessed such skills, they’d long since rusted into disuse. I treated mothers for puerperal fever and active young boys for broken limbs. I eased the symptoms of dropsy and comforted the bereaved when my best efforts were for naught.

I was not a spy, and I possessed neither the skills nor the capabilities to act as a spy. Common sense told me I should have stayed in my London rooms and left Randall to his fate.

Blood, however, had proven thicker than water, so when a nondescript man with faded hair and fair skin approached, I steeled myself.

“Ridiculous weather we’re having,” he murmured, and I nodded in agreement, not trusting myself to reply. He gestured toward the road, and having come all this way, I wordlessly followed.

We headed toward the water, to a broad walkway that followed the Mediterranean shore. There were people about, though not many, and everyone walked with midweek determination, as if the sparkle of sunlight off the deep aqua waves was not worth noting. After a few long minutes, my companion nudged me with his elbow.

“Don’t look so terrified,” he said, without looking in my direction. “I’m taking you to MacKinley, not a firing squad.”

I tried to chuckle, but it came out closer to a snort. “When it comes to my cousin Randall, anything is possible.”

He was silent for another few steps. “I can find no argument with that.”

“Quite.”

We continued walking, and if we didn’t strike up a voluble conversation, we were at least cordial. I learned his name was Will, and he was Randall’s secretary. He also had a secret. I could see it in the gleam in his eyes. He wanted me calm and biddable, and while I couldn’t point to a specific fault, my jaw and shoulders never truly relaxed.

We’d gone the better part of a mile when he turned off the path, heading into a neighborhood. Here, the buildings were clustered together, holding each other up, and the air grew heavy with the scent of roasted meat and spices.

After so many years in London, I thought I knew what an old city felt like, but Alexandria had been ancient when London was founded. The sense of age added to my tension. There were mysteries in these decrepit clay structures, ghosts that I would not want to meet.

We came to a souk, a crowded market crammed into the space between one street and another. A man stood to one side, his head wrapped in a bright white turban, his dusky caftan a few shades darker than the clay. He played the clarinet, a moody, sinuous tune that did little to relax me.

There were too many people and too little space, and though I’d visited the Covent Garden market more than once, too much of this scene was strange.

Without pausing to comment, Will led me on, each turn taking us onto a smaller street than the last. I was hopelessly lost, disoriented, and should he abandon me, I’d be hard pressed to find someone who spoke English, let alone one who could direct me to my hotel.

One more turn, but this time we came out onto a small square. Low houses lined it on three sides, and no one was about.

“It’s that one.” Will pointed to a house to our right, sitting a little apart from the others. I’d long since passed the point of no return, yet I had to steel myself to mount the steps and follow him through the carved front door.

He closed the door behind me and murmured, “Wait here.”

I did, grateful at least to be out of the sun. Will disappeared through a door that swung soundlessly on its hinges. He’d left me in a parlor of some kind, furnished by someone who idolized the English. The furniture was familiar: a pair of wingback chairs set on either side of a small fireplace, a long, low divan, and a rag rug covering the black tile floor.

The colors, though, were both darker and more saturated than on English soil, as if the sun itself had given them added depth. I took out my pocket handkerchief and wiped the sweat from my brow, wondering if I dared sit, and even less sure if I dared stay.

The only thing that kept me in place was the knowledge that I’d never be able to find my way back.

Tucking away my handkerchief, I attempted to wait without fidgeting. Easier said than done. Tension stiffened my posture, so that when the door swung open again, I all but hopped in place. Will came through, carrying a tray that he set on the small table between the wing chairs.

“Sit, please. Your cousin will be with you shortly. Tea?” He gestured to the delicately painted pot on the tray. I almost declined out of a sense of self-preservation. Who knew what he might have put in the tea? Instead, I took the chair closest to the door. He poured, and I accepted the cup. Brought it to my lips. Took a tentative sip.

The first notes were of some unfamiliar spice, but behind that was the comforting warmth of a good English black tea. Another sip, and I nodded my thanks.

“He wouldn’t have sent for you if he wasn’t in real trouble.”

The words were spoken so softly I hardly heard them. “What—”

My question was cut off by my cousin’s arrival. He came through the door, leaning heavily on an ebony cane. The cane’s handle and base were brass, polished to a shine, and the handle had a large ruby set right above the place where brass met wood.

“You really are here.” Randall’s voice was strained, weak, with little of his customary bravado. He continued toward me, moving slowly enough for me to take in the frayed edges to his frock coat, the baggy fit of his trousers. His silk brocade vest had once been fine, but it gapped where it was missing a button. His smile, though, did much to reassure me. Despite whatever trouble he faced, he was still my cousin.

Once we’d been closer than brothers, and that memory brought me to my feet. I wrapped him in a hug, wincing at the sharp angles and planes of his shoulders and the way his spine was little more than a line of hard knobs.

He hugged me back, leaning in and allowing me to support his entire weight, something I was more than willing to do.

When he shifted his weight, I released him, though I kept my hands on his shoulders. “So what was so important that you needed to drag me halfway round the world?”

The sparkle in his eyes was as familiar as his grin. “My weakened constitution, in the main part.” He reached for the arm of the chair and I stood by in case he needed help sitting.

He managed without my aid, though Will hovered nearby as well. Once Randall was settled, I took my own seat. Will poured a second cup of tea.

Questions tumbled over each other in my mind, but I allowed my cousin time to take a sip before interrogating him.

He sipped, sighed, and set his cup on the tray. “Before we go any further, know that I am deeply in your debt. The task I’m going to propose is of the utmost importance, and though I do hope you’ll accept it, I’ll understand if you do not.” He paused, seeming to sink into the stiff horsehair upholstery. “Either way, you’re here, and I’ll be grateful forever.”

The physician in me wanted to point out that his appearance didn’t give much assurance that forever would be very long, but I left that unsaid as well. “Well, I’m here. Tell me.”

He caught my gaze and held it. “I would not ask if I had any hope of accomplishing it myself.”

“Of course.” I deferred asking him whether he had a name for his illness. There’d be time for that later.

“You can refuse me with no shame.”

This time I couldn’t hold my tongue. “You’re hedging. Tell me what you want me to do so I can decide whether it’s within my power.”

His grin took on a hint of deviousness. “You’re more than capable, if you’ll but let yourself. We share the same roots, after all.”

“Tell me, Randall.” I crossed my arms, refusing to return his smirk.

“All right.” He placed both hands on his thighs, bracing himself against whatever he was about to say. “You haven’t been here long enough to have much feel for the place. People get along for the most part, but there are always factions. In this case, it’s a matter of religion. There are the Muslims, the Coptics, the Orthodox, the Jews, and the Catholics, though there are fewer of them than the rest.”

A fit of coughing took him, shaking his shoulders till I thought he would break apart. Will passed him a handkerchief, and it didn’t take a physician to see the blood Randall wiped from his mouth. Consumption. A heaviness fell over me, the realization that I’d agree with whatever he asked of me.

Randall was dying, and I could refuse him nothing.

“Sorry about that.” He held the handkerchief scrunched in one hand.

I waved away his apology. “As a tactic of delay, coughing is fairly effective.” I quirked one side of my mouth so he’d see I was joking.

“Quite.” He managed to capture my dry tone almost exactly. “Here’s the nut of it. A man who calls himself a priest has been visiting Alexandria for the last few months. I’m reasonably sure he’s not a priest, and”—he snorted—“I’m not even sure he’s a man, for that.” He coughed again, more weakly. “He’s set to leave on the steamship Haddington when it sails on the nineteenth, and I have arranged for you to be on the same boat. He’ll be carrying several artifacts, treasures from the tombs, stuff pilfered from various churches, that sort of thing.”

“And you want me to steal something from him?”

“Yes,” he said gravely. “There’s an icon, a small image of the Black Madonna. It’s said to have fibers from the Holy Mother’s mantle, the one she wore at the crucifixion, woven into the frame.”

“I’m not a th—”

He cut off my protest. “If this thing leaves Alexandria, the Coptics will accuse the Orthodox, who will blame the Church of Rome, who will point their fingers at the Muslims. They’ll all likely turn against the Jews. This icon carries more weight than its artistic value or the stories tied to it. It is part of the web of power that keeps tensions in this place at a manageable level, and if it is gone, there will be war.”

His words carried the resonance of something more than truth. In fact, if I hadn’t known better, I’d say he was touched by the same spiritualistic visions that had begun to encroach on rational thought in London. Still, “I am not a thief.”

Randall’s expression turned bleak. “But you were, Hugh. You’ll remember how.” He paused, glancing at Will. “We’ve arranged for you to be the ship’s physician. You’ll have the run of the place, and you’ll be provided with a dossier that contains a reasonable explanation for your presence, along with all the information we have to this point. It’s just this one thing, and then I can die happy.”

I couldn’t have looked away from his gaze for all the money in the world. “I’ll do it, Randall, but you must live long enough for me to return the icon to Alexandria.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but I agree.” He offered his hand for me to shake. “You bring the icon back, and I’ll live long enough to see it.”

Chapter Two

Even in the dark, I could tell when the sun set. Instinct woke me from the day’s pause, my eyes opening into darkness unchanged since consciousness left me.

Before moving, I blinked to make sure my eyes were truly open. The darkness was total. Fear tried to claim me but Ya khasara. Damn it. Anger chased the fear away. It had been days, maybe a week or more, since the man who claimed to be a priest locked me in a room barely bigger than the pallet I lay on. He’d only once had his lackeys offer me food, but the cost was more than I wanted to pay.

I’d never amounted to much in life, with little schooling, less money, and only a rare bit of luck, but I’d never have willingly agreed to my current state, either. He’d arranged for an older, stronger monster to share this gift—that they’d called it a gift would have made me laugh, before—and now I was doomed to live forever.

If I didn’t walk out into the sun.

I sat up, stood up, reached my hands wide to press my palms against opposite walls. My eyesight was better than it had ever been when I was alive, yet I couldn’t even make out the end of the pallet underfoot. He wouldn’t leave me locked in this closet eternally. I knew that the same way I knew the sun had set. He needed me, needed what I could do.

But he wasn’t going to get it for free.

Channeling my anger and defiance into kicks, lunges, and running in place, I did my best to ignore my mounting hunger. I wouldn’t die of it, but if he left me here too long, I might drain the lunkhead unlucky enough to open the door.

When I bored with running, I hopped, then skipped, and I did it all without sweating or breathing hard. Then I sat, unsure whether to wish for a visitor or simply an end to it all. I hadn’t decided when the click of a key turning the lock made all the hairs on my neck stand on end. The door opened inward, forcing me to scoot back, and I had to squint against the glare of a single candle.

“Fr. Dominic has requested your presence.” The figure spoke in a monotone and held the candle steady.

Before answering, I inhaled. Instead of the sweet scent of blood, I smelled dirt and decay. This one was no more alive than I was, a shadow, a tool. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I could make out features. A slack jaw, skin the color of whey; I wouldn’t derive sustenance from it, though tearing its head off might relieve some of my anger.

“Don’t.” This voice was stronger, deeper, and accompanied by a wave of salty blood scent.

A second figure stood behind the revenant. He wore black robes, his hair trimmed in a ridiculous tonsure. “You have tried the good father’s patience beyond all bearing. Come with us now or be prepared to meet your fate.”

“So sentimental. How could I possibly refuse?” I held myself rigid to keep from flying at him. The blood smell almost overcame what was left of my common sense.

“Come. Now.” The figure turned in a whirl of black robes and faded into the shadows.

Sensing I had little choice, I rose to my feet. The revenant seemed to be waiting for me to make a move. I waved it on, as its candle would give me more than enough light to navigate by.

At the end of a short, narrow hallway, we came to a door. The revenant pushed it open but the monk waited. “Go on ahead,” he said, “and I’ll follow.”

I wasn’t sure, but I might have caught the glint of silver in his hand. A weapon? Touché. The revenant shuffled, I walked, and the monk followed us, making me wish for a breeze to blow his blood scent away from me.

We climbed a set of stairs and reached a wider hall, one with regularly placed sconces that gave off a flickering light and the scent of burning oil. Portraits hung between the sconces, sour-faced old men who watched me as I passed. If anyone in my family had had their portrait made, I’d never heard of it.

Father was from London, an Army man who’d stayed behind after the British chased out the French. He’d given me his name, Davies, and before he died, he’d made sure I could speak English as well as Arabic. Still, while Mother was a good woman, we were not the kind of people who sat for paintings.

We passed through a small courtyard and entered a parlor. There, in a corner chair that had a view of both doors, sat Fr. Dominic Mancini, dark, stern, and unsettling.

The monk took a chair at the priest’s right. In the opposite corner, a living man held the arms of a young woman, both trapping her and keeping her upright. She stood wavering, with her gaze downcast, her dress ragged, her arms bare. Her blood scent hit me as hard as if her captor had planted his fist in my gut.

Maybe it was the combination of her blood with that of the ass who held her. Either way, the scent drowned me so that I did not hear the priest’s opening remark.

“Well?” he prompted, his scowl gone fierce.

“Apologies, Father, I did not hear your question.”

He shifted in his seat, his black cassock rustling. “That in itself answers me. I’d asked if you were hungry.”

Yes. I didn’t shy away from his gaze and didn’t bother with a more elaborate answer.

“Someday you will regret your lack of cooperation.” He spat the words, and again, I didn’t bother with a response. Before Fr. Dominic could elaborate on all the ways he’d make me regret my defiance, a door opened. Not the door we’d come through, but one that apparently led to the street.

I knew the man—or creature—who came into the room. Knew the bastard and hated him.

“What in hell is going on, Dominic? Why are you starving my child?”

Gamal Hassan strode across the room, his widespread arms attempting to sweep away all he disapproved of. He wore a linen galabiya and trousers under an embroidered kaftan, with a matching keffiyeh covering his head. He didn’t stop until he reached me and put a palm on my face, turning my head one side to the other, inspecting me for damage. “He’s not a toy. Why are you treating him like one?”

“You promised me a servant who would do as I asked.” Fr. Dominic rose from his chair and came toward us. “This one”—he waved a hand at me—“does only what he wants.”

“Is that true?” Hassan asked me, though the glint of humor in his gaze hinted that we shared a secret the good father would never understand.

I shrugged. Allying myself with one such as Hassan might help me escape my present circumstance but came with its own problems. He’d made me in his own image, and I could no more look away from him than I could fly.

“Hmm.” Hassan inspected me more closely. “And what else has he done to you?”

Again I stayed silent, unwilling to let either of them know how much I hated that small, dark room. Above all, I feared Fr. Dominic would lock me in and never return.

How long would it take before the unrelenting dark drove me mad?

Hassan released me from his gaze with a grand gesture. “If you don’t want him, I guess I’ll take him off your hands.”

“No. You owed me, and this clears your debt. Either make him obey me or leave us so I can continue my own form of discipline.”

Hassan grinned at the priest. “You might find honey gets you further than the lash,” he murmured.

“They haven’t lashed me, at least so far.” I spoke for the first time. “He ordered me to kill someone and I refused, so he locked me in a room.”

My maker all but rolled his eyes. “You’re such a delicate thing.” The humor in his voice threatened to relax me, when I could not afford to be relaxed. “How did he manage the trick of locking you up? You’re stronger and faster than any three men in this house.”

“You told me to obey him, but I won’t kill unless there’s a damned good reason.” I shrugged, a jerking motion. “Following his monk into the room seemed safe enough, so I did.” And I’d die before admitting how badly I hated the dark.

Chuckling, Hassan turned toward Fr. Dominic. “He’ll get over his squeamishness soon enough. Besides, you wanted a guard, not an assassin.”

“He should be both.” The priest spat the words. “We’ll be on a steamship at least two weeks, maybe longer if the weather is foul. I must know he’ll do as he’s told, that he won’t run amuck.”

Facing the priest, I straightened to my full height. “Starving me is a rotten way of preventing that.”

“He’s right, you know.” Hassan put a hand on my shoulder. “He was a reasonable man, and I expect he’s still a good sort. If you treat him decently, he’ll serve you well.”

I would have argued that point, but Hassan squeezed my shoulder hard enough to make me wince.

“In the meantime, let him feed.” Hassan added a layer of command to his voice, which made the priest scowl harder.

“Don’t fool with me, Gamal. You owe your safety to me, but my patience has its limits.”

“Excuse me.” I shook free of Hassan’s grasp. “Neither of you have given me any reason to do as you ask. Unless I misunderstood his promise, I have the strength and speed to be through the door before any of you could stop me.”

“Unfortunately, habibi, I would be forced to capture you and bring you back. Your kisses aren’t sweet enough for me to risk death.” Hassan got an arm around my waist, pulling me against his body. He nuzzled my neck, which only made me stiffen further.

“Stop.” Fr. Dominic rose from his seat. “You disgust me. Both of you. Cast your enchantment, Gamal Hassan, then leave us, and if you ever cross my path again, I’ll see you dead.”

Hassan held me tighter, his hand dangerously close to my prick. Chin resting on my shoulder, he addressed the priest. “Your soul is blacker than mine, hypocrite. I have commanded my child to follow you, and he will, but he is not one of your mindless phantoms. Do not give him foolish commands, and he’ll do as you ask.”

He rubbed my crotch, and such was his power that my prick hardened. Hatred filled me, and if it could have seeped through my skin, Gamal Hassan would have burned.

“He’s actually quite docile, as you can see.” He laughed, and I wrenched myself out of his grasp. Fr. Dominic and his monk were both shouting at Hassan, and I took the chance to run.

“Stop right there, Davies.”

Hassan’s command vibrated through my body, and I froze in place, not quite reaching the door. He came up behind me and nipped at my ear. “You were created to clear my debt, and if you do as the priest asks, I’ll grant your freedom.”

He spoke so low the religious men couldn’t have heard him, but I did. “I never asked for any of this.” I matched his quiet tone.

“Oh, but you did.” He combed his fingers through my hair. “I asked if you wanted to live forever, and you told me you did.”

“I told you I wanted to fuck you forever, you bastard.” I felt rather than saw his lazy shrug.

“It’s all the same to me.” He nipped my neck, scratching me with his fang in a way that made me shiver. “Now do as you’re told, and everything will be fine.”

Fine? Things might never be fine again. “Go to hell.”

“I’ll see you there.”

With those final words, he slipped through the door and into the night, leaving me with the priest, the monk, and the terrified young woman. The being who held her was no more alive than me, but a mindless, unnatural evil. I knew without asking that the priest had created it. Fr. Dominic, a man of faith, who made some deal with a devil like Hassan, and who expected me to serve his whims.

The priest and I eyed each other for a long moment, and for the first time, I felt he truly saw me.

“I cannot promise I won’t ask you to kill for me.” He’d lost some of his bluster, but still I held my tongue.

“While we’re on the steamship, you’ll be guarding a thing of extraordinary value. Hassan promised you’d be capable of that.”

I nodded, willing to concede that much. Two weeks, and we’d be far from here. Far from Hassan.

Far from any friends and family who might question the change that had come over me.

“Take him to his room and bring the girl.” Fr. Dominic spoke to the monk.

“Downstairs?” The monk spoke from the depths of his cowl.

“No, the guest room, the one with the heaviest curtains. Oh, and get him something decent to wear.”

The monk’s huff of disapproval made me grin. If we had enough time, I’d look for more ways to dismay the bastard. He gave the phantom a wordless signal, and all of us trooped through the inner door, leaving the priest alone.

I would feed from the young woman, without killing her, and I’d figure out a way to get her out of this place. And if I got a new galabiya out of the deal, so much the better. My own robes had seen better days. Unfortunately, Hassan’s command still echoed in the back of my mind. I was stuck, and I knew it.

Still, it wasn’t in my nature to give up. I hadn’t asked to become a vampire, but since that fate had been laid upon me, I would turn it to my advantage.

Chapter Three

I spent the next two days studying all I could find about common treatments required on a steamship. I’d be dealing with illnesses like cholera and typhus and bandaging such burns and broken bones as were commonly suffered by the crew. In addition, I managed to talk my way on board so I could make an inventory of those medicines and dressings I’d have on hand.

Not as much as I’d like, so I spent a miserable afternoon fighting my way through a crowded souk, purchasing many of the things I might need.

And all the while, I alternated between remembering the capers Randall and I had once pulled off and doing my best to forget my current state of affairs.

Though the heat wouldn’t let me truly forget; the glaring sun, the oppressive heat, the babble of foreign languages, and the pervasive scent of unfamiliar spices kept me firmly rooted in the present. Somehow, I’d have to steal a valuable icon from a person who might not be wholly human, while keeping as many of my fellow passengers alive as possible.

Before dawn on the morning of the eighth, I left my luggage and all my various purchases on the dock to be brought over with a porter and boarded the ship. When my things arrived, Randall’s man Will came with them.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, his tone jovial.

“I’m just surprised. Randall needs you more than I do.” I also couldn’t help but wonder where he’d sleep, since my room and the infirmary were barely big enough for one. I had half a mind to insist he return to the dock, and would have said so, but he stopped me.

“He’ll have help, and he knew you’d never agree if we told you ahead of time.” Will’s smile became sadder. “Our task is the only important thing.”

I had no answer for that. While we waited for the tide, Will took charge of distributing the medications and bandages I’d purchased and I stowed my trunk and other personal belongings. In that tight space, we had to slide past each other like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, but we managed.

Luck smiled on me, and I had no patients that first afternoon. A steward visited to make sure I had everything I needed and to invite me to sit at the officers’ table for dinner. I politely accepted.

Despite my protest, Will insisted on brushing out my frock coat and assisting me with my cravat.

“You’re not a valet.”

He ignored me, continuing to adjust the folds of silk at my neck despite my efforts to break free of his grasp. Will was a good six inches shorter than me, and he stood on tiptoe to do the job.

“You’re supposed to be a man of some stature, so you’d obviously be accompanied by an assistant, and that man would obviously aid you in dressing. Now stand still and let me finish.”

His tone brooked no opposition, so I gave in and allowed him to continue fussing. “Of the two of us, you’re the one most likely to be a gentleman. I hope, at least, that you have a private room in which to sleep.” If I sounded petulant, he’d have to forgive me.

Instead, he laughed. “My arrangements are quite satisfactory.”

I narrowed my gaze at him but his smile didn’t falter. He stepped back, giving me a critical look. “You’ll do. Now, while you’re at dinner, do your best to discover what you can about this Fr. Dominic.”

Father Dominic. Randall had given me such information as they had so far collected, enough to know that the priest, Fr. Dominic Mancini, was my target. He was not an ordinary cleric, as evidenced by the fact that prior to 1849, no priest by that name existed. He had arrived in Alexandria as fully formed as Venus on her shell, with no history that Randall and Will had been able to discern.

“Just because you couldn’t learn much about him doesn’t make him a criminal.”

Will patted my arm. “After dinner, reread Randall’s notes. Fr. Dominic only came to our attention after his name was whispered in some strange places.”

“I hope we’re chasing the right man.” I offered a wrist for him to attach a cufflink. The trinket had a mother-of-pearl lozenge the size of an almond and, like my frock coat and silk cravat, was on loan from Randall. He’d sent me with two pairs of boots and a selection of silk waistcoats as well, having determined that my London wardrobe was insufficient to the role I was assuming.

They’d arranged for me to be the ship’s doctor, yes, but they’d also made it clear I should be treated as a gentleman.

I could only hope I was equal to the task.

“And while you charm the officers’ table, I’ll work the other side of the room. A cleric as prestigious as Fr. Dominic will have a retinue.” Will’s smile held more confidence than I could have gathered on my own. “Someone will tell us something.”

“I hope so.”

“They will. To hear Randall tell it, you were always the smart one. You’ll figure this out.”

I smiled despite myself. “Randall’s memories are faulty. My primary function was to keep us out of trouble.”

“You can apply that here, as well.”

I extended my hand, and after a brief hesitation, Will shook it. His grip was strong, his touch light, and if in public we had to act the part of master and servant, here we were equals.

I had no patience with those who would have it otherwise.

The ship itself was larger than the one that had carried me to Alexandria. There were three levels: first class, second class, and a lower level for storage. All the first-class passenger rooms opened onto the deck, a polished rosewood expanse lined with reclining chairs and space for shuffleboard and other games. Depending on the heat, it was likely passengers would sleep on those reclining chairs, as would the crew.

And if, God forbid, the engine failed, there were three masts with sails and rigging to keep us on course.

My room was on the second level, with only the smallest porthole known to man for a window. A steward let me know I’d be responsible for seeing first-class patients in their rooms, rather than requiring them to descend to the second level, but that all others would come to me as long as they could walk.

My practice in London had followed similar lines. I saw a few members of the ton in their homes, but otherwise, patients came to me. There the similarity ended. At home, I had an office, a room for examinations and procedures, and separate rooms for my living quarters.

Here, I didn’t even have a curtain to separate my bunk from my desk. If I had to bleed someone, I’d have to use care not to dirty my own sheets.

The stairs to the upper level were narrow, grimy, and steep, no fancier than I’d expected, though the hum of the steam engine lessened with every step. They opened onto a graceful hallway, however, and while I had yet to explore much beyond my own room, I easily found the dining salon.

A hundred candles shone down from three large chandeliers, bathing the salon in a warm glow. The scent of paraffin and ladies’ perfume drowned out the salty smell of the ocean. Most of the first-class passengers were mingling, the women seated at table with delicate glasses of an aperitif, while the men coalesced around a broad man in a nautical uniform. I hesitated before approaching them, unsure of how to introduce myself.

I shouldn’t have worried. A man in a similar uniform strode toward me with an efficient air and a warm smile. “You’d be Dr. St John, then? Right. I was asked to keep an eye out for you.”

“Yes, thank you. I am Hugh St John.” I held out my hand to shake his, and after a brief pause, he took it.

“I’m Second Officer Prentice. If there’s anything you need while you’re traveling with us, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Of course.”

“It’s not often we have such a qualified medical doctor on board. Usually we make do with Army surgeons, you know.”

My forced smile was more of a grimace. “I shall endeavor to provide you and your passengers with the best of care.”

“You brought the Holloway’s Pills, I take it.” He nodded with the enthusiasm of a small child. “Those fix almost everything that ails us.”

“Certainly,” I lied. I was more likely to treat patients with ipecacuanha, calomel, or morphine, but this wasn’t the time or place to debate the virtues of various medications. “I also brought some chloroform in the event anyone requires suturing or other procedure.”

“That’s just spiffy. Hope we don’t need it, but glad you’ve got it at hand.”

His enthusiasm boiled over, and I allowed him to take hold of my elbow and lead me in the direction of the captain. We burst through the circle surrounding him, interrupting whatever point one of the men was trying to make.

“Captain Thornton, sir, this is Dr. St John, our doctor. He’ll be joining your table tonight.”

The captain gripped my hand with rather more vigor than I’d anticipated, leading me to surreptitiously shake out my fingers when we were done. “Very pleased to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Thornton made an expansive gesture with both hands. “Gentlemen, this is Dr. St John. He’ll be taking care of all of us this fortnight. Dr. St John, Prentice will introduce you around. We should be seating in some fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you very much, sir.” I eased away a step or two, allowing him to continue the conversation we’d interrupted. Prentice stayed at my elbow, nodding at the various gentlemen while murmuring the corresponding names.

A man caught my eye. He wasn’t with the group around the captain. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for someone. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, lips in the shadow of a smile. He was pale, too, his skin creating a stunning contrast with the dark aubergine of his frock coat. His hair was dark and his stance had a sense of coiled anticipation, as if he was a lean jungle cat poised to leap at his prey.

For a moment, our gazes met, and held, and I knew what it might feel like to be that prey.

His smile deepened, causing my cheeks to burn. I turned away and forced myself to attend to Prentice’s conversation.

“To the captain’s right is a businessman named Mr. Leopold, and on his other side is a solicitor named Mr.…um…”

“Yes?” I prompted him, following the direction of his gaze. Directly behind Mr. Solicitor Um stood a short, dark man wearing a black suit with a clerical collar. The man who’d been waiting against the wall approached him, his smile so patently false it made my skin crawl.

Fr. Dominic—for the man in the collar could be no other—raised a hand, muttering something low and harsh. The younger man continued toward him, laughing.

Still muttering, the priest made a sharp gesture. Two men appeared from out of the crowd, stepping between him and the young man. Bald except for a ring of hair circling their brows, they underlined their singular hairstyles with black, monkish robes. They grabbed him by the arms and the man’s laughter faded, though his smile did not.

“You’ve already reneged on your part of the bargain,” he said, his voice carrying over the happy chatter. Though, in fact, most people had stopped talking and were watching him instead.

“You don’t know that,” said one of the priest’s lackeys. “Now get back to yer post afore you get in even more trouble.”

The priest broke off his muttering. “I made no bargain with you.”

“Hassan is dead.” The bitterness in the man’s tone was at odds with his roguish grin.

“If you do not return to your post, you’ll find yourself in the same circumstances.”

That last comment was delivered into dead silence as we all gaped at the two of them.

“Father, please.” Captain Thornton bustled over, reduced to the position of a nanny. “It’s nearly time to take our seats.”

The man broke free of the two men holding him, shaking them off with no more effort than if they’d been children. “We’ll talk more, Father,” he said, then strolled in the direction of the door, moving with that same predator’s grace despite the uproar he’d caused.

Fr. Dominic inclined his head toward the captain. “Apologies, sir. This should not have happened here.”

Not have happened here? I eased toward them, even though it took me away from Prentice.

“Come, Dr. St John.” Prentice again claimed my elbow. “The steward has given the signal for the guests to take their seats.”

“Of course.” Frustrated, I allowed myself to be led away. If the confrontation should not have happened here, where should it have happened? And who was that man, besides being part of the priest’s retinue? Maybe Will would have answers.

Meanwhile, I found myself seated several places down from Thornton, near the end of the table. Mr. Solicitor Um sat across from me, Prentice sat at my right, and on my left was a family of four. They were spread around the end of the table, with the children sitting at the very end between their parents.

Fr. Dominic was on the opposite end of the table, sitting with one of his black-robed associates on either side of him. The solicitor across from me introduced himself as Peter McAdam, and the family was the Beasleys. Once introductions were made and the first course passed, I settled in to listen.

McAdam might have been content with listening, too, however Beasley seemed determined to grill me on my scientific beliefs. “But you’ve read about John Snow, surely,” he said, waving his wineglass at one of the waiters.

“Yes, and I’ve heard him speak. His ideas are most interesting.”

The waiter refilled Beasley’s glass, though I covered mine with my hand. Never much of a drinker, I certainly couldn’t afford to get drunk in these circumstances.

“Interesting, my eye. He’s preposterous. To think that there are bugs in the water. I don’t understand where he gets his ideas.”

Mrs. Beasley wore a patient smile, indicating she was quite familiar with the things her husband couldn’t understand.

I endeavored to keep my tone mild. “His map of cholera cases makes a compelling argument that the pump at Broad Street is the source, and I don’t have a better explanation for what could be contaminating the water. Have you?”

Mrs. Beasley grinned into her dinner plate.

“It’s in the air, a miasma. Even you know that, right, Margaret?”

He nodded at his wife, who answered with a subdued, “Of course, dear.”

“I don’t know much about science,” McAdam interjected, “and I’d rather discuss just about anything else. What about you, Mrs. Beasley? What was your favorite part of your stay in Alexandria?”

Thus rescued, I eased back in my seat, nursing my wine. Beasley took the liberty of answering for his wife, and soon he and McAdam were arguing over whether a trip to Cairo was an essential part of any young man’s Great Tour. I used the time to mentally review the story Randall had provided me, in case any questions came my way.

I was a physician from London—that much was easy enough to remember—who’d come to Egypt to study their medical practices. My visit had been interrupted when the doctor with whom I studied had been called to serve in the Ottoman Army, which was currently at war in Crimea. Once I returned home, I intended to volunteer for the same conflict.

There was enough truth in those few lines to make them easy to remember. I had volunteered to serve in Crimea, though my application had been denied for reasons I did not understand. I’d meant to investigate when the notice from Randall had sent me charging down another path. Could the two be related? I didn’t think so. Still, the timing made me wonder.

McAdam and Beasley were content to continue their argument regardless of the topic, leaving me free to observe the others at our table. Prentice began a very subtle flirtation with Mrs. Beasley, whose children’s good behavior reflected well on her. Thornton was boisterous, the other diners were cheerful, and Fr. Dominic only spoke to his associates, his sotto voce comments too low for me to hear.

I could only hope Will’s dinner conversation was more fruitful than mine. Otherwise, we’d return to Randall empty-handed.

Assuming he was still alive to see us.

Chapter Four

Hassan was dead—his final death—something I knew with the certainty that I knew my own name. The knowledge had come to me when I rose, and by the time Fr. Dominic’s man unlocked the closet in which I spent my days, I was all but seething with it.

Confronting the priest in the dining salon might have been futile, but I could do nothing else. I was trapped on this steamship, half-crazed with hunger, and constricted in the kind of tight garments worn by Western men. I wanted to wear a galabiya, its loose, draping fabric leaving something to the imagination. My father may have been British, but he too had left behind his breeches, waistcoat, and stockings, and adopted the galabiya and caftan.

Praise God that Father would never see me like this. Alhamdulillah.

Worse than all that, every day brought me closer to my final death. If the priest had had Hassan killed, he’d surely do the same to me.

There had to be a way out of this, but I’d be damned if I could see it.

Instead, I paced the hallway outside of Fr. Dominic’s suite. He and his flunkies hadn’t returned from dinner; in fact, no one was around. Even the maids and stewards who catered to the first-class passengers had disappeared. I continued to pace, pondering the odds of survival if I simply jumped overboard, when I was interrupted by a heartbeat.

Paired oil lamps lit the hallway every eight feet, so I found a spot between a pair where the shadows were the thickest. Hassan had promised I’d be able to create my own shadows, but in the brief time before he handed me off to Fr. Dominic, he’d never bothered to tell me how. Hoping real shadows would be good enough, I waited.

A man came strolling down the hall, his heartbeat a shade too fast for someone on the way to his room. He came closer and I almost smiled.

It was him, the one I’d noticed while waiting for Fr. Dominic. To call him simply handsome did him an injustice. He was tall, his shoulders broad and strong. His dark hair fell in loose waves over his forehead, and a moustache and goatee framed his strong nose and fearsome jaw.

He passed so close I could have touched him, and my soft “Good evening” nearly went unanswered.

His pace slowed to a stop. “Shouldn’t you be at dinner?”

“Not hungry.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“You’re not at dinner, either.”

He chuckled, resuming his stroll. “I had no appetite for argument.”

I followed him, leaving the safety of the shadows and indulging in his scent, his warmth. I had a weakness for strong, manly men, and this one was a fine specimen. His heartbeat sped further, as if my presence somehow disturbed him.

This ability to sense a person’s heartbeat was still new, a secret skill as entertaining as it was useful. I had to wonder what excited him, here in this empty corridor. “Are you a thief, then?”

His pace didn’t change but his heart beat faster still. “What? No.”

Now he slowed down, and I crept up behind him. “Are you sure?” I spoke almost directly into his ear, but the only sign that I’d startled him was a sharp intake of breath.

From this close he smelled even better, warmth and salty blood and strength.

“I’ll call a steward.”

The low rumble of his voice heated my belly. I could never simply come out and ask at a man’s preferences—too easy to get punched that way—but there were only so many things that could excite a man in an empty hallway. “But if you do that, the steward will know your room is nowhere near here.” It was only a guess, but the way his shoulders stiffened told me I’d landed a blow.

“I don’t know who you are, but—”

“Aharon. Aharon Davies. And you?”

He pivoted too fast for me to move away, leaving us nearly nose to nose. “Hugh St John.”

I fought the urge to drop to my knees. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. St John. Or should I call you Hugh?”

He extended his hand, and without thinking, I took it. We shook, but as soon as his expression changed, I knew I’d made a mistake.

“You’re…cold.” The words were barely a murmur.

Before I could respond, he turned my hand over and pressed two fingers to the spot on my wrist that should throb with the beat of my heart.

“What…?” His brows, already thick and stern, drew together, his expression gone stormy. I pulled my hand out of his grasp, moving away from him with such speed that he’d likely think I disappeared. I didn’t stop until I’d retreated to Fr. Dominic’s room and shut the door.

Despite the barriers between us, I could still sense the faint beat of his heart and hear his footsteps. Instead of walking further down the hall, however, he came to the door of Fr. Dominic’s room. He knocked, three sharp taps.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Aharon Davies. I hope we can converse at greater length soon.”

I did not relax until his steady footsteps moved away.

D

Dear Lord in Heaven, what had just happened?

I held my left hand with my right, cradling the memory of the man’s cool skin. He had no pulse. None. Yet, unless he was a figment of my imagination, he’d been walking and talking.

And flirting.

Closing my eyes, I willed myself to ignore that particular observation. Nothing good had ever come from my sordid inclination, and I had no reason to expect it ever would. I should keep my mind on the problem at hand, where in addition to finding the priest’s room and the icon he’d stolen, I now had to contend with a member of the undead.

Who was apparently a first-class passenger, staying in room thirty-six.

Shaking out my hand, I cut short my exploration in favor of returning to my own room. With luck, Will had learned something useful, for I surely had not, beyond putting a face to the name Fr. Dominic Mancini. I found a door to the second level and jogged down the stairs, doing a poor job of convincing myself this was not a retreat.

Randall had long ago warned me about the presence of the preternatural in this life. In fact, his wild-eyed claims had prompted me to study medicine, and as a scientist, I knew what the body required in order to function, A beating heart was paramount.

Could this person, this Aharon Davies, simply have an abnormally slow heart? “If you weren’t such a milksop, you would have examined him more thoroughly.”

I was still muttering as I opened the door of my room.

“What? Oh, hello.” Will all but leapt from his seat at the foot of my bed. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

I scanned the space before answering. Nothing was out of place, but, “What were you doing in here?”

His laugh was normal enough to be reassuring. Almost. “Waiting for you, of course. I had dinner with a man who’s traveling with Fr. Dominic and managed to get his room number.”

“Excellent. I was hoping you’d find something more concrete than I was able to.”

Will settled on the chair by my desk. “I expect you found more than you realize.”

Taking the seat he’d left at the foot of my bed, I loosened the buttons of my suit coat. “I know what Fr. Dominic looks like, anyway.”

“That’s a good first step.” Will clapped his hands. “And now we know he’s staying in room thirty-six.”

If I hadn’t already been sitting, I would have fallen to the floor. “Which room?”

“Thirty-six.”

I paused for a moment, rubbing my late-day shadow with an open palm. This was no coincidence. It couldn’t be. “Will, how much do you know about the…preternatural?”

Just saying the word made my mouth dry and my heart pound. Will was an associate of Randall’s, so he must share my cousin’s beliefs, or know about them, at least.

Before answering me, Will brought out a small book with a pencil stuck in its spine. When he spoke, his voice was soft enough that I had to strain to hear. “I know there’s more than we’re taught in school anyway.”

“Have you ever crossed paths with anything…or anyone…you could not explain?”

He opened his little leather-bound book, flipped through the pages, and began to read, “October the twentieth, several hours after midnight, I came across a most unusual creature. He was a man, or he wore the shape of a man, but he was able to come and go faster than my eye could follow. When I came upon him, he held another man close. He released his victim and faded into the shadows, and although I endeavored to follow him,  it was like catching a will-o’-the-wisp. Soon I lost him altogether. I returned to the fallen man and indeed, he was dead.”

Closing the book, Will gave me a sober look. “I’ve made other notations, but that one frightened me the most.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged, his expression mournful. “At one point we shared a glance, the monster and I, but there was nothing in him. No soul. Nothing I recognized as human.”

I pondered that for a moment, unsure I should say anything about the man I’d met tonight. He certainly didn’t need any reminders of that awful experience. “What did Randall say?”

“That there were better things to spend time on than chasing vampires around.”

Vampire. Vampyr. Creature of the Night. Undead. The words that I’d refused to say rolled through my head as if Will’s attempt at humor had unlocked something in me. “I saw one.” The words were out before I could call them back.

“What?”

I closed my eyes, almost ashamed of what I was about to say. “I left the dining salon early, and while everyone was still occupied, I took a walk through the first-class area. I…met a man. He hid in the shadows when I first passed him, and he moved more quickly than I would have expected. We shook hands, and I…he was cool. His skin. As cold as a dead thing. I had a moment to feel for his pulse but…there was none.”

Will didn’t laugh out loud, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes. “How much wine did you have with dinner?”

“Pardon me?” I raised my chin, all but daring him to mock me further.

“I’m sorry, that was thoughtless of me.” He reached across the space between us and put a hand on my knee. “Since my encounter, I’ve done some studying on the subject, and I can’t imagine a true vampire would have shaken your hand or allowed you to feel for a pulse.” He patted me, which made me brush his hand aside.

“In truth, I think it’s unlikely the creature would have allowed you to walk away alive.”

His utter conviction threw my memory into doubt. “I suppose, but there was something…”

He interrupted me, turning to a new page in his book and beginning to read. “On this fourth day of January in the year of our Lord 1853, I had the opportunity to interview one, uh…” He threw me a glance. “Sorry, can’t say his name.”

I nodded, unsure of how else to acknowledge him.

“According to this gentleman, there are some half a dozen forms of supernatural or preternatural creatures living amongst us, not counting ghosts and poltergeists. There are two different forms of undead—vampires and zombies. Revenants are related but are usually grouped with ghosts.”

His dispassionate delivery should have calmed me, but instead it fueled my anger. “Wait. Stop. You can’t truly believe all this. Randall can’t believe all this.”

I half rose from the bed, ready to sprint from the room. Will’s smile was tinged with impatience. “Please,” he said. “I know this is all very strange, but bear with me.”

I settled on the bed, though I didn’t relax. Randall couldn’t believe all of this. If he did, that meant…a thing I couldn’t stand thinking about.

“In addition, there are the fae, which would include elves, fairies, and various other forms of sprites, and the lycanthropes, the loups garous and werewolves and other animal shifters.” He paused, giving me time for another outburst, but I kept my blatant disbelief to myself.

“Most locales have their own form of folkloric monster, and the taxonomy groups all of them together.” He paused to turn a page, his lower lip caught in his teeth.

“That’s only four.”

“What?” Will glanced at me.

“You’ve listed four types of preternatural creatures.”

There must have been too much cynicism in my voice because his gaze took on an edge of defensiveness. “We’re still working out some of the details. That’s why we were in Egypt. There’s a whole category of preternatural creatures we know very little about.”

“So where would the man I met this evening fit in?”

“I’m not sure. I’d have to examine him in person, but he’s likely an ordinary man.”

The sound I made might have come close to a growl. “Not any man I’ve ever met.” And that was the rub of it. He wasn’t like any man I’d ever met. His eyes gleamed with humor, as if he had a secret and was pleased to leave me guessing. “Whatever he was, I think that finding him outside Fr. Dominic’s room is too significant to call a coincidence. I expect he was guarding the place.”

“You may be right. I didn’t think Fr. Dominic would leave something as precious as the icon without someone watching over it.” Will closed his book and tucked it away. “If you see him again, the man you met, point him out to me. If he is a guard, he’ll likely take his meals with the other servants, which will give me the chance to make his acquaintance.”

Rising from the camp stool, Will gave me a thoughtful look. “I’ll leave you to get some sleep. If we can take possession before the ship docks at Malta on the twenty-fourth, it’ll be better for everyone.”

Better? Maybe, though I had no idea how we would accomplish that task. “Good night, Will.”

“Before I go, may I assist you with your coat?”

“I’ll manage, thank you, and I’ll…think over what you’ve said.”

Think it over and dream about it, most likely. There was a reason I’d left Randall’s life of thievery behind, one I remembered with great reluctance. Meeting Aharon Davies had unsettled me, and not only because of those memories.

He’d stirred up feelings I’d kept buried almost as deeply. Feelings of want. Feelings of need.

Feelings of desire.

Chapter Five

Through some quirk of fate, I sidestepped the priest after dinner, which likely gave both of us time to let things fester.

Sure enough, Fr. Dominic leapt from his seat as soon as I opened the door of his stateroom the next evening. The room held a desk, two upholstered chairs, and one obviously angry priest.

He was flanked by his cronies, a pair of men in black robes and monks’ tonsures. One had been with the priest in Alexandria, as mean and ugly here as he’d been there. The other was less certain, his gaze shifting, his eyes sad.

“If you ever, ever, approach me like that again, you will not live to see another night.”

Fr. Dominic’s snarl did little to intimidate me. “So? I’m not alive now.” And I wasn’t. I was bored and hungry, I couldn’t breathe in this clothing, and hell’s fury, I wanted off this damned boat, even if I had to die to do it. “You already killed Hassan. Why should I expect any different?”

The priest motioned to his flunkies, waving them out of the room and ignoring their protests. His men obeyed him, and when they were gone, he turned to me, his eyes gone wholly black. “Don’t be more of a fool than necessary. I need you to guard the icon, and if you please me, I’ll find more tasks for you.”

“And if I don’t?”

Fr. Dominic smiled with such malice that I took a step back. “If you don’t,” he said, each word a hard knot of evil, “I will stake you myself.”

Holding my coat open, I bared my chest to him. It was a gambler’s move, one I couldn’t afford to lose. “Do it.”

He snapped his fingers and a long wooden stake appeared in his hand. I didn’t move, because even a flinch would be a sign of fear. I’d had enough experience with this undeath to know that I had no interest in living forever, and if I had to die, right now would be as good a time as any.

The priest took a step toward me. I relaxed further, my eyes half-closed in a fake show of lust. I’d sooner fuck a horse as this demon in priests’ robes. He took another step in my direction. Catching my lower lip between my teeth, I gave him a hint of tongue. This kind of play could get me killed or send him running in disgust.

“Gah.” He dropped the stake. “You’re repulsive.” He threw himself into a chair. “And you have no idea what you’re playing at.”

Releasing my lapels, I leaned more heavily against the wall, as louche a posture as I could manage. “Why didn’t you just have Hassan make this trip with you? Why have him give someone else this gift?” I spat the last word.

“Gamal Hassan did his part.” He rubbed his palms together and sparks rose from his fingertips.

“Channeling the fires of hell?” I kept my tone jovial, teasing. This sport had higher stakes than any game of faro.

Again he fixed me with that black-eyed stare. “You have no idea what I can do.” He snapped his fingers again, and something—some belt or chain—tightened around my neck.

I reached for it but found there was nothing to grab. It constricted my throat, though I did not depend on air for survival. My fingernails dug into my flesh and despite myself, my posture stiffened.

Hassan had told me very little about how to survive as a vampire, but common sense said that if he severed my head from my body, I would be truly dead. And although just moments before I’d invited him to kill me, now I very much did not want to die. I clawed harder, my scream more of a wheezing squeal. Tighter still. I fell to my knees, doubling over, a widening gap under my fingertips where his magic carved into me.

Then, release.

He might have snapped his fingers or said some bit of magic. Either way, I couldn’t move, my forehead on the floor, my neck raw and bloody.

“Ahh, now I see. You’re not as stupid as I thought.” The priest came and stood over me. “I have a certain expertise, you see. I’m able to test your body’s ability to survive in ways you could not imagine.” He kicked me. “Now get up.”

I took a moment to collect myself. Ya khasara, but I was in a mess. Stifling a hysterical laugh, I struggled to my feet.

Fr. Dominic sat in his chair, his eyes their normal brown. “I hope you have learned a lesson. As long as you obey me, I’ll allow you to live, but”—he tapped his lips with a fingertip—“don’t test me again.”

I let my silence answer for me.

Still, that alone must have satisfied him, for he waved me to the door. “There’s blood on your cravat. Get cleaned up, and if you need to feed, I suggest you find someone and be quick about it. I’ll expect you here within the hour to guard my door while I sleep.”

Still silent, I left him, though as soon as I’d closed his door behind me, I fell against the wall. This man—this thing—possessed a truly evil power. Common sense said I had to escape him. Fear said he’d find me wherever I went. If there was a reasonable solution to this, I’d never find it in my current state.

I needed blood.

Moving more swiftly than any human, I made my way down a narrow flight of stairs to the second level. Here, the hallway was darker, the closeness of the doors showing the rooms were smaller. I paid little attention to anything until I came to the small sign.

Ship’s Doctor.

There, something, some scent or vibration, slowed my pace. Ship’s doctor? I would have no need of him. But…I laid my palm against the door and closed my eyes. One heartbeat, slowed with sleep most likely. A familiar scent.

The man from the hall. Hugh St John.

My mind recreated his image. Tall, sturdy, with shaggy hair and stern features. The kind of man I would have sought out before this current disaster befell me.

Hunger, and a strong sense of the minutes passing, finally drew me away. I found another staircase, this one leading to an even lower level. A rat chased me down the stairs and into the stench of animal dung, burning coal, and vomit.

This was the prow of the ship, where the noise of the engine and the motion of the waves were the strongest. I came upon a poor soul, weakly hugging the wall. The smell of him made it plain that he was the source of the sickness. He wore the black and white uniform of the crew, gave no protest when I drew him into the shadows, and sank to the floor when I was done, though I’d taken no more than a mouthful.

Another rat ran over my shoe, and I had a sudden vision of a horde of the creatures finishing off what was left of this young man. A single smoking lamp cast baleful shadows around us. Hassan’s gift made my eyes stronger than they’d been in life, strong enough to see the young man’s cheekbones were gaunt and his eyes sunken. Under the dirt, he was not that different from the man I’d been.

Ship’s Doctor.

Without pausing to make any sort of plan, I lifted him as easily as if he were a child and ran for the stairs.

The rats would have to look elsewhere for their meal.

I wasn’t the only one to seek out the doctor in the middle of the night. One person was ahead of me, a slight soul with a stern expression and a soft curve to his hips. “Can I help you?”

He spoke with sharp confidence.

I turned enough to show the face of my victim. “I found him down below.”

“Found him?” The man at the door glanced from my face to the man in my arms. “You sure you didn’t accidentally knock him down?”

“No.” I kept my tone soft, though his disposition annoyed me. “Are you the doctor?” I asked the question, fairly sure of the answer.

“His assistant.” His expression softened. “Wait here and I’ll get him.”

The man slipped through the door, disappearing long enough that I began to worry I’d miss Fr. Dominic’s deadline. I’d just meant to reintroduce myself to the doctor, not spend all night caring for my meal.

When the door opened again, the doctor appeared behind it. “You,” he said, as if surprise had yanked the word out of him against his will.

“Good evening, St John. I’m sorry to bother you, but I found this man collapsed in the hallway and thought you might be able to help.”

He looked the man over, then lifted one of his hands. Even in the dim light of the hall, the marks I’d left on his wrist were plain to see. The doctor’s expression went from surprised and confused to something hard, cold. “I see. Bring him in.”

He opened the door wider, but to my embarrassment, I found I could not cross the threshold.

“Come in, I said.”

He’d moved from cold to disgusted, enough to make me feel ashamed though I did not know why. Still, I brought the man in, and when St John’s assistant pointed to the bed, I laid him there.

“I don’t suppose bleeding him will help under the circumstances,” St John said, a cruel edge to his voice.

“You’re the doctor.” I moved to the door with as much speed as I possessed. “I’m sure you’ll—”

“Wait.” He came toward me, and Jesu Christe, I let him come. “I know what you are, and if you make a habit of this, I’ll string every door with garlic and put a crucifix in every room.”

I grinned despite myself. “Don’t worry, I truly did just stumble over this one and didn’t want to leave him for the rats.”

“Liar.”

I shrugged with as much saucy carelessness as I could muster. “My meals are much more pleasant affairs. You should try one sometime.”

I left him standing with his jaw hanging open and his gaze hot with anger. Or it could have been closer to want.

Chapter Six

I stood for a long moment, one hand on the door, collecting myself. This man…this thing…troubled me in ways I could barely fathom. He’d brought his victim to my door and…laughed in my face. His appalling act disturbed me on a profound level, the mocking humor in his smile its own offense.

That my mind’s eye could find beauty in that same smile did not bear thinking about.

The young man on the bed groaned, drawing me away from my inner turmoil. “We’ll see to him, at least.”

“Of course,” Will murmured.

“Would you be able to bring me a bowl of water? It’ll be easier to judge his health if we wipe some of the dirt away.”

With a nod, Will left me. Had he heard the vile things that creature had said? My meals are pleasant affairs. The very idea disturbed me, or perhaps my own want was the disturbing thing. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I turned to my patient and raised the oil lamp that was my only source of light.

Young. Not yet twenty years, judging by his smooth chin. So thin his cheekbones jutted, and his dark hair was sparse. He’d known hunger for a long while, maybe his whole life. I took his hand. Cool, but not as cold as the creature’s. He wore black trousers and a grubby white shirt with a tie around the neck. One of the crew, most probably.

Before we’d departed, I’d received notice that there were one hundred seventy crew members. Some were dark-skinned Egyptians and others darker-skinned Africans. Of those, not all chose to wear Western dress. Based on his dress and his fair skin, this young man could be English or perhaps French. Based on his smell, he’d emptied his guts somewhere.

I put a hand on his forehead. He stirred but did not open his eyes. His skin was sallow, but he had no fever, and other than the wound on his wrist, he had no sign of injury.

“Cholera or seasick, or are you simply drained of blood?”

He murmured something.

“What?”

“Won’t stop moving.” Abruptly he sat. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my bed. I’m the ship’s doctor.”

“How’d I get here?”

I shrugged, not sure how much to explain. “One of the other passengers found you collapsed in a hallway, so he brought you to me.”

“Not collapsed, sleeping.” He rubbed his eyes. “So dang many fellows I couldn’t get a bunk.”

Will tapped on the door and came in carrying a bowl of water and a clay jar. The smell of roasted meat preceded him. “This was sitting by the door. I think maybe it’s a stew.”

Setting the lamp on my desk, I took the jar from him. The lid was loose, so I lifted it. “Beef stew, from the look of it.” I turned to the man in my bed. “Have you eaten?”

He’d swung his legs over the bed, apparently drawn by the scent. “Yesterday, but it weren’t enough.”

“But you’ve been ill…”

“Too much drink. I’m much better now.”

“Here, Will, give him the water and a cloth. Clean up a bit and then you can have some of this.”

“Nah, that’s all right. Just gimme the jar and I’ll be on my way.”

Will and I shared a glance. “All right.” I shrugged. “You sure you feel well?”

He grinned, wrapping his hands around the jar. “Nothing that this won’t cure. Thanks very much for the help, doc. I sure appreciate it.”

He made it to the door before I thought of an objection. “Are you supposed to be on duty somewhere?”

With a groan, he opened the door. “No idea what bell has rung. I’ll just have a few bites and hide it with the cows.”

With that cryptic comment, he escaped.

“The cows?” I asked Will.

“I believe they keep livestock below, cows and chickens, anyway, so we have fresh milk and eggs.”

I plunged my hands into the bowl of water Will had set on the desk and splashed some of it on my face. “Wonder where that stew came from.”

Will cleared his throat. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was that gent who brought him to us in the first place.”

Digging in my satchel, I pulled out a towel. “Wasn’t a gentleman,” I said through the fabric as I dried my face.

“So I heard.”

“He’s connected to Fr. Dominic somehow.”

“Seems likely he’ll be awake all night.”

“Seems like.” I folded the towel carefully. “It’ll make the job of a thief more difficult.”

“I’ll dump this.” Will grabbed the bowl and headed for the door. “Might not be as much of a problem if he was our ally.”

“No.” I turned away so he couldn’t see my face. “We shouldn’t court trouble.”

He closed the door, leaving me alone with my memories of past mistakes.

Past mistakes? Calamities, more like it.

Randall had hinted that the priest might not be entirely human, but he can’t have known he’d be traveling with a vampire.

And Will had suggested we make him our ally? That would be a step too far.

I flinched at the memory of another place, another undead creature.

And a friend who had not lived to see the day.

No, the only thing I’d do with this creature of the night would require a stake and a fistful of garlic, if any was to be found on this godforsaken tub.

Liar.

Shaking my head to clear away any wayward thoughts, I surveyed my domain. Two small rooms with no door between them. One desk, one chair, one bed. I’d lost track of time, and the young man’s odor still hung in the air. Likely it clung to my sheets, as well.

“Damn it.” I stretched my arms over my head, fighting the tension that threatened to tie me into knots. If I had an ounce of bravery, I’d go to the upper deck, where I could watch the water as we moved through it.

But I wasn’t brave. Ten years ago, I’d learned a hard lesson about trifling with things I did not fully understand. I’d walked away from Randall and our petty thievery, and I’d worked damned hard to leave all of that behind.

Now the darkness threatened to engulf me again. I collapsed in the chair and put my head in my hands. I’d been an idiot to let him talk me into this, an idiot and a fool.

There was little chance I’d get through this unscathed. I could only hope no one else would die because of my foolishness.

To say the night passed with aching slowness would be no understatement. I remained conscious of every second until dawn. Only when light shone thin and cool through my room’s small porthole did I dare relax into sleep. If there was a vampire about, then I would keep vampire’s hours.

Of course, as the ship’s doctor, I would be needed during the daylight hours, as well. Fortunately, I had rather a lot of practice at functioning without sleep, so after a rudimentary nap, I rose and made myself ready to see patients.

Almost immediately, I was called upon to see an elderly woman in first class. Her maid had found her in bed and had not been able to rouse her. I brought my kit, hoping that this was nothing serious or that her maid was prepared to be her nurse as well.

I was let into a room easily twice as large as my own, with a separate bedchamber attached to it and furnishings that could have come from a drawing room in London. The ladies’ maid was an older woman, well acquainted with her mistress’s ways. Though she remained calm and answered my questions succinctly, she twisted a handkerchief into tighter and tighter knots while we spoke.

Yes, Madame had seemed quite normal prior to going to bed.

Yes, Madame had eaten dinner in the dining salon with the other guests.

No, Madame hadn’t exhibited any unusual behavior.

I finally put a hand on the maid’s shoulder and asked if I could examine Madame. She brought me into the bedroom, where I immediately noticed an odd odor. It was quite similar to the sour funk given off by the vampire’s victim. I approached the bed, my own heart beating rapidly.

Had he struck again so soon?

Madame Barbier was in her sixth decade. According to her maid, she and her husband had planned a trip down the Nile; however, he had died of apoplexy before they’d reached Cairo. Now a widow, Madame was returning to London, her husband’s casket in the ship’s hold.

The bedclothes were made of linen, and the woman’s skin was nearly as pale. She wore a ruffled nightdress and a soft pink velvet bed jacket, her head wrapped in a rose satin turban. Both arms were on top of the covers, so after resting my hand on her forehead, I turned each of her wrists over, looking for puncture wounds.

There were none.

Her maid gasped when I took hold of Madame’s chin and turned her head from one side to the other. No marks on her neck, either.

My heartbeat slowed, but not by much.

“Does she take any medications?” I turned my attention to the small bedside table. A half-empty glass of water sat next to a small bowl, also empty.

“No, Doctor. She didn’t hold with most pills, though she sometimes took slippery elm for her bowels.”

I nodded, my gaze sweeping over the stricken woman. Her face was symmetric, without the one-sided droop that might suggest a stroke. I took the stethoscope from my kit, a slender tube with a flange at one end. Setting the flange on her chest, I closed my eyes and bent to place my ear on the other end of the tube.

Madame’s heart sounds were strong, though I noted some irregularity to the rhythm. Every dozen or so beats, one would come too quickly, then there’d be a pause before the next beat sounded. Not entirely unusual, especially in someone her age.

I moved on to her chest, which rose and fell steadily. Her lung sounds were clear and soft, with no rumbles or crackles that would suggest a pulmonary cause. I felt her hands. Her fingers were warm, the tips pink under her nails.

Taking a wooden tongue depressor from my kit, I gently opened her mouth. All appeared normal, with no lesions, swelling, or excessive dryness.

“Did you try smelling salts?” Also known as sol volatile, most women kept a small sponge soaked in a mix of ammonia and vinegar to revive them when they felt faint.

“No, sir. Madame said it made her ill.”

I reached for my vial of sol volatile. “She’s already ill. Let’s see if this’ll help.” I held the vial under the woman’s nose. She flinched but did not open her eyes. “All right. Did she make water last night?”

The maid pointed to the floor. “I emptied her chamber pot first thing this morning.”

“Anything unusual there?”

“Not that I noticed.” She gave her handkerchief another mighty twist. “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“You did nothing wrong.” I tucked away the stethoscope and put a hand on her arm. “Madame is lucky to have someone who cares about her so much.” Crossing my arms, I turned to face my patient, who stirred though she did not rouse completely. “Hmm.”

On a hunch, I opened the vial of sol volatile and again waved it under her nose. This time she coughed and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut before settling into her somnolent state.

“Why don’t you keep this for now.” I handed the sol volatile to the maid. “Apply it every few minutes until she wakes. You might also dribble some weak tea into the corner of her mouth, a little at a time. I must return to my room now to see if there are any other patients, but I’ll check on you in an hour or so to see if her condition has changed.”

And if her condition hadn’t changed? Well, we were far from land, so I’d have to make do, but if I found any more such enervated victims, I’d know who to blame.

On returning to my cabin, I had time to record notes about Madame Barbier’s condition before my next patient arrived. After that, I saw a steady flow of people needing my services: a pair of twins from down the hall who’d both developed aggravating coughs, a crewman who’d opened a gash on his arm that required stitches, and a lovesick young man who apparently needed someone to listen to his woes more than any actual remedy, among others. To my great relief, Madame Barbier roused herself in time for lunch, and I sent her maid a note of thanks for the excellent care she’d provided.

Again Captain Thornton issued an invitation to join him at table, however this time I declined. I was not only exhausted, but I wanted a chance to examine the priest’s rooms. I sent my last patient away, asked Will to bring me more water so I could clean up, then strapped a pair of stakes to a harness worn under my frock coat.

He returned before I’d donned my coat, and while he didn’t remark on it directly, he surely saw the weapons.

“I take it you’re not joining the captain’s table?” Will stood near the door, hands held behind his back.

“Not tonight, no.”

His answering nod might have held a touch of concern, though he possessed a level of opacity that I found difficult to penetrate.

“I don’t suppose you could ask the cook for a sandwich or some bread and cheese?”

Again he nodded, but this time with more definite worry. “I thought I might accompany you on…well, wherever it is you’re going.”

He spoke bravely, and I had no doubt he meant it. I also had no intention of exposing him to more risk than absolutely necessary. “On this first foray, I prefer to go alone.”

“But the—”

“Is not a threat to me.” I patted the stakes. “I have faced such a creature before and learned from that instance.”

“Randall—”

“My cousin should have warned me, but he chose not to.” If I spoke harshly, Will did not seem to mind.

“I’m certain he did not anticipate such a creature.”

I shrugged into my frock coat and paused, my hand on the top button. “How long have you worked for my cousin?”

Will tilted his head. “Two years in June.”

“And has he been ill that whole time?”

“No.” His gaze narrowed, a pointed look that tried to search out my accusation before I made it.

“I believe he has been, only now his symptoms are much harder to hide. Take care, Will Carrington. If Randall is still alive on your return to Alexandria, well, just keep your eyes open.”

For a long moment, we simply stared at each other, until he shrugged and looked away. “I’ll see if I can find you some supper for later, then.”

“Thank you.” There was more going on here than either of us were willing to admit. In fact, I was beginning to think those events of ten years ago were, in truth, coming back to haunt us.

“I’ll take my meal in the smaller dining hall”—the servants’ table—“and bring you any news. Shall we plan to meet here before bed?”

I smiled, touched by Will’s unstated concern. “Certainly. I mean only to make a preliminary investigation. We’ll meet here after dinner.”

With that, we had nothing left to say. Will departed while I readied myself for my task. I carried a small set of lockpicks, my wooden stakes, and as much confidence as I could muster. The setting sun faded from my porthole window, and I tried to keep my attention on my plan rather than the reasons for my actions.

Because every time I remembered why I was here in the first place, I got angry again, and an angry man makes mistakes.

The bell for dinner rang while I was putting the finishing touches on my cravat. I waited until the sounds of footsteps in the hall faded, then let myself out of my room.

No one was about. Good. I swiftly took the stairs to the first-class level. A pair of young women, sisters by the look of them, were hurrying past the door to the stairs. My sudden appearance must have startled them because they scuttled off in a flurry of giggles and lace.

For a moment, I simply stood at the top of the stairs. To my right was a row of doors, and to my left was the open ocean. When no other latecomers appeared in the hall, I turned toward Fr. Dominic’s rooms. To my surprise, his door was unlocked.

I pushed the door open as slowly as I dared, balancing the desire to get out of sight with the fear I’d walk right into the vampire since it was unlikely he’d have joined them for dinner. Still, I heard nothing but the soft shhh-ing rub of the door on the carpet.

Peering through the crack in the door as it slowly widened, I saw nothing of concern. A well-appointed stateroom, fashionable furnishings, no vampire. I came in and shut the door behind me.

Silence—or as close to silent as the rumbling steam engine ever came. The windows here were larger and looked out over glossy black nothing. There were comfortable chairs and a desk in one corner, with a few papers spread across it, along with a pen and inkwell. The room smelled of old incense and something bitter. I waited, giving any soul, living or undead, the chance to make himself known.

None did.

With that tacit permission, I began my search. I only intended to make a quick survey, identifying likely places the priest might hide the icon my cousin was after. If there was nothing obvious here, I’d focus my attentions on the luggage stored in the hold of the ship.

The bedroom was much smaller than the sitting room, with barely any space to walk between the bed and the armoire. Giving everything a cursory glance, it was only when I knelt that I noted a small leather case under the bed near the head. Perhaps this was my quarry. The case was locked, so I carried it into the main room, brought out my picks, and went to work.

As the lock clicked open, there was a momentary frisson of heat, as if magic had either cast or released a spell. I’d chosen a seat in one of the upholstered chairs, out of the line of sight from the door. I wasn’t truly hiding. If anyone should enter, I’d be caught.

Betting—hoping?—they were all still at dinner, I opened the case. Several objects lay inside, among them a golden collar encrusted with jewels and a matching armband, one of the ubiquitous blue statuettes taken from some tomb or other, and, underneath those, something slim and small and wrapped in paper, the right size and shape to be the icon.

I set the collar aside and lifted the statuette in order to get a closer look at the parcel beneath.

My first clue that the vampire had returned was when his hand wrapped around mine.

Chapter Seven

“Masaa el kheir.” I greeted him with good evening and shifted my grip so that instead of holding his hand, I clasped the statuette. He sat in the chair Fr Dominic usually claimed, while I stood to one side, my back against the wall. Heat swirled up my arm, making me shiver. “Did you feel that?”

Hugh St John glanced at me over his shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing.” It had to have been my imagination. St John tightened his grasp on the thing, resisting when I tried to pull it away. “Let me guess. There’s a medicine in here that you need.”

Abruptly he released the statue and shifted in the chair, edging away from me. “Apologies.” He stood and moved toward the door. “I’ll just be going.”

“Not yet.” I beat him to the door. Blocked the exit with my body. Grinned at his gasp. “I’ve half a mind to keep you here until Fr. Dominic returns.” I wouldn’t, not really. I just wanted to see his reaction.

“You hold the priest in high regard?” His gaze flickered over me, his expression growing increasingly confused.

“Don’t matter. He’s got me here for now, and he’s not going to be happy when he hears about your visit.”

He grinned. It was the first time I’d seen such an expression on him. “We’ll have to reach an accord then,” he said. “I’ll give you something you want in return for keeping my visit a secret.”

“Suck my cock.” Dear Lord, that was bold even by my standards.

He blinked. “Pardon?”

Now it was my turn to grin. “You heard me. Suck my cock and I won’t tell the priest you were here.”

Something flickered in his gaze, too fast for me to identify, but it wasn’t disgust. Of that I was sure.

“Here? Now?”

I caught my lower lip between my teeth, showing off a bit of fang. “Good point. Why don’t you go to your cabin and I’ll meet you there? The priest usually gives me a bit of time to myself in the evening.”

I was lying, but he couldn’t know that.

“I…seem to be impatient.” He frowned, a crease growing between his brows. “This is wrong. Unlike myself. I should stop, but…I want you. Now.”

Moving with all the substance of a figure in a dream, he approached me. “What?” I whispered. Without answering, he lowered himself to his knees.

“I’ve not much experience.” Even as he spoke, he stroked my thigh. “None, really. What spell have you cast?”

“Spell?” I echoed his word. “I’m no magician.”

He rubbed his cheek against the fabric of my trousers, feeling my arse with both hands. “I detest vampires. I’ve spent ten years promising myself I’d stake the next one I saw.”

His lips moved against my prick, teasing me through fabric. I found myself pinned against the door, unable to refuse his advances though a warning sounded in my head.

“Footsteps.” I gasped the word out as he began mouthing my prick through my trousers. “Someone is coming.”

He paused long enough to say, “Let them.”

“Are you crazy?” I grabbed him by the arm and jerked him upright. My cock protested, but I ignored it. “Go.” I stepped aside and all but shoved him against the door. “We will do this another time.”

Rather than swing the door open and make his escape, he simply stood. Something was happening, and I had no idea what. All I knew was that Dr. Hugh St John could not be here when Fr. Dominic returned. I jerked the door open and pushed him out without even making sure there was no one else in the hall. He’d have to fend for himself.

Frantic, terrified the priest would discover that we’d had a visitor, I put the statuette and the collar in the case and placed it carefully under the bed in the exact spot I’d noted it before.

Only then did I go to the sitting room and collapse in a chair. What the hell just happened? Hugh St John was an attractive man; anyone with eyes would have noticed that. Still, I preferred men who gave the impression of liking me. Hugh St John definitely did not.

I was a flirt. A tease, if you asked some of my past lovers. I never stayed long with any one man and I did not cuddle.

So why did I want nothing more than to wrap this man in my arms? His brief contact with my prick had made me painfully hard, despite the situation.

Until ten minutes ago, I would have wagered he’d cut my cock off before he’d suck it.

What the hell had changed?

Jumping up, I paced the small room, tormenting myself with fantasies. Hugh St John, on his knees, sucking me down. Fr. Dominic, sensing Hugh’s presence even though the man was long gone. St John, tearing open my shirt, buttons flying.

Fr. Dominic, using his magic to tear my head from my body, the penalty for my failure.

And to make the situation that much worse, I wanted nothing more than to chase Hugh St John into his room and lock the door.

I preferred the company of men; anyone who knew me would agree. I’d worked hard every day, running my mother’s dress shop. Mother. Who now believed me dead. She’d been accepting of my peccadillos as long as I didn’t rub my lovers in her face.

Because as hard as I’d worked during the day, I’d played harder at night. That’s how I’d crossed paths with Gamal Hassan in the first place. We’d been sparring partners, then lovers, and while I’d enjoyed his company, he’d seen me as little more than a way to pay off a debt.

Just another note of bitterness for me to swallow.

Fr. Dominic and his lackeys would return soon. I gave the room a once-over. Everything seemed to be in place, and I’d put the leather case exactly where I’d seen it last. Unless Fr. Dominic held clairvoyance in addition to his other skills, he’d never know we’d had a visitor.

There was no way he could know.

No way…

D

What in the hell? I stormed into my room and slammed the door, rubbing at my lips to remove the betrayal with friction.

I’d offered to suck off a vampire. Me. Hugh St John. I’d gone to my knees at the first invitation, and if he hadn’t stopped me, I’d have undone his falls and sucked his prick.

Horror wracked me, raising goosebumps on my spine, even as my own cock swelled at the memory.

The thing wasn’t alive. How could I have offered it pleasure?

I pulled the chair out from the desk and sat, though my knees were bouncing so hard I stood up again just to make them stop. When I shut my eyes, all I could see was his face—those high cheekbones and delicate lashes, the smile that held a hint of mockery.

Yes, the vampire was objectively beautiful, something I’d not really noticed before.

Objectively beautiful and beautifully dead.

I sat again, covering my face with my hands. I would banish his smiling image if it took reliving the events of ten years ago to do it.

Ten years ago.

Randall and I, both barely out of university. He’d studied the classics, while I’d studied medicine. He had a bad habit of breaking into houses—for the thrill of it, mainly. Sometimes I joined him, and while he always promised to share the fruits of our labor, he rarely did. We never stole enough to make splitting the prize worthwhile.

For our last job, we enlisted help. We’d targeted a peer, a duke, and planned to sneak into his house whilst a party was going on. This time Randall did have a target; he wanted to search the duke’s private office, though he didn’t offer much detail when I asked why.

We had a friend on the duke’s staff, Jeremy Thorn. He helped us by making sure there was a rear door we could enter, and by causing a small commotion—Ahhh, I’ve been burned—at the appointed time to distract the rest of the staff while we snuck in.

We made it to the study. I kept watch at the door while Randall searched the duke’s desk, but we’d not been there long when our friend stumbled down the hall toward us. “Randall, stop.”

Jeremy’s eyes were glazed, his expression slack, and between one step and the next, I saw why.

A man walked behind him, a stranger who held Jeremy by the scruff of his neck. There was blood on our friend’s shirt, just a few scattered drops. He and his escort stopped some six feet from me.

The memory came over me in a terrible mix of fear and confusion. Jeremy had a wound on his throat, a ragged, concave circle. Something had taken a bite out of his neck. “Randall?” I whispered his name. “Come here. Now.”

“I’ll just be another…” Randall appeared at my elbow. “Hey, Thorn. Are you okay?”

“He is not,” the man with him said. “In fact, I expect him to die. Take care that you don’t mutilate him in any way. He’ll be rising soon.”

He laughed, a maniacal sound, and flung our friend toward us. Jeremy fell, landing hard on the floor despite my efforts at breaking his fall. He was, in fact, dead. Randall and I brought him with us when we slipped out of the mansion, and then, in an act so barbarous I can still barely live with it, we cut off his head and removed the heart from his body.

No friend of ours was going to rise as an undead creature.

My skin felt hot, as if the shame from those events ten years ago had been reawakened by my actions tonight. If I’d stopped Randall from his wild plan, our friend would still be alive.

And if I’d stopped myself from groping the vampire tonight, I might still have had an ounce of self-respect.

I couldn’t stay in the room a moment longer. I let myself out, carefully closing the door though I really wanted to slam it again. Rather than go deeper into the ship’s belly, I climbed the stairs to the upper level and went out on deck. A few people were scattered about, taking in the air. Some lay on lounge chairs, while others leaned against the railing. A circle of crewmen sat near the prow, sharing from a pot of something savory and passing around a bottle.

I found a spot away from my fellow passengers, and, resting my elbows on the railing, looked out over the water. The sea was calm, the moon cast a stripe of silver, and a light breeze lifted small wavelets that flickered white over the surface of the ocean. The engine rumbled as large turbines churned the water, forcing us along at a brisk pace.

Here, alone, I simply breathed in the salty air. As the breeze cooled my skin, my sense of shame faded. I was not to blame for Jeremy’s death, and tonight probably had more to do with my long history of denial than with any desire for Aharon Davies. He might be pretty to look at, but he was a vampire.

I did not dally with vampires.

Chapter Eight

Will found me some time later, still at the rail, still tormenting myself. Still profoundly disgusted by my own behavior.

“You didn’t eat.” He came to stand beside me and grasped the railing. A gust of wind tossed salt spray into our faces, and we both flinched.

“Not yet.” I’d forgotten all about dinner, though as soon as he said the words, my stomach rumbled.

“There was a bowl of fish stew and some bread and cheese on your desk. You didn’t see it?”

I wiped the moisture from my face. I’d sat at my desk but had been too distraught to notice the food. Admitting to that would lead to questions I didn’t want to answer. “I haven’t returned to my room yet,” I lied.

Will didn’t say anything for a moment, making me wonder whether he’d challenge my assertion. In the end, he did not.

“It’s probably cold now.”

I turned away from the railing and the awful emptiness of the sea. “I’m hungry enough that I’ll eat it anyway. Come with me. We should talk about what I found.”

“The icon?” He pitched his voice low.

“In my room.”

He followed me, taking a seat at the foot of my bed. I sat at the desk, and while I ate that cold stew, I gave him an abridged version of events. Will produced his notebook and pencil, and he took notes while I spoke, his eyes bright, his questions astute. I told him about the vampire—I’d had no choice—though I left out the most disturbing details. I just hoped he’d attribute the high color in my cheeks to exertion from stuffing food into my mouth rather than anything untoward.

“So you saw the icon?”

I shrugged, sopping up savory fish stew with a hunk of bread. “I saw a flat parcel that was some eight inches by six inches, wrapped in paper. The vampire interrupted me before I could unwrap it.” I shrugged. “Unless he’s taken more than one icon and has the others stashed away somewhere, I’d say this one is it.”

Will closed his notebook. “We’re going to have to enlist the vampire’s help.”

“No.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the speed of my response. “He’s the only one of the priest’s associates we’ve had any contact with, and as a rule, the undead aren’t known for their loyalty.”

I used my handkerchief to wipe the last of the stew from my lips. “Let’s give it some time. I would not willingly go into business with one of the undead unless it is our very last option.”

Will rose, tucking his notebook away. “At least we have some idea where the icon is.” There was a false note in his voice that let me know he didn’t truly want to wait. I pushed the chair away from the desk, intending to rise, but he waved me off. “I’ll let you get to bed.”

Sinking into my chair, I thanked him for dinner and wished him goodnight. He hadn’t offered to help me out of my coat, for which I was grateful. I’d hit the limit for today’s charade.

I did hope he’d have a good night. One of us should, and it wasn’t going to be me.

The next morning, I was still shaving when my first patient knocked on my door. Will had brought me water and was checking through our supplies while I dressed, so he answered.

“Can the doctor come? My brother won’t wake up, and Mother sent me to bring him.”

I sluiced the soap from my face, nodding at Will.

“What room are you in?” he asked.

Our visitor, a young girl of maybe thirteen, gave him the room number. I buttoned my shirt and allowed Will to help me with my cravat. “This could be our third case,” I murmured.

“It’s very strange.” He gave the linen a final twist. “Surely you’ve seen trouble like this before.”

With his help, I slid into my frock coat. “I’ll have to examine this patient, but if his responses are similar to the others, then I have not.” I paused, thinking hard. “Usually when a patient is comatose, there’s some underlying physical problem. Either that, or they’ve ingested something.”

“And these…”

“The young crewman claimed he’d taken too much drink, but Madame Barbier’s swoon had had no identifiable cause. I don’t know yet about this one.”

He nodded toward the door. “I’ll tidy up in here while you’re gone.”

Thanking him, I headed for the room the young girl had given us. It was on the second level and not any larger than mine, though it contained two sets of bunk beds, a stack of trunks, and a small table. The girl sat on one of the lower bunks and her parents sat at the table.

Her brother, a boy of ten, was on one of the top bunks. Just as with my other patients, he lay somnolent and did not rouse no matter what I did. Neither voice nor touch brought about any response, nor did the pain of a hard rub on his sternum. He lay still, breathing quietly, his color good, his skin pink and warm.

“When was the last time he ate?” I asked the room in general.

“At dinner last night,” his mother answered. She was an austere woman, the sharp angles in her face worn by years of care. The slight quiver in her lower lip, however, showed me her desperate worry.

I asked her a few more questions about the boy’s health in general and their trip in particular, but none of her answers gave me anything useful, unless something could be made of the fact that he’d been in perfect health until this morning.

I almost asked whether they’d seen anyone matching the vampire’s description, but something held me back. My opinion of vampires had not changed one iota; my opinion of this particular vampire, however, would not bear much scrutiny.

After listening to the boy’s chest with my stethoscope and examining his neck and wrists for bite marks, I asked his mother if she had any sol volatile. She did, and after digging through a fabric case, she produced a small vial. I held it under the child’s nose. The first time, he did not respond.

“Wait,” I said in response to his mother’s sigh of disappointment. After a few moments, I applied the sol volatile again, and, just as with Madame Barbier, he did blink before subsiding into a state of slumber.

“Here,” I passed his mother the vial. “Put this under his nose every ten minutes or so, and when he’s more responsive, give him some weak tea or broth.”

“But what’s wrong with him?” The boy’s father lurched to his feet, fists clenched. “Are we all going to go to sleep and never wake up?”

“Of course not.” I raised my hands, showing him my palms. “I confess I don’t know what has afflicted your son, but I’ve seen two other passengers with similar symptoms, and they both recovered.”

“He must have breathed some miasma,” the boy’s mother said.

“Perhaps.” I did not think so, but arguing with her wouldn’t help.

Nor would suggesting that some supernatural creature was responsible.

I left them soon after, promising to return after breakfast. It was a promise I couldn’t keep, however, for at my room, three people waited to be seen.

I spent the morning attending to the kinds of problems that are common on board a ship. Vomiting, cuts and bruises, one rather badly sprained ankle; all things I could manage. None of my patients presented with symptoms of anemia or new wounds to their neck, and I had no more summons to patients who wouldn’t wake up.

Will worked beside me, taking notes, helping me dress wounds, and bringing me food when I missed lunch as well as breakfast.

Late in the afternoon, we finally had a lull, and I sent Will off to take some air. I needed time alone. There had to be a way for me to get into the priest’s room without drawing attention to myself and without troubling the vampire.

I just had to figure out what that way was.

D

God in heaven but the nights did drag. If Fr. Dominic noticed that we’d had a visitor, he didn’t say so. In fact, he all but ignored me, the only thing I could be grateful for. Each evening after dinner, he and the mean-faced, sad-eyed monks performed some sort of ceremony, one involving candles, incense, and mumbled words in Latin, a language I knew enough to recognize if not understand.

I might not understand the words, but their intent was plain. They asked their god for protection, to defend them against their enemies. I couldn’t help but wonder who this gang of aging, soft clerics would need protection from. With the exception of Fr. Dominic, none of them looked strong enough to make an actual enemy.

And each night, after he’d shooed the others away, he would allow me to slip away to feed. I would return to find the priest alone at his desk, surrounded by a foul smoke.

On the third night after St John’s visit, with the boat rocking gently and the engine rumbling in the distance, I stayed in the corner of the sitting room. Curiosity overcame whatever hunger I might have felt. Hassan had told me that, since I didn’t need to breathe, I’d possess a new form of stillness, and I wagered Fr. Dominic would not notice me. I might have been a statue.

The priest moved around the room, continuing to mutter to himself. I wondered if he’d truly forgotten my presence. The oil lamps were stingy with the light, so perhaps I’d blended in with the shadows.

He disappeared into the bedroom, and I shifted my weight slightly, giving my stiffening arms and legs the appearance of movement. He bustled out, dressed in only a loose shirt and a pair of trousers. Without his black robes, he looked like a beetle without its shell, his soft shoulders melting into a round belly. Harmless, except that I knew the power he possessed.

He set a small wooden box on the table, took a seat, and began another prayer. This time, though, he didn’t use Latin, but some other language I couldn’t identify. He opened the box and my nose twitched at the scent of rot that rose from it.

If the priest noticed the smell, he didn’t react. He simply sat, head down, his muttered prayer fading to a series of hisses and clicks, no longer even forming words.

Something in me responded to whatever he was doing, giving me a sour sense of familiarity. Birds of a feather, and all. There was evil there, in the stink, in the sounds he made, and in his intent. Something rose from him, an invisible force that I could sense but not see. Now fear held me frozen in place. Whatever that thing was, I didn’t want it touching me.

It began to shift the way an earthworm moves through the soil. It aimed a thrust at me, then shied away, which almost made me giggle in relief. It bobbed and slithered until it passed through the wall and out into the hallway.

Under other circumstances, I would have launched myself after it, to warn the other passengers if nothing else. But self-preservation held me as still as Pompey’s Pillar back home. Whatever type of magic the priest had conjured, I wanted no part of it.

We sat there for hours, the priest muttering and clicking, the sound of evil. I began to lose hope it would ever end.

It did, though, when that blind appendage slid through the wall and the room, I nearly gasped. Instead of being a thing of imagination, it appeared to be more real—or filled with something real. It retreated, growing smaller, until it was absorbed by Fr. Dominic. He grunted, as if the thing had punched him on its way in.

Then, silence.

By now, my joints were aching to move. Staying still had become an act of will rather than a natural state. Fear, however, gave me all the motivation I needed. If I survived this voyage, it would be because I’d managed to stay out of Fr. Dominic’s way.

Mother liked to say that the wicked or naughty live longer, but I knew with some certainty that if the priest discovered my little lark, the consequences could be dire. I told my aching limbs to quiet down and waited for what Fr. Dominic would do next.

He straightened, casually shaking out his hands. “You don’t speak Phoenician, do you?”

His question startled me so badly I jumped. “No.”

“Good. Tell no one what you saw tonight.”

I couldn’t decide how to answer, but he didn’t seem to need one. Carrying the wooden box, he slipped quickly into the bedroom. As soon as he was gone, I covered my face with my hands. Ya khasara. There was no way I’d survive this little excursion. Hassan might have turned me in order to settle a debt, but he had to have known what he was sending me into.

If he wasn’t already dead, I’d have staked him myself.

I didn’t move until the priest’s regular snores rattled the door to his bedroom. Feeling somewhat safer, I paced around the small sitting room. I needed to move, to escape from the walls closing in on me. As much as I wanted to leave, however, the priest had made it plain I was his bodyguard at night.

Instead of walking the perimeter of the boat, I stayed in that horrid little space, counting the minutes until the sun rose and I could escape to my closet.

For yes, when they’d said I could rest in a coffin they’d brought, I told them in no uncertain terms exactly how I wouldn’t be doing that. Since my refusal was somewhat eloquent, they’d let me sleep in an unused closet deep in the belly of the ship.

Just before dawn, the monk with sad eyes appeared to take me down and lock me in. Surprised me, because usually his mean-faced brother took on that task.

“The next time we reach port,” he murmured without looking in my direction, “you should run.”

“Where would I go?”

He shook his head. Neither of us said anything else till we reached the closet and he motioned me to get in. It was a damp, moldy place, but right then I didn’t care because it kept me away from Fr. Dominic. The lock clicked, and then he murmured, “Anywhere at all.”

His footsteps faded while, in those few moments before darkness took me, I tried to make sense of his words. Did I trust the man who sat at Fr. Dominic’s right hand?

No.

Still, I needed an ally, someone I could trust. St John? His name kept running through my head, along with memories of his strong features and sinfully dark eyes. If one of us had the look of a demon, it was him, not me. I was too pretty, which had apparently led to my downfall.

I hadn’t seen St John since the night he’d visited the priest’s room, but I’d wanted to with a deep desire, a hunger I couldn’t otherwise quench. Yes, I’d slipped out at least once a night and found someone willing to donate a mouthful of blood, but I never took more than that, and I always left them smiling.

What I wanted from St John was different. I wanted to feel him, to know whether his hair was as thick as it appeared, to taste the sweetness of his lips, to rub against him like a cat.

But could I trust him?

I might have to try. The two monks with Fr. Dominic had no more willpower than revenants, without the accompanying horror. Until tonight, they’d ignored me, and if any one of them was aware of Fr. Dominic’s secret ritual, they did not let it show. His purpose was a mystery to me, but anything that drenched in wickedness couldn’t be good.

St John was my first and only choice, and with that thought, darkness took me.

Chapter Nine

Days at sea blended together. Except for our brief stop in Malta, the routine was the same: meals, patients, and little sleep. Will and I had not yet decided how to retrieve the icon, though we’d come to the conclusion that we’d best wait until the trip was nearly over to give the priest less time to retaliate.

The only other constant was the somnolent patients, those found in their beds unable to be roused. At least once a day, friends or family would come to my door, begging for help. I did little. The strong scent of ammonia in my vial of sal volatile did the work for me.

None of them had been marked by the vampire, but who else could it have been?

The night after we’d left Malta, I’d only been asleep for an hour when something woke me. Not a noise, at least not one I could recall, but a presence. The feeling of being watched. I rolled over on my narrow bunk to find Aharon Davies staring at me from the foot of my bed.

“What the hell?” I’d taken to sleeping with a stake under my pillow, to be ready for just such an occasion, and I lurched to my feet, weapon in hand.

He backed away so fast it was as if he’d disappeared. I followed more slowly, to find him lounging against my desk, hands behind his back, one leg crossed over the other.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said, though his grin made a lie of that statement. “I have the strangest sense that we need to talk.”

“About what?” My rudeness was accentuated by my state of undress. I wore only a shirt and a pair of worn-out trousers, my shirttails hanging free, my feet bare. The moon cast some weak light through the small porthole, enough for me to make out his pale features and glinting smile.

He shifted his weight, and for a moment I thought he might approach me. I raised the stake, gratified when his gaze followed the motion of my hand. Yes, the stake was meant as a defense, but it also prevented me from having what I really wanted: This creature of evil spread out before me in my bed.

Since my visit to Fr. Dominic’s rooms, the vampire had been there every night in my dreams.

I shivered with remembered pleasure even as disgust weighted me down. “Answer me,” I demanded desperately. “You must have had a reason for coming here.”

He straightened, and for the briefest moment his smile faded. “I came to offer you a deal.”

“A what? Why? Are you having trouble hiding your victims? I find enough of them.”

That did wipe the smile from his face. “What are you talking about? I barely take a mouthful.”

“So you admit you’ve been”—I swallowed hard against the noxious mix of disgust and desire roiling in my belly—“tormenting people with your depraved habits?”

He seemed to wilt, which should have made me feel better.

It did not.

“I swear on everything holy, I only approach healthy men, and then only for a small sip.” He grimaced. “They laugh as they leave me, if you must know.”

Laughter? A new emotion, something akin to jealousy, joined the mix. “You’re telling me you did not feed from Madame Barbier and leave her in a swoon? Or a young boy? Or any of the other patients I’ve been called to see?”

“What are you saying? No, of course not. I would no more feed from an old lady or a child than I would from one of the rats that are the real crew of this godforsaken boat.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged, either despondent or an excellent actor. “That’s too bad. I was hoping we could help each other.” Between one heartbeat and the next, he went from the desk to the doorway, startling me so I almost dropped the stake.

“How could we possibly accomplish that?” I sneered the words, more disturbed by his apparent distress than I was willing to admit. Because since my lone attempt at thievery, I’d come very close to admitting, to myself at least, that I needed help. And this man, this creature, both attracted and repelled me.

He paused at the doorway, his grin in place, but sardonic rather than humored. “You could start by putting the stake down.”

I looked at it and at him. Did I dare? Apparently yes, because moving slowly, I opened the desk’s only drawer and shut my weapon away. “Now.” I shoved the chair closer to him while I took a seat on the foot of my bed. “Tell me why you think you can help me.”

He turned the chair and straddled it backward, crossing his arms and leaning against it. “You might not believe this, but at the end of this voyage, the priest intends to do away with me. You didn’t sneak into his rooms for the fun of it, so here’s my offer. I’ll help you find what you were looking for if you help me escape when this is over.”

“No.” The refusal came unconsciously, though before he could respond, I raised a hand. “Wait.” Breathing hard, I made a serious attempt at weighing his offer. I wasn’t truly a thief. Could I trust him to retrieve the icon? And further, “Why would you trust me to honor our deal? Assuming you retrieve the thing that I seek, how do you know I won’t leave you to your fate?”

“Because…” Something in his gaze lightened. “You’re an honorable man.”

“You know that by looking at me?”

His laugh held a note of bitterness. “I don’t know why or how, but I believe you are honest. Besides…” He rose from the chair, moving in my direction.

The small room grew smaller still. It took him just a few steps to reach me, but those few steps demonstrated grace and strength. Mesmerized, I could not look away.

“Besides, if I suffer my final death, you’ll never know what my prick tastes like.”

I inhaled sharply, the flames of embarrassment dousing me. “I don’t…”

“Yes, you do.” His whisper was as potent as shouting the words. “Something happened the other night. I feel drawn to you in a damned uncomfortable way. You have to feel it, too. You must.”

Did I? “You’re wrong.”

His brows rose, his expression mocking me. “Am I?”

I couldn’t answer, too busy fighting the surge of heat that bloomed in my belly, hardening my cock.

“My first thought on rising is to wonder what your lips taste like.” He leaned toward me while I sat frozen, caught in his gaze the way a snake can trap a mouse. “Are they as soft as they look?” He reached out slowly, his eyes gone heavy.

I could have ducked out of his way, blocked his hand, risen to my feet to face him man to man. Instead, I sat as still as stone. He traced my lower lip with his thumb, his smile warm. Yet in the warmth of that smile, he revealed the barest hint of fang.

“No.” My refusal came out on a moan.

He leaned closer still. “Yes, habibi. You lie when you say you do not feel as I do. Some spell has claimed us both, and neither of us will rest until we…”

His voice trailed off. “Until we what?” I gasped the words.

With the gentlest of pressure, he parted my lips and slid his thumb between them. My tongue came forward on its own, seeking him. We—my tongue and I—drew his thumb deeper so I could suckle it. His flesh was cool and he tasted clean. My rational mind shouted no, but my hands reached for his coat. Over my minds objections, I pulled him closer.

“Until we fuck,” he said, truly the voice of a demon.

His use of that crude word acted like a blast of wind, clearing my head. I lurched sideways and rolled off the bunk to stand a foot or so away from him. My breath coming in short gasps, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was wish for my stake.

“Calm yourself.” Any hint of warmth had left his expression. “Your words may say one thing, but your body says another.”

My cock gave a throb and it took an effort of will not to adjust myself.

“I’ll give you a day to think about it, Doctor. Your treasure for my life.”

With that, he left. One heartbeat, he stood next to me, and the next he was gone. I collapsed onto the bed, still heaving. What had just happened? There was no way I could bargain with such a demon. I’d spent years atoning for my youthful folly.

I should never have let Randall talk me into this godforsaken excursion. While my rational mind understood why the icon of the Black Madonna was important, the cost of retrieving it was mounting and might already be too high.

The ghostly memory of Aharon’s touch slipped over my lip. If my prick were any harder, it would tear through my trousers. I palmed it, willing it to subside, but instead I rutted against the flat of my hand.

“No.” I gasped the word, but I could no more have stopped thrusting than I could have flown to the moon. Giving in to the inevitable, I loosened my falls and grasped myself, now thrusting in earnest.

It didn’t take long.

Pleasure wracked me, and at my moment of crisis, I swear somewhere Aharon Davies smiled.

Collapsing on the bed, evidence of my arousal staining my shirt, I gave in for just a moment. What if he lay beside me? He wasn’t any older than I, his body fit and strong. I’d never lain with a man, and while this bunk was narrow, we’d fit if we were on our sides. I wondered if he was cool all over or if the magic that enlivened him warmed his central core. From there, I wondered how it would feel to have his cool prick in my mouth, or in…

“Enough.” I sat and wrenched off my shirt. I needed sleep. The vampire had given me twenty-four hours to consider his offer, but I had no need for more time. I’d go after the icon myself and leave him to his fate.

That clarity lasted until Will pounded on my door in the morning. “St John? Are you in there?”

My feet hit the floor before my eyes truly opened. Crossing the room, I flung open the door, all but dragging him in. He stumbled, bracing himself with a hand on my chest. His eyes widened and he took a quick step away when he realized I wore only trousers.

“You’re still in bed?”

“Wait.” I whirled around to the tiny cupboard where I’d hung my banyan. Wrapping myself in it, I returned to face Will.

“I’m sorry. I must have overslept.”

His cheeks were still flame red and he had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I came by before breakfast, but you didn’t respond to my knock. Are you feeling well?”

“Well enough. I suppose I’ve missed the meal entirely?”

“You will have by the time you’re dressed.”

I ran my knuckles over my unshaved chin. “Let me get cleaned up. Is anyone in need of my services?”

Will retreated, stopping in the doorway. “Not as far as I know. I’ll, uh, get you some water.”

With that, he disappeared, and by the time he returned, I’d made myself as decent as possible. He brought a pail of water and some soap, and while I washed and shaved, I pondered our next steps. Logic said I should tell him about the vampire’s offer.

Shame begged to differ.

Logic won.

“He was here. Last night.” I had to look at the floor or I’d give myself away. The situation was too serious for me to let my confusion show.

“Who?”

I flicked a glance in Will’s direction. “The vampire.” Who had a hold on me unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

“Are you…hurt?” His gaze pierced me.

“No. He did not bite.” Though I might yet allow him to. I squashed that thought as quickly as it came.

I had been attracted to men in the past, but never had they made a mockery of my self-control. Aharon Davies had a sadness about him that was only just concealed by his sardonic exterior. There were layers to him that begged exploration.

But not by you, St John.

Will cleared his throat, interrupting my internal wrestling. “If he didn’t come here to…feed, then what did he want?”

Drying my face with a towel, I pushed the room’s only chair in Will’s direction and gestured at him to sit. I took a moment to fold the towel, using the time to decide how best to explain things.

The direct route is usually the best.

“He offered me a deal.”

“Oh?” Will larded that word with a heavy dose of suspicion.

I met his gaze squarely. “He said that he’d help me steal the icon if I helped him escape the priest when our journey is over.”

Will folded his arms, his expression sober as he considered my words. “You agreed, didn’t you?”

Caught off guard, I could only stare at him. “You would have me make a deal with that devil?”

Will leaned forward, bracing himself with his elbows on his knees. “I would have us secure the icon and return it to Alexandria, and I don’t think we can afford to be too squeamish about working with any ally.”

“But a vampire…?” Hadn’t Randall told his young associate about our previous encounter? “How do we know we can trust him?”

“We don’t, but we’ve been on this tub for a week, which means we’ve only got a little over a week left. If he has access to the priest’s rooms, we’d be foolish not to work with him.”

“Certainly,” I said, feeling anything but certain. “We can seek him out after sunset.”

Before Will could answer, someone knocked on my door, and soon I was knee-deep in passengers who shared an unfortunate gastrointestinal complaint. Seven people were affected, across ages and from first class, second class, and crew. I had the cooks on the run boiling weak tea and gruel and was so distracted by the day that I barely noticed the passage of time. Only when Will suggested we ask a steward to find us dinner did I realize the twenty-four hours Davies had given me were almost up.

Soon it would be time to bring a vampire into our plans.

The thought gave me something akin to relief.

Chapter Ten

Hugh St John was a fever I couldn’t break. A thirst I couldn’t quench.

A sin I couldn’t wait to commit.

From the time my eyes opened in that miserable closet in the belly of the ship until they closed in time with the rising sun, he was never far from my thoughts. On this day in particular, at the start of the second week of our voyage, he was uppermost in my mind.

Would he agree to my plan? Running my mother’s dress shop had taught me how to bargain, and while most everything else in my life had changed, I could still turn a deal my way. Even if he refused me outright, I was pretty sure I could bring him around.

I had to.

First, though, I needed a bath and a change of clothes, which meant facing Fr. Dominic. With luck, I’d see the monk with sad eyes first and avoid the priest altogether.

His rooms were empty. Fr. Dominic and his entourage must have been spreading their evil somewhere else. Even better, there was a pitcher of water on the table. After cleaning off as much of the grime as I could, I pawed through the rooms in search of a clean cravat, if not a whole suit.

The small armoire in Fr. Dominic’s bedroom held the somber suit coats and robes that fit his position. There was, however, a linen galabiya and trousers and a dark-colored caftan. A familiar set of clothes. Mine, the things I’d been wearing when Hassan turned me. Ya khasara.

In very short order, I had stripped off the Western breeches and coat and replaced them with the loose-fitting, hooded robe. The air was warm enough that I didn’t truly need the caftan, but I put it on anyway.

Mine.

“There.” I inspected myself in the priest’s small looking glass. “A bit pale, but otherwise…” I shrugged. Otherwise, I looked like myself, the mixed-breed son of Britain and Egypt.

Although now I could no longer lay claim to either.

Taking advantage of the priest’s absence, I made sure the box of treasures was still under his bed. It was—arrogant fool—and so was the small case he’d used to conjure his foul spell. I didn’t dare touch anything, though it occurred to me that if the opportunity arose, I’d throw the thing into the depths of the sea.

Feeling more comfortable than I had in some time, I went out in search of something to eat—or someone, more like it. There. One of the stewards. He wasn’t moving particularly fast, and it didn’t take long to draw him into a quiet corner and break my fast.

As always, I took only a mouthful, but it would see me through, and I left him smiling.

Now it was time to talk to St John.

The hallways were fairly empty, so likely most of the passengers had already gone to the dining room. Rather than try to confront him in public, I went to his room. Dressed in robes, I would stand out more, draw unwanted attention. Perhaps I shouldn’t have changed clothes.

Nah, Fr. Dominic could bugger off, as my father would say.

I padded down the stairs to the second-class level. Stopping in front of his door, with its “Ship’s Doctor” sign, I listened for a moment. Voices. Muted, but present. Must be St John and his man. Rather than putting them on the defensive by bursting in, I knocked.

The younger man opened the door. He looked me up and down, his expression hard to read. There was something about him, some sense that he saw more than most men, that set me on edge.

“Masaa el kheir,” I said. Good evening.

“Funny thing,” he said. “We were just talking about you.”

He stepped aside and waved me in. The small room was crowded with three of us present. St John sat on the bunk, while his associate had clearly been sitting in the only chair. The remains of a meal covered the desk, and if St John hadn’t been so handsome, I’d have said he looked exhausted.

“Take the chair. My name’s Will, by the way. Will Carrington.” He extended his hand, and I shook it.

“Thank you, Mr. Carrington, but I can sit here.” Without giving him time to respond, I squatted down on the floor, my back to the door. Sitting below their level put me at a disadvantage, but that suited me. I could move faster than they could, I was stronger, and my vision and hearing were better. I wanted them to trust me, even if I had to make myself small to do it.

“I’d offer you something to eat…” St John waved at the remains of their meal.

I let my grin grow sly. “I’ve eaten already, thanks.”

He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “Fine.”

Will Carrington cleared his throat. “St John told me about your offer.” He let the words hang and I had to admire his self-possession. Someone so fair and slight should be timid. I gave him an expectant look, one he returned with interest.

After a moment, St John laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Since you didn’t swear me to secrecy, I assumed you would allow me to make Will aware of our agreement.”

I smiled, showing the tip of one fang. “Certainly, as long as he agrees to our terms.”

Will Carrington tilted his head. “And they are…?”

Fisting one hand in the other, I broadened my smile to show both fangs. “I’ll retrieve the thing you were looking for in Fr. Dominic’s rooms, and you help me escape the devil when this trip is over.”

St John and Carrington exchanged glances. “That’s what he told me,” Carrington said, “but I wonder whether you’d consider a counter-offer.”

I inhaled sharply, filling my useless lungs with air I didn’t need. “What is that?”

St John finally spoke up. “Will pointed out that we have another port of call in three days or so. We’ll put into the port at Gibraltar, and it might make sense for one of us to sneak away with the icon and make their way to Alexandria while the rest of us are trapped at sea.”

I turned their ideas around in my mind, looking for flaws. Every bone and muscle in my body wanted to be the one who left the ship. “That might work. Tell me what it is you’re looking for.”

“My cousin sent us,” St John began, his tone heavy. “He said the priest, Fr. Dominic, had stolen several items of religious significance, most particularly an icon of the Black Madonna that—”

“The Black Madonna?” I couldn’t help but interrupt. “That is one of the treasures of my mother’s church. It holds—” I stopped myself. If they didn’t already know about the threads from the Blessed Virgin Mary’s cloak, I didn’t want to tell them.

St John’s weary smile reassured me. “We know it is of great importance to the Coptic Church, and—”

“You’re right about that.” I sank lower, shifting my weight so I knelt before them. “If that’s what that old demon has in his box, then we have to steal it from him.”

Will Carrington spoke up. “That’s why we’re here.”

I glanced from one of them to the other, wondering how far to trust them. I didn’t share my mother’s faith—a blessing given my current situation—but the theft was sure to cause trouble. “I was raised in the Coptic Church, and my mother still believes. Before we go any further, I must know what you intend to do with the icon.”

“Return it to the church,” Carrington said quickly enough to reassure me. “We’re trying to stave off conflict.”

“Meshi.” Okay. I clambered to my feet. “Then I will help you. I need to be in his rooms  before Fr. Dominic returns from dinner. He’ll send me out to feed but expects me to return before he sleeps. I checked and the box was in its hiding place, so unless he moves it, the theft will be an easy job.”

We were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Likely another victim.” St John also rose to his feet, shoulders slumped.

“Hide yourself,” Carrington pointed to the end of the bed, his words barely above a whisper. “Are you able to shift into a different form?”

I went to the far end of the bed. It would have been fortuitous if Hassan had told me how to cover myself in shadow, but since he hadn’t, I just wished it would happen. Carrington muttered, “Good,” so maybe my wish worked.

Carrington opened the door and stood in the opening, blocking his guest from coming in. Whoever was there spoke quickly, and I picked out the words “elderly” and “frightened.”

Carrington stepped aside, allowing St John to take the lead. His response was measured, reassuring, though when he closed the door, he rested his forehead against it.

“Let me go,” Carrington said. “You’re exhausted.”

“It’s fine, I’ll—”

“Stay here and rest. I’ve seen you work, and if this woman is in real distress, I’ll send for you.” Will Carrington nudged St John aside. The doctor resisted for a moment before yielding.

The brief period of quiet let me hear a faint buzz. I exhaled and imagined myself wiping away the shadows. The buzz stopped.

“So what other tricks can you do?” Carrington asked, his hand on the doorknob.

I laughed, pulling the robe’s hood over my head. “I didn’t know I could do this one until you told me to hide myself.”

He tilted his head, clearly curious. St John sank into the chair.

I shrugged. “Until a month or so ago, I was a normal man. I’m still learning.”

“Didn’t your maker help you with that?”

“My maker.” I chuckled, moving toward the door. I couldn’t tell him my maker was better at fucking than he’d been at dealing with a baby vampire.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown notebook. Flipping it open, he passed it to St John. “Read this page to him. It’s from the research Randall has been doing.”

St John took it, his expression bemused. “Research.”

Carrington laughed. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He slipped through the door and closed it with a click.

I should have followed Carrington, but the urge to stay with St John was too strong. “What sort of research, do you think?” I asked, simply to prolong our conversation.

“Randall, my cousin, is…” He smiled, wiping a weary hand across his forehead. “He’s ill, and apparently he and Will have been poking around in supernatural corners.”

“Well, are you going to read it to me?” Still flirtatious, though I managed to keep most of the innuendo out of the question.

Clearing his throat, he began, “Some have the power to shift into animal forms, and some can make themselves invisible.” He glanced at me. “The way you did just now?”

“I don’t know what I did. I tried to pull shadows around myself, because that was one thing my maker”—the word felt odd in my mouth—“did promise me I’d be able to do.”

St John shrugged. “Must have worked.” He turned the page. “There’s quite a list of powers associated with vampires. What have you tried?”

“To stay alive, though I guess I’m not really alive at all.”

That sobered us both. St John gave me an apologetic look before speaking. “It says some vampires are sensitive to silver. What happens when you touch silver?”

“No idea.” And no apology needed. I had no use for sympathy.

“Hmm. Can you fly?”

That made me laugh. “Haven’t tried.”

“Says here you might be able to, and that some vampires can turn themselves into clouds of mist or smoke. Your vision and hearing are much better than ordinary, too.”

I flicked my gaze over him, from his trim waist and broad shoulders to his craggy features and thick hair. “That much is true.”

The color rose in his cheeks. “Perhaps you should try some of these other…”

I approached him slowly, bending close to him and bracing myself with my hands on the desk. “There are quite a number of things I want to try with you, and not all of them are in that book.”

His quick inhale, either desire or fear or both, softened something in my chest close to my useless heart. “But I have to get back to the priest. God willing, habibi, we’ll someday have the time to talk and…try some of them.” Habibi? My love? My own words startled me.

He covered one of my hands with his. “I will endeavor to uphold my part of the bargain and keep you safe from the priest.”

We stood in silence for longer than we should have. Finally, I broke away. “Shukran.” Thank you.

I made it out of the room with something pounding in my chest. It couldn’t be my heart, but it certainly felt like it.

On my way to Fr. Dominic’s rooms, I had three opportunities to conceal myself in shadows. All three times, the people did not seem to see me. I had to grin. It nearly made me want to try to fly.

Fr. Dominic wiped the grin from my face before I got the door closed behind me. “Where have you been?” His question was more of a snarl.

“I went to feed.” I stood poised to run, my hand still on the doorknob.

“And what the hell are you wearing?” His cheeks were so red I felt a flash of worry that his head would explode. Worry, or hope?

I drew myself up, looking him in the eye. “These are the robes I wore when you first captured me, though they’ve been cleaned.”

“I gave you respectable clothes to wear.”

Respectable? The insult stung but I ignore it. “It’s been over a week and they’re filthy. If you have them cleaned, I’ll wear them.”

He pointed at me, muttering something I couldn’t understand. I pictured myself surrounded by shadow. Something pressed against me, some force I could not see, but unlike the last time, that force didn’t wrap itself around my throat.

The force pressed harder, and while I didn’t dare close my eyes, I thickened my imaginary shadows.

“Enough.” The priest spat the word. “You’ll do as I say or you’ll end up like Gamal.”

His use of Hassan’s first name was an insult, a show of power. I laughed, allowing the shadows to fade. “You’re going to kill me anyway. Why should I care whether it’s now or later?”

His eyes went wholly black and he stalked toward me. “You’re right.” He raised his hand. From somewhere, a wooden stake appeared. I knew in my bones that if he threw it, he’d hit me. I gathered shadows around me, though this time, I pictured them filling me. The buzz I’d first felt in St John’s room surrounded me, so strong I could feel it in my teeth.

Fr. Dominic swore. “Stop. I demand you cease your spell.” His hand wavered, as if he couldn’t be sure of his target.

My body floated, my bones light, no longer held in place by skin and muscle. Despite that, the kernel that was me—my mind, my heart, my soul—persisted. I had no idea how long I could stay this way, and I knew damned well Fr. Dominic would kill me if he had the chance. I imagined the clouds of mist that were me seeping under the door and away from the priest’s power.

When my mind understood that all of me had escaped, I reformed as a man.

And then I ran.

Chapter Eleven

This knock sounded different. A single rap, sharp enough to jerk me awake. Will had already come and gone, and his knock had more deference. Someone seeking medical aid would have pounded with greater insistence. I waited to see if they’d knock again.

They did not.

Curiosity, however, got the better of me. I crawled off my bunk and, after turning up the lamp so I could see, went to the door.

“St John, let me in.”

I felt the whisper more than heard it, and to my own surprise, I opened the door.

Aharon Davies fell toward me, and I caught him. “What’s wrong?”

He weighed less than he should have, little more than a sack of grain. He struggled to stand without my aid. I let him, though kept a hand on his waist in case he should fall.

“Close the door,” he said, his voice weak. I did as he bid me and moved him toward the bed with a gentle nudge.

“Tell me what has happened.”

“Do you have salt?” he asked, managing a smile at my quizzical look. “The priest…Fr. Dominic…” He shut his eyes and grimaced. “A line of salt in the doorway will keep him at bay.”

“I do have a jar, though I admit I’ve only ever used it to treat swelling.”

He nodded, all but collapsing on my bed. I shouldn’t trust a vampire. What if he did something horrible to me and the salt prevented me from getting help? In the glow of the oil lamp, his cheekbones jutted and his eyes were pools of shadow. Something horrible had happened, but to him, not to me.

Besides, a month ago he’d been a man, a creature of flesh and blood, his heart beating, his lungs drawing air in and out. The vampire who’d killed Jeremy Thorn had had no soul. There had been emptiness in his eyes. When Aharon Davies looked at me, however, he saw me.

And I saw him, saw the man he had been.

Fishing the jar of salt out of my bag of medicines, I did as he asked and sprinkled a thin stream in front of the door. He lay so still and pale I would have taken him for a corpse. “Now,” I said, screwing the lid on the jar. “Tell me what happened.”

He still wore the robes he’d had on in his earlier visit, his dark hair falling lank around his face. For a long moment, he did not say anything. I pulled out the chair and sat at my desk, giving him time.

“The priest has decided to end me now,” he whispered, so soft it was clear that he feared someone would overhear him. “He didn’t want me in this”—he tugged at his robe—“and rather than die, I turned myself into mist and slid out from under the door.”

“So you can change your form.” I spoke with more enthusiasm than the situation called for, since I shouldn’t be pleased that my vampire acquaintance had an additional power.

Still, I wanted to clap him on the back.

“But now I have a new problem, or two new problems. I need a place to stay where he cannot find me, and I am so awfully hungry.”

His voice broke off in a plaintive cry. “Hungry?” My word came out dry and rasping.

He stayed quiet, though his jaw was working.

“You need…blood.”

His only response was something close to a whimper.

I sat back hard in the chair, the wooden uprights digging into my back. Holy hell. The vampire needed to feed, and he’d come to me.

“I was afraid to take someone I passed in the hall,” he said, obviously following my train of thought. “Afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself and I’d drain them to death.”

I wetted my lips. “You don’t have that same fear with me?”

He gave a brief and bitter chuckle. “You have a stake. If you feel yourself getting lightheaded, use it. I’d rather die by your hand than his.”

My only response was to swallow, though it may have been more of a gulp of fear. “I don’t know…” I whispered. “I’m not sure.”

His sudden grimace made plain that he’d been caught in a spasm of pain. “Please.”

That one word, one sad and lost and desperate word, made my choice plain. I was a doctor. I’d dedicated my whole life to healing people. This being, no longer a man but still holding the thoughts of a man, the memories of a man, had trusted me to either cure him or to end his suffering.

I could do no less but try.

I fumbled the desk drawer open, pulling out the stake from its hiding place. Inhaling deeply to calm my racing heart, I approached the bed. “How…? Where…?”

“Give me your wrist.” The words were said on a sob.

Kneeling by the bed, I held the stake in my right hand and offered him my left. He took it, his fingers cold, and held it as if I were the fragile one. Pressing a kiss on my knuckle, he turned my limb and held the pale underside of my wrist against his dry, cracked lips.

“Stop me if you must,” he said

And then he bit.

Yes, there was pain—I’d be lying if I said otherwise—but that sharp stab gave way to something akin to euphoria. I was floating on a river of peace. Warm. Calm. The room faded away until my entire awareness dwindled to his rhythmic sucking and the thud of my own heart.

And then that steady thudding rhythm slowed.

Was I lightheaded? I could not tell. I let go of the stake and cupped his cheek with my free hand. “Let me go, Aharon. You’ve taken enough.”

He stilled, and while he didn’t release my wrist, he stopped sucking.

“Please,” I whispered, throwing his word back at him. My ears rang with an unfamiliar buzzing sound and my heart beat faster. Please don’t make me fight you.

I was about to reach for the stake but he let me go.

When I went to pull my hand away, he caught hold of it and pressed a kiss to the place he’d bitten. Releasing me, he met my gaze. I ran my fingers over the wound and found only smooth skin.

“You’ve saved me, Hugh St John.”

His lips were tinted pink and the jagged hollows in his face had smoothed out. With no thought to the consequences, I kissed him.

Our lips met, and a fire erupted between us. No real flames, just an unconquerable heat. He grasped my head, holding it in place while he had his way with my mouth. I, who could count on one hand the number of people I’d kissed, could only hang on. I must keep my wits.

My life depended on it.

His tongue teased mine, stoking the fire between us. The sensation was so new and so godawfully pleasant that I didn’t know what to do with myself. Should I move my hands? And if so, what should I touch?

Something of my uncertainty must have communicated itself to him, because he eased his hold, cooling us till our lips were simply pressed together.

“Have you done this before?” His lips moved against mine.

“I, uh, have not, or rather—”

He smiled. His grip on my head softened, and I sank onto my heels, my head resting against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Aharon ran a hand through my hair. “You remind me that there is good in this world.”

I snorted. “If you say so.”

He tugged on my hair until I lifted my face to meet his gaze. “You, Hugh St John, are the kind of man who makes me want to be better than I am. That’s a gift you shouldn’t take lightly.”

Despite myself, I smiled. “It’s been a night for discovery, then. You’ve defied Fr. Dominic, which speaks to more bravery than I could ever possess.”

At the mention of the priest’s name, Aharon’s smile faded. “I’m afraid tonight was just the first of many chances to defy him. He won’t give up easily.”

“Then neither shall we.”

Aharon sat and swung his legs over the bunk, then patted the mattress beside him. After a moment’s hesitation, I sat.

“I confess you’re not the first man I’ve kissed,” Aharon began. He stopped and rubbed a palm over his mouth. “But you’re the first one I’ve wanted to devour whole.”

His cheeks didn’t turn pink, but the angle of his head and the tilt of his smile showed embarrassment more than anything else.

“I’m the one who should be embarrassed,” I murmured, but he hushed me with a wave of his hand.

“For once in my life, I’m going to think before I act. I want to learn more about you, and if that leads us to certain activities, then we won’t be strangers when we get there.”

Common sense. Not something I would have expected from a vampire. “Thank you.” I gave his knee a tentative pat and he clasped my hand, interlacing our fingers.

I inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. “Good. That’s good.”

We sat quietly for a while. For my part, I enjoyed our closeness. The boat rocked us gently, his hand was cool in mine, and the steady drone of the steam engine let us know we were still on course. I felt so comfortable, in fact, I began to nod off.

“Salaam alaikku.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep, habibi.”

I roused, though I’d rather have stayed asleep. “Sorry. We saw quite a few patients today, and I expect even more tomorrow. The grippe has visited many of our fellow passengers.”

He rubbed his knuckles down my cheek. “I’m the one who should apologize. I should go and let you get some sleep.”

I nodded. Sleep sounded good, but, “Where will you go?”

He shook his head, his smile fading. “Not sure. Fr. Dominic knows the closet where I’ve been spending the daylight hours. Still, there must be someplace on the lower level where—”

“Where someone could stumble over you with no one there to keep you safe?” I surprised myself with the strength of my protective feeling. “You need to be somewhere better than that.”

He grinned at me, though his expression carried as much sadness as humor. “Where would you have me go?”

An idea occurred to me. “Do you hear anything during the daytime? Do noises disturb you?”

“The place where I’ve been spending the days shares a wall with the engine room, so no. I am literally dead to the world. I’d stay here in your bed, but…”

“Not in my bed, but under it. Right now my trunk is there, but I can rearrange things and have the steward bring me more blankets and a pillow.” I said it triumphantly, like I’d solved an actual problem and not invited a vampire to stay in my room.

“Will that…can we…?”

“Of course we can, at least for today. Maybe Will knows of other places, but at any rate, at sunrise this morning, you can stay here.”

His body relaxed against me. “And until then…”

“I’m sorry, Aharon, but I need sleep.”

“Of course. We’ve got a few hours till sunrise, and you should get some rest.”

We scooted around until I was stretched out on my side with Aharon spooning me from behind. It was the first time I’d lain with another person since I was an infant, and while it was unfamiliar… “This is nice.”

He nuzzled my ear. “Sleep, habibi. I’ll wake you before sunrise.”

I did sleep, eventually, but first I reviewed everything I knew about the man—the vampire—who lay with me. While at first he’d teased me rather mercilessly, tonight he’d been a gentleman. Rather than the heartless phantom I’d taken him for, his distress over the icon hinted that there were depths to him I had yet to explore.

And when he’d been in dire straits, he’d come to me.

To me. That meant something, though I wasn’t yet sure what.

Maybe that should have given my foolish heart some kind of warning, but it did not. I drifted off to sleep wrapped in his arms and his spicy scent, and for a moment, I knew peace.

When I awoke, I was alone in the bed. “Aharon?”

He didn’t answer. I sat up, though when I shifted my weight to put my feet on the floor, my calves banged against my trunk. The small porthole window over my bed showed the cool light of dawn. “Aharon,” I said again, pushing myself forward so I could get off the bunk without hitting the trunk. Standing with my hands on my hips, I debated a different arrangement.

If patients visited who needed to lie on the bed, the trunk would be in the way. On the other hand, if I moved it into the small office area, it would cover most of the floor.

“What about this?” I said to myself, scooting the trunk so that it was perpendicular to the bed and then shoved it against the wall. The room was just wide enough for the trunk to fit, and while it took up quite a bit of space, at least I could move around without bruising myself.

With that settled, I put on yesterday’s shirt with a clean collar. I draped the cravat around my neck but didn’t tie it. Will would do a better job than I ever could. Will. I could only imagine what he’d say when he found the vampire here.

He knocked on the door, the same familiar pattern that he used every morning. Had I conjured him with my thoughts? I opened the door, ready to tell him about the vampire without saying anything about feeding him.

That would be a step too far for my assistant.

Instead of bringing his usual bowl of water and clean towel, he came in empty-handed. He also appeared to be wearing the same suit he’d worn yesterday. Clearly, something was amiss.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s Fr. Dominic. He’s reported the presence of a vampire to Captain Thornton, and the whole place is in an uproar.”

Surprise had me take a step back. “What is he offering as proof?”

“One of his associates, a monk, was found dead, drained of blood.” Will raked a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristically distressed move. “After talking with Aharon yesterday, I wouldn’t have expected this to happen, but he seems to have lost all self-control.”

“No, he hasn’t.” The words were out of my mouth before I could think through what I really wanted to say.

Will fixed me in a surprisingly steely stare. “How do you know?”

I cleared my throat. “Because he’s here, under my bunk.”

“What?”

“He came to me last night after he’d escaped from the priest’s rooms, so distraught and haggard that there’s no way he drained anyone.”

“Could he have been distraught because he killed the monk?”

I shook my head, frantically reviewing the night in my memory. “No…he was starving when he got here.” As soon as the words were out, I closed my eyes. Now I would have to tell Will I’d fed the vampire.

“Starving? Sounds like he was ready to drain someone. Maybe he did it after he left you.”

“He never left. I…uh…I fed him.”

Will squatted down on the floor, his head in his hands. “You didn’t…he…did you take any of his blood?”

“No.” The denial burst out of me. “He asked me to use my stake if he took enough to make me lightheaded.”

Will didn’t respond right away, though he did stand slowly. “This makes us his allies.”

“From what I know about Fr. Dominic, we’re better off that way.”

Rubbing his hands together, Will looked around the small room. “Where is he?”

I couldn’t very well keep it a secret. As soon as Will had to help me with a patient, he’d see the trunk. “Under my bed.”

Will nodded, his jaw working as if he were considering ideas and discarding them just as fast.

“He thought he might be able to find a hiding place on the lowest level, but I was afraid of what would happen if someone found him.”

“Yes, especially now.” He shook himself. “We’ll behave normally. I’ll bring you some water to wash and shave and you’ll see patients today. When the vampire rises this evening, we’ll give some more thought as to how we’ll retrieve the icon.”

Assuming he hasn’t been discovered and we’re not locked up in whatever passes for the ship’s brig. “Fr. Dominic must be desperate.”

Will raised one eyebrow, clearly not following my train of thought. “Why?”

“He killed one of his own. That’s not something a confident man does.”

Shaking his head, Will said, “I’ll bring some warm water.” He left without indicating whether he agreed with me or not.

I didn’t care.

This whole situation stank of desperation, and I could only hope we’d get through it without more death.

Chapter Twelve

I woke to the sounds of an argument. It took me a moment to remember where I was, and why. Very little daylight came through the single small window; just enough for me to make out the silhouette of the bed above me. Hugh’s voice. Good. I was in his rooms, under the bunk where he slept. And right now, he sounded angry.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I am a medical doctor, and I can assure you with the utmost confidence that I do not have a vampire hiding somewhere in my room.” Anger must have brought out his poshest accent, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“I am sorry, Doctor, but it’s the captain’s orders. We already have one man dead and we’re searching every nook and cranny of the boat to find the culprit.”

The logical jump from hiding a vampire to one man dead rapidly sobered me. I had no idea what the hell was going on, but it was safe to assume I didn’t want to be found.

“All right,” St John said grudgingly. “But be quick about it.”

With less effort than it had taken yesterday, I drew shadows around me. Since I couldn’t stretch my legs out completely because of the trunk, I hugged my knees, hoping the shadows would conceal me.

“You can see the whole place from here.” Hugh again, as snippy as I’d ever heard him. A fine buzz surrounded me, one I was becoming accustomed to whenever I wrapped myself in shadow. In a way, it was comforting.

“I guess I’ll be the judge of that.”

Whoever St John was dealing with had just as much cheek. Their footsteps came toward the bed, and I forced myself to be as still as possible.

“Why’s the trunk over there?” the crewman said and lifted the edge of the blanket. His pale moon face popped into my line of sight, though his expression didn’t change. “Seems like you’d be better off with the whole of the trunk under the bed.”

“Now you’re giving decorating advice as well as searching for a killer.” St John drawled the words, either manor born or doing a fine imitation.

“That’s enough,” the crewman said gruffly. “I guess this place is clear, but you didn’t have to be rude about it.” His footsteps moved away from the bed. If I’d had to breathe, I would have exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Let me see you to the door.”

The man left without responding to Hugh’s final comment, though I admit to chuckling.

Hugh’s footsteps crossed the floor, and after releasing the shadows, I crawled out from under the bed. We met in the middle of the front room, between his desk and the door. “You look pale,” he murmured.

“Vampire.” I fought the desire to take him in my arms. Someday, habibi.

But not today.

“I don’t know what I would have done if he’d found you.”

I couldn’t help but take hold of his hand. “He didn’t and he won’t. Where is Carrington?”

“Will? I believe he’s bringing me some dinner. You didn’t hear us all day? We must have had twenty-some patients in and out of here.” He stepped around me to lean against the desk, still holding my hand.

“Not a word.” Though now the dark circles under his eyes made more sense.

“That’s a blessing. Some were suffering from the grippe and a couple of crewmen had injuries that needed stitching.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Honestly, nothing unusual happened until this gentleman demanded I allow him to search my rooms.”

“I’m glad he timed his arrival for sunset.”

St John squeezed my fingers. “Me too.”

We were interrupted by a knock. It was Will, carrying a basket of food for their supper. “The captain would have welcomed you at his table,” he said, setting the basket on the desk and opening the lid.

The scent of fried food all but overwhelmed me. “While you eat, I’m going to explore the lower level.”

“Why?” Will asked sharply.

St John looked stricken. “You don’t need to find another place to hide.”

“I know.” I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “But today was a close call. I don’t want to bring my misfortune down on you.”

“None of us are truly safe while we’re on this damned boat.” St John exchanged a glance with Will. “All right, then. We’ll eat, and when you return, we can decide on a final plan.”

“I won’t be gone long.” Without giving them time for more debate, I slipped out of the room. No one was in the hallway—likely most were either having dinner or serving guests—and I had places to visit besides the lower level. I’d fed more from Hugh than I had since becoming this new creature, and it made me feel strong. Confident.

Brave.

The flickering sconces on the walls did more to cast shadows than provide light. I didn’t need them anyway. I moved quickly, heading for the stairwell. Peered into the doorway. Two crewmen climbed the stairs single file. I waited, standing absolutely still in a pool of shadow. They passed by as if I did not exist.

I might not have a heartbeat, but I could still feel the flutter of nerves in my belly. To distract myself, I imagined how things could go. If I stole the icon right now, I would need a place to hide it where it couldn’t be found. Despite the generosity of Hugh’s offer to give me shelter, I couldn’t risk getting him in trouble too. I needed to explore every corner of this place without being discovered. Taking the stairs as quickly as I could, I stopped at the bottom.

Stopped and listened.

The grind of the steam engine drowned out almost everything else, and the ship bounced as it plowed through wave after wave. Crates were stacked to the ceiling and strapped in place, though ahead of me toward the prow, it seemed to be more open. Keeping to the shadows, I explored the space.

Nothing. No secret corner where I could hide either the icon or myself.

I headed the other way, toward the stern. On my right, the engine rumbled and hissed, enclosed by walls that didn’t reach the ceiling. I didn’t bother exploring the area. Fr. Dominic knew I’d used a closet near the engine as a hiding place, so it would be an obvious place to look.

That left the stern, which held a makeshift barnyard. There were three cows, a crate with a clutch of chickens, and a pen holding one pig, though it was big enough for two. Beyond that was an area that had clearly been used for butchering. Blood spattered the wooden walls, along with a mix of feathers and animal dung.

Backing away, I left that area to itself.

Poking around, I found a few closets, though they were all full of tools and whatnot. Nowhere I could hide either myself or stolen goods. It did occur to me, as I opened one door and then the next, that a man who’d spent years running a dress shop might not be the best choice to steal something valuable from someone who was obviously in league with the devil.

Though I was no longer a man.

No longer a man, and not sure what my new self was capable of. Covering myself with shadow and turning into mist had come in handy, but besides telling me I’d need to feed, Gamal had said very little about what I could do.

I knew more about getting a fair price for silk and seducing a man than I did about dealing with demons.

Yet it seemed I was being asked to do that very thing.

Finishing my tour of the lower level, I played my shadow trick to hide from a crewman who jogged down the stairs and went straight to the engine. While he was occupied, I went all the way to the first-class level. I had one more stop to make before returning to Hugh St John.

I meant to visit Fr. Dominic’s rooms.

Taking the stairs to the upper deck, I came out into a torrent of rain. No one else was around, and the ship rocked more noticeably, making me wonder how many of the passengers would have trouble keeping their dinner down.

St John might have a busy night.

I scuttled down the hallway, windy rain on one side and flickering sconces on the other. Room thirty-six. Did I dare just let myself in? Taking a quick look around to make sure no one saw me, I pressed an ear against the door.

Someone was in there, speaking words that I’d heard before. Heard, but not understood.

Do you speak Phoenician?

Fr. Dominic, casting one of his evil spells. I found a spot in the shadows between sconces, against the wall where there was some protection from the rain. A flash of lightning turned everything white, nearly blinding me for a moment. Voices came from the direction of the dining room. Guests must be returning to their rooms. Doing my best to wrap myself in shadows, I waited.

A family of four passed me. The youngest, a child of maybe four or five, kept running ahead of his parents, making his sister laugh and his mother scold.

“You will stay with us and walk like a young gentleman.”

The children shared a giggling glance, and the youngster took off again. This time he stopped directly in front of me, looking quizzical. This was a helluva time for me to learn that children could see more than their elders.

“Charles Cochrane, get back here.”

The stern note in his father’s voice brought the child to heel, and the family passed without further comment, while I relegated the incident to memory, something I’d need to sort out later.

Because my tricks were much less effective if children could see through them.

As soon as they were gone, something drew my attention to room thirty-six. Not a sound, but a sense of motion. One of Fr. Dominic’s invisible worms came crawling out through the door. It floated in midair, and though I could not see it, it was present.

And it stank of evil.

It carried on down the hall, hunching and stretching the way an inchworm might, ignoring me completely. Alhamdulillah. Praise God, because the thing terrified me.

Despite that, I followed it for a while. Its movements weren’t terribly efficient, but it did seem to have a destination in mind. We’d circled most of the upper deck when it stopped in front of a room. The thing twisted its head to look at me, and if I hadn’t been so terrified, I’d swear it laughed.

The devilish worm aimed itself at the door of room forty-four—I made a note of it—and inched its way in. I had no idea who was in that room, or what the worm would do to him or her. More people were coming. Dinner must be over. I should pound on the door, demand entrance.

And be discovered, either by one of the crew or the monster itself.

No, I couldn’t take that chance. Instead, I ran with all the speed I possessed. I didn’t slow down until I stood outside the doctor’s room. Without knocking, I let myself in.

Will Carrington had gone, leaving St John alone. He sat at his desk, his logbook open and pen in hand. “What is it?”

“He did it again. Fr. Dominic. He called some demonic…thing. It’s invisible, but I know it exists, and it’s gone into a guest room.”

“An invisible demon has attacked one of the guests?”

I nodded, nearly collapsing from relief that he hadn’t laughed outright. “I would have gone after it, but I was afraid of being discovered.”

“Good.” He closed his logbook, his expression stern. “Good. What was the room number?”

I told him, and he tapped the book cover, lips pressed tight. “I’m not sure if I should go there now or wait till someone calls me.”

“They’ll call you, all right, if only to examine a dead body.”

He stood, nodding as if I’d made the decision for him. “Come with me but stay out of sight.”

Nice of him to invite me, but I’d follow whether he wanted me to or not. “Do you have an overcoat?” I gestured to my rain-spattered robes. “It’s coming down hard.”

He grunted and went to his trunk. Once he was ready, I followed him down the hall, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Only once did I need to wait until a group of people passed, and then I was easily able to find him again. The long skirt of my galabiya flapped as I moved. It might have made more sense for me to be in Western clothing, as I’d stand out if anyone saw me.

So I made sure no one saw me.

We were close to room forty-four when a man came running. He was older, maybe in his fifties, with silver hair and plump hands. “You, sir, aren’t you the doctor?”

The distress in his voice brought us up short. I faded into the shadow, while St John addressed him. “I am.”

“I’m Benjamin Witherspoon, and my, er, companion has suffered some kind of collapse.”

Easing away from them, I’d have bet dollars to buttons that Mr. Benjamin Witherspoon was staying in room forty-four. Dressed as I was, I didn’t want to be seen, so I’d simply hover in the hallway and stay out of anyone’s way.

“Take me to him,” St John said. Tossing a glance my direction, he seemed to understand that I’d stay close. Sure enough, Witherspoon brought Hugh to room forty-four, and after another glance, Hugh followed him in.

Leaving me alone with the storm.

Chapter Thirteen

Benjamin Witherspoon was the type of gentleman who took his good fortune for granted. He had the well-fed, perspiring, mildly annoyed attitude that told me he’d never faced true hardship.

“I can’t imagine what’s gone wrong with him.” Witherspoon’s voice was thin, breathy, and he mopped his face with a handkerchief. “He took ill at dinner and came back to our rooms. When I returned, I found him insensible.”

“Let me examine him. I’m sure there’s an explanation.” Before even entering the room, I wished I’d brought my bag with the vial of sal volatile. If this man’s symptoms were similar to my other patients, I’d need smelling salts to rouse him.

We entered a two-room suite. The front room was furnished with an elegant Louis XV settee and matching chairs. The floral upholstery was rose and taupe silk, and similar shades decorated the wool rug.

We went straight through the room, however, to the bedroom. A single oil lamp on the bedside table showed a young man lying on top of the comforter, still in his coat, waistcoat, and breeches. His boots were on the ground near the bed. His clothing was fine, his dark curls romantic, and he was a good twenty years younger than Witherspoon. Rather than dwell on that, I shook the man’s shoulder.

“What’s his name?”

Witherspoon told me, and I shouted it, my mouth close enough to his ear to brush the lobe with my lips.

He did not respond.

I tried again, shaking his shoulder and hollering. When that didn’t work, I moved his cravat and loosened his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Witherspoon was all but quivering with distress.

“Rubbing his breastbone. The pain will stimulate him.” I did just that, rubbing hard and calling the man’s name.

Still no response.

“Do you have any sol volatile?” I asked.

“Oh my, no. I don’t believe we do.”

We. “All right. I’ll need you to find some.”

“Me? Where?”

“Find a steward and ask him to retrieve my bag or go to the second level and see if Will Carrington has returned to my rooms. He’ll know what to do.”

“Why don’t you go? I should stay here, and…and…”

“Go and find my bag or a bottle of sol volatile, and I’ll stay here and continue my examination.”

“Oh. Of course.” He tucked away his handkerchief and gave the young man on the bed a distressed look. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

He left, and after giving him time to get down the hall, I opened the door again. Windblown rain pelted me, and after a moment, Aharon emerged from the shadows. I let him in the room.

“He’s done this,” Aharon said.

I closed the door behind him. “Who? The priest?”

“That thing he conjured.”

I returned to the young man’s bedside, taking hold of his wrist. His pulse throbbed against my fingertips, slower than I’d expected but still present. His breathing was regular and his lips were pink. “I expect you are correct. I can find nothing wrong with this man, except that he won’t wake up. It was the same with the others. Smelling salts brought them around, but…”

The boat swayed around us, moving with the swoop of a particularly large wave. I lifted one of the young man’s eyelids. He didn’t react in any way, though his pupil constricted. Same with the other eye. “At least that’s—”

He inhaled, a great, stuttering breath, then exhaled on a sigh. He did not take another breath. I glanced at Aharon, who stared at the man as if willing him to inhale. The pause grew longer. If he failed to breathe, I could force air into his lungs from my mouth to his. I shook his shoulder, calling his name.

Still nothing.

The color in his cheeks started to fade. The man was dying in front of our eyes. With no choice, I tipped his head up and tugged on his lower jaw, opening his mouth. He didn’t respond to my touch, but he did gasp.

One breath led to another, and after a few moments, I turned to Aharon. “Witherspoon will return soon, and you shouldn’t be here.”

Aharon’s jaw firmed. “How long will you stay?”

“Until it is safe to leave him.” We shared a glance and I gave him a faint smile. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe, too.”

“You know we need to stop Fr. Dominic. We can’t allow him to prey on the passengers.”

The man was breathing regularly enough that I felt confident crossing the room to take Aharon’s hand. “As long as the icon is ours in the end, I don’t much care how we go about it.” Another wave hit, rocking us hard enough that the lamps flickered and I came close to stumbling. “This storm. Things are getting better and better.”

Aharon laughed. “I’ll meet you at your rooms. Take care of him, and I’ll see if there’s a chink in Fr. Dominic’s armor.”

I squeezed his hand. “Be careful.”

He returned the pressure. “You too.” He leaned forward, and for a moment, I thought he would kiss me. He didn’t, cupping my cheek with his cool hand instead. “You too.”

With that, he all but disappeared, slipping out of the room and leaving no trace. I have little use for an all-knowing god, especially one whose priests dabble in demonology, but still I pulled an old prayer from my schoolboy memories.

There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.

For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.

This young man seemed more distressed than those who’d exhibited similar symptoms, or at least I’d never noted the others to cease breathing. I returned to the bedroom, hoping Witherspoon would hurry with the sol volatile, because worrying about that saved me from worrying about more serious issues.

Like what it meant that Fr. Dominic had apparently killed a man and blamed it on Aharon, and how we were going to get the icon safely away from a man who could raise demons.

D

Why had I left Hugh? If given the choice, I’d spend a lot more time with him.

The ship pitched and rolled, a sharp movement that caught me off guard. I barely had time to conceal myself when that lumbering fool, Witherspoon, passed me. He ran with his hands on his head in a vain attempt to block the rain. If he’d failed to bring the help Hugh needed, things would get even worse.

I had no idea whether Hugh could revive the young man. The spell Fr. Dominic cast had smacked of evil. Someone had to stop him from doing it again, and since Hugh was busy, that someone would have to be me.

First, though, I’d find Will because Hugh needed his help. In that, I got lucky. He was in Hugh’s rooms, rooting around in a black leather satchel. I hadn’t bothered to knock, though if Will felt guilt for whatever he was doing, he didn’t let it show.

“Hugh’s been called to see another patient no one can rouse.” I leaned against the door jamb, giving Will a sharp once-over. There was a softness to him that didn’t quite fit with his demeanor. “You don’t trust me.”

It was plain to see. He might tolerate me for Hugh’s sake, but he’d stake me if he had the chance.

“Forgive me,” he said, without an ounce of repentance in his voice. “I honestly haven’t decided where your loyalties lie.”

I rocked my head back and laughed. “My loyalties.” Since he was Hugh’s assistant, I abandoned the rudest things that came to mind. “Not long ago, I cared more about the price of silk than I did about any of this. I’m a businessman, or I was, the kind of man who took his mother to church on Sunday because she wanted to go, even though he did not believe.” And despite the most unholy acts I committed on Saturday nights.

His gaze narrowed. “How long ago?”

“I…I’m not sure.” The realization made me laugh. “Since Fr. Dominic arranged for this change in my nature, I’ve lost track of time.”

He set the satchel aside. “Fr. Dominic?”

“Never mind.” I’d explain myself to Hugh before I’d tell my story to this man. “Hugh is on the upper floor in room forty-four. Bring him his supplies.”

“And what are you going to do?”

The suspicion in his voice raised my hackles. “I’m going to find a way to retrieve the icon and stop our dear Father from causing any more trouble.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“I have no earthly idea.”

With that, I left the room without bothering to conceal myself. A cluster of passengers were in the hall, though if they were surprised to see a man wearing Egyptian robes, they kept their comments to themselves.

On this level, the hallway had no windows, though the pitch and roll of the ship told me the storm continued. The oil sconces flickered and a pair of crewmen raced past. Something was amiss.

Having already explored the lower level, I decided to follow Will. I waited in the shadows until he left the doctor’s rooms and then I trailed after him, doing my best to keep myself concealed.

More crewmen. A knot of passengers, their voices raised either through drink or fear. I let Will get near to the top of the stairs before I started climbing, figuring I could move fast enough to catch him.

And I would have, except at the top of the stairs, someone grasped my shoulder.

If my heart were still capable of beating, it would have stopped right then. One of the monks, the one with sad eyes, tugged on my sleeve.

“What?” I might have yelled the word.

“Shh.” He released me, his hands raised in a show of weakness. “Please, I need your help.”

Everything in me wanted to run. Only the confidence that I could outrace him kept me standing. “Why should I help you?”

He twisted his fingers together, brow furrowed. “Fr. Dominic has gone mad. He spends all his time with his evil spells, and I do not know what to do.”

“You were happy to help him when we first boarded this godforsaken scow.”

“That was before he killed Piotr.”

The ship gave a sharp pitch, throwing us against the wall. I recovered faster, though the monk’s anger unsettled me as much as the shifting boat.

“Piotr was your fellow monk? I’d heard I was responsible for his death.”

He brushed my comment away. “I saw him do it. He made me help,” he said. His voice broke on the word helped, making his guilt plain.

“How do I know you’re not deceiving me? You could be an excellent actor.”

“I’m not.” He grabbed handfuls of his cassock, tearing at the black fabric. “In nomine Domini, I will destroy him or die trying, but I’d do better with your help.”

I swallowed a curse. “All right. Come with me, but if you’re lying to me, I’ll make sure you suffer too.” Suffer? Hell, I’d kill the man myself.

“Oh, thank you.” He scurried after me down the stairs. I didn’t have a true destination in mind. I just wanted to be out of sight while we made a plan. The ship rolled underneath us, and a loud bang made the walls shake.

And when they stopped shaking, all was silent except for the slap of water against the craft.

The steam engine must have stopped.

Footsteps pounded overhead. I grabbed the monk by the wrist and dragged him to Hugh’s room.

“Wait, we can’t go in there.”

Crewmen, four of them, were running toward us. I dove through the door, leaving the monk in the hallway.

The crewmen ignored the monk, their excited chatter making it plain they were headed for the engine. Others were likely on the deck, fighting with the sails. I had no idea whether even the best captain could keep us on course in a raging storm, so I could only pray it was blowing us closer to Gibraltar and not further away.

The fact that I’d allowed prayer to enter the equation showed me the depths of my distress.

Once we were alone, I caught the monk’s sleeve and dragged him into Hugh’s rooms. “What is your name?” I couldn’t just call him the one with sad eyes. Turning up the oil lamp, I lifted it so we could see each other.

“Brother James O’Brien.”

“All right, Brother. Let’s see what we have here. Tell me about Fr. Dominic. What is he likely doing now?”

Br. James brought out a string of beads, his lips moving. “Oh,” he said, blinking in surprise as if I’d interrupted his prayer. “He intended to work another spell. He’s been telling us it’s his way of communing with our Father in Heaven, but I’m not stupid. The Lord would never condone such corruption.”

“I think I’ve seen the results of his spells. Well, not seen, exactly”—I crossed my arms without spilling any lamp oil—“but I had the strong sense that he’s created large, wormlike creatures that move through walls.”

He fingered his beads, an unconscious attempt to protect himself with prayer.

“I followed one tonight to a guest room and found the guest there unconscious.”

“Oh no. It happened again?”

I wanted to throttle the man. “You know about the others?”

He clenched his fists so tight they turned white. “He told us the Lord demanded sacrifice.”

Shaking my head, I glanced around the room. This man—this monk—had clearly been hand-picked by Fr. Dominic as someone who would do what he was told without asking questions. It had to have taken every ounce of his will to seek me out. “There’s a case under Fr. Dominic’s bed. If I help you keep him from working any more of his evil spells, I want that case in return.”

“Of course. Anything. I’ll do anything.”

The ship swayed hard enough to make the oil in the lamp splash. More footsteps thundered passed our room, this time heading toward the stairs. I could only hope this barge would stay afloat, otherwise we’d all die before dawn. I could hear my mother’s voice saying, “Evil as well as good, both operate to advance the Great Plan.”

I had no idea how this disaster would advance anybody’s plan.

With a shake of my head, I made myself attend to the monk. “Tell me more about Fr. Dominic. What does he hope to accomplish with all of this?”

“The greater glory of God.”

Setting the lamp on the desk, I bit my lip to keep from saying something rude. A fang pierced my skin. Ya khasara. Things could not get more absurd. “You believe him?”

Br. James tucked his beads away. “I do, or I did. When we left Alexandria, he told us he had ensured the survival of the Church. I’m afraid he made a bargain with a demon to do it.”

That made sense to me. One misstep had led to another and another until they brought us to this point. Br. James’ gaze weighed heavily on me, though there was nothing I could say that would bring him salvation. My mind was already a jumble and I struggled to make some sense to myself. There were still things I needed to know. “Does Fr. Dominic ever leave the room?”

“Not anymore. He would take his dinner at the captain’s table, but now he has it brought to his rooms.”

I’d suspected as much, but it was useful to have it confirmed. “Where is the demon? How does Fr. Dominic talk to it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Hmm…” I pictured Fr. Dominic holding the small box and chanting in Phoenician. “What’s in that box?”

“Oh, that? The little box he carries? It’s full of dirt.”

“Dirt?” That made no sense to me, unless… “I wonder where the dirt came from.”

“A graveyard. He had us fill it before we left.”

I could only blink at him. “Did he ask you to look for a specific grave, or just any old spot in the graveyard?”

“He wanted it from the former pastor’s grave.”

“That didn’t seem odd to you?”

The light caught him just right, showing me the guileless blue eyes of an innocent. “Fr. Dominic and Fr. Fayek were very close. We Roman Catholics are easily drowned out by all the lesser traditions, and both of them wanted the true faith to grow.”

Again the image of Fr. Dominic chanting over the box of dirt took hold of me. “Do you think you could bring it to me?”

Those blue eyes widened. “I…I’m not sure.”

“If you have the chance, take the box and bring it to me. I’ll know what to do with it.”

He was silent for so long I thought he might refuse me, but finally he cleared his throat. “Perhaps when he goes to the privy?”

I fought the urge to smile. “Whenever you have the chance.”

“Where will I find you?”

“I’ll be nearby, watching for you. We must do this soon, before we get to Gibraltar.”

He gave a deep inhale. “If the Lord wills it, I’ll succeed.”

If the Lord…for pity’s sake. “You can do this, Brother. Yalla. Go. Before he misses you.”

Br. James left me alone in Hugh’s room. I gave him a few moments, then followed, a plan taking shape in my mind. I would divide my time between rooms thirty-six and forty-four, and at the first opportunity, I’d explain Hugh’s role to him. He wouldn’t like it—hell, he may well be too busy to help—but if I could distract Fr. Dominic, Hugh would be the one to snatch the case and hide it.

Between the two of us, we’d defeat the priest and his demon accomplice.

Chapter Fourteen

I wasn’t sure I could save this one. Madame Barbier had begun to wake by the second application of my sol volatile, and the young boy had come around almost as fast. This man—David Anderson, according to Mr. Witherspoon—did not react in the slightest. In fact, he’d had another of those apneic episodes, where I’d come close to giving him mouth-to-mouth breaths.

To make matters worse, shortly after Will arrived with my bag, we’d heard a distant bang and the steady rumble of the engine had ceased. I’d sent him out to learn what he could about our situation.

He returned with grim news. “They’re fighting with the sails, trying to keep us somewhat on course. It’s chaos out there.”

Mr. Witherspoon stood quivering at my shoulder, for all the world like he’d been made of gelatin. “Give him the smelling salts again. Please. You must.”

I’d already explained several times that the more often I used the sol volatile, the less effective it would be, so I saved myself the breath and did as he asked. David gave no indication I’d just put a vial of ammonia under his nose. Witherspoon moaned.

We were interrupted by a firm knock on the door. I glanced at Will, and he answered it.

“Oh good. You are here.” It was one of the stewards; his crisp uniform was soggy, he’d lost his cap, and his hair was disheveled. “We need the doctor in room fifteen immediately.”

“You can’t have him,” Witherspoon burst out. “We need him here. David needs him here.”

I nodded at Will. “Do you know mouth-to-mouth breathing?”

His eyes grew round. “No. I mean, I’ve read about it but…”

“Come here.” I brought him to the bed. “Tip his chin up and open his mouth. Cover his lips with yours and blow.”

“I…suppose I could do that.”

“Time him. If he ceases to breathe for more than twenty seconds, give him a few breaths.”

Will nodded wordlessly.

“If he vomits, turn his head to the side.”

Another wordless nod. If his eyes opened any wider, his brows would hit his hairline. I then turned to Witherspoon, using my best professional manner. “I’ll return as soon as possible. In the meantime, you and Will must care for David. He’ll wake up.”

“He will?” There were tears in Witherspoon’s eyes.

Rather than lie, I gave him a firm nod. “Show me where,” I said to the steward and, carrying my bag, I went to see my next patient.

Will had not exaggerated. Rather than the pristine, peaceful deck where well-heeled passengers took in the sun and the air, we went out into a riot of waves and pounding rain. Crewmembers ran past, at times joined by passengers in their dinner clothes. Before I took in more than that, the steward hurried me to the next victim.

What had Aharon said? Fr. Dominic was casting spells that brought about these episodes? If so, we needed to stop him before he killed someone.

My next patient was a young girl, barely into her teen years. She responded slightly better to the sol volatile, and her mother had a vial of her own. “Give her some every ten minutes or so, and when she wakes, give her some weak tea or broth.”

Her mother, a graceful woman with graying hair, gave me every assurance that she’d do as I asked, and I promised I’d return as soon as I could. I’d intended to return to David and Mr. Witherspoon; however, the steward met me at the door with another request.

“Room eighteen,” he said, his expression grim.

He led the way, and I followed.

I was leaving my fourth patient when Aharon found me. He managed to avoid the steward, catching me when I’d stopped for a moment and closed my eyes in a spot with some cover from the rain. My vial of sol volatile was sadly overused but fortunately would not dry out quickly. Except for David, I felt sure the other patients would recover.

I hoped.

“You’ve been run ragged.”

His voice startled me, but after the initial gasp, I relaxed at his side. “Four of them. Four patients, all somnolent. I need to get back to the first one I saw, as he appears to be the worst.”

Aharon stroked my hand. “I might have to call you away.”

I rubbed my burning eyes. “Why?”

“I’m going to draw Fr. Dominic out of his room, and when I do, you go in and swipe the case.”

How had it come to this? I had no love for vampires, yet one stood at my side, his presence reassuring.

I had less love for theft, and yet… “Me?” My teeth were clenched so tight I could barely get the word out.

“Yes.”

His confidence shamed me for my doubt. “All right. I’ll do my best.”

He interlaced our fingers. “I’m going to get rid of the source of his power, and you’re going to steal the treasures. We have no other choice.”

Wind tossed rain all around us, though the boat had stopped pitching so wildly. “I’ll be in room forty-four,” I murmured, though I did not move. His fingers were cool, his presence steadying. “Let me know when you need me to act.”

D

By dawn, the storm had ended. I met Hugh and Carrington in Hugh’s rooms. Carrington didn’t protest when Hugh invited me to spend the day under his bed, although they were both so exhausted he might not have noticed.

Someone knocked on the door before any of us could rest. Carrington opened it only as far as he could see out. There were several injured crew members who needed the doctor’s attention, so despite having been awake for a day and a night, Hugh hoisted his bag. “I’ll go to them,” he murmured. “You stay here, and I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Carrington asked where to find the injured, while I protested. “It’s not fair. You need rest too.”

Hugh smiled. “Could you stay awake past sunrise if you wanted to?”

“I’ve never tried. Maybe it’s possible.” Although my claim felt empty. In my short life as a vampire, I’d had little control over when my eyes closed for the day. In fact, the coming sunrise weighed on me, prodding me to get under cover, to hide.

Hugh gave me an affectionate smile. “You can no more fight your nature than I could fly. Get out of sight and we’ll talk again after sunset.”

I had the foolish urge to give him a goodnight kiss, an impulse I didn’t act on. This connection between us was as surprising as it was inexplicable. More than anything else, I hoped we could see it through.

I’d barely managed to get under the bunk when sunrise shut me down. When my mind returned from whatever black hole had consumed it, I heard quarreling.

Again.

Did people only come to Hugh’s door to argue with him?

I blinked to clear some of the fog from my eyes and recognized Br. James, demanding to know where I was. That presented me with a dilemma. If I came out of the room now, he’d know my hiding place. Hugh was doing his best to hold the man off, telling him they’d send me to him as soon as I rose.

“Here,” Br. James said finally. “I can’t wait any longer or Fr. Dominic will kill me.” His voice rang with truth and fear. “Give this to the vampire or throw it overboard. I don’t care.”

The door slammed, and for a moment, there was silence. I crawled out from under the bunk, surprised to find myself tangled in a blanket that hadn’t been there when I lay down.

Hugh was alone. Hands on his hips, shoulders slumped, he stared at Fr. Dominic’s box where it sat on the floor. I must have made some sound, because he turned to me.

“How much did you hear?” His cheeks were gaunt, and his eyes were ringed in dark circles.

“Don’t touch that.” I gestured toward the box.

He laughed, rubbing the scruff of a beard on his cheek. “Wasn’t going to. This is part of your plan?”

“Yes, but… Have you had any sleep?”

“Some,” he lied.

I decided not to press him on it. “This is our chance, then. I’ll take this to the upper deck and make sure Fr. Dominic sees me with it. While I have him distracted, you grab the case that’s under his bed, the one you found when you went to his rooms before.”

Before. A month could have passed, though it was only a handful of days.

“What then?”

“I’m fairly sure that box contains something that enables Fr. Dominic to contact his demon, although, with as many people he attacked last night, the demon might truly be inhabiting him.” I shrugged, doing my best not to imagine what a demon-priest could do to me if it caught me. “Bring the case here and I’ll retrieve it when I can.”

“Will says the storm didn’t blow us far off course, so we should still reach Gibraltar tomorrow.”

This was the part that would need some luck. I wouldn’t be able to leave the ship until nightfall, and by then we might already be heading out to sea. “I wonder if I could take one of the lifeboats.” The ship had four of them on deck. “Toward morning, I can wrap myself in canvas, then you and Will can lower me to the water. The canvas will protect me from the sun, and as soon as the sun sets, I’ll paddle to the shore.”

Hugh nodded, though the tightness in his eyes hinted at doubt. “That’s leaving a lot to chance.”

“This was always going to be a risky proposal.”

Without giving him time to debate the issue further, I stepped around him and snatched the box of dirt. The thing weighed more than it should have, and I must have grimaced, because he asked, “Do you know what’s in there?”

“Br. James said it was cemetery dirt, but it’s as heavy as a block of lead.” I stilled for a moment, reaching for his hand. “You’ll need to follow me, so that you’ll know when Fr. Dominic leaves his rooms.”

“Of course. Wait a moment, please.” He gave my hand a squeeze and went to his trunk. With his back to me, I couldn’t see what he was after, but when he turned, he was buckling a holster to his hip. “Lockpicks are in my pocket,” he said.

I gave him a salty grin. “There are sides of your character I haven’t yet seen, Hugh St John. Let’s finish this so we can get to know one another better.”

“I confess, at first you terrified me. Your nature and your blatant flirtation, I mean. Now, though, I have to agree. I want to know you better. Let’s finish this.”

We stood grinning at each other, and I swear the box felt lighter. “Come on, habibi. My mother would say something about how suffering in search of truth gives meaning to the truth.”

“So let’s get the suffering part over with?”

“Yes.”

I had to turn away so I wouldn’t grab him and drag him to the bed. The weight of the box, however, brought home the harshness of our situation. There was no one in the hallway, yet I still pulled shadows around me. Hugh knew where I was headed, and I knew he’d follow.

How did I know?

The same way I knew he was the one I’d been waiting for. That made me laugh, because if someone had asked me before all of this if I was waiting for someone, I would have said no. And yet, I felt certain we were destined to be together.

I also felt the beginning of hunger. Feeding from Hugh had made me feel invincible, but since then I’d been running here and there, wrapped in shadows as often as not. I’d need to feed again, though not likely from Hugh.

First, though, I needed to draw the attention of Fr. Dominic.

I reached the upper deck, Hugh’s footsteps behind me. There was a commotion down the hall to the right.

“He’s dead,” someone cried. A lady screamed, and other men shouted. I headed toward them, hanging back so no one would run into me. Hugh went past, though I would have preferred him to stay hidden.

“I’m the ship’s doctor. What’s going on?”

“The vampire must have struck again.” This was from one of the stewards, who looked as exhausted as Hugh had. “He’s so awfully pale, and look. There’s a wound on his throat.”

Hugh disappeared into the crowd. “All of you, return to your rooms, please. There’s nothing you can do here.”

Some of the people left until the crowd was thin enough that I could see Hugh down on his knees. The figure lying next to him wore a black cassock.

Br. James. Had to be. Fr. Dominic must have worked quickly.

“This is one of the monks,” Hugh said, and the steward agreed with him. “Let’s get him to his rooms. Has someone notified his companions?”

“I believe he’s an associate of Fr. Dominic’s, in room thirty-six.”

“Let’s bring him there, then.” Hugh scooted over so he could grasp Br. James by his shoulders. “You take his feet.” He nodded to the steward. “And the rest of you, please go elsewhere. This is not an entertainment.”

Some combination of words and tone of voice chased off the spectators. Staying clear of them, I watched Hugh and the steward carry the brother to Fr. Dominic’s rooms.

The priest answered the door himself.

“I’m sorry to do this”—Hugh’s voice had an edge of strain—“but your man was found in the hallway.”

Fr. Dominic didn’t budge from the doorway. “What happened to him?”

“He’s dead. Can we bring him in?”

Hugh’s blunt words shook something in the priest—or at least the priest acted dismayed—and he stood aside.

“Oh,” Fr. Dominic gasped as they passed him. “Look at his throat. The vampire has struck again.” He looked past the steward as he spoke, raising his voice so anyone around would have heard him.

Fortunately, the only person nearby was me. I let the shadows fall away and grinned at him, showing my fangs and raising the box of dirt.

“He’s here,” the priest screamed. “With me! All you men! The vampire is here.”

Moving fast, I went toward the railing, making sure to keep the box where he could see it. Once there, I slowed my pace to a stroll.

The priest continued to yell, though he only drew the attention of another steward. “See?” Fr. Dominic pointed at the railing. “He’s right there.”

I covered myself in shadow. Except for the box. Come on, Dominic. Don’t you want this?

The steward looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir, but no one is out there. Perhaps you should go inside and rest.” He took the priest’s arm, only to have Fr. Dominic rudely shake free of his grasp.

“If you won’t do anything about him, I will.” He reached in a pocket of his robes and pulled out a stake.

I didn’t move—yet—and instead teased him with the box. I needed him to come far enough away from his room that Hugh could steal the case of treasures. A new idea took shape. It would also be useful if the priest thought I was gone.

Like a matador waving a red flag at a bull, I dangled the box from my fingertips. Fr. Dominic took several steps toward me. Not good enough. The steward who’d helped Hugh carry in the body came out of the room, likely sent on some errand or other so he wouldn’t see what Hugh was up to.

Fr. Dominic came closer, the flickering lamplight doing grotesque things to his face.

Or maybe the demon was making him look grotesque.

The box grew heavier, a living thing that sensed its owner was near. Fr. Dominic scuttled down the deck. I hoisted myself onto the railing, the only thing separating me from the water below.

Fr. Dominic raised the stake. “Give it to me.”

I just grinned, showing him fang.

“I demand that you give me the box.” He cocked his hand, ready to throw.

“No,” I said. He threw the stake and I, well, I let myself fall.

Chapter Fifteen

I saw him fall.

For the space of a heartbeat, Aharon let go of the spell that he’d hidden behind. Dangling that evil box, his eyes flashed, his grin full of boisterous confidence.

And then he let go.

I did not hear his splash, because Fr. Dominic let loose an inhuman screech. I ran toward the priest, catching hold of him as he attempted to climb the railing. The steward who’d helped me carry Br. James into the priest’s rooms grabbed his other arm, and together we wrestled him away from the edge.

Fr. Dominic continued screaming, sounds that might have been words. They might also have been the babbling of an unhinged mind. His cacophony brought others running: two stewards, or three, a young man from the room next door, and finally—blessedly—Will.

Getting the priest into his room took all of us. We had to practically carry him, and he writhed and thrashed in ways I wouldn’t have thought possible if I hadn’t witnessed it.

“He must be suffering from some neurosis.” I hollered so I’d be heard over his noise. “Will, bring me my bag.”

It took him a moment, but he appeared at my side. Leaving the stewards to pin the priest on his bed, I drew up some morphine in a hypodermic needle. No one questioned me, although the technique was only a few years old. “I need to reach either the large muscle in his shoulder or one in his thigh.”

He wore his typical black robe, one with a front closure. The stewards opened the thing to his hip, where we found a tunic made of black cotton. One brave man grabbed the hem and wrenched it up, exposing Fr. Dominic’s pale white thighs.

“Hold his leg still.” Putting a hand on his knee, I jabbed the thickest part of the muscle with the hypodermic needle and depressed the plunger. The jab made him shriek, though his voice had gone ragged, and slowly his thrashing ceased.

Straightening, I eased away from the bed. I set the hypodermic needle in its case and returned it to my bag. On the way, I caught Will’s attention. I gave a significant glance at the case, my prize, where I’d left it on the table. Will came closer and I murmured, “Take it to my rooms and put it under the bed.”

Assuming I wasn’t able to give the case to Aharon directly, he’d know to look for it there.

If he’d survived the plunge.

With no fanfare, Will took the case and left the room. The next several hours were a frenzy of caring for the priest and for the passengers who’d been affected by his demon spell. Will returned without the case, so I sent him to watch over David Anderson in room forty-four. I needed to give Fr. Dominic two more shots of morphine, and by the time the sun rose, I was sorry I didn’t have enough of the drug to keep him unconscious until we reached Southampton.

D

My first stroke of luck was the engine. The crew hadn’t repaired it yet, so the heavy turbines weren’t churning the water. Good thing, or they might have churned me.

When I let go of the railing, I’d tossed the box as far as I could. I hope it sank to the bottom of the sea. My next challenge was keeping my head above water. My galabiya and kaftan had felt so comfortable when I put them on, but wet they weighed almost as much as I did. I sculled, planning my next steps.

The row of porthole windows wasn’t far above my head. Never a strong swimmer, I managed to paddle my way to the ship’s side. Kicking hard, I reached with one hand and hooked my fingertips over the top of one of the portholes. This is where I learned something else about my vampire nature: I was strong. Strong enough to drag myself up by my fingertips. Strong enough to crawl up the side of the boat like a determined crab.

Strong enough to hoist myself over the railing, despite the weight of my sodden robes dragging me down.

The rain hadn’t let up, though the wind and the surf had calmed. No one was on the deck nearby, and since I’d begun to feel hungry, I didn’t bother hiding in shadows. I didn’t want to use any more energy than necessary, since I had no idea what would happen next.

Moving quickly—or as quickly as possible, given the weight of my robes—I headed for the stairs. My first stop was the doctor’s rooms. As I’d expected, no one was there, and as I’d hoped, the case was under the bunk. For a moment I simply sat, hands on its smooth leather, and imagined Hugh carrying it here and leaving it where he knew I’d look.

We’d said that I would find a way to reach Gibraltar. From there, I’d find another ship to take me to Alexandria.

What we hadn’t discussed was how I’d do any of those things, most especially what I’d do when I reached Alexandria.

Flipping the case open, I was surprised to see an envelope with my name on it. I opened it and found a note.

Davies,

Enclosed please find £25, which should cover the cost of passage to Alexandria. When you reach your destination, feel free to return the icon to the church of your choice. I’d very much appreciate if you could bring the case with the remaining items to the tea shop on El-Abassi Street and ask for Eshram Dhahi. He will give you instructions for what to do next.

Thank you,

Carrington

I read it once, and then I read it a second time. I knew the tea shop he’d mentioned, and in fact, I’d met Dhahi more than once. My suspicious nature might have raised its head, but the money was real enough. Hugh St John might have been the doctor and the thief, but Will Carrington may well have been the director, controlling events from his role of assistant and valet.

With the box and the envelope in hand, I crossed the small room. I had my hand on the doorknob when an idea struck me. I reopened the case and took out the figurine, the one Hugh had been holding when I discovered him. The thing warmed my hand, reminding me of Hugh’s scent, his taste.

“I’ll leave you here, then,” I murmured, and while the thing was quite solid, I had the sense somehow it nodded its head. Setting the figurine under the bunk, I took the case and made for the door. My clothing had left a puddle of water on the floor, and I was half-tempted to strip and borrow things from St John’s wardrobe because my own would dry stiff with salt.

No, I wouldn’t steal from St. John. I’d find someone else’s closet.

Using the shadows to hide me from any wayward passengers, I headed for the lower level.

I still needed to find my way off this boat, but it was nearly sunrise. Figuring Fr. Dominic had bigger problems, I hid myself and the case in the closet where I’d spent the days at the beginning of our voyage.

I had just a moment to enjoy the memory of Hugh’s kisses when darkness took me.

My second stroke of luck happened as soon as sunset released me from captivity. Before I opened the closet door, I heard voices. Two crewmen, talking in worried tones.

“Something ain’t right here, and I for one don’t want to stick around and see who dies next.”

“You’re not lying, but we’ll be heading out to sea with the tide.”

“Unless we take one of the lifeboats and paddle to shore.”

There was a moment of silence, as if they were both wondering if they had the nerve to go through with such a daring thing.

I had no such doubts. Opening the closet door, I met them both with a smile. “Gentlemen,’ I said, using all the charm I possessed, “I believe we have something in common.”

Chapter Sixteen

Anderson finally roused enough for me to feel confident he’d survive, and Will was a great help throughout all of it. When we finally returned to my rooms, the first thing I did was look under the bed.

The case was gone. Only the turquoise figurine remained.

Still on my knees, I picked it up and turned to Will. “He’s come and gone.”

“I’d guessed. There are spatters of water on the floor.”

“We’ll find him in Alexandria somehow.” I strove for a confidence I didn’t feel.

Will smiled gently. “I put traveling money and instructions in the case.”

I sat back on my heels. “Good. Thank you.”

Crossing the room, Will put a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t possess any special powers beyond my observational skills, but I’d hazard a guess that Aharon Davies will seek you out, regardless of whether he gives the case to Randall.”

My stomach lurched. “I mean…I don’t…why would he?” Had we been so obvious as that?

Something in Will’s smile shifted. “You have nothing to fear. Randall and I will keep your secret if you will keep ours.”

Confusion had the effect of calming some of my panic. “You…and Randall. I didn’t know.”

Giving me a squeeze, Will said. “My given name is Wilhemina, but I’ve gone by Will since I was old enough to dress myself.”

“Will…” My voice faded away as the gravity of his—her?—confession hit me. As a man of science, I knew such things were possible. I’d just never… “All right, then.” I cleared my throat. I had neither the energy nor the desire to judge his choices. “As you say, I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

“Thank you.”

With that, Will left me alone with my thoughts. The icon was out of my hands, leaving me to hope that Aharon could accomplish what we’d set out to do. Tomorrow we’d reach Gibraltar, and four days later, Southampton. We’d be on British soil. Did I really need to return to Alexandria? It was reasonable to think Will could make the return voyage on his own.

And what? Send me a letter with the results of our quest?

Even as I entertained those thoughts, I knew they were lies. As much as it terrified me to trust a vampire, I found I believed in Aharon Davies despite his nature.

And I had every intention of tracking him down, no matter how long it took.

That vow could wait. First, I had to cope with an increasingly unhinged priest. If there was any blessing, it was that Fr. Dominic could no longer cast the spells that had affected the other passengers so dramatically. Still, Will and I were kept quite busy.

The night we left Gibraltar, Will met me in my rooms. “I stopped by the kitchen on my way down from the upper deck. Here,” he said, handing me a basket covered with a linen cloth.

I peeked under it and saw bread and cheese. “You found a steward to sit with Fr. Dominic?”

“Wasn’t easy.” He gave me a rueful grin. “He did sleep for part of the day, but the rest was a steady stream of his babble.”

“If there’s a moral to this story, it’s not to play with demons.”

That made Will laugh. “I’ll have to make a note of that.”

“Do.”

I settled on the foot of my bunk, leaving Will the chair. There was a new easiness between us, and while I had trouble imagining him in a dress, I found it really didn’t matter. He was Will, and if Randall accepted him, that was enough.

Unpacking the basket, I found a bottle of wine and two cups in the bottom. I rarely drank, but after the last few days, the wine had some appeal. I poured the wine, Will sliced the cheese, and we dug in.

“I heard a rumor,” he said between bites.

“Oh?”

“Last night, one of the rowboats they keep for emergencies was stolen.”

I stared into my wine. The little turquoise figurine was tucked under my pillow, so I could keep it close. “Do you think…?”

“That would be my guess.”

I met his gaze for a brief moment, then tossed off the rest of my wine. Pouring another cup full, I said, “Then we should drink a toast to Aharon’s success.”

Will raised his glass, and I tapped it with mine. “To all of us,” he said. “May we be reunited with those closest to us.”

I drank to cover how near I was to tears.

By the time we reached Southampton, I was out of both morphine and patience. For reasons I didn’t fully understand, it fell to me to find someone to care for Fr. Dominic. The physician in charge of the only hospital in Southampton was willing to admit him, and I extracted a promise from the local Catholic church to oversee things from there.

And with that, Will and I booked passage on a steamer headed for Alexandria. They set sail on the third and the twentieth of every month, and since we’d missed the third by a day, we had some two weeks to wait.

If those two weeks went by slowly, the two weeks it took to sail from Southampton to Alexandria seemed to take much, much longer. We each had a second-class room, we took our meals together, and beyond that, I read and wrote and expressed gratitude that there was someone else tending to the hurts and illnesses on this voyage.

In all of that time, my mood rose and fell depending on whether I believed Aharon had returned with the icon. At times, I was sure he’d be waiting for us in Alexandria.

Other times, I knew in my bones he’d absconded with the icon and we’d never see him again.

I took to carrying the figurine in my pocket because simply touching it reassured me. It was as cool as Aharon and nearly as comforting. For one moment in time, we’d both had our hands on the thing. That seemed to mean something, though I wasn’t sure what. Still, I rode the ebb and flow of my mood, the same way the boat rode the ocean waves. We couldn’t reach Alexandria soon enough.

Unlike my first arrival, this time two brown-skinned Egyptians waited for us on the dock. They wore the kind of robes Aharon favored, and Will introduced them as Darius and Ebo. “Ebo is our landlord and Darius is his son, and they’ve been gracious enough to offer us a ride.”

“How did they know when we’d arrive?”

Will and Ebo shared a glance. “We met the last boat from Southampton, and you weren’t on it, so Randall asked us to try again today.”

“I hope he made it worth your while.”

Ebo’s smile was broad and his teeth were very white. “He conjured a tea that helps a great deal with my wife’s joint pain.”

Conjured? I found I didn’t want to know anything more. Together we loaded the luggage onto the back of a horse-drawn cart.

“So you’ll drop me off at the L’Hotel d’Europe, then?”

A sudden upswell of noise on the dock made it necessary for me to repeat myself twice, but in the end, Will laughed. “No, you’ll be staying with Randall and me.”

“That’s awfully generous of you.” My mind went back to the cool comfort of the house where I’d met Randall. “Are you sure there’s enough space?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if there wasn’t.”

Ebo climbed into the cart. “If you need more space, I’ll find you a place. I have a few vacancies.”

“See? You’re with friends.” Will waved at the cart. “Climb in.”

There was only space for three of us to sit on the cart’s plank seat, but there was a sunshade overhead to keep off the worst of the glare. Ebo took the reins, Will and I sat on either side of him, and Darius walked beside us, a hood covering his head.

We didn’t move quickly—the roads were far too crowded—but I found I didn’t mind. The sun was directly overhead, which meant we had a few hours until sunset.

I was very much waiting for the sun to set.

The air was dry and dusty, interspersed with gusts of sweet floral scent. The sweat running between my shoulder blades had me looking enviously at Ebo’s loose linen robe. “I could use a cup of tea,” I murmured.

Will leaned forward so he could grin at me around Ebo. “Soon, Doctor. We’ll be able to quench our thirst soon.”

For some reason, I had the sense that he wasn’t just talking about tea, but before I could push him further, we rolled to a stop. “The house is down there,” Will said, pointing at a courtyard surrounded by low buildings, their thick walls coated with white plaster.

The area looked familiar, for all that I couldn’t have named most of the foliage. There was peace here under the strong, bright sun. The air was scented with flowers and roasting meat, and the trees cast much-needed shade.

With help from Darius, Will and I carried our luggage to the house. Unlike my first visit, Randall met us in the doorway, and unlike my first visit, this was the Randall of my memory. He stood upright, his color robust rather than pale and wan. He still carried his ebony cane, but it seemed to be more of a prop rather than something he needed to support himself.

“Welcome.” His smile was almost as wide as his open arms. “And congratulations on your successful adventure.”

As I approached him, I noted Will hanging back. A glance showed me why. The color was high in his fair cheeks and there was a gleam of tears in his eyes. Filling in the pause, I shook my cousin’s hand far more vigorously than I had at our last meeting. “You look…well.”

His grin turned devilish. “Come inside. We have much to discuss.”

He might have spoken to me, but his gaze was on Will. I ignored the breach and gave him a hearty, “And we have stories to tell, as well.”

I could only hope that one of the things my cousin wanted to discuss was a certain vampire. All of our efforts would have been wasted if he hadn’t successfully returned the icon to his church.

You don’t just care about the icon.

Ignoring the voice in my head, I helped bring in our luggage. Randall used his cane to direct us, and after a flurry of activity, we were seated in his front parlor. He took the same wingback chair as on our first meeting, leaving an upholstered loveseat for me and Will. The high ceilings helped with the heat, as did the tea. Ebo and Darius had left us alone, and once Will took his seat, I pinned Randall with a stare.

“You don’t look like the same man,” I said bluntly.

He had the grace to blush. “Yes, well, I believe I am proof positive that the blood of a vampire has healing qualities.”

Will gasped, and I found myself at a loss for words.

“I’ve just had a taste but look at me.” He half rose from his chair.

“I can do nothing but,” Will whispered.

Randall glanced from Will to me, his eyes wide. I shrugged, and he relaxed.

“So Aharon returned?” My voice was dry as the desert around us.

Again Randall nearly bounced out of his seat. “Indeed. The icon has been returned, and I have quite a number of other artifacts to research.”

“Good.” A huge weight lifted off my shoulders. “I’m glad he was successful.”

“Not just him. He told me about Fr. Dominic and his demonic spells. You’ve done some excellent work, keeping the passengers safe and healthy.”

I waved him off. “I did what needed to be done.”

“And you gave me a gift beyond price.” Randall’s voice shook and he blinked rapidly. “I’m not sure I would have survived long enough to see you. Aharon arrived in the nick of time.”

“I’m glad.”

Will still hadn’t said anything and so, taking my tea, I made some excuse to leave them alone. Randall told me where to find water for a bath. “We dine at eight. Mrs. Ebo is cooking and you don’t want to be late.”

Toasting him with my teacup, I moved toward the door.

“Oh,” Randall said, his grin sly. “After dinner, we can discuss another little project I have in mind. You and Aharon together make a good team.”

The idea wrong-footed me, if for no other reason than we’d have accomplished very little without Will. Then there was the implication that I might stay here for some unspecified period of time when I’d always meant to return to London.

Hadn’t I?

I managed to stretch bathing, shaving, and dressing until nearly sunset. To my surprise, the closet in the room Randall had told me to use was full of the suits, shirts, and waistcoats that usually resided in my London flat.

In fact, looking closer, I noticed the book on my nightstand was one I’d meant to start reading upon my return.

“Randall.” I should have been angry with him, but all I could do was shake my head.

If my cravat wasn’t as tidy as Will would have made it, it couldn’t be helped. The two of them were still in the front parlor, talking quietly, and I slipped out the door without drawing their attention.

The courtyard was much cooler, and while I couldn’t see the sun directly, the band of gold and orange in the west let me know it was about to set. The open space was paved with small white stones, four spreading palm trees marked the corners, and a pair of benches faced each other in the center.

I took a seat, facing Randall’s house, and for a long moment, I simply enjoyed the fact that the ground wasn’t rocking the way it had on board the ship. The band of gold and orange deepened to scarlet, the sky overhead turning a deeper blue. I rubbed my thumb over the head of the figurine in my pocket, and I waited.

I felt his presence before I saw him. Aharon. He put his hand on my shoulder and straddled the bench, facing me. “You’re here,” he said.

Something deep inside me loosened and for the first time in a long while, I could draw a deep breath. “And so are you.”

“How was your trip?”

“Exceedingly long. Yours?”

With a wry chuckle, he adjusted his robes. “It had its moments.”

“Tell me.”

“Suffice it to say that I learned more about what I can do than I’d ever thought possible.” He paused and the last of the light faded, making him little more than a silhouette in the dark. “If nothing else, limits force a man to be creative.”

He was dodging my question, but in truth, traveling from Gibraltar to Alexandria by night had to have presented him with fairly steep challenges. Rather than push him into revealing anything unpleasant, I let it go.

“Fr. Dominic?” He let the question stand between us.

“I left him at hospital in Southampton.”

“He was…” His voice faded.

“Evil.” I supplied. “He was as evil as they come, wholly consumed by some demon.”

It seemed we both had unpleasant memories from our time apart. The priest’s maniacal cries would echo in my nightmares for a good long while.

We sat in silence for a moment, though it was companionable, easy. Aharon looked the same, his features still precise and lovely, but he had an ease here, a confidence that I hadn’t seen on the Haddington. This was his home, and it showed despite the change in his nature.

“What now?” I wondered, only realizing I’d said it out loud when he laughed.

“It’s the oddest thing. Over the last few weeks, returning the icon grew less important than seeing you again.”

I blinked in confusion. “But you did return it?”

“Oh yes, which left me with a single goal. Finding you.”

Something warm and heavy filled my chest, the little figurine in my pocket growing weightier. “It seems we are of the same mind.” Another silence, but this one rife with an unfamiliar—but not unpleasant—tension. “What do you propose we do next?”

“If we were alone, I’d offer to suck you off.”

The boldness of his words made the heat rise in my cheeks, and this time I was the one to shift in my seat and adjust myself. “That would…perhaps…I might—”

He interrupted my dithering. “First, though, we should talk. I want to know more about Dr. Hugh St John.”

My answering laugh held both relief and gratitude. “You might get more than you bargained for. It seems Randall intends to keep me here indefinitely.”

“So he said.”

I glanced his way, surprised. “You’ve spoken about me to Randall?”

“Only enough to know that he wants to put the both of us to work.”

“He does?”

“Like he’s said, we’re a good team, St John. The idea appeals to me.”

Heart pounding, I rose from the bench. “It intrigues me, too.” More than I could explain or even understand. “Why don’t you join us for supper, and we can hear more of my cousin’s ideas.”

He stood and clasped my hand. “And later…?”

I met his grin with one of my own. “Later we’ll see what we’ll see.”

“Good.” He squeezed my hand, his fingers cool and strong. “I can’t wait to see…all of you.”

Laughing, I led the way into my cousin’s house. I should be angry at Randall for the way he’d taken over my life, but the vampire’s presence made me glad my possessions were here. And wasn’t that ironic? Me, being glad for a vampire?

While I might someday set sail for my old home, London would be a cold and lonely place without Aharon. For now, I would be grateful for the gifts I’d been given: this man who was more than a man, and the promise of adventures to come.

Thank you!

This project came about for a couple of reasons. First, because I love mixing history and magic. The Charm of Magpies series by KJ Charles & Widdershins by Jordan L Hawk are my very favorites, and I wanted to play in that sandbox.

The second reason for this project is that I love collaborating with other authors. Whether that’s cowriting with Irene Preston or taking part in a shared world series, it’s so much fun to fuse my ideas to someone else’s.

And so, we have The Pharaoh’s Promise!

I dedicated this book to the authors who worked on this series with me, because it took a while to pull everything together, and I couldn’t be happier with how it turned out. I’d like to give a special shout-out to Rebecca Cohen, who graciously agreed to move her release date up by a few weeks, which made things work so much better for the rest of us. (Although with her travel schedule, I’m not sure how she managed!!) Everyone did their part, and I hope you enjoy all the stories!

I’d also like to thank Jo from Covers by Jo for her fantastic work on the covers. She nailed  exactly what we wanted. As always, I very much appreciate Meg Descamps’ excellent editing eye. And none of this would be possibly without my (extraordinarily patient) husband! He keeps the real world running while I’m off playing with my imaginary friends!

After reading an indie author’s work, the biggest hand you can give them is to leave a rating or a review. If you’ve taken the time, I sincerely appreciate it. Even a sentence or two helps, and every single review truly makes my day.

Thanks again, and happy reading!!

Bio

Liv Rancourt is a multi-published author of m/m romance. Because love is love, even with fangs.

Liv likes to write stories about vampires, either contemporary or historical. Sometimes she branches out, but there’s always magic, and there’s always romance. She also co-authors two m/m paranormal romance series with Irene Preston. Their partnership works because Liv is good at blowing things up and Irene is good at explaining why.

When Liv isn’t writing she takes care of tiny premature babies in the NICU. Her husband is a soul of patience, her kids are her pride and joy, and her dog Burnsie is endlessly entertaining. Find Liv at her website, on Facebook, or on Threads. For sneak peeks and previews and other assorted freebies, go HERE to sign up for her mailing list or join the Facebook page she shares with her writing partner Irene Preston, After Hours with Liv & Irene. See you soon!

More Books by Liv

Contemporary Paranormal M/M Romance

Soulmates

Soulmates is fast-paced, sexy gay paranormal romance, the first book in the Soulmates series.

Tested

The Soulmates are back, and this time their bonds are being Tested…

Redeemed

The grand finale…or it is?

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The Richmond Vampire

It’s a classic case of opposites distract.

The Accidental Necromancer

When the undead roadkill just won’t leave you alone…

The Villain Who Wasn’t

One guy’s villain is another man’s hero.

The Richmond Vampire: Hot Nights in the Big Easy

When is a fling more than a fling?

(This is a short story follow-up to The Richmond Vampire,

and there’s more to come!)

Historical M/M Romance

The Lighthouse Keeper

M/M Victorian Gothic romance with witches and magic and heat.

The Vampire’s Pirate

Book 1 in the Immortal and Illicit Duology

Is death too great a risk when the reward is freedom?

The Clockwork Monk

(This one is a Steampunk-light novella that’s perma-free over on Prolificworks.)

Trevor Chalmers tells himself he only believes in fine suits, strong brandy,

and muscular men.

He’s wrong.

Lost & Found

(Have you ever wanted to visit Paris in June…of 1920?)

A dancer who cannot dance and a physician who cannot heal must find in each other the strength to love.

Aqua Follies

(Stand-alone gay romance set in 1955 Seattle.)

Sometimes one smile does change everything.

Change of Heart: An Hours of the Night Story

(Stand-alone(ish) novella set in 1933 New Orleans, with a side helping of a certain vampire who appears in the Hours of the Night series.)

Preacher always said New Orleans was a den of sin, so of course Clarabelle had to see for herself.

Dollface: An Hours of the Night Story

(Stand-alone novella set in 1945 New Orleans.)

One psychic. Two guys who can’t keep their hands off each other. Witches and demons. Family drama. And one very creepy doll.

Paranormal romances co-written with Irene Preston

The Hours of the Night series

Vespers

If he follows his heart, he’ll lose his soul.

Bonfire

Silent night, holy hell.

Nocturne

It’s Mardi Gras, cher, and this time le bon temps kicks off with murder.

Benedictus (Coming soon!! No, really. We promise!)

The Haunts and Hoaxes series

Haunted

A reluctant psychic meets a skeptical historian. Shenanigans ensue.

Harrowed

There’s nothing scarier than the truth.

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We also contributed a novella to the second season of the Royal Powers series. If a super-royal-romcom sounds like your thing, try…

The Frogman and the Spy