Blood Autumn Read online

  "And what if I said I thought both of you were simply jealous?" he asked.

  "Then you would be wrong," Rose said quietly. "We're concerned about you, Guy. Daniel's friends died after they knew that woman."

  "Daniel didn't."

  "No, but he is a rare case. He doesn't know why, nor do I. I imagine only August does." She looked at him as he raised his eyes. "Will you help us?"

  "What do you have in the bag?"

  "A few essentials," she replied, "that I thought necessary for this evening. Garlic flowers, and some crosses for Father Daniel to bless, and as for the flowers, well, you'll see."

  Without waiting for Guy to answer, she closed the single window tightly, wishing that weren't necessary, for now the heat would rise unbearably inside. While the priest blessed the crosses, she strung the garlands of flowers completely around the window and doorway. Guy sat still, simply watching them, unwilling to involve himself. Rose then set the blessed crosses above the portals, while Daniel followed, sprinkling holy water on the walls and the door and window.

  The confined heat and the sickly sweet smell of the flowers made Rose queasy, turning her stomach, and she wanted nothing more than to be outside breathing fresh air, but she doubted they would have long to wait in the close atmosphere. At least she hoped not.

  "You're expecting her to come," Guy said. "Why should she?" He was frowning slightly, and she wondered what was going through his mind.

  "Because you're going to call her," Rose replied calmly. "I think she'll listen to you. Go ahead, Guy, call her."

  He didn't speak, and Rose and Daniel exchanged looks.

  She saw the tears in the priest's eyes as he realized to what, extent his nephew had fallen under the lamia's influence.

  As they waited, they didn't speak, and the minutes dragged by. An hour elapsed, then two, and when it was after eleven, Guy got up.

  "I'm going now. I can't wait any longer." He made no effort to conceal his disgust.

  "No, wait." Rose put a hand out to restrain him. "Just a few minutes more. Please.

  "All right." His tone was somewhat petulant, and she felt the pain inside her chest, for he had never used that tone with her before. But he did sit down.

  Daniel hadn't stirred much during their vigil as he found it almost impossible to respond to anything, and the blessing of the crosses and sprinkling of the holy water had sapped his emotional reserves. He lay back on the bed, the heat constricting his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, and he wondered that in his youth he had not minded heat half as much as he did now.

  The air grew closer, hotter, and Rose dozed, her head nodding forward. Abruptly she sat up in her chair. The room was different — darker now, and warmer, with something else. A scent of musk.

  August was there.

  Somehow she had entered the room, getting past the crosses, the garlic flowers, the holy water. Numbly Rose stared at her. It shouldn't have happened! Crosses and garlic and holy water kept vampires away. Why hadn't it worked? Why?

  August laughed. "How kind of you all to assemble to greet me. Why, my poor dear Guy, you aren't looking very robust."

  He mumbled something about the heat.

  "Well," said the priest impatiently, "what do you want here?"

  "How brusque you are now, Daniel." He shuddered visibly at her use of his name. "May I remind you that Guy called me. Was it simply to test me? How delightful!" She draped one of the flower strands around her neck, and inclining her head slightly, she sniffed a blossom. "How delicate is the scent. I really must commend you on selecting such an attractive flower — one of my favorites, by the way. Did you know that?" she asked, gazing directly at Rose.

  Rose shook her head sluggishly. She found it difficult to reply, to even think of an answer in the face of the other's mockery, and too, she felt defeated. Hoping against hope, she'd wanted to believe that the crosses and holy water and garlic would work, and they hadn't. Finally, Rose's words struggled out. "At least we've found out what won't kill you now," Rose said, mustering a practical tone. "Now we'll set about finding what will."

  August laughed again and arched a delicate brow. "I wish you luck."

  "We will find a way to destroy you, and we won't rest until we find it."

  Again laughter greeted her challenge. "You are such a determined woman. Is that why you . . . admire her, Daniel? I see it in your eyes. Some would call it admiration; I would call it something else, something baser. And poor Guy, who doesn't want the good doctor any longer, and she hates him for it. My, what an interesting trio you are." She laughed, amused with some private joke. "Is it rest you want? Sleep, my children."

  Her eyelids drooping, Rose felt the heat of the closed room rise to an unbearable temperature, and then it was swirling around her, blanketing her, smothering her until she couldn't draw in any air, and then she was yawning and yawning, wishing she could go to bed because of the late hour.

  Darkness descended, and she had only one last glimpse of Daniel falling asleep and Guy asleep on the floor, and by them the lamia smiling and smiling.

  She struggled through miles of cloying greyness that wanted to smother her, broke through, and finally awakened. The light was out, and she turned it on again to discover she had slept for some time, as had Guy and Daniel. A few minutes later the two men stirred, then gradually awakened. Rose searched the room, but she could not find the lamia. They were alone.

  "She's gone," Guy said somewhat unnecessarily as he peered about the shadowed room. He sounded vaguely disappointed.

  "Yes, she's gone," Rose snapped more sharply than she'd intended. She was irritated that Guy was acting so dreamy and befuddled, and yet, she reminded herself, he was bewitched and couldn't help it. Another part of her, far deeper, muttered darkly that if he really loved her, he wouldn't have fallen under the other woman's spell. She ignored that voice.

  "What now, Rose?" Father Daniel's voice was filled with weariness. Deep lines were etched in his face, and unceasingly he fingered his rosary, and she thought he looked closer to his age than ever before.

  "I don't know, Father," she admitted. She was drained from the events of the day and night, and from her failure. "Maybe we should just go home." She wanted to return to her boarding house and lock herself in her room and go to bed and sleep a dreamless sleep.

  "I'll walk you there. Rose," Guy said quietly, and she was surprised by the offer, although she quickly accepted.

  Not long after that they left together, walking some distance apart, and it was almost as though they were strangers; certainly it appeared as though they had never been intimate. She'd never felt so separated from him, and dismay filled her because she knew she couldn't compete against the lamia.

  The night air was cool and fresh after the closeness of Father Daniel's room, and as she breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the good air, she was beginning to feel less tired. Just before the couple rounded the corner to go to her boarding house, she stopped.

  "I've changed my mind, Guy. Would you mind walking with me to the hospital? I know it's rather late, but I don't think I could sleep now. Besides, I have a lot of work to do."

  He didn't protest; in fact, he said nothing, but merely nodded, and they turned and set out in the direction of the hospital. The air was growing lighter as dawn approached, though it was still a few hours away. In a tree behind them a bird sang, the notes fluting through the still air.

  It would be a scorcher today, Rose thought, and she wondered how many other men and women and children would be brought in, dying victims of the cruel heat. How long would this continue? Until all of Savannah was dead or deserted?

  She sighed and pushed back the wet hair from her forehead, and they continued in silence toward the hospital. Once in a while she glanced at Guy; his face was set in hard lines, as though he were deeply engrossed in thought, and she did not disturb him.

  The sky was tinged a charcoal grey as they approached the hos
pital, and they could see someone sitting on the steps, as though waiting for them.

  An old bum, she thought, who had no other place to go. Certainly it wouldn't be the first time.

  But as the couple drew closer, she realized she was wrong. They stopped only a few feet away from the steps, and with horror Rose recognized the woman sitting on the bottom step.

  It was Miss van Cleve, and her throat had been torn out.

  *

  Several days had elapsed since Rose and Guy had found the body of the historian, and in that numbing time Rose had realized that August had killed the scholar simply to taunt them. She had no reason other than to prove how easily she could kill them, whereas they didn't know how to destroy her. And her point had been made.

  Rose could have wept with frustration. She did not have to be shown how easily August could kill; she knew that. Too, she felt somewhat responsible for the amiable historian's death; if she hadn't gone to van Cleve, then August would not have known about her, and thus the woman would still be alive. Yet she couldn't wholly blame herself, for she'd only consulted van Cleve for information on what sort of creature August was. After all, it wasn't as though van Cleve had given her a way of destroying the lamia.

  Or had she? Rose wondered on the third day after the woman's death. During that brief visit had there been something inadvertently said? Something they didn't realize, but which the lamia feared Rose knew, or would remember?

  She said nothing of her thoughts to Guy, who had immersed himself in his work. They hadn't spoken in days, and she wondered how long the silence would stretch between them.

  When she had time that day, Rose paid a visit to Father Daniel and found he was still in bed.

  "I'm tired, Rose," he offered feebly as his excuse. "I didn't sleep much last night. It was the heat, you know." He closed his eyes, apparently too weary to keep them open.

  Rose suspected that the reason for his being in bed was the he'd simply given up. He didn't think he could defeat August, and so he was retreating within himself, retreating from the world and the ugly horrors of it. Guy had isolated himself as well from her, and Rose found herself very much alone.

  When it came time to destroy the lamia, she knew she would have to act alone. Daniel was much too weak, too tired to be of any help, while Guy wouldn't lift a hand to help her.

  If that time ever came, she told herself.

  She sighed and fanned herself with a folded piece of paper. "I think I have what might be good news, Father." He tried to sit up in bed, and was too weak, so she reached over to help him. "I don't know why it's been happening, but in the last two days we haven't had any unusual deaths. There have been the usual number of victims of the heat, but none, as far as I can tell, from August."

  "What?" Frowning, Daniel struggled to a more upright position, leaned forward. "What are you saying, Rose?"

  She repeated what she said.

  "None?"

  "Just from the heat."

  "But I don't understand. She has killed steadily since she arrived in Savannah. If those deaths have stopped, then . . ." He paused.

  "Then what?"

  His face seemed to brighten as she watched. "Then I have to conclude that she's left Savannah."

  Rose remained more cautious. "She might have left, Father, or she might wish us to think so, Father, so she can fool us."

  Daniel shook his head adamantly and his voice grew excited. "I don't think so, Rose. I truly don't. She is a deceptive creature, but not in that manner. That's far too complicated for even her webs. No, no, I think that for some reason she's left, left Savannah for good, left for a brief time. However long — she's left. And now I can have time to heal, and even Guy will be free of her spell and will return to you."

  Rose still could gain no enthusiasm about the idea. "I hope so, Father. For all of our sakes, I hope she's gone, but somehow I doubt it."

  Daniel smiled blissfully, almost as if he hadn't heard Rose's words. "She's gone, and already I'm feeling much, much better."

  Rose decided it was best not to argue with him and left shortly thereafter.

  Daniel tried to sleep after his visitor left, but he was too excited, and so he ventured out of bed in the early afternoon. That night his sleep was blessed with no dreams. The following night was spent the same way, and the next day even the heat shrouding the city eased.

  Daniel could have wept with joy. She was gone. The lamia had left. His life was free once more.

  Why had she left, though? Certainly neither he nor Rose had done anything to banish her. That was the only thing that puzzled him now. But as his strength returned, so did his resolve. If August had truly left, that meant that she was somewhere else, perhaps waiting, waiting for him to become weak again. So now he must do something; he must destroy the lamia before she returned to destroy him. He couldn't let poor Dr. O'Shaunessey act on her own. He had to be the one to do it. After all, hadn't August come to Savannah because of him.

  But where could August have gone?

  A week after his dreams of August had stopped, he went to bed feeling better than he had in months. He fell asleep almost instantly and woke to find himself standing in an immense marble-walled foyer. It was a foyer he didn't recognize; perhaps a theater.

  Across from him was a full-length mirror; he glanced into it and saw that he was young once more, his hair dark, his skin unlined, and he was dressed impeccably in the fashion of the day. There was a jaunty smile on his lips. He crossed the parquet floor to double doors that swung open as he approached, and he found himself not in the interior of a theater, as he'd expected, but rather in an immense ballroom. Mirrors lined the four walls, and the ceiling was opened to the starry skies.

  Light from thousands of candles and stars blazed and dazzled so that he held up his hand to shade his eyes while he gazed longingly at the couple waltzing to the strains of music by Johann Strauss. The music darkened, went into the minor key, and grew discordant, ugly, threatening, and as one each one of the women on the dance floor turned in a graceful sweep toward him. It was August and she was smiling. And she was reflected in the mirrors a hundred times over, and as she began laughing, a thousand laughing Augusts advancing on him, he woke again, screaming. But he knew then where August had gone. London.

  *

  Without a word to Rose or Guy, the next day he slipped away from St. Mary's and left for London. On the voyage over he tried not to think about what he was doing, about what would happen when he came face to face with the lamia. That was for later. He was sorry, too, that he could not confide in the couple, but he knew they would try to. stop him. Rose would, he knew; as for Guy, he didn't know what his nephew would do anymore.

  When Daniel arrived in London, he was weary from traveling and rested for some time in his inexpensive hotel. This was the first time he'd visited London since he'd left three decades ago. The memories of a lifetime long ago and of friends long gone crowded him, threatening to crush his senses, and he closed his eyes, seeking sleep. For now, the other matters would keep.

  When he awoke later in the day, he felt much refreshed. He went to dinner, and as the hours passed, he could feel the years of his life being stripped away, and he felt as he had thirty years before, and he was strong and more determined than ever to find the lamia and destroy her as he should have done before.

  The first day proved frustrating because he learned nothing, but he reassured himself by reminding himself that she was a wily creature; the second day Daniel learned that a number of young men had just recently died, all from a peculiar blood disease.

  August is here, he told himself with mounting excitement. Here and waiting, and I will find her. I will destroy her.

  The following day he located the families of the recent victims and went to talk to them, but although Daniel questioned them to the point of his own exhaustion, the anguished family members provided little information to him. None of them reported their sons and brothers as having been seen with a beautiful black-haire
d woman prior to their deaths.

  This isn't right, Daniel told himself when he returned wearily to his hotel room after he'd talked to the families. Not right, because there had to be a connection with August. He would not even consider the possibility that another lamia, or even a vampire, existed and was preying on the young men of London. It had to be August. He felt it. Hadn't the dream led him here?

  But if she was in London, she wasn't making her presence known, for no one he talked with seemed to have seen this particular woman, and he knew that once she had been seen, she would be remembered. Too, since his second day here no further deaths from the strange "blood disease" had been reported.

  What could that mean? She had no reason not to kill, did she? Unless . . . unless she had left. Again. Again, to where?

  But he couldn't believe that, so he stayed on and looked for her, searching through the slums of London, through the great bustling streets, wandering all hours of the day and night; he was jeered at, shouted at, and once someone threw a rotten apple at him. He stopped everyone he met, asked them if they had seen a beautiful woman with black hair and compelling eyes. Some laughed at him, some avoided him; but no one said they had seen her.

  He walked by the club and stopped outside and thought about how it had been three decades ago. The warmth and friendship of Montchalmers and Terris. The good times they had had, the long hours of companionship and conversation, all gone because of August. She had destroyed his friends as she had destroyed poor Tommy Hamilton day by day, as she had tried to destroy him. But she hadn't. Not yet. He left the club and found himself walking in no particular direction, but when he looked up again, he was standing outside her house. The house where he had last seen Henry Montchalmers.

  Tears blurred his eyesight, and he put his hands up to his eyes.

  He went slowly up the steps and rang the bell. The door swung open, and a middle-aged servant stood there.