Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Inside St. Paul’s Cathedral, a few parishioners were saying their late-night prayers.
The gnarly, wet head had soaked through my coat. I pulled Sunaria past the nave and down into the lower chambers. “This is where I first met Benjamin and Rachel.”
The night of lies and darkest terrors.
“When I found the locket,” Sunaria explained, “I questioned the storekeeper. He didn’t remember Jacob.”
“He needs help remembering.”
“Perhaps Jacob’s living near the store?” She hesitated when she saw the crucifix hanging above the door to the chamber.
I lingered just inside, recalling how Benjamin had reeled me in.
Sunaria waited in the doorway.
I strolled over to the coffin against the far wall and pried open the lid. A corpse lay within, freshly wrapped. There was just enough room for the head. I laid it inside and closed the lid.
“I never want to see that thing again,” Sunaria said.
“I knew you never liked that coat.”
She gave me a wry look.
Easily disguised as two late night parishioners, albeit scruffy ones, we walked up the stairs and back down the aisle. I stopped when we reached the ornate stone font.
She looked irritated. “Now you’re really pushing your luck.”
I leaned over the edge of the fountain. “You once told me that holy water can harm us.”
“That’s what I was told.”
“Where’s your curiosity?”
“Can we go now?”
“When was the last time you saw your reflection?”
“That answer should be obvious.”
“You never told me my hair has a tendency to stick up.”
“I’ll be outside.”
“Humor me.”
Sunaria gave a sigh and stepped closer to the font. She stared into the still water and gasped in surprise.
“See how beautiful you are?” I asked.
“How is it possible? I don’t recognize myself.”
I shrugged. “Your misguided belief prevented you from seeing yourself.”
“We can’t see ourselves in mirrors, but we have reflections in pools of water?”
I gave her an incredulous stare. “You’re telling me this is the strangest thing you’ve ever seen?”
“I can’t work out who’s better looking.” She arched an eyebrow.
I grinned. “That’d be me.”
As she stared at herself in wonderment, I realized that there may be other things that she believed were true that weren’t – like there not being a cure.
Sunaria was still reeling when we strolled out under the archway of oak trees, their branches half bare of yellow leaves. With London’s nightscape as our backdrop, we moved as mysterious shadowy phantoms speeding over the rooftops.
Time dissipated, being another enemy we had to contend with each night.
At midnight, all seemed quiet in the courtyard of the River Thames Inn.
Buried in the heart of London, near St. Paul’s Cathedral, this modest hotel was a perfect place to hide out for a night.
The skies suddenly opened and rain poured down, soaking our clothes.
I tried to suppress my annoyance.
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
“A little detour.”
She gazed at the upper windows. “Benjamin overheard you, and he told Delacroix.”
My fingers ran over my throat, lingering on the healing flesh.
“You turned the girl?” Sunaria snapped.
“Rachel, Marcus’ sister.”
She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “Why? Do you plan on turning everyone in London?”
“Now’s not a good time for a long story.”
Delacroix’s silhouette lurked at the window.
“There must be some way of stopping him,” I muttered.
“He’s a difficult vampire to kill.”
“Daylight?”
Sunaria shook her head. “You’ll have to weaken him first. Drain him completely. But…”
I leaned in, hanging on her every word. “But?”
Sunaria looked away. “He’s an ancient. Such potency would affect you.”
“How?”
She stared up at the window. “Daumia would no longer exist.”