Blameless (Page 38)

The place smel ed musty, in the same way that old books do, only with an overlay of dirt and cold stone. But there was nothing there that engendered any adverse reaction in Alexia. In fact, she found the ancient abode quite comforting and restful. She was glad of this. She would hate to have to hide her instinct to run if there had been some kind of preternatural mummy in residence.

“I am sorry to say, Mr. Templar, I do not think I can be of any help. I do not even see why one might associate this culture with my kind.”

The preceptor looked disappointed.

Madame Lefoux, who had been watching him while he watched her friend, turned sharply to stare down at the sarcophagus.

“What were they holding?” she asked.

Alexia wandered over to see what Madame Lefoux was on about. She was struck by the pleasantness in the almond-shaped eyes of the statues, but upon looking closer, she realized what it was that had drawn Madame Lefoux’s attention. The man was leaning on the elbow of one arm, the hand of which was up and flat as though offering a carrot to a horse. His other hand, behind the woman’s neck, had thumb and forefinger curved in the act of holding some smal object. The woman had both hands curved in such a way as one might pour libations or offer up a flask of wine.

“Good question.”

Both ladies turned to look at the preceptor inquiringly.

“The woman held an empty ceramic flask, its contents long since dried and evaporated into aether. The man was offering a piece of meat on his open palm. The archaeologists found an animal bone resting there. He was holding something very strange in his other hand.”

“What was that?”

The Templar shrugged and fished about his high col ar with one finger, final y pul ing out a chain that was around his neck. Careful y he lifted it out from underneath nightgown, jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. Al three of them moved toward the light streaming down from the entrance. A smal gold charm dangled from the end of the chain. Alexia and Madame Lefoux bent to examine it.

“An ankh?” Alexia blinked in amusement.

“From Ancient Egypt?” Madame Lefoux arched one perfect black eyebrow.

“Were the two cultures chronological y comparable?” Alexia scrabbled to remember the dates of Egyptian expansion.

“It is possible they had some form of contact, but it is more likely that this little object came into Etruscan hands through trade with the Greeks.”

Alexia studied the smal piece of gold closely but, uncharacteristical y, pursed her lips and said nothing. She found it odd that an Etruscan statue would offer up the Egyptian symbol for eternal life, and while, to be sure, she had many theories on the subject, she was unwil ing to share them with a Templar.

The preceptor tucked his charm away when neither lady had anything further to say and led the way back up the limestone stairs and out onto the sun-dappled hil side. The other tombs were much the same, only in not quite such good repair.

The picnic that fol owed was an uncomfortably silent affair. Alexia, Madame Lefoux, and the preceptor were seated on a square of quilted gingham spread atop the tomb while the other Templars enjoyed their own meal a short distance away. One of the Templars did not eat, but instead read from the Bible in lugubrious tones. The preceptor seemed to feel this was an excuse not to engage in any conversation with his two companions.

Alexia ate an apple, two rol s of crunchy bread spread with some kind of tomato sauce, and three hard-boiled eggs dipped in more of the green stuff that had so delighted her the day before.

With meal finished and Bible put away, the party prepared to leave. There was one benefit to picnicking, Alexia realized. As she had used no utensils, nothing needed to be destroyed because of contamination.

“It is not a bad life we lead here, is it, My Soul ess One?” The preceptor spoke to her at last.

Alexia was forced to admit that it didn’t appear so. “Italy is a lovely country. And I cannot fault your cuisine or climate.”

“You are—how do I say this politely—unwelcome back in England?”

Alexia was going to correct him and boast of Conal ’s public apology but then thought better of it. Instead she said, “That is a very diplomatic way of putting it, Mr.

Templar.”

The preceptor smiled his horrible cheerless grimace. “Perhaps, My Soul ess One, you might consider staying here with us, then? It has been a long time since we of the temple at Florence had a preternatural in residence, let alone a female of the species.

We would make sure of your every comfort while we studied you. Provide for you your own, more isolated quarters.”

Alexia’s face soured as she thought back to her unfortunate encounter with Dr.

Siemons and the Hypocras Club. “I have entertained such an offer before.”

The Templar tilted his head, watching her.

Since he seemed, once more, to be in a chatty frame of mind, Alexia asked, “You would put up with devil spawn permanently in your midst?”

“We have done so before. We of the brotherhood are God’s best weapon against the supernatural threat. We were made to do what needed to be done no matter what the cost or personal risk. You could be very useful to our cause.”

“Goodness gracious, I had no idea I was that appealing.” Alexia waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Madame Lefoux joined the conversation. “If that is the case, why are you not equal y welcoming to werewolves and vampires?”

“Because they are not born daemons. To be born with the eternal sin is not much more than to be born with original sin. The soul ess suffer, as we al do, under the metaphorical cross, only for them there is no salvation. The vampires and werewolves, on the other hand, have chosen their path voluntarily. It is a matter of intention. They have turned their backs on salvation in a way far more reprehensible, because they once had excess soul. They could have ascended into heaven had they only resisted Satan’s temptation. Instead, they traded the bulk of their soul to the devil and became monsters.

They are offensive to God, for only he and his angels are al owed immortality.” He spoke calmly, with no emotion, no inflection, and no doubt.

Alexia felt chil ed. “Which is why you wish to see al supernatural folk dead?”

“It is our eternal crusade.”

Alexia did some calculations. “Over four hundred years or so. Commendably committed of you al .”

“A God-sanctioned purpose, to hunt and kil .” Madame Lefoux’s tone was ful of censure, not unsurprising given her choices in life—she was a creator, an engineer, and a builder.

The preceptor looked from the Frenchwoman to Alexia. “And what do you think her God-given purpose is, Scientist Lefoux—a soul ess creature whose only skil is in neutralizing the supernatural? Do you think she was not placed on this earth as a tool?

We can give her purpose, even if she is only a female.”

“Now, wait just a minute there!” Alexia remembered once complaining to Conal , before their marriage, that she wanted something useful to do with her life. Queen Victoria had made her muhjah, but even with that gone, kil ing vampires and werewolves for a sect of religious fanatics was not precisely what she had been hoping for.

“Have you any idea how rare you are, a female of the species?”

“I am beginning to get the impression that I am more rare than I had thought.” Alexia looked about suddenly, feigning physical discomfort. “Do you think I might visit a convenient bush, before we depart for the long drive back?”

The Templar looked equal y discomforted. “If you insist.”

Alexia tugged at Madame Lefoux’s sleeve and dragged her off behind the tomb and down the side of the hil a little ways to a smal copse of trees.

“It took Angelique this way,” commented Madame Lefoux, referring to her former lover. “During her pregnancy, she always had to… well … you know.”

“Oh, no, that was merely a ruse. I wanted to discuss something with you. That ankh around his neck, did you notice that it had been repaired?”

Madame Lefoux shook her head. “Is that significant, do you think?”

Alexia had never told Madame Lefoux about the mummy nor the broken ankh symbol. But in her experience, it was the hieroglyphic sign of a preternatural.

So she quickly moved on. “I think the terra-cotta man in the tomb was a preternatural, and the woman was a vampire, and the offering of meat was for the werewolves.”

“A harmonious culture? Is that possible?”

“It would be terribly arrogant of us British to think England was the first and only progressive society.” Alexia was worried. If the Templars comprehended the significance of the ankh, she was in more danger than she had thought. They would find a way to turn her into a tool, living or dead.

“I do hope Floote managed to send that message to BUR.”

“Love note to your werewolf?” Madame Lefoux sounded wistful. Then she looked about the empty hil side, suddenly nervous. “I think, my dear Alexia, we should head back to the carriage.”

Alexia, enjoying the countryside and the intel ectual advantages afforded by their ancient surroundings, had not registered the lateness of the hour. “Ah, yes, you may be correct.”

It was, unfortunately, well into nighttime before they were even halfway back to Florence. Alexia felt awful y exposed in the open-topped carriage. She kept her parasol close and began to wonder if this whole excursion was not an attempt by the Templars to use her as some kind of bait. After al , they fancied themselves great supernatural hunters and might very well risk her safety simply to draw local vampires out. Especial y if the Templars had enough foolish pride in their own abilities to believe there was little true peril. The moon was just rising, no longer entirely ful but stil quite bright. In its silvery light, Alexia could make out a gleam of anticipation in the preceptor’s normal y emotionless eyes. You rotten sod, this was all a setup, she was about to say, but too late.

The vampire appeared out of nowhere, leaping with exceptional speed from the dirt road into the carriage. He was single-minded in his attack, heading straight for Alexia, the only apparent female of the group. Madame Lefoux gave a yel of warning, but Alexia had already thrown herself forward onto the open seat opposite her own, next to the preceptor. The vampire ended up where she had just been sitting. Alexia fumbled with her parasol, twisting the handle so that the two sharp spikes, one wood and one silver, sprang out from its tip.

The preceptor, suddenly brandishing a long, evil-looking wooden knife, gave a yel of pleasure and attacked. Madame Lefoux had her trusty cravat pin already out and in play.

Alexia swung her parasol, but al were merely normal humans pitted against superhuman strength, and even fighting off multiple bodies in the awkwardly tiny venue of an open-topped carriage, the vampire was holding his own.

The preceptor dove forward. He was grinning—a real smile for the first time.

Maniacal, but real.

Alexia took a firm grip on her parasol with both hands and used a hacking blow to stab with the wooden spike at any part of the vampire that emerged from the wrestling match long enough for her to pin it down. It was a little like trying to hit the heads of ground moles as they appeared out of their holes. But soon enough, Alexia was getting quite into the game of it.