“That explains your beautiful red hair,” he said.
“That explains a lot of things about me.” A ruby-colored flask was sitting on a shelf between two stacks of her father’s books, but she was certain she had never seen it before. “Is this yours, Orlando?”
“It is.”
“It’s a pretty t
hing.” She fingered the glass and found it cold to the touch, even colder than she might have expected in this chilly room. “What is inside?”
“A terrible poison.” He reached past her to take it, whisking it away to one of his pockets so quickly she could not even see which one. “You must be careful, my lady.”
“That is what everyone tells me.” She watched him gather the rest of his things. “Will you truly tell me nothing about Simon? How was he cursed?”
“My master has told you far too much already,” he answered with a frown.
“But he says you are a wizard, and he was just a knight even before he was cursed,” she pointed out. “Can he truly be your master?”
He paused for a moment, then smiled. “What is a master, my lady?” He took the map down from the wall and looked at it. “Simon is my only hope, my warrior and my salvation. My soul is in his hands.”
Watching his face, Isabel believed him. “A king should have so beautiful an oath for his retainers,” she said. “Though few could swear it with their hearts as you have.”
His eyes widened as well as his smile. “Your inquisitive mind has made you wise, Lady Isabel.”
“Wise, master wizard?” she said with a laugh. “Nay, not I, I assure you.” The candle sputtered, about to go out. “But come, before we are left in the dark. Simon was on his way to bed, I think. Will you come upstairs and have breakfast with me?”
“Aye, my lady,” he nodded. “I believe I will.”
Simon could hear Isabel talking with Orlando in the study just beyond the thick earthen wall of his room. If he had taxed his demon’s senses, he probably could have understood their words. But the sun was climbing higher by the moment, and before he slept, there was something else he wanted to do.
He filled a deep pewter basin from the jug of water Isabel’s servants had left for him—the water was still warm. Stripping out of the tattered robe Orlando had stolen for him from Father Colin, he washed quickly, plunging his whole head into the basin and shaking water from his hair like a dog. The good souls who had prepared his room had been kind enough to leave him a razor and a mirror as well. He faced his reflection and grimaced, baring the slight fangs that gave his true nature away even when he was at rest. Some of the texts he had read in his quest had insisted that a vampire’s reflection could not be seen, but that was foolishness. He could see himself only too well.
He touched the blue-white scar on his throat. He treasured this scar, gotten in a tavern brawl in Damascus, a wound that had barely been healed on the night he had fallen into darkness. A thief had tried to murder him for his purse and would likely have succeeded if Sascha hadn’t been there to save him. Sascha… his first vampire kill.
He swiped the razor across his wrist, barely wincing at the pain. Borrowed blood welled for a moment in the wound, the blood of the dead Frenchmen from the chapel still filling his veins. But before the first drop could spill completely from the cut, the flesh began to heal itself, the edges folding back together with a tiny hiss like water on hot coals, a sound so faint no mortal could have heard it. The sound of the devil repairing his own.
He rinsed the razor in the basin and shaved the three day’s beard from his face as he heard Orlando’s voice coming closer, two pairs of footsteps coming toward the stairs. He expected the dwarf to join him, but they continued on together, their voices fading away as they shut the basement door behind them.
“So I am deserted,” he muttered with a wry smile. He caught sight of his face in the mirror again, the mask of a man that hid his true, cursed self. “I wish I could leave me, too.” Pushing the thought from his mind with an effort, he finished shaving and stripped out of the rest of his clothes. He held the tunic that had been left for him to his face as Isabel had done, the sweetness of her scent still clinging to the fabric. What had she been thinking? he wondered again.
“What difference does it make?” He laid the tunic aside for later and collapsed onto the bed, letting sleep have him at last.
Isabel watched Orlando devour the breakfast of a man three times his size, not bothering to hide her smile. “I’m glad to see the food at Charmot meets with your approval, master wizard,” she said, taking a bite of her own. “Even if the company does not.”
“The company is charming,” he protested, pausing to look at her, apparently aghast. “Why would you say I do not approve it, my lady?”
“Perhaps I am mistaken.” She nodded to Hannah, who went to fetch another platter. “Both my maid and myself got the impression earlier that you found the presence of young ladies rather irritating.”
“No, not I,” he demurred with a smile. “Distracting, perhaps, but never irritating.” He refilled his cup. “I fear you will be most offended by me while we are here, Lady Isabel, and by my master as well. We have not lived among civilized folk for quite some time.”
“So I gathered.” She handed him another slab of bread with butter. “I would ask you where you’ve been, but I know you wouldn’t tell me.”
“’Tis no great secret. We are scholars, of a sort, in search of ancient writings and wisdom. We have been in many other places like your catacombs.” Hannah had returned with the fresh platter of meat, and at the mention of the catacombs, she let it drop to the table with a muffled crash.
“Thank you, Hannah,” Isabel said, giving her a smile.
“My lady,” she muttered, hurrying away.
“Did I say something wrong?” Orlando asked.