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 roomsbefore 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.