Chapter Four

Hassan was dead—his final death—something I knew with the certainty that I knew my own name. The knowledge had come to me when I rose, and by the time Fr. Dominic's man unlocked the closet in which I spent my days, I was all but seething with it.

Confronting the priest in the dining salon might have been futile, but I could do nothing else. I was trapped on this steamship, half-crazed with hunger, and constricted in the kind of tight garments worn by Western men. I wanted to wear a galabiya, its loose, draping fabric leaving something to the imagination. My father may have been British, but he too had left behind his breeches, waistcoat, and stockings, and adopted the galabiya and caftan.

Praise God that Father would never see me like this. Alhamdulillah.

Worse than all that, every day brought me closer to my final death. If the priest had had Hassan killed, he'd surely do the same to me.

There had to be a way out of this, but I'd be damned if I could see it.

Instead, I paced the hallway outside of Fr. Dominic's suite. He and his flunkies hadn't returned from dinner; in fact, no one was around. Even the maids and stewards who catered to the first-class passengers had disappeared. I continued to pace, pondering the odds of survival if I simply jumped overboard, when I was interrupted by a heartbeat.

Paired oil lamps lit the hallway every eight feet, so I found a spot between a pair where the shadows were the thickest. Hassan had promised I'd be able to create my own shadows, but in the brief time before he handed me off to Fr. Dominic, he'd never bothered to tell me how. Hoping real shadows would be good enough, I waited.

A man came strolling down the hall, his heartbeat a shade too fast for someone on the way to his room. He came closer and I almost smiled.

It was him , the one I'd noticed while waiting for Fr. Dominic. To call him simply handsome did him an injustice. He was tall, his shoulders broad and strong. His dark hair fell in loose waves over his forehead, and a moustache and goatee framed his strong nose and fearsome jaw.

He passed so close I could have touched him, and my soft "Good evening" nearly went unanswered.

His pace slowed to a stop. "Shouldn't you be at dinner?"

"Not hungry."

He glanced over his shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, then."

"You're not at dinner, either."

He chuckled, resuming his stroll. "I had no appetite for argument."

I followed him, leaving the safety of the shadows and indulging in his scent, his warmth. I had a weakness for strong, manly men, and this one was a fine specimen. His heartbeat sped further, as if my presence somehow disturbed him.

This ability to sense a person's heartbeat was still new, a secret skill as entertaining as it was useful. I had to wonder what excited him, here in this empty corridor. "Are you a thief, then?"

His pace didn't change but his heart beat faster still. "What? No."

Now he slowed down, and I crept up behind him. "Are you sure?" I spoke almost directly into his ear, but the only sign that I'd startled him was a sharp intake of breath.

From this close he smelled even better, warmth and salty blood and strength.

"I'll call a steward."

The low rumble of his voice heated my belly. I could never simply come out and ask at a man's preferences—too easy to get punched that way—but there were only so many things that could excite a man in an empty hallway. "But if you do that, the steward will know your room is nowhere near here." It was only a guess, but the way his shoulders stiffened told me I'd landed a blow.

"I don't know who you are, but—"

"Aharon. Aharon Davies. And you?"

He pivoted too fast for me to move away, leaving us nearly nose to nose. "Hugh St John."

I fought the urge to drop to my knees. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. St John. Or should I call you Hugh?"

He extended his hand, and without thinking, I took it. We shook, but as soon as his expression changed, I knew I'd made a mistake.

"You're…cold." The words were barely a murmur.

Before I could respond, he turned my hand over and pressed two fingers to the spot on my wrist that should throb with the beat of my heart.

"What…?" His brows, already thick and stern, drew together, his expression gone stormy. I pulled my hand out of his grasp, moving away from him with such speed that he'd likely think I disappeared. I didn't stop until I'd retreated to Fr. Dominic's room and shut the door.

Despite the barriers between us, I could still sense the faint beat of his heart and hear his footsteps. Instead of walking further down the hall, however, he came to the door of Fr. Dominic's room. He knocked, three sharp taps.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Aharon Davies. I hope we can converse at greater length soon."

I did not relax until his steady footsteps moved away.

D

Dear Lord in Heaven, what had just happened?

I held my left hand with my right, cradling the memory of the man's cool skin. He had no pulse. None. Yet, unless he was a figment of my imagination, he'd been walking and talking.

And flirting .

Closing my eyes, I willed myself to ignore that particular observation. Nothing good had ever come from my sordid inclination, and I had no reason to expect it ever would. I should keep my mind on the problem at hand, where in addition to finding the priest's room and the icon he'd stolen, I now had to contend with a member of the undead.

Who was apparently a first-class passenger, staying in room thirty-six.

Shaking out my hand, I cut short my exploration in favor of returning to my own room. With luck, Will had learned something useful, for I surely had not, beyond putting a face to the name Fr. Dominic Mancini. I found a door to the second level and jogged down the stairs, doing a poor job of convincing myself this was not a retreat.

Randall had long ago warned me about the presence of the preternatural in this life. In fact, his wild-eyed claims had prompted me to study medicine, and as a scientist, I knew what the body required in order to function, A beating heart was paramount.

Could this person, this Aharon Davies, simply have an abnormally slow heart? "If you weren't such a milksop, you would have examined him more thoroughly."

I was still muttering as I opened the door of my room.

"What? Oh, hello." Will all but leapt from his seat at the foot of my bed. "I didn't expect you so soon."

I scanned the space before answering. Nothing was out of place, but, "What were you doing in here?"

His laugh was normal enough to be reassuring. Almost. "Waiting for you, of course. I had dinner with a man who's traveling with Fr. Dominic and managed to get his room number."

"Excellent. I was hoping you'd find something more concrete than I was able to."

Will settled on the chair by my desk. "I expect you found more than you realize."

Taking the seat he'd left at the foot of my bed, I loosened the buttons of my suit coat. "I know what Fr. Dominic looks like, anyway."

"That's a good first step." Will clapped his hands. "And now we know he's staying in room thirty-six."

If I hadn't already been sitting, I would have fallen to the floor. "Which room?"

"Thirty-six."

I paused for a moment, rubbing my late-day shadow with an open palm. This was no coincidence. It couldn't be. "Will, how much do you know about the…preternatural?"

Just saying the word made my mouth dry and my heart pound. Will was an associate of Randall's, so he must share my cousin's beliefs, or know about them, at least.

Before answering me, Will brought out a small book with a pencil stuck in its spine. When he spoke, his voice was soft enough that I had to strain to hear. "I know there's more than we're taught in school anyway."

"Have you ever crossed paths with anything…or anyone…you could not explain?"

He opened his little leather-bound book, flipped through the pages, and began to read, "October the twentieth, several hours after midnight, I came across a most unusual creature. He was a man, or he wore the shape of a man, but he was able to come and go faster than my eye could follow. When I came upon him, he held another man close. He released his victim and faded into the shadows, and although I endeavored to follow him,it was like catching a will-o'-the-wisp. Soon I lost him altogether. I returned to the fallen man and indeed, he was dead."

Closing the book, Will gave me a sober look. "I've made other notations, but that one frightened me the most."

"Why is that?"

He shrugged, his expression mournful. "At one point we shared a glance, the monster and I, but there was nothing in him. No soul. Nothing I recognized as human."

I pondered that for a moment, unsure I should say anything about the man I'd met tonight. He certainly didn't need any reminders of that awful experience. "What did Randall say?"

"That there were better things to spend time on than chasing vampires around."

Vampire. Vampyr. Creature of the Night. Undead . The words that I'd refused to say rolled through my head as if Will's attempt at humor had unlocked something in me. "I saw one." The words were out before I could call them back.

"What?"

I closed my eyes, almost ashamed of what I was about to say. "I left the dining salon early, and while everyone was still occupied, I took a walk through the first-class area. I…met a man. He hid in the shadows when I first passed him, and he moved more quickly than I would have expected. We shook hands, and I…he was cool. His skin. As cold as a dead thing. I had a moment to feel for his pulse but…there was none."

Will didn't laugh out loud, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes. "How much wine did you have with dinner?"

"Pardon me?" I raised my chin, all but daring him to mock me further.

"I'm sorry, that was thoughtless of me." He reached across the space between us and put a hand on my knee. "Since my encounter, I've done some studying on the subject, and I can't imagine a true vampire would have shaken your hand or allowed you to feel for a pulse." He patted me, which made me brush his hand aside.

"In truth, I think it's unlikely the creature would have allowed you to walk away alive."

His utter conviction threw my memory into doubt. "I suppose, but there was something…"

He interrupted me, turning to a new page in his book and beginning to read. "On this fourth day of January in the year of our Lord 1853, I had the opportunity to interview one, uh…" He threw me a glance. "Sorry, can't say his name."

I nodded, unsure of how else to acknowledge him.

"According to this gentleman, there are some half a dozen forms of supernatural or preternatural creatures living amongst us, not counting ghosts and poltergeists. There are two different forms of undead—vampires and zombies. Revenants are related but are usually grouped with ghosts."

His dispassionate delivery should have calmed me, but instead it fueled my anger. "Wait. Stop. You can't truly believe all this. Randall can't believe all this."

I half rose from the bed, ready to sprint from the room. Will's smile was tinged with impatience. "Please," he said. "I know this is all very strange, but bear with me."

I settled on the bed, though I didn't relax. Randall couldn't believe all of this. If he did, that meant…a thing I couldn't stand thinking about.

"In addition, there are the fae, which would include elves, fairies, and various other forms of sprites, and the lycanthropes, the loups garous and werewolves and other animal shifters." He paused, giving me time for another outburst, but I kept my blatant disbelief to myself.

"Most locales have their own form of folkloric monster, and the taxonomy groups all of them together." He paused to turn a page, his lower lip caught in his teeth.

"That's only four."

"What?" Will glanced at me.

"You've listed four types of preternatural creatures."

There must have been too much cynicism in my voice because his gaze took on an edge of defensiveness. "We're still working out some of the details. That's why we were in Egypt. There's a whole category of preternatural creatures we know very little about."

"So where would the man I met this evening fit in?"

"I'm not sure. I'd have to examine him in person, but he's likely an ordinary man."

The sound I made might have come close to a growl. "Not any man I've ever met." And that was the rub of it. He wasn't like any man I'd ever met. His eyes gleamed with humor, as if he had a secret and was pleased to leave me guessing. "Whatever he was, I think that finding him outside Fr. Dominic's room is too significant to call a coincidence. I expect he was guarding the place."

"You may be right. I didn't think Fr. Dominic would leave something as precious as the icon without someone watching over it." Will closed his book and tucked it away. "If you see him again, the man you met, point him out to me. If he is a guard, he'll likely take his meals with the other servants, which will give me the chance to make his acquaintance."

Rising from the camp stool, Will gave me a thoughtful look. "I'll leave you to get some sleep. If we can take possession before the ship docks at Malta on the twenty-fourth, it'll be better for everyone."

Better? Maybe, though I had no idea how we would accomplish that task. "Good night, Will."

"Before I go, may I assist you with your coat?"

"I'll manage, thank you, and I'll…think over what you've said."

Think it over and dream about it, most likely. There was a reason I'd left Randall's life of thievery behind, one I remembered with great reluctance. Meeting Aharon Davies had unsettled me, and not only because of those memories.

He'd stirred up feelings I'd kept buried almost as deeply. Feelings of want. Feelings of need.

Feelings of desire.