I reached for a bar of soap, brand-new, and began to scrub my skin with a lathered-up washcloth. I stopped only when my skin began to burn, nearly rubbed raw. Still, I didn’t feel clean. Not entirely.
With a sigh of frustration I switched off the bubbles and flipped open the drain. I had to face him. I had to learn the truth, had to reconcile the Aidan that I knew — that I cared about, damn it — with the monster I’d seen. And then. then I could decide what to do. Taking a deep, calming breath, I stood and reached for a towel, trying to force my racing heart to slow. I had to give him a chance to explain. He deserved that, at least.
He said he wouldn’t hurt me, after all, and I believed him.
Minutes later I was wrapped in a soft terry robe, sitting on a velvet chaise by a crackling fire in what I supposed was Aidan’s dressing room. A big armoire stood against one wall, a standing mirror beside it. Other than the chaise I was sitting on, there was no furniture in the room. Still, the room was as big as some of our bedrooms back home.
A knock sounded softly on the door, and I sucked in my breath.
“Violet? Can I come in?”
“Yeah, I. it’s fine.” I cleared my throat and clasped my hands together in my lap. They’d have to stop shaking at some point.
Without making a sound, Aidan stepped in and closed the door, leaning back against it and watching me from across the room. It was as if he wanted to stay as far away from me as possible. Whether this was for his benefit or mine, I had no idea.
“So now you believe me,” he said softly. His blue-gray eyes looked so sad, so haunted. He looked exhausted, vulnerable— nothing like the killing machine I’d just seen in action. “My God, Violet. I could feel your fear, your revulsion.”
“Just. just tell me everything,” I said, trying to make my voice steady and sure. “Who are you, really?”
“I’m Aidan Gray, just as I said. The fourth Viscount Brompton, or at least I would have been. Instead, I am this.” He spread his arms wide. “A monster.”
Gooseflesh rose on my skin, and I wrapped my arms around myself. Hadn’t I thought exactly that, just moments ago? I pushed aside the prickle of guilt, willing him to continue.
“I was born into privilege in 1875,” he said, his voice hard. “The son of a peer. I was schooled at Eton, and set to take a grand tour of the Continent before continuing my studies at Cambridge.” He paused, watching me, as if he were gauging my reaction.
“I was seventeen then, arrogant and rebellious,” he continued on. “Just days before I was to leave on my travels, I accompanied my parents to the opera. Though I didn’t enjoy the music, I found I very much enjoyed watching one of the opera dancers, a beautiful girl with eyes the color of emeralds. Just like yours, Violet. Isabel intrigued me. I went backstage to meet her that very night.
“After that, I spent every spare moment with her, abandoning my travels. I even set her up in a small town house in Soho Square, where I spent most of my nights.”
“But. but you were just seventeen,” I muttered. His nights, he said. Which meant in bed, with her. The jealousy I felt surprised me, caught me off guard.
He shook his head. “Those were different times. I was considered a man at seventeen, and as a viscount’s heir, I possessed a sizable income and a great deal of independence. Still, my father was not pleased. One night I went to the opera house as I always did, to accompany Isabel home.
I waited outside the theater door, as was our custom, but she never appeared. I hurried to Soho Square, but all her things were gone. She left no note, nothing. For weeks I searched for her, my heart broken as only a young, besotted boy’s can be. I hired a Bow Street Runner, and for several weeks heard nothing. Finally, I received word that she’d been seen in Whitechapel, working in some seedy public house.
“I went looking for her, and ended up in an alley somewhere, my valuables stripped away and my throat slit. It would seem a vampire stumbled upon me in that state, had a little snack, and then turned me, though I’ve no idea why. I was simply left there, unconscious, with no memory of what had happened to me. I went back to the town house, to recover from what I thought to be my injuries. Yet suddenly I had these unexplained. abilities. After that, I was quickly able to track down Isabel.
“Turns out my father demanded her dismissal from the opera, and threatened her if she continued our association. Still, I needed her, and she agreed to shelter me. Not wanting to return to the town house where my father would no doubt find us, we holed up in Whitechapel instead. Isabel said I would often disappear at night and come home in the morning disoriented, sometimes covered in blood. Though we could barely credit the notion, we both suspected what I had become.
“Soon after, there was unrest in the streets. A mob formed, claiming there was a monster in Whitechapel, out hunting at night. They had tracked me down, and they surrounded us, carrying torches and calling for my head. We tried to flee, to evade them. But”—his voice broke—“they got Isabel. I tried to save her; tried everything I could think of, but it was too late. Isabel was dead, and it was entirely my fault.”
“It wasn’t,” I argued, but he ignored me, continuing on as if I hadn’t spoken.
“Dr. Blackwell was in London then, the leading authority on preternatural folklore. It’s a brilliant cover — cloaking it all in myth and legend.
Anyway”—he waved one hand—“I went to him, told him my symptoms, and he confirmed what I’d already come to believe. I spent many years in seclusion after that, trying to come to terms with the impossible. Still, I inherited everything upon my father’s death, thanks to the unbendable laws of primogeniture. They had no idea what I’d become, of course. God only knows I wished I was dead instead.”
Again he paused, watching me intently.
“Go on,” I urged, feeling oddly detached, as if we were sitting around a campfire, telling scary stories. It was all just so surreal.
“Those were my darkest years by far. Then, just before the Great War, I decided to fight this curse, to try and cure it. I traveled extensively throughout the Continent, learning everything I could about vampirism, trying to sort out the myths from the truth. I met others like myself. Now and then we would form loose alliances, stay together for a few years, but eventually we’d part ways. Most did not share my optimism that a cure could be found. I refused to give up.
“But things have become more complicated in the modern world. It’s not always easy to get access to the kinds of biological agents and chemicals I need. When I heard about Winter-haven, learned that Blackwell was here, I set sail for New York on an ocean liner where several passengers fell inexplicably ill with anemia.” He paused, smiling at his own joke.
“You didn’t. kill them?”
He looked taken aback. “No, of course not. Is that what you thought — that a vampire’s bite meant certain death?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.” I shrugged. “Either that, or it turns them into a vampire.”
Apparently that amused him, because he laughed. “No, it takes much more than that to make a vampire. And there’s no reason for a vampire to kill his victim, unless he wants to. One can simply drink enough to slake the thirst. A little here, a little there.”
All I could do was nod, willing him to continue.
“Anyway, I spend four years at Winterhaven every decade or so. Blackwell makes sure the faculty forgets me between my stints there.
Occasionally I change my name.”
“Because it. it wouldn’t be okay to have a vampire there?” I stuttered.
“No, it wouldn’t.” He shook his head. “Vampires must remain entirely secret from the rest of the world, even the psychic world. It’s part of our rules, our laws. So in between my time at Winterhaven, I travel, or stay in Manhattan. My work is ongoing, even now.”
“And have you managed to develop a cure?” I asked. “I mean, is it really possible?”
His entire face lit up with hope, his features animated. “It’s entirely possible, and I’ve come very close. Vampirism is nothing more than a sort of.
parasitical infection, you might say. For now I can extend the period between feedings, subdue the cravings, lessen the symptoms. But it’s not quite enough, not yet. It’s only a temporary sort of cure, and not systemic.”
Wait — something he’d said earlier finally registered in my brain. “You said Dr. Blackwell was in London, back when you were. you know, made what you are.” God, I couldn’t even say it. “How can that be?”
His eyes met mine, steady and direct. “Think about it, Violet.”
“Oh my God!” The truth hit me. “He’s. he’s one too?”
“Yes. I hadn’t meant to tell you, though I suppose there’s no getting around it.”
“But. but I’ve seen you — both of you — out in the daylight. How can that be if, you know. ” I trailed off miserably.
“The elixir. With it I can withstand the sun without any negative effects. Once it begins to wear off, I’m forced to utilize Winterhaven’s underground passageways during daylight hours. And I doubt you’ve seen Blackwell in the sunlight.”
Actually, now that I thought about it, I hadn’t.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I need the elixir. Which is why I was so. discomposed. when you found me in my lab, all my work destroyed, all the vials I’d stored there gone.”
“But you have some stored somewhere else, right?”