Page 50 of The Doctor and the Devil
“Nanette! What has happened? Are you injured?” Charlotte gently pushed the woman down into a chair and motioned to Mina to look her over.
“No, I am fine. This blood is not mine,” Nanette replied. “I escaped. But I was there—at the graveyard. I was watching from the trees. The vampire Laszlo is not alone. The Order has another, but it is a woman.”
“What do you mean?” Daphne asked, coming into the room with Étienne and Antoine on her heels. “They have a woman? You are certain she is a vampire? Is she with the Order or have they captured her?”
Fear and apprehension whispered through me.
“She is a vampire. At first it looked like she was with them—she was yelling at two masked men as they walked toward the mausoleum, but something happened,” Nanette said, pausing to take a sip of the water that Mina offered.
“What happened?” Charlotte pressed.
“I couldn’t see exactly. The woman said something that upset the men she was with, and the argument escalated. One of the men attacked her, and even with her vampire strength, they overpowered her and dragged her into the mausoleum by force. It was awful. After that, I thought the coast was clear. I climbed down from my hiding spot, but one of their hired thugs must have spotted me leaving, because he chased me around the graveyard. When he caught up with me, we tussled, but I broke free and managed to lose him a few streets later.”
Mina dabbed a clean cloth across a small cut on Nanette’s eyebrow, but that appeared to be the worst of her injuries. Charlotte and Daphne exchanged a look.
“Did you recognize the woman?” Daphne asked.
Nanette shook her head. “Never seen her before. She was pretty, though. Dark hair, dark well-made gown. She was definitely French.”
“We must find out who this woman is. If the Order is starting to round up vampires off the street, we’re in serious trouble,” Charlotte said grimly.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Daphne argued. “They wouldn’t choose any vampire at random. Our first action must be to find out who this mystery vampire is and what the Order wants with her.”
A heavy sense of foreboding weighed on me when I answered.
“She is Marguerite. She is Laszlo’s wife.”
Everyone turned to regard me.
“How do you know?” Charlotte asked.
“That’s a rather vague description for you to be so certain,” Daphne said.
“I hadn’t seen Marguerite in twenty years before this past week,” I said, fighting my annoyance at the interfering duchess. “I tracked Laszlo’s trail to Dunkirk up north. When I was there questioning one of the older vampires about his maker, Marguerite appeared.”
“What did she say?” Mina asked, focused on me now that Nanette was somewhat recovered.
“She asked me for help. She said that Laszlo had been taken by the Order and she asked me to get him back,” I said. “I stayed at their meager townhouse to shelter from the day, but when I awoke the next evening, Marguerite was gone. Vanished without a trace. I still have not determined how much I trust her…or her story.”
“Why didn’t you bring this news to us sooner?” Charlotte demanded. They were the first words of frustration I’d heard from her, and it grieved me to wonder if I’d lost my only other ally.
“I couldn’t be sure that she was involved,” I replied evenly. “And forgive me, but I do not answer to you or your organization.”
“Why do you suspect she is involved?” Mina asked.
“How much do you remember about Marguerite, Mina?” I scoffed. “She was a selfish, entitled human with her sights set on my brother and when she got what she wanted from him, she threw him to the Order. Probably told them he was the cause of the blood plague.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps she is tired of him. Perhaps it is about money. Without Laszlo, she will inherit whatever my father left him.”
“But your father disowned Laszlo,” Mina argued, her brow furrowing in confusion.
I laughed bitterly. “True. But if there’s one thing my family has never had much use for, it’s wills. It might seem strange to you, but when you expect to live forever, you don’t really think about leaving your worldly belongings behind. After my father was assassinated, I discovered he’d never officially disinherited Laszlo. As the eldest son and heir, he inherited what’s left of my father’s holdings, but no one has been able to find him to give him his settlement. And naturally, if Laszlo dies, the assets that have been moldering away in various banks and vaults in Hungary will pass to his wife.”
“Would Marguerite know that? If you only discovered it after your father’s death, how would she know that she stood to gain anything?” Charlotte pointed out.
“That much is unclear. But as far as I know, no one communicated with Laszlo after he ran away. There was no request for formal abdication—hell, no one even knew where to find him to tell him Father had been murdered.” I tried to explain things with forced casualness but talking about my family meantthinkingabout my family, and that always brought me to a dark mood. It wasn’t that I hated my father, exactly, but he’d been distant from my earliest memory. Laszlo was the favorite—the true heir—and I was the unexpected, unwanted extra. My wretched behavior in my younger days was the only escape I had, but it further drove the wedge between my father and me. Even after Laszlo’s betrayal, there was never any gratitude at my willingness to step up and take over—just resentment that Father was left with the unacceptable spare to continue his brutal legacy. When he was killed, I grieved not for him, but for the relationship I always wished we might have had.
