Amsterdam, 1811
The man was disheveled, desperate
and newly made. Stephan could feel the slow vibrations
of one whose blood had been infected by the Companion
only recently. He appeared at the front door of the house
in the Herengracht where Beatrixtrix once lived and now
Stephan carried on, mourning for lost love. Stephan almost
didn't let him in. But Langley used the magic word. He
said Beatrixtrix sent him.
"Why should I not kill you?"
Stephan asked. He had no love lost for made vampires after
his experience with Asharti. Something prickled at his
brain. Why would Beatrixtrix send a newly made vampire
to Stephan?
"Because Asharti has Beatrixtrix
and means to execute her. I know where, but only you are
strong enough to kill Asharti. Beatrixtrix said so." There
was a look of pleading about him.
"Beatrixtrix sent you to ask
me to kill Asharti?" The man was lying.
"She just told me… about you.
I came on my own."
To save Beatrix? They had deserted
him, Beatrix and Asharti. He was a broken man. He didn't
even leave the house anymore. Centuries of roaming the
world, from Aztec cities to the ceiling of the world had
not erased his pain. He gulped his brandy. "You who have
lived but a single lifetime see the world so simply. I
cannot kill either of them," he snapped. This man brought
the pain cutting to the surface of his soul.
"You are responsible!" Langley
hissed, desperation making him bold. "You knew what Asharti
was, yet you did nothing."
"Yes. I am responsible." The
weight of it sat on his chest, constricting his throat.
The man was handsome, big-shouldered,
with green eyes, burning at the moment with intensity.
Langley drew himself up. "She has loved you all these
years."
That was the shaft that found
Stephan's vulnerability, of course. For one horrible instant
hope washed over him along with regret that he had wasted
six hundred years not knowing she loved him. His knees
felt weak.
Then reality set in. The fact
that prodded him revealed itself. "How did Beatrix's blood
get in your wounds?" he asked, knowing the answer, dreading
it.
Langley swallowed. "Asharti
was holding me captive. Her minions wounded Beatrix. Beatrix…she
held me while she transported us both into the forest."
"I see." Stephan backed up to
the fire, holding himself still as hope drained away.
Oh, he saw it all very clearly. "Then she gave you her
blood to grant you immunity from the infection. In short
she saved you and now you want to return the favor."
"Yes." Langley put all his will
into that word. "You must come."
"I… don't go out." The effort
this man wanted from him seemed impossible.
"She loves you still."
Stephan examined John's face
and finally looked down into his glass. He swirled the
rich amber liquid lazily, praying that his feelings did
not show. "Oh, I think not. Not anymore."
The newspapers blurred in front
of his eyes. Of course she loved Langley. Why else would
she have made him? And through Stephan's own inaction
all those years he had missed his chance forever. Of course
he had gone to save her from her crazed some-times sister,
both his wards just after the Crusades. He had ridden
hell-bent to Paris with Langley and Khalenberg and together
they had done what was necessary. If only he had had the
courage then to deal with Asharti, all the pain that she
caused the world afterwards would have been avoided.
In the cathedral of Notre Dame,
when all the excitement was over, he did the bravest thing
he had ever done, and then the most cowardly…. He was
sure Beatrix loved Langley but Langley didn't know it.
Beatrix hadn't told him. So their path was not yet smooth.
Perhaps Langley was right and Beatrix thought she still
loved Stephan. But if he dared to claim her, he would
only insure her unhappiness. If she intended to sacrifice
her love for Langley on some altar of what might have
been, it was only because she was afraid to experience
real love rather than remembered possibilities.
So he set her straight on her path.
He loved her that much.