The walk to the convent took on a nightmare quality that eerily mirrored Lenobia’s carriage ride from the château to Le Havre. There was no mist, but there was darkness and smells and sounds that were oddly familiar—French voices, beautiful filigreed ironwork galleries flanked by floating curtains through which crystal chandeliers twinkled—mixed with the strange sound of English spoken in a cadence that reminded her of Martin’s musical accent. The foreign scents of spice and silty earth were tinged with the sweet, buttery aroma of fried beignets.
With each step, Lenobia felt herself getting weaker and weaker.
“Lenobia, come on—stay with us!”
Lenobia blinked through the sweat that had been running down her brow and into her eyes to see that Simonette had paused at the rear of the group to call to her.
How have I gotten so far behind them? Lenobia tried to hurry. Tried to catch up, but there was something in front of her—something small and furred that she stumbled over, almost falling to the cobblestoned street.
A strong, cool touch took her elbow, righting her, and Lenobia looked up into eyes blue as a spring sky and a face so beautiful she thought it otherworldly, especially as it was decorated with a tattoo pattern that was featherlike and intricate.
“My apology, daughter,” the woman said, smiling an apology. “My cat often goes where he will. He has tripped up many who are healthier and stronger than you.”
“I am stronger than I look,” Lenobia heard herself rasping.
“It pleases me to hear you say so,” the woman said before loosing Lenobia’s elbow and walking away with a large gray tabby cat following her, tail twitching as if in irritation. As she passed the group of girls, she glanced at the head nun and bowed her head respectfully, saying, “Bonsoir, Abbess.”
“Bonsoir, Priestess,” the nun responded smoothly.
“That creature is a vampyre!” the Bishop exclaimed as the beautiful woman pulled up the hood of her black velvet cloak and faded into the shadows.
“Oui, indeed she is,” said the Abbess.
Even through her illness Lenobia felt a start of surprise. She had heard of vampyres, of course, and knew there was a stronghold of them not far from Paris, but the village of Auvergne had none of them, nor had the Château de Navarre ever hosted a group of them, as some of the bolder, richer nobility occasionally did. Lenobia wished, fleetingly, that she had taken a longer look at the vampyre. Then the Bishop’s voice intruded on her wishes.
“You suffer them to walk among you?”
The Abbess’s serene look did not change. “There are many different types of people who come and go through New Orleans, Father. It is an entry point to a vast new world. You will become accustomed to our ways in due time. As to vampyres, I hear they are considering establishing a House of Night here.”
“Certainly the city would not allow such a thing,” the Bishop said.
“It is well known that where there is a House of Night, there is also beauty and civilization. That is something the fathers of this city would appreciate.”
“You sound as if you approve.”
“I approve of education. Each House of Night, at its heart, is a school.”
“How do you know so much about vampyres, Abbess?” asked Simonette. Then she looked startled at her own question and added, “I do not mean disrespect by asking such a thing.”
“Such a thing is normal curiosity,” the Abbess responded with a kind smile. “My older sister was Marked and Changed to vampyre when I was just a child. She still visits my parents’ home near Paris.”
“Blasphemy,” the Bishop muttered darkly.
“Some say so, some say so,” the Abbess said, shrugging dismissively. Lenobia’s next coughing spell pulled the nun’s attention from the Bishop. “Child, I do not believe you are well enough to walk the rest of the way to the convent.”
“I am sorry, Sister. I will be better if I rest for a moment.” Unexpectedly, at that moment Lenobia’s legs became like water and she dropped to her bottom in the middle of the street.
“Father! Bring her here, quickly,” the nun ordered.
Lenobia cringed at the Bishop’s touch, but he only smiled and with one strong movement, bent and lifted her into his arms as if she were a child. Then he followed the nun into the long, narrow stables that connected two vividly painted homes, both with elaborate galleries that stretched the length of their second stories.
“Here, Father. She can rest comfortably on these bales of hay.”
Lenobia felt the Bishop’s hesitation, as if he did not want to let her go, but the Abbess repeated, “Father, here. This is where you may place her.”
She was finally released from the cage of his arms, and she shrank back even farther, pulling her cloak with her so that nothing touched the priest, who lingered too close by.
Lenobia drew a deep breath and, as if by magick, the sound and scent of horses filled her and soothed her, relieving just a small amount of the burning in her chest.