and Poley kept watch at the door,” Nicolas said quietly. Another spasm, though again shorter and less furious, lashed through my bound and weary body. He fetched water and a cloth from the table and bathed my face. “One of my serving-men was in Deptford when it happened. He told me of your death.”
“I hope they hanged Frizer in Tom’s full sight!” I raged, then asked, ”What?” as Nicolas glanced at Geoffrey, who nodded slightly.
“He did not hang at all, Kit. The verdict at the inquest was self defense,” Nicolas told me softly, bracing himself as if he expected me to convulse again, but there was only a single fierce tremor before I brought myself back under control, laughing bitterly.
“Well, Tom was ever a better friend to him than to me. But how is it, then, that I live?” I looked first to Nicolas, then to Geoffrey, but it was Nicolas who finally spoke.
“You remember the night we met, and I read the markings in your hand for you? Yes, well, I did not tell you all that I saw. Rózsa saw it first. The line of your life broke off short: you would die young, and soon. A closer look revealed a star on the line of the head: you would die violently from a wound to the head—Rózsa was most upset. We are not as other folk, Kit. Have you heard of vampires?” I searched my ragged memory.
“Spirits that return from the dead to prey upon the living? But spirits have no flesh. . . .” I forced my mind from its path, my gaze flicking between Geoffrey and Nicolas as Nicolas spoke again.
“We are not spirits, Kit, or at least no more so than are other men. This—condition is passed from us to mortals by the exchange of blood.” He saw the hot color flood my face and laughed gently. “Oh, I know not the details, only that Rózsa found you apt and made such an exchange with you. She was wrong not to give you the choice, to make the exchange and leave you unaware of the possible consequences of your actions.”
“I would have chosen no differently if she had,” I reflected.
“And even so you might yet have died, Kit, for the exchange alone will not make the vampire. It is the will to live, the defiance of death itself that makes us so.
“So there you lay, to all appearances as dead as your enemies could wish you, and none knew that you yet might live save Rózsa and I. The inquest seemed to take an eternity, and we were nearly frantic; it was held on the first day of June, the third day since the murder, and on that night you would rise, if indeed you were not truly dead. We considered stealing your body if necessary, but as it happened, the inquest was swiftly over. We bribed the sexton, your body was secretly handed to us and a pauper lies in the unmarked grave meant for you.” I stared at him blankly for a few seconds then started to tremble. Nicolas started towards me, as if he thought another convulsion was coming on, until he realized I had collapsed against my restraints in helpless mirth, the tears streaming down my face.
“‘He gave them the cup, saying this is my blood . . . and on the third day he rose again from the dead’. . . .” I gasped when I could get a breath. Geoffrey and Nicolas glanced at each other, Geoffrey frowning, but Nicolas smiling indulgently, then Geoffrey stepped to the door. “Jehan,” he called softly, and the serving-man I had seen before entered. He was tall and graceful, with an air of barely-subdued strength. His face was handsome in an unusual, predatory way, with high cheekbones beneath tilted eyes of feral gold. I noticed he had the same curious aspect as Anneke: he seemed almost to glow.
“You must feed, Christopher, if you are to live. We have not fed you these several days, to sap the strength of your convulsions, but soon you will starve. You must now make your final choice,” Geoffrey said. “You must take the living blood from this man’s veins to nourish yourself, and sustain this life you have chanced upon, or refuse, and starve, to find yet the death you might have had.” Geoffrey’s face was impassive as he motioned to Nicolas and the two left the room. Jehan sat on the bed, close to me.