“Go on!”
“The kindest word we had for that creature was soul-stealer.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ladybugs to the Rescue
Alexia fought hard. It took some substantial negotiating to convince the German scientist, but in the end al she needed was the right kind of logic.
“I am bored.”
“This does not trouble me, Female Specimen.”
“This is my heritage we are dealing with, you realize?”
“Ya, so?”
“I believe it may be possible for me to uncover something you and the Templars have missed.”
No response.
“I can read Latin.”
He pressed down on her stomach.
“Can you? My, my, you are well educated.”
“For a female?”
“For a soul ess. Templar records hold that the devil spawn are not men of philosophy.
”
“You see, I am different. I might spot something.”
The little German pul ed out an ear tube from his case and listened to her bel y attentively.
“I am tel ing you, I have excel ent research skil s.”
“Wil it keep you quiet?”
Alexia nodded enthusiastical y.
“I shal see what I can do, ya?”
Later that day, two nervous young Templars came in carrying some ancient-looking scrol s and a bucket of lead tablets. They must have been under orders to oversee the security of these items, for instead of leaving, they locked the cel door and then sat—on the floor, much to Alexia’s shock—crossed their legs, and proceeded to embroider red crosses onto handkerchiefs while she read. Alexia wondered if this were some kind of punishment, or if embroidery was what the Templars did for fun. It would explain the general prevalence of embroidered red crosses everywhere. Lord Akeldama, of course, had warned her. Sil y to realize it now that it was far too late.
She bypassed the scrol s in favor of the more intriguing lead squares. They had Latin incised into them and were, she believed, curse tablets. Her Latin was rather rusty, and she could have used a vocabulary reference book of some kind, but she managed to decipher the first tablet after some time and the others came much easier after that.
Most of them concerned ghosts and were designed to either curse someone into suffering after death as a ghost or exorcize a poltergeist that was already haunting a house. Alexia surmised that the tablets, in either case, would be entirely ineffective, but there certainly were a large number of them.
She looked up when Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf entered her cel with a new battery of tests.
“Ah,” she said, “Good afternoon. Thank you for arranging for me to look at this remarkable col ection. I did not realize curse tablets were so focused on the supernatural. I had read that they cal ed upon the wrath of imaginary daemons and gods, but not the real supernatural. Very interesting, indeed.”
“Anything useful, Female Specimen?”
“Ow!” He poked at her arm with a syringe. “So far, they al have to do with hauntings.
Very concerned with ghosts, the Romans.”
“Mmm. Ya. I had read of this in my own research.”
Alexia went back to translating the next tablet.
Having col ected a sample of her blood, the German abandoned her once more to the tender mercies of the embroidering Templars.
The moment she started reading the next tablet, Alexia knew she wasn’t going to tel Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf about it. It was a smal one, and the boxy Latin letters were exceptional y tiny and painful y neat, covering both sides. Where al the previous tablets had been dedicated to daemons or to the spirits of the netherworld, this one was markedly different.
“I cal upon you, Stalker of Skins and Stealer of Souls, child of a Breaker of Curses, whoever you are, and ask that from this hour, from this night, from this moment, you steal from and weaken the vampire Primulus of Carisius. I hand over to you, if you have any power, this Sucker of Blood, for only you may take what he values most. Stealer of Souls, I consecrate to you his complexion, his strength, his healing, his speed, his breath, his fangs, his grip, his power, his soul. Stealer of Souls, if I see him mortal, sleeping when he should wake, wasting away in his human skin, I swear I wil offer a sacrifice to you every year.”
Alexia surmised that the term “Breaker of Curses” must correlate to the werewolf moniker for a preternatural, “curse-breaker,” which meant that the curse tablet was cal ing upon the child of a preternatural for aid. It was the first mention she had yet run across, however minor, of either soul ess or a child of a soul ess. She placed a hand upon her stomach and looked down at it. “Wel , hel o there, little Stalker of Skins.” She felt a brief fluttering inside her womb. “Ah, would we prefer Stealer of Souls?” The fluttering stil ed. “I see, more dignified, is it?”
She went back to the tablet, reading it over again, wishing it might give her more of a clue as to what such a creature could do and how it came into existence. She supposed it was possible that this being was just as nonexistent as the gods of the netherworld that the other tablets cal ed upon. Then again, it could be as real as the ghosts or vampires they were asked to fight against. It must have been such an odd age to have lived in, so ful of superstition and mythology, to be ruled by the Caesar’s empire hives and a bickering line of incestuous vampires.
Alexia glanced under her eyelashes at the two embroidering men and, in a not-very-subtle movement, tucked the tablet down the front of her dress. Luckily for her, the Templars seemed to find their embroidery most absorbing.
She went on, scanning for the two key Latin phrases “Stalker of Skins” and “Stealer of Souls,” but there seemed to be no further mention of either. She weighed her options, wondering if she should mention the phrase to Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf. As it turned out, the preceptor brought her meal that evening, so she figured she might as well go straight to the source.
She took her time working around to the subject. First she asked him politely about his day and listened to the recitation of his routine—real y, who would want to attend matins six times?—as she ate her pasta in its obligatory bright green sauce. The preceptor had cal ed the long skinny pasta “spa-giggle-tee” or some such sil iness.
Alexia didn’t rightly care, so long as there was pesto on top of it.
Final y, she said, “I found an interesting tidbit in your records today.”
“Oh, yes? I had heard Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf brought them to you. Which one?”
She gestured airily. “Oh, you know, one of the scrol s. It said something about a soul-stealer.”
That got a reaction. The preceptor stood so fast that he knocked over the little stool he had been sitting on.
“What did you say?”
“I believe the other term used in the document was ‘skin-stalker.’ I see you have heard of these creatures before. Perhaps you would care to tel me where?”
Clearly in shock, the preceptor spoke as though his mouth were moving while his mind stil coped with the revelation. “Soul-stealers are known to us only as legendary creatures, more dangerous than you soul ess. They are greatly feared by the supernatural for their ability to be both mortal and immortal at the same time. The brotherhood has been warned to watch for them, although we have not yet encountered one in our recorded history. You believe that is what your child is?”
“What would you do with one if you caught it?”
“That would depend on whether or not we could control it. They cannot be al owed to roam free, not with that kind of power.”
“What kind of power?” Alexia tried to sound innocent as she inched her free hand down the side of her smal stool, preparing to grab it out from under her to use as a weapon if need be.
“I only know what is written into our Amended Rule.”
“Oh, yes?”
He began to quote, “‘Above al this, whosoever would be a brother, you and your profession and faith must deal out death in the name of holy justice against those creatures that stand against God and lead a man unto hel fire, the vampire and the werewolf. For those that walk not under the sun and those that crawl under the moon have sold their souls for the taste of blood and flesh. Moreover, let no brother relax in his holy duty of pure watchfulness and firm perseverance against those unfortunates born to sin and damnation, the devil spawn in soul ess state. And final y, the brothers are hereby commanded to fraternize only with the untainted and hunt down the sickness of spirit within those that can both walk and crawl, and who ride the soul as a knight wil ride his steed.’ ”
As he spoke, the preceptor backed away from Alexia and toward the prison door.
She was taken by his expression, almost hypnotized by it. As had happened during the battle in the carriage, his eyes were no longer dead.
Alexia Tarabotti, Lady Maccon, had engendered many emotions in people over the years—mostly, she admitted rueful y to herself, exasperation—but never before had she been the cause of such abject revulsion. She looked down, embarrassed. Guess it is not such a good thing, infant, to be a soul-stealer. Well, never you mind. Templars don’t seem to like anyone.
As she glanced away, her eye was caught by a flash of red coming along the passageway toward her cel —low to the ground. The two young Templars seemed to have noticed whatever it was as well and were looking in fascination at the object trundling toward them.
Then she heard the ticking noise and the tinny sound of multiple tiny metal legs on stone.
“What is going on?” demanded the preceptor, turning away from Alexia.
Alexia seized the opportunity, stood up, and in one smooth movement, yanked the stool out from under herself and struck the back of the preceptor’s head with it.
There was a dreadful crunching noise and Alexia grimaced.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said perfunctorily, leaping over his fal en form. “Needs must and al that.”
The two embroidering guards leapt to their feet, but before they had a chance to lock the door to Alexia’s cel , a large shiny bug, lacquered red with black spots, scuttled directly at them.
Alexia, stil brandishing the stool, charged out into the hal .
Queen Victoria had been neither as impressed nor as shocked as she should have been upon hearing the term “soul-stealer” spoken in Lord Akeldama’s most salubrious tones. “Oh, is that al ?” seemed to be her reaction. Her solution fit the standards of al monarchs everywhere. She made up her mind and then made it someone else’s problem. In this case, however, Professor Lyal was pleased to find she had not made it his problem.
No, instead, the queen had pursed her lips and delivered an unsavory verbal package into the elegant alabaster hands of Lord Akeldama. “A soul-stealer you say, Lord Akeldama? That sounds most unpleasant. Not to say inconvenient, considering Lady Maccon wil be returned to active service as my muhjah as soon as she can be fetched home. We expect Lord Maccon to have that particular task well under way. It goes without saying, the Crown simply wil not tolerate vampires trying to kil its muhjah, however pregnant she may be and whatever she may be pregnant with. You must put a stop to it.”
“I, Your Majesty?” Lord Akeldama was clearly flustered by this direct instruction.