The Knowledge of Love (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 4) Page 2

  “The vampires are immortal,” I pressed, turning to Striker. “Lucas told me the only way you could die was to be torn apart and the pieces burned. Why did Lucas die? Why didn't he survive?” I needed the answer, had to understand how Lucas could be killed by Archangelo's spirit orb. It shouldn't have been possible; I couldn't understand how it happened.

  Striker shrugged. “I don't know the answers, Lott. I wish I did.”

  “The orbs are made of pure energy. Obviously we don't understand the fundamentals of what's involved, but we can safely assume there's some sort of electrical energy,” Jerome explained.

  I nodded, silently agreeing with his suggestion.

  William spoke up. “Charlotte, even we vampires don't understand why we continue to exist. Our hearts don't beat, we don't breathe. Nothing in our bodies remains the same as it would if we had continued as humans. Yet the electrical impulses that occur in the human body continue to occur in a vampire's body, allowing us to walk, to talk. To live.”

  “That's why we can only be killed by tearing our bodies apart, burning the pieces,” Marianne added. “It destroys the electrical impulses that allow us to exist.”

  I stopped walking. “So… what are you saying?”

  Jerome stopped beside me, thoughtfully running his fingers across his jaw and I waited as he composed his answer. “I can't tell you exactly why he died, Charlotte. I wish I could. The closest guess I can give you is to suggest the electrical energy in the orb short-circuited the electrical impulses in his body.”

  I considered this explanation for a few seconds, closer to reaching an understanding. “Why didn't the orb I used kill Lucas and William in Puckhaber?” I demanded abruptly.

  William shrugged. “Perhaps because it was the first time you'd used the ability; the orb didn't have the strength of Archangelo's.”

  “So… you're saying any one of you could be killed by an orb?”

  William glanced toward Jerome and Striker, saw their silent assent and nodded heavily. “I believe so.”

  I chewed my lip, contemplating the horrendous implications. “I could lose all of you. One by one,” I stated flatly.

  Marianne rested her hands against my shoulders. “Charlotte, don't think like that. It will only make it worse. Lucas,” her brow furrowed as she vocalized his name and she swallowed hard. “Lucas, myself, Striker – we all knew what we were getting into when we decided to fight the Drâghici. We're only immortal because in the right circumstances, we can live forever. Given the wrong circumstances, we're just as capable of dying as you are.”

  Squaring my shoulders, I lifted my chin determinedly. “Then you should leave. Every one of you. Go away and hide somewhere, somewhere you can be safe.” My voice broke and I inhaled unsteadily. “I want you to leave.”

  “We're not going to do that, Charlotte,” William rebuked me gently. “This is as much a war for our survival as it is yours.”

  “I can't be responsible for you,” I whispered. “Lucas is dead because of me. I won't be responsible for your deaths too.”

  “Don't you think for a minute that any of this is your fault,” Marianne warned me, her head tilted at an angle as she gazed at me. “Lucas knew what he was doing, he knew the risks he was taking.”

  Wrenching away from her grip, I turned and strode rapidly down the street. “Lucas came after me because I was idiot enough to think I could take on Archangelo! He wouldn't have been out there if it wasn't for me!”

  Striker caught me, grabbing my arm and catching me against his chest, holding me while I sobbed. “Lucas did what he had to do. We're all doing what we have to do, Charlotte. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself.”

  “But it's my fault,” I moaned against his shirt.

  “None of this is your fault. It's the fault of the Drâghici, Archangelo, Alberich Bran,” William responded quietly. He stood beside us, his expression solemn. “You didn't throw that orb at Lucas. You didn't plunge that knife into Conal. You didn't send demons and vampires to kill people. They did.”

  I slumped limply against Striker, guilt creating an ever-widening chasm thought my soul.

  “Charlotte, don't let this overwhelm you with negative feelings. You need to turn those emotions around and use your energy to confront the truly guilty in all this,” Gwynn urged.

  I straightened up with a heavy sigh, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. What they had said was true. It didn't make me feel better - but it was true. Archangelo had done this. Archangelo had killed Lucas.

  And he would pay.

  Chapter 3: Final Goodbyes

  “Don't shut me away, my love.”

  For the third time in as many hours I woke, searching for the source of Lucas's voice. Sitting up, I surveyed the room carefully hoping and praying that the past twenty-four hours had been a terrible nightmare. A sob rose in my throat, knowing he wasn't there, frustrated that I was imagining his voice in my dreams. I was becoming convinced this was the punishment for my stupidity, that I would be haunted by his calm voice forever and never sleep restfully again.

  “Charlotte? Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?” Marianne appeared in the doorway, her face shadowed by the darkness but I knew her pretty face would be filled with anxiety. She and Striker had insisted on staying at the cottage with me after Jerome finished treating my wrist. The bone was shattered but Jerome attempted the Hjördis first, seconding Ben's assistance to wield the powerful item, before resorting to surgery. To his surprise the Hjördis had repaired the extensive injury - other than a slight ache, my wrist was as good as new.

  Jerome had been resolute in his insistence of providing sleeping tablets, and wouldn't be dissuaded from his decision. Returning home, I'd wearily climbed the stairs, wanting to sleep in our bed. The shirt Lucas had discarded lay beneath my head on the pillow, his scent emanating from the material provided a small modicum of comfort. Since then, I'd woken three times to the sound of Lucas's voice. Each and every time I checked the mental box where the spirits were trapped. Every time I'd confirmed the box was tightly sealed, yet Lucas was still reaching me.

  Wrapping my arms around my knees, I hugged them to my chest, attempting a reassuring smile in Marianne's direction. “I'm okay.”

  Marianne sighed, walking across the room to sit beside me. “You should be sleeping, Jerome gave you enough medication to sedate a horse,” she pointed out evenly.

  Tears brimmed against my eyelashes and I swallowed heavily before I could speak. “I keep hearing Lucas's voice.”

  Marianne's expression crumpled in sympathy. “I know how hard that must be for you. But you surely expected he would reach out to you as the others have done.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek anxiously, glancing away from Marianne. “I've had them shut away. I couldn't deal with the thought of hearing his voice amongst the others, knowing what it meant. That he was… really gone.” When I dared to look up, Marianne's sympathetic eyes brought a fresh wave of tears to mine. “But somehow, I keep hearing his voice. I don't know if it's really him, or I'm just imagining it.”

  Marianne sighed, gripping my hands in hers. “I won't tell you what a bad idea it is to keep them hidden away. You know they're the only thing giving us advance warnings, but I can understand why you did it, why you feel you can't cope right now.”

  “I don't understand how he could be contacting me. Every time I sleep, I hear him. Everyone else is silent, only his voice comes to me. He keeps telling me not to shut him away.”

  Marianne closed her eyes briefly, before meeting mine again. “I can't tell you whether what you're hearing is real, or if it's your imagination, you know that. But Charlotte, perhaps you should see him one last time before the funeral. Maybe it is your subconscious playing tricks on you,” she paused, frowning, “or maybe Lucas is finding some way to reach out, despite your attempts to avoid it.”

  Rowena and Ben had suggested I see Lucas before his cremation tomorrow, but I'd rejected the suggestion outrigh
t. I couldn't look at him, not when it was so incredibly painful. The thought of standing over him, knowing he would never smile again, never hold me was unbearable. But maybe Marianne was right, he was trying to send me a message. Perhaps he did want me to see him one last time. “All right.” It was still dark outside, a quick glance at the clock confirming it was a little before six in the morning. “Could we go now?”

  “Of course.” Marianne stood up, heading towards the door. “I'll ask Striker to arrange it with Jerome and leave you to get dressed.”

  I threw the covers from my legs and dressed quickly, slipping into jeans and a sweater. I didn't want to give myself time to talk myself out of it. Pulling on the boots lying beside the bed, I twisted my hair into a ponytail and headed downstairs.

  The cobble-stoned streets were deserted in the early morning light as we made our way towards the hospital. Rowena and Ben had been waiting when I got downstairs, silently providing their support. Marianne had linked an arm through mine, with Rowena taking the other side, whilst Ben walked quietly beside his wife. The morning air was crisp and I shivered violently, although it had little to do with the weather and more to do with what I was about to face.

  Jerome met us at the hospital steps, alerted to our arrival by Striker who leaned against one of the colonnades nearby. Jerome had taken an opportunity to change, his shirt clean and devoid of Conal's blood, but his face was gaunt, dark circles marring the skin under his eyes. It was apparent he'd been on duty all night.

  “I think you're doing the right thing,” Jerome informed me gruffly. “I know it hurts, but it might provide you with some closure.” He turned and limped down the hallway, dimly lit by early morning light and our footsteps echoed hollowly in the silence. Jerome paused at a door on the right, opening it and flicking a light switch to reveal a set of stairs leading down. We followed behind, Marianne and Rowena providing support as I started to tremble uncontrollably.

  We walked along a second corridor, then Jerome stopped in front of a closed door at the very end. “I'll bring him out. I don't want you going in there.”

  I was all too aware of the implication – we'd suffered large losses in yesterday's battle – and they would be lying in the room behind the door, until their cremations tomorrow. For a moment I wondered how many were suffering the same loss I was, how many were grieving for loved ones killed during our latest battle, before my sorrow overwhelmed me again with thoughts of Lucas.

  Jerome pushed open the door and stepped inside, Striker following closely behind. Marianne led me to a chair against the wall and I sunk onto it while we waited. Glancing nervously around the unadorned corridor, I wondered what this basement had been used for before. Was it servants' quarters? Or kitchens for whoever had lived upstairs, long ago? Or was this area new, created by Nememiah for casualties he'd expected during this war? Not for the first time, I cursed my role as an Angel child. It had brought nothing but heartache to myself and everyone around me.

  The door swung open and Striker stepped out, rolling a gurney through the doorway with infinite care. I stood up, nausea and anxiety roiling through my stomach in equal proportions. Jerome was pushing from the other end and the two men stopped the gurney before me. Tears filled my eyes as I surveyed the body, draped by a large white sheet.

  Lucas was under there. My Lucas, who would never smile again, never laugh, never hold me in his arms and kiss me until my heart pounded and my knees weakened with love and desire.

  Marianne and Rowena gripped my arms, staunchly supportive as I stared at the gurney, trying to prepare myself for seeing him. It was impossible, nothing could prepare me for the finality of seeing Lucas this way.

  A sob escaped my throat, tears running down my cheeks as Ben touched for my shoulder. “Do you want to see him, Charlotte? The decision is yours.”

  I found it was impossible to speak, my throat filled with the same painful lump as before, even worse as it threatened to suffocate me. I nodded hesitantly and Jerome carefully drew the sheet back from Lucas's face.

  He was perfect. No injuries marred his handsome face, no wounds from the battle were visible. To all intents and purposes, he appeared to be sleeping. Except that he hadn't needed to indulge that human necessity. He'd never had reason to keep his eyes closed the way they were now. I ached to touch him, hold him against me and I tentatively raised a shaking finger to caress his cheek. His skin was icy, much colder than normal. Tears filled my eyes, blurring his image and I wiped them away, wishing with all my heart that he would open his eyes and look at me. I wanted to see his eyes - the glorious midnight blue I adored - to see the flecks of silver whirling, like lightning in a darkened sky.

  But that would never happen again.

  The finality of his death hit like a blow and my knees buckled. Ben caught me in his arms and held me while I sobbed.

  “Don't cry for me, my Charlotte. I will be with you always, as I promised you.”

  Hearing his deep voice, I knew it was futile to try and keep him locked away. Lucas had somehow broken through the barriers, could reach me in spite of them. I released the spirits from their confinement, felt the soft flutter as they filled my head with a steady hum of gentle noise.

  “You left me, Lucas. I can't bear it.”

  “You're strong, my Charlotte. Stronger and braver than anyone I've ever known.”

  “Not without you!”

  “Charlotte, you were always strong. With or without me by your side, that strength remains.”

  “I can't do this without you. I can't!”

  “Charlotte, you can and you will. I'll be with you here, guiding you, helping you.”

  “It's not the same.”

  I could almost hear a smile in his voice. “No, it's not the same. I yearn to hold you against me, to feel the softness of your lips against mine. There is nothing I can do to change what's happened. But I've left you something to remind you of our love together, to remind you of what we've shared.”

  My gaze came to rest on my hand, resting against Ben's chest, where Lucas's ring still circled my finger. His ring would always be there, a reminder of how much he'd loved me. “I love you, Lucas,” I whispered aloud, my face wet with tears.

  “And I love you. For all of eternity, and beyond.”

  Chapter 4: A Shock

  I was sitting alone, a mug of coffee cradled between my hands and I leaned back in the chair and sighed. The tables in the mess were filled with people, but I'd purposely chosen a small table near the windows, where I could stare out onto the courtyard and avoid everyone. My demeanor kept people away, the avoidance of eye contact made it crystal clear to those surrounding me that I didn't want their sympathy, wouldn't talk, didn't want company. I'd only come to the mess for the coffee it could provide.

  A plate of crisp bacon and lightly scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy sat on the table, untouched and stone cold. Nonny had delivered it earlier, but I wasn't interested in eating. Her sympathy was obvious, her black eyes awash with tears when she'd put the plate down silently.

  “How's Conal?” I'd enquired morosely. In the week since the attack, I hadn't been to see him, couldn't seem to force myself to enter the hospital.

  “Feeling better. Jerome says he might be released tomorrow,” Nonny said. She frowned, pausing for moment as she smoothed down her apron. “He'd like to see you,” she added cautiously.

  “Maybe later.” The truth of the matter was that I didn't want to see anyone. Couldn't find forgiveness in myself for the actions I'd taken. Out of everyone in the city, Conal was the absolute last person I wanted to see. I was gutless enough to pray I could keep avoiding him. Conal and Lucas had suffered endless misery since we'd met. How could I apologize for what had happened in the woods? What possible way was there, to ask forgiveness for such utter stupidity? Conal had lost his spleen, almost died because I'd gone after Archangelo. Despite Jerome's best efforts, he would carry scars for the rest of his life. I couldn't imagine him wanting to see me, was convinced Nonny w
as only suggesting it to make me feel better.

  She patted my shoulder and quietly walked away, while I returned to pondering my radically altered circumstances. What was I meant to do now? Paranoia gripped my chest, and I worried endlessly about others being hurt or dying. How would I cope if the Tines were killed, or Matt and Misaki? Lost and alone without Lucas, I didn't think I could survive the death of anyone else. Lucas's passing had gutted me, removed any ability to focus on a future in which this would all be over. The years ahead seemed completely untenable without him.

  “Charlotte.”

  I glanced up at the sound of Ben's voice, found him and Jerome standing beside the table. A worried frown marred Ben's otherwise perfect features. Jerome, too, looked concerned. “May we sit down?”

  I waved a hand towards the empty chairs, subduing a heavy sigh. “Sure.”

  Rather than speaking, they observed me silently for a few minutes. I wasn't certain if they were waiting for me to say something, but I didn't have the energy to bother. I focused my attention towards the window again, watching the pattern of life continue before me. The people of Zaen went about their daily lives, followed their usual routines. The children were lining up outside the newly formed school, preparing for their day of learning. Women stood in groups around the courtyard, chatting and laughing before heading towards their respective work roles. Men strode in groups towards the gates, prepared for training. Life went on. I couldn't begin to comprehend how it could.

  “Charlotte, we need to talk,” Ben announced.

  I huffed out an impatient breath, begrudgingly turning my attention their way. “I don't want anti-depressants. I'm not depressed. Just… sad. So don't try and pressure me into it, I'm not in the mood.” Jerome had recommended prescribing anti-depressants a few days ago, after the last of the funerals. I was refusing to consider the idea, not wanting to take anything. Preparations were underway to start giving small amounts of my blood to some in our group, bestowing them with the use of the weapons and medication might affect the process. Although Jerome had assured me anti-depressants wouldn't have any effect, I wasn't willing to take the risk.