CHAPTER NINETEEN

Six months later

December 25, 1592

Simon awoke and felt an odd tension in the air. Another one of his kind was nearby, a being that emanated a great sense of power as well as an intense anger and heavy sorrow. The anger, Simon knew, was directed at him… this must be Alcuin, arrived at last. What caused the creature's sadness Simon neither knew nor cared—he had to prepare for the confrontation ahead.

Simon threw back the ermine coverlet and arose from the feather-stuffed mattress lying in the center of the large cave that had served as his sanctuary for the past few months. He dressed hastily, preparing himself for the battle he instinctively felt would settle the war that had been raging on his estate for over two months now. He buckled his great-grandfather's jewel-encrusted broadsword around his waist. Like most of his peers, he far preferred the sleek, elegant rapier to this heavy relic of another time. Unfortunately, that thin whippet of steel was nothing compared to the broadsword his enemies favored. Simon often wondered if they preferred the broadsword because they felt it a better tool for decapitation or perhaps they'd simply formed an attachment to the ungainly weapon during their mortal lifetimes. It had taken Simon a few nights to adjust to the weight of the broadsword but he was now capable of using it with the same light, swift touch he'd had with his rapier.

Simon stepped out of the cave and gave an uncontrollable shiver at the bleak silence that greeted him. At first when he'd arise the sounds from the village a few miles from his cave reached his ears. Now all the vampires he'd needed to create had bled the village dry. An eerie stillness hung over the area, making it seem haunted, desolate.

A good thing he'd kill Alcuin this evening, Simon thought and started his stealthy, silent walk back to the estate. He was worried about the things he'd transformed—they had no restraint, they killed in such large numbers that Simon knew a Crown inquiry was only a matter of time. Already the residents of York barricaded their houses at night; many gathered in churches for extra protection. Soon Elizabeth would have to send troops up here to see who or what was killing off so many of her people, and then what? What if her soldiers found some of the vampires during the day and watched in horror as their bodies burned when they were exposed to sunlight?

Simon knew he had to dispose of the rogue killers that wouldn't learn discretion, were incapable of learning much of anything. With few exceptions, they were as low and stupid in their new life as in their old. They were incapable of flying the astral plane, could master only the simplest tricks, like moving about small objects with the force of their minds and keeping their prey still while they fed. For the most part, Simon regretted their existence and was almost glad his enemies were killing a great many of them. The fifty he'd started with had been no more than ten at dawn. But his slain army had carried quite a few of Alcuin's acolytes to hell with them so their purpose was served.

Still, all this death and slaughter had done something to the once beautiful area. Simon remembered as a small boy he'd thought the howling wind of the winter months a daemon that meant to carry him off to hell. That had merely been childish nonsense but now something dark and evil had definitely settled over the land. Not only couldn't he hear mortals anymore, it seemed the beasts had fled too… no sheep, no horses, not even the owls made a sound this night. He was eager to achieve a victory and leave this chilling, cursed place.

Since he was only a quarter mile from the estate now, Simon stopped and glared up at the starless sky and quarter moon. "Metatron, Melekh, Beroth, Noth, obtestor te Deo viventi ut virtute verbarum harum me invisibilem faceres."

He kept walking, knowing his presence was now somewhat cloaked. Simon had discovered that although his incantation made him completely invisible to his own young apprentices it only offered him a few moments of protection before his enemies sensed him. Still, those precious moments had allowed him to sneak up on several of them and decapitate them swiftly.

Simon smiled briefly, thinking the incantation for invisibility would have required a waxen figure back when he was human to have any chance of success, that he'd have to be careful to perform the ritual during the right month, the right phase of the moon. Now his ability was so sharp he had only to say the words and receive what he wanted. Daemons he could summon easily; he did not even need the magick circle to protect him.

Simon sighed ruefully, remembering the only thing he needed protection from was vampires that wanted him dead. He had not yet arrived at a spell or weapon to satisfactorily rid himself of them. He strode the dark, unlit path with confidence, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge any trepidation at the evening ahead.

Along the path he discovered the decapitated corpses of two more of his progeny and one vampire he didn't recognize—an enemy, then. Simon knew he could leave them where they were; the sunlight would incinerate any evidence of their existence.

A chilling scream shattered the thick silence and Simon jumped, his heart racing for a few moments before he gained control over himself and continued walking. He should be used to the sound by now—it was the shriek of a vampire receiving a stake through its heart.

When his enemies arrived, Simon quickly learned that decapitation was a merciful fate compared to the hell a vampire went through if any heavy weapon punctured its heart. The impaled vampire could only squirm around miserably, its wonderful strength and ability to deflect blows vanished. Once again, it could and did suffer pain… the pain of the weapon lodged in its chest and the torture it was put through when the interrogators made a vain attempt to elicit information on the mysterious Lord Baldevar's whereabouts.

Of course, the torture that rivaled anything Simon had ever heard of in London Tower gained his enemies nothing. Simon told no one—not even Khalid or Dr. Dee—where he slept during the day. Fighting his enemies on the family estate gave Simon a definite advantage; only someone born to the Yorkshire Dales would know how to search the complex network of limestone caves and sea caverns.

Then again, this Alcuin… how sharp were his abilities? Simon paused, concentrating on the atmosphere around him. He realized he no longer felt hunted, focused on. The creature had other matters on its mind now—that sadness overwhelmed it. Was Alcuin upset because so many of his followers were dead? Perhaps, while he was distracted, Simon could take him by surprise.

Another piteous scream reached his ears and Simon thought under their simpering piety, his enemies enjoyed the power they gained from inflicting misery as much as he was learning to. In a way, feeding on emotion provided almost as much sustenance as drinking blood.

Of course these vampires would have no more opportunity to torture their helpless quarry. Whether he cared for his spawn or no, Simon was their master and as such he owed them protection. It was his place and his alone to end their existence if he felt the action was warranted. But he knew from experience this was the perfect moment to attack and kill a few more of his foes; they were too involved in the torture to keep their senses peeled for the presence of another vampire.

Simon leaped through the air soundlessly, grasping the heavy limb of the tree above him. He slithered along on his stomach until he was poised directly above the clearing where three vampires stood clustered around a long wooden stake that imprisoned another vampire. The unfortunate's head was down, a sword hilt bulging from his chest.

"Look at this," Simon heard a deep voice rumble. "We've caught ourselves a Moor tonight… heretic in mortal life and unholy abomination now. Where's your master, filth?"

Khalid, Simon thought, his heart thumping so loudly he thought his enemies would surely hear its furious beat—they had Khalid! Simon forced himself to calm down; he'd do his friend no good if his ill temper led him to rash action. No matter that he simply wanted to leap to the stake and cut his friend down, he must proceed calmly.

While Simon planned his attack, Khalid gave his interrogator a disdainful reply, halting and labored though it was. "I call no one master and as for filth, it is not I who smell like I spent the day lying in a pile of horse dung."

"All you infidels are so proud of your bathing—another sign of your vanity," the vampire sneered, but Simon thought the stung growl in his voice proved Khalid's jab had found its mark. "I rid the great land of Spain of your kind while I worked beside Torquemada and I shall be pleased to send you to hell along with your brethren in the name of God."

This thing had been an Inquisitor? That explained the overzealous tone that was the mark of the true fanatic. Simon withdrew two small daggers from his belt and pulled himself into a crouch on the tree limb, poised for attack.

Before he could leap from his perch, the Inquisitor vampire raised his great sword and decapitated Khalid. Simon saw the smallest ghost of surprise enter his friend's eyes before the sharp blade sent his head to the ground.

Simon took advantage of his enemies' self-congratulations and jumped from the tree, bringing two of the vampires down to the ground with him. While they sprawled, unable to adjust to the unexpected attack, Simon planted his daggers in their backs, severing their hearts from behind.

With a roar of outrage, the other vampire hurled himself at Simon and they both rolled along the ground. All Simon's furious struggles were for naught—he could not extract himself from the steely grip of his foe. Never had he encountered such brute physical strength… no wonder this thing had overpowered Khalid.

When the vampire loosened his grip to grab his sword, Simon was able to shove him hard and crawl a scant inch away. He reached for his own sword but it was kicked from his hand with a blow that shattered his wrist. Simon yelped in pain while rolling to the side to evade the broadsword that almost took his head from his shoulders.

"Devil's spawn," the hulking vampire hissed at Simon as he stood over him.

His hand already healed, Simon battered his head against his adversary's kneecap, feeling grim pleasure when a sharp crack shattered the silence around them and the giant fell to the ground beside Simon.

With the vampire prone and temporarily immobilized by pain, Simon was able to throw himself on top of it and attach himself to its neck like a leech. The outraged vampire tried to throw him off but Simon sank his blood teeth in as far as they would go and his hands gained such a firm purchase on his enemy's back that Simon could feel his short, sharp nails ripping through the vampire's muscles all the way to the bone beneath.

Bloodletting was his only chance for survival. Simon knew in a swordfight this immense, vastly experienced creature would tear him to shreds. Thank God, Simon thought as the potent vampire blood poured into him, he'd made the lifesaving discovery that a bled vampire had no more strength than a mortal. That trick he'd learned a few months before when one of his spawn drained a girl Simon had claimed for his own. He'd meant to savor her beauty a few nights before drinking her blood. Outraged when he saw the husk she'd been reduced to, Simon grabbed the miserable thing that had killed her and tore its neck apart. Immediately he'd seen that a starved or drained vampire lost a great deal of its power though it was restored once the creature fed again.

Now Simon felt the thrashing body beneath him start to weaken, and raised his mouth. He didn't want to kill this creature—if his enemies could gain information through torture, so could he.

"You are not so far gone you cannot comprehend me," Simon said flatly. "Answer my questions truthfully or before I end your worthless existence I shall sacrifice your soul to my dark gods."

The small, boarlike eyes opened and the vampire glared feebly.

Simon yanked him to his feet and kept a rough hand beneath his elbow so his enemy wouldn't collapse.

"Take me to Alcuin," Simon ordered.

"I am Alcuin," the vampire said, and Simon snorted in derision.

"Do you forget I am of the nobility? I know well the difference between master and servant. You're but a lackey."

"I am no lackey," the thing thundered. "I serve at my master's right hand! It is I who plan our battles…"

"So if I torture you, I'll gain valuable information," Simon said dryly and watched a dull flush show up on the vampire's coarse-featured face. "Pickings must be scant among our number that my enemy relies on such a lackwit. Perhaps you thought my threat an idle one but I assure you I'll send your soul to hell within a minute if you don't tell me where Alcuin is."

The thing glared in hostile, arrogant silence until Simon began to chant and the already frigid temperature plummeted further while a foul odor started to permeate the air.

A look of terror entered the vampire's eyes and he cried hastily, "In your wife's chambers, you fiend! The poor woman approaches death and my master is giving her the last rites."

Simon roared and gave his prisoner a scornful glance as he dragged him to the manor house. "Yon leader has closeted himself with Isabelle? What kind of sentimental fool is this creature that he pauses in the midst of battle to give benediction to some worthless mortal bitch? Walk faster, imbecile. I am most eager to face down your equally feebleminded master."

"He'll kill you," the vampire snarled and received a sharp rap to his head.

"Not while I hold you hostage," Simon returned calmly. "If Alcuin frets over some dying female he's never met before, he'll not take one step toward me while I hold a sword to your neck. How is it he's survived all this time with such a soft heart?"

"We've never encountered one like you before," the vampire said and quickly clamped his mouth into a grim line when he realized Simon had again gotten him to admit more than he should have.

So he unsettled Alcuin as much as the old bishop bothered him, Simon mused while he strode through the ajar front door and headed for the stairs. He wanted to use the astral plane but he hadn't yet figured out a way to hold another soul in his grasp throughout flight. His prisoner made no attempt to inform his master of their approach and Simon almost laughed at himself for this lapse into mortal thinking. Alcuin would not need a shout or noise to know they drew near—no doubt his senses were already at full alert.

Simon drew his sword and put the blade to his enemy's neck, dragging him toward Isabelle's chambers by the hair. As they came closer, the sonorous Latin chant of the last rites reached his sharp ears… so Isabelle was finally dying. Simon felt nothing at her death, but the anguish in Alcuin's sobbing voice intrigued him. Why did he feel such grief for a woman he didn't know?

Entering the bedchamber, Simon saw the room was bathed in thick darkness. No candles flickered and the thick velvet draperies Isabelle favored were drawn tightly shut so no moonlight could illuminate the chamber. Even with his new, keen sight, Simon could only see a cloaked figure clutching Isabelle's bony white hand.

"Go now and join your son and husband," the cloaked figure whispered, and Simon clenched his jaw to keep from shivering. Even though Alcuin spoke gently, there was nothing weak about his voice or the aura of impenetrable strength that surrounded him. "Go and forget the pain that wretched, vicious fiend caused you."

"Do you feel any sorrow at what you've done to this gentlewoman?" Simon started at this direct indication that Alcuin was aware of his presence. Though the creature didn't take its eyes from Isabelle's corpse or raise his voice, Simon could not have felt more disconcerted if Alcuin had glared and shouted loudly enough to shatter glass. Usually he was the one that kept his opponents off balance with a countenance of self-possession and calm that was more terrifying than outright fury. It was most unsettling to meet someone whose air of intimidating nonchalance surpassed his own.

"What do you know of her character?" Simon sneered back, keeping his own voice calm. At all costs, he must not allow Alcuin to see that he'd never before felt so uneasy. Throughout this battle, he'd never been frightened but now Simon knew he was up against something almost as powerful as the spirits he summoned to do his bidding. "And why do you trespass on my estate?"

Your estate. Simon thought there might be the smallest touch of irony to the creature's tone. "Is this not the property of the father and brother you slaughtered—to say nothing of the innocent child you destroyed?"

"judge not lest ye be judged," Simon returned.

"Never twist the Word of the Lord to suit your own needs in my presence, nephew." Now the vampire raised his eyes from Isabelle's form, and Simon gasped to see his own gold eyes reflecting back at him with fury and anguish.

Alcuin nodded. "Aye, you are my kinsman, seven generations removed. Though it shames me to see such a venal creature as a descendant of my mortal bloodline, it is our common blood that makes it my responsibility to see that your unchecked evil shall not continue any longer."

"Why is it the men in my family always seek to destroy me, uncle?" Simon laughed harshly and then gestured to the struggling vampire beneath his sword. "Step toward me and your worthless disciple dies."

From the folds of his woolen black monk's robes, Alcuin drew forth his own sword and advanced on Simon. "Unlike you, this good Christian has no reason to fear death. If I cannot protect him from your blade, he is assured a place in paradise."

Simon's lips curled and his blade cut into Guy's flesh, a scarlet pool of blood forming on the Toledo steel blade. "Good Christian? Do you expect me to believe you've spent hundreds of years upon this earth and still believe in some simple concept that is no more than a clever way to keep the peasants from revolt?"

"I believe there is something twisted and rotten inside you, nephew. I believe you've never been touched by concern for your fellow man or love. For that I truly pity you for you will never know the rewards of loving and being loved in return."

"I don't need your pity," Simon snarled, enraged by the way this thing looked down on him. "But answer me this before I slaughter you, priest. Why bother yourself with this battle? Had you simply kept to your corner of the world, I should have been content to remain in mine. I don't wish to wrest control from you; I simply want to be left alone."

Alcuin glanced at Guy and Simon felt a force, almost like one of the gales he'd encountered at sea, try to pull his hostage from his grip. Simon bit down on his lip and concentrated all his strength on holding on to his prisoner but it was no use… he simply could not battle the unseen power that tore Guy out from under his sword.

Guy's body flew across the chamber and Alcuin swiftly closed the gap between himself and Simon, sword aimed at his head.

The priest had backed him into a corner almost before he knew what was happening. Desperately, Simon glanced at a ponderous dark wood cabinet and the thing flew at Alcuin, knocking his sword from his hand and pinning him to the ground under its heavy weight.

The cabinet flew off Alcuin's body before Simon could even take a step toward him and Simon felt that same mysterious force take hold of him, shoving him against the wall, keeping him there while Alcuin drew closer.

The vampire's hood had fallen off and Simon's eyes widened when he saw Alcuin's strangely shiny, translucent skin that allowed all his veins a hideous prominence and rotted blood teeth that hung well past his chin.

"Monster," Simon spat. "What happened in your transformation to give you such a revolting appearance?"

"My face disturbs you?" Alcuin said calmly, and Simon could see he was well used to being greeted with revulsion. "I may have been cursed with a gruesome visage but I far prefer my skin-deep deformity to your sickness, Simon Baldevar. God may have blessed you with outer beauty but your soul… the ugliness inside you would crack any looking glass. Your heart is empty… you kill and cause pain with no remorse whatsoever. As a mortal, you were vile but what you've become since you transformed is an unholy abomination. Your wicked life must end now."

"Never!" Simon screamed out when Alcuin raised his sword. Swiftly, he yelled the darkest incantation he knew to stop the priest from killing him. "Obtestor te, simulacrum malum ac seditiosum, quod in profundo tenebrarum habitiat!"

The priest did not even look frightened when Simon was released from the unseen grip while a strange buzzing cloud came toward Alcuin. He simply stared into the dark mist and clutched the plain wood cross at his hip, the gentle whisper of his voice somehow cutting into the chaotic scream of the power Simon had summoned.

"I adjure you, ancient serpent, by the judge of the living and the dead, by Him who has the power to consign you back to hell, to depart forthwith in fear from me, a servant of God.

"Depart," Alcuin continued, but the ancient power, enraged when it could not overtake him, turned its fury on the creature that dared summon it and then gave nothing in return.

Simon saw the cloud coming at him and realized it was no single daemon but an entire nest of evil things eager to possess him as fitting payment for being summoned from their dank abode. His instincts screamed at him to flee, and he blindly sought the astral plane, knowing the spirit realm offered his only hope for escape.

Damn! By the soft pink cord floating behind him, Simon knew he hadn't been successful in bringing his body with him; only his soul was on the astral plane. That meant his body was vulnerable to the machinations of those loathsome things he'd called upon.

Simon rushed through the various realms, seeking out a place he'd never been to but heard of from Father Bain. Hidden deep in the astral plane was the domain of souls that had not yet walked the earth. A clever magus could tap into their vast energy and draw their untouched essence into himself. Simon needed the potency he'd gain from draining them to battle Alcuin and the monsters he'd invoked.

Come into me, Simon thought, trying to lure the souls to him.

He felt something come near and for a moment felt awe at the purity that enveloped him. This wasn't the simpering holiness of Isabelle chanting her rosary and glaring her eyes while he took her but genuine innocence combined with a vital exuberance that charmed him.

Who are you? Simon tried to ask, and the spirit pulled away, seeming frightened by his intensity.

Come back, he screamed without words. Don't fear me. Simon had all but forgotten his original intent… it would be obscene to drain this divinity, steal her (the emanation was most certainly feminine) energy so she could never be born on earth. He wasn't going to harm the spirit; he simply wanted it to remain with him. With sudden certainty, Simon knew this was the soul of the soror mystica that John Dee had prophesized.

The spirit came closer, intrigued but somehow cautious. Simon knew it was drawn to him, felt that pull between them, yet at the same time there was a deep reluctance… the spirit seemed afraid of him.

Come to me, Simon said. Be the bride my friend has foreseen.

Be ye banished from this pure soul—you destroy everything you touch, a cold voice responded. That wasn't the spirit speaking… it was the voice of that treacherous cleric, Alcuin.

"Damn you!" Simon bellowed and felt himself plummet with a sickening, dizzy speed. He spiraled away from the peaceful, misty haven and felt a cold wind against his cheek, a harsh rod cutting into his back.

What was wrong with him? Simon had never felt so weak in his life. Even transformation hadn't left his limbs feeling so heavy and fatigued that he didn't have the strength to move so much as his finger. His mind even felt exhausted, to the point where his head ached abominably from the simple effort of thinking. It was as if his mind and body had been used terribly.

The daemons, Simon realized tiredly. He was suffering the aftereffects of possession… symptoms few people ever had because most either died or lost their minds if a daemon overtook them.

Why were they gone? His desperate flight to the astral plane couldn't have saved him. If anything, the monsters should have been overjoyed to find they need not battle for his soul. Instead, they had unquestioned dominion over an immortal body. They could put the body through all manner of contortions and it would not sicken and die as a human body would.

"Why did you put yourself at risk for that scum, master?" Simon heard a wheedling yet deep voice inquire. "What do you care if Lord Baldevar's devils claimed him now or when he got to hell?"

"It was not Lord Baldevar I saved but the world he inhabits—a world that shelters us as well as the mortals we've sworn to protect," a patient voice responded. "We could not leave a vampire in the throes of possession. Would you care to let something like that walk the earth for all eternity? I had to perform an exorcism."

"I could have beheaded him."

Simon choked back a laugh at such idiocy—he wasn't about to let his enemies know he was aware. Let them continue to discuss him as though he had no more intelligence than the wood piled at his feet.

Wood piled at his feet? Damn these smug priests—they meant to burn him at the stake like some village hag accused of witchcraft! Simon kept his head low but concentrated on trying to draw some strength back into himself.

"Your sword would work against a possessed mortal—assuming you'd decided his soul was not worth battling the devil for," Alcuin responded with the same patience as before. "But a possessed vampire? You could not get near the thing! If the daemons did not kill you straightaway, they might well have decided to inhabit your body in addition to Lord Baldevar's. Though the daemons are gone, what remains is just as evil. Go and behead Lord Baldevar so we may end this foul night."

Simon heard the footsteps rapidly approaching and managed to raise his head and scream, "No!"

"Priest," Simon said conversationally to Alcuin when Guy took an uneasy step back. "My thanks for your aid in ridding my body of that undesired presence but you're a fool if you think your simpleton apprentice can destroy me."

Alcuin simply ignored his speech and Guy lifted his sword again, giving a dismayed grunt when he somersaulted in the air, landing in an undignified heap by Alcuin while the sword he hadn't been able to cling to flew behind Simon and began cutting through the ropes that bound him to the stake.

"Halt," Alcuin intoned and though the sword clattered noisily to the floor, it had already done its work well and Simon was able to begin freeing his wrists from the intricate knots that bound him to the stake.

Guy pulled himself up, his entire body quivering with insane hatred and outraged humiliation when he glared into Simon's mocking eyes.

"Go and seek your daytime shelter, Guy," Alcuin said quietly. The giant started to protest his master's quiet directive but something in Alcuin's stare made him drop his sword and turn his back without another word.

"A more incompetent man-at-arms I've ne'er encountered," Simon quipped, howling with derisive laughter when the vampire stopped, growled something incomprehensible, and then continued walking, reluctance to leave the scene apparent in every line of his trembling, enraged body.

"How well you've trained him," Simon remarked to Alcuin, using the steely whisper that always put his enemies off balance. He didn't expect such a simple trick to faze this creature but he did intend to see if the priest could be goaded into rash action by his words.

As he anticipated, Alcuin refused to acknowledge him but Simon felt the priest's intense concentration and knew Alcuin was gauging his reaction to Guy's departure.

"Think you I'll waste myself on some fool beneath my contempt?" Simon questioned, careful to keep his hands behind his back and not reveal that he was free of the stake. "No doubt you intend for me to chase after your apprentice and attack while I am preoccupied. I'll not fall for such a simple tactic—you've wasted your pawn, uncle."

Now Alcuin turned to him and for the first time there was some emotion in his fathomless gold eyes. "I do not treat people as pawns to be moved about without a care for their well-being, nephew."

"No?" Simon questioned, keeping his eyes on Alcuin's grotesque hand clutching the broadsword at his side. The priest made no move toward him and Simon knew Alcuin was well aware his hands were free of their restraints. He and Alcuin were at an uneasy standstill, each waiting for the other to make the offensive strike.

"Did you send that fool away because you fear my power, Uncle, and know I can dispatch him easily?" Simon taunted. "What a noble gesture, though I can easily accuse you of playing favorites, you sanctimonious fraud. You spare Torquemada's minion but what of all the vampires I've rendered to dust this long winter season? How many that you swore to protect will you allow to die in an effort to put me in the ground?"

The priest said nothing, seeming as mesmerized by Simon's words as a cobra unwillingly dancing to a snake charmer's pipes. Here was the path to Alcuin's destruction. No incantation or physical warfare was necessary… Simon need only prey upon the reproach Alcuin felt in his heart for all the vampires killed in this battle. Simon could bring the pompous cleric to his knees by using his guilt and grief to weaken him.

At the gleam of victory in Simon's eyes, The fog lifted from Alcuin's expression and he struck so quickly his sword lashed through Simon's throat before he knew what was happening.

The blade made easy work of his jugular but a swift chop at Alcuin's stomach made the priest bend over in pain and Simon spun away, using the long wooden stake to deflect the blows Alcuin rained upon him.

Simon felt blood soaking through his shirt, though the wound was already closing. Helplessly, Simon watched the priest's sword cut through his pathetic wooden weapon and knew his demise was at hand. Naturally, Guy and Alcuin had stripped him of all his weapons before they'd tied him to the stake. He was still too weak to use sorcery and he had no weapon to battle Alcuin. His only hope was to get the sword out of Alcuin's hands.

Remembering lessons from an old sword master, Simon lunged at Alcuin's wrists but he could not wrest the weapon away from him. The priest threw off his frenzied attack, seeming to expand no more effort than he would use to brush a fly from his robe.

Soon, Alcuin backed Simon against an oak tree, his wooden stake hacked to little more than a block of wood the length of his arm. The priest towered above him, his broadsword glittering obscenely in the fading moonlight.

Puzzled, Simon watched his enemy raise the sword high above his head and then lower it abruptly, seeming dazed and weak. What was wrong with the bishop—why didn't he simply lop off Simon's head?

"Your time for demanding that the hawks bow down to the rabbit mortals is done," Simon hissed, knowing such a speech when his own death seemed imminent was a ridiculous boast. His words were no more than an attempt to distract the priest and snatch the sword from his hands. "I'll seek out every vampire that lives in fear of your wrath and tell them they need skulk about no more! From here on, we enjoy the night in any manner we please.

"And that spirit you tore me from?" Simon taunted, knowing he'd found the chink in his foe's armor by the way Alcuin's lips twisted into a frightening grimace of outraged horror. "She's meant to be my soror mystica and give me what you'll never have—a son."

"Never!" Alcuin cried and raised his sword. He lowered it in a clumsy, heavy-handed arc that Simon was easily able to avoid by moving his head slightly. What was the matter with Alcuin? Had the exorcism he performed weakened him? Simon made a move for his sword but Alcuin stepped away and glared down at him.

"I'll not have you corrupting another woman with your unwholesome ways as you did to Isabelle! I vow you'll never break that soul… if I could not protect Isabelle from you, at least I can prevent you from ever ruining that unborn spirit!"

Simon raised an eyebrow, circling Alcuin warily. "Isabelle, is it? Chaste cleric, what kind of affection did you harbor in your breast for that dead pile of bones? Do you despise me because her blood was too sick to feast upon… her body too decayed for you to…"

"Enough!" Alcuin roared, and Simon fell back, biting down on his lip to keep the cries of pain from escaping his mouth. All of a sudden, he rolled about on the ground, an excruciating torment coursing through him. What was this agony that seeped into his bones and made him feel every part of him was afire with pain?

"Sunrise," Alcuin whispered, and Simon forced his eyes open, seeing that the priest, though still upright, was hunched over, apparently in the grip of the same suffering that afflicted Simon.

"I cannot put my sword through you because the coming day has weakened me but I can still get away and seek my resting place. You, though, are too young to escape. God has spoken, Simon Baldevar. The sunlight shall send you to the hell you belong in."

"I think not," Simon hissed and he saw the uneasy speculation in Alcuin's gaze. The priest started to speak and then clutched at his chest, moaning in pain.

"Go on, Uncle," Simon gasped out. "Get you gone before the sun rises and deprives me of the pleasure of killing you when next we meet." Gathering up all his strength, Simon threw back his head and screamed, "John!"

Alcuin opened his mouth to speak again, no doubt to demand to know whom Simon could call now that his vampire army lay dead around him, but a weak ray of sunlight appeared on his chest, and the skin over his heart burst into flames. Hastily, the priest stamped it out and then disappeared but not before giving Simon a bitter, helpless glance.

Come on, John, Simon thought desperately. Appear, damn it, before this wretched sun destroys me. Frantically, Simon started pawing through the dirt… maybe he could dig a grave to shelter him from the sun. He'd made no more than a few scratches when sunlight began to pour over the earth.

It wasn't one flame that attacked him, more like fire bolts rained down on his body, indiscriminately consuming whatever flesh they touched. Simon could do nothing to save himself from the monstrous fire that enveloped him, blistering his skin and devouring his internal organs.

Then darkness descended and for a moment Simon thought he was mercifully losing awareness but then he felt a pummeling sensation, something beating every inch of his body before rough hands yanked him up and tossed him into a blessedly dark shelter.

"My lord, you cannot rest yet!" a voice hissed urgently into his ear. "You must drink and be replenished else you may spend eternity little more than a blackened monstrosity."

Simon came back to a miserable state of half awareness at the coppery taste on his lips, the liquid being poured down his throat. Gradually, the agony receded and he was able to open his eyes, see the blood-filled wine cask that was pressed to his mouth.

Simon drank thirstily, watching in bemused amazement as the hideous burns over his body faded, leaving his skin pale and flawless. His vision returned, and he saw that he was in the special windowless carriage he'd commissioned shortly after he transformed. Seated beside him and holding the cask that had saved his life was John Dee.

"Thank you, John." Simon heard the slurred quality to his speech and knew that though the blood had healed him, the sun was nearly completely raised and it was time for him to sleep. But he had to stay awake just a few more moments…

"Why do you thank me, my lord? 'Twas your new skill that cloaked my presence and that of the coachman from your enemies. A good plan, that… to keep us hidden in case you needed to flee the estate during the day."

"Not just my ability," Simon gasped out. "Your own magick kept you hidden those moments my concentration was taxed in dealing with my enemies. Now we must… must make plans before the weariness overtakes me. Tell the driver to head toward Leith. I'll board a ship this evening… have to leave England… Alcuin too strong…"

Simon stopped and managed, in spite of his exhaustion, to smile briefly. "Priest hopes sun rendered me to dust… but knows Lord Baldevar might not be dead… must hide… build my strength… next time I challenge him… kill him…"

He felt John Dee grasp his shoulder. "There shall be no more communication between us."

"No," Simon agreed, acutely feeling the loss of his esteemed friend. The entire court knew he patronized Dr. Dee; no doubt Alcuin was well aware of their friendship. If they corresponded, the priest or one of his minions might discover him before Simon was ready to attack again. For that matter, Simon would also have to abandon his estate and his trading company. From this night forward he'd have precious little but the clothes on his back.

But what did that matter to a vampire? He could easily reach into mortals' minds and make them hand over their entire fortune with one command… within a fortnight he'd be comfortable once more. And as long as he was discreet, he could develop his ability without the threat of Alcuin hanging over him like some noxious storm cloud.

"John," Simon muttered. "You saved my life this day and I only wish you were not too frail to accept the one boon I have to repay you. Since I cannot… cannot… transform you, I bequeath to you the contents of my hidden temple. All the man… manuscripts are yours and there are several trunks filled with nutmeg and cloves—they'll give you an income. Take all that and any of my writings you wish credit for with my blessing and I would ask but two more favors."

"Anything, my friend."

Simon took a deep breath and then spoke in a rush, trying to beat out the vampire slumber that usually claimed him long before this hour. "One year from this date, you'll receive a letter from an Italian nobleman interested in purchasing some of your library collection. Write back to me only when our Gloriana lies dying—I would see her once more before she passes from this life."

"Of course. And the other favor?"

"Isabelle," Simon said and his features twisted into an enraged mask that made his friend shudder beside him. "That blasted cleric is going to bury her, I'm sure. Try and find her corpse… I want the emerald ring."

"The one Bess gave you at your wedding? Why?"

"I must give it to my soror mystica," Simon said and finally dropped into the near-death trance that ruled his daylight hours now. As he drifted off, his final thought wasn't of his humiliation at Alcuin's hands or even the revenge he'd have one night for all the pontiff had taken from him. All the horror and violence of the night faded when Simon thought of that enchanting spirit destined to become his bride.