Lenobia's Vow

“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.

“Child,” the Abbess said, bending over her and brushing the hair from her brow again. “I am going to go on to the convent. Once there I will send our hospital carriage for you. Do not fear; it will not be long.” She straightened and said to the priest, “Father, I would consider it a kindness if you remained with the child.”

“No!” Lenobia shouted at the same moment the Bishop said, “Oui, of course.”

The Abbess touched Lenobia’s brow again and reassured her. “Child, I will return soon. The Bishop will watch over you until then.”

“No, Sister. Please. I feel much better now. I can wal —” Lenobia’s protestations were drowned in another fit of coughing.

The Abbess nodded sadly. “Yes, it is better if I send the carriage. I will return soon.” She turned and hurried back to the street and the waiting girls, leaving Lenobia alone with the Bishop.

CHAPTER NINE

“There is no need for you to look so terrified. I find a struggling girl exciting, not a sick one.” He peered into the stables as he spoke to her, though he didn’t walk down the aisle that divided the two rows of stalls. “Horses again. It is becoming a theme with you. Perhaps after you become my mistress, if you are very good, I will buy one for you.” He turned from the dark interior of the building and the muffled sounds of sleepy horses to walk over to one of two torches that were lit beside the entrance of the building. Their flames burned steadily, though they were giving off a great deal of thick gray smoke.

Lenobia watched him approach one of the torches. He stared at the flame with a look that was openly loving. His hand lifted and his fingers moved caressingly through the flame, causing the smoke to wave hazily around him. “That is what first drew me to you—the smoke of your eyes.” He turned to look at her, the flame framing him. “But you knew that already. Women like you draw men to them on purpose, just as flame draws moths. You drew me and you drew that slave on the ship.”

“I did not draw you,” Lenobia said, refusing to speak to him of Martin.

“Ah, but obviously you did, because here I am.” He spread out his arms. “And there is something I must make clear to you. I do not share what is mine. You are mine. I will not share you. So, little flame, do not draw any other moths to you, or I may have to snuff you, or them, out.”

Lenobia shook her head and said the only thing she could think of: “You are absolutely mad. I am not yours. I will never be yours.”

The priest frowned. “Well, then, I promise you that you will not belong to anyone else—not in this lifetime.” He took a menacing step toward her, but black velvet swirled around him and it seemed a figure materialized out of smoke and night and shadow. The hood of the cloak fell back, and Lenobia gasped as the beautiful vampyre’s face appeared. She smiled, lifted her hand, pointed a long finger at Lenobia, and said, “Lenobia Whitehall! Night has chosen thee; thy death will be thy birth. Night calls to thee; hearken to Her sweet voice. Your destiny awaits you at the House of Night.”

Pain exploded in Lenobia’s forehead and she pressed both hands to her face. She wanted to sit there like that and believe that the entire night had been a nightmare—one long, unending, and terrifying dream—but the vampyre’s next words had her lifting her head and blinking the bright spots free of her vision.

“Leave, Bishop. You have no hold on this daughter of Night. She now belongs to the Mother of all of us, the Goddess Nyx.”

The Bishop’s face was blazing as scarlet as the heavy cross that swayed from the chain around his neck. “You have ruined everything!” he shouted, blowing spittle at the vampyre.

“Begone, Darkness!” The vampyre didn’t raise her voice, but it was filled with the power of her command. “I recognize you. Do not think you can hide from those who see you with more than human eyes. Begone!” As she repeated the command, the flames in the torches sputtered and almost extinguished completely.

The priest’s red face paled and with one last, long look at Lenobia, he backed out of the stables and fled into the night.

Lenobia released the breath she had been holding in a gasp. “Is he gone? Truly?”

The vampyre smiled at her. “Truly. Neither he, nor any human, has authority over you now that Nyx has Marked you as her own.”

Lenobia’s hand lifted to the center of her forehead, which felt sore and bruised. “I am a vampyre?”

The Tracker laughed. “Not yet, daughter. Today you are a fledgling. Hopefully one day soon you will be a vampyre.”

The sound of running footsteps had both of them turning defensively, but instead of the Bishop, it was Martin who burst into the stable. “Cherie! I followed the girls, but I stay back—so they don’ see me—I don’ know you leave them. Are you sick? Do you—” He broke off as what he was seeing seemed to register suddenly in his mind. He looked from Lenobia to the vampyre, and then quickly back to Lenobia, his gaze focused on the outline of the newly formed crescent in the middle of her forehead. “Sacre bleu! Vampyre!”

For an instant Lenobia’s heart felt as if it would shatter, and she waited for Martin to reject her. He drew a deep breath and let it out with obvious relief. His smile began when he turned to the vampyre and bowed with a flourish, saying, “I am Martin. If what I believe to be true, true, I am the mate of Lenobia.”

The vampyre’s brows arched and her full lips tilted up in the hint of a smile. She fisted her right hand over her heart and said, “I am Medusa, Tracker for the Savannah House of Night. And though I see your intentions are honorable, you cannot officially be her mate until she is a fully Changed vampyre.”

Martin bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Then I wait.” When he turned his face toward Lenobia, the brilliance of his smile was the key to understanding, and the truth within her was freed.

“Martin and I—we can be together! We can be married?” Lenobia looked to Medusa.

The tall vampyre smiled. “At the House of Night, it is a woman’s right to choose—mate or consort, black or white—what matters is choice.” The vampyre included Martin in her smile. “And I see that you have made it.