Chapter Text
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Chapter XXXIII
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The following day dawned as St. Stephen's Day, what Christine learned from the minister's housemaid was otherwise known and celebrated in the shire as Boxing Day. A day of charitable festivity, when those of more fortunate means boxed up a minute portion of their wealth and belongings and gave to the impoverished, also presenting boxes of goods to their household staff, who usually took the day off for outdoor revelries.
Christine had little to call her own, her splendid trousseau from Paris having not yet arrived, though Erik often assured her that what was his was hers. Still, she did not feel confident enough to dole out any of his possessions, personal or otherwise. That should be his to give, if he so chose.
She did, however, own a serviceable and rarely worn shawl of soft lamb's wool in a deep cerulean blue, like the sea, and after careful inspection to ensure its pristine condition she hunted for and located a small empty box. In the spirit of the holiday she tucked the shawl inside, using one of her hair ribbons to tie it closed in a pretty bow, and went in search of Mihaela.
Last night, after she and Erik sang festive carols, their voices entwining together in a glorious blend Christine was stunned to behold, she had shared with him her plans to commemorate the holiday. He had not disagreed with her objective and assured her that he would see to gifts for Gregor, Anton, and Archer.
The ease of harmony had continued throughout their cordial parting, Christine then retiring to her room for the night, this time without a macabre novel or troubling journal to help exhaust her mind so that she could sleep. Again her undivided attention had wandered repeatedly to the closed door, wretchedly aware of the lengthy silence as well as every distant sound that came from the opposite side. When footsteps at last approached and paused directly outside, Christine's heart had hammered against her ribs. She sat up and craned forward - this time more out of anticipation than with fear. Yet a lingering apprehension not completely dissipated still prevented her from calling out to him. Once his footsteps moved away and she heard the dull creak of his bedchamber door open then close, such despair, such emptiness had weighted her soul that a second night tears wet her pillow as she fell into uneasy slumber scattered with nightmares too wretched to recall...
And yet, all of what had become the crux of her life.
She had finally come to accept the alarming truth of what her husband was, what those of her bloodline were called to fight, and though Christine made a firm decision never to lift a hand against him she had not yet resigned herself to her uncertain role in this unexpected twist of their marriage.
That she loved him Christine did not doubt; she did not lie to him that night. The wealth of feeling that had accumulated over months, over years simply did not disappear once flaws or trouble manifested. Her feelings ran deep, not shallow, and had slowly begun to form ever since she had met a man of mystery who posed as an angel through chapel walls…
Now she knew the darkest of secrets he'd kept hidden and detested her foolish reaction when he so unexpectedly drew near - the inadvertent recoil for which she immediately apologized, certain it must be some despicable trait of all that came with the Van Helsing lineage. He had softly commanded her to cease with all apology, stating it wasn't her fault, but she'd seen the pain in his eyes each time and hated herself for putting it there.
Oh, how she wished to cut out all that made a slayer from her body!
She had asked for time and prayed the passage of hours into days would solve this dilemma, clearly noting Erik's impatience with her inability to manage the situation. He said nothing to that effect, as broodingly silent as always, and would only quit her company or ignore her on those occasions she shied away, putting his attention to other things. Certainly he had much to keep him busy, and she wished she could say the same.
He detested what he had become but learned to live with it. She loathed her calling and wished to expunge it. Surely they could find some sort of common ground in that.
Still, there were additional questions of importance she needed to ask… and dreaded to know. Questions more difficult than those already posed. And she felt she could not go forward to somehow mend what had been broken until they were at last answered.
Christine found Mihaela dusting in one of the downstairs chambers and presented her with the gift box. Shocked to receive it, clearly having no idea how to respond, she thanked Christine for the shawl, immediately wrapping the soft wool around her shoulders. She seemed as if she wished to say more but refrained. Christine gently prompted her to speak, sensing the girl still felt awkward around her.
"My lady, it is only that I wish to say…" In clear unease, Mihaela clutched the handle of the duster in both hands near her skirts. "There are men who are bad – evil men – but the Count is not one of them. He loves you, I know this. Never have I heard him to take a woman. Never through the centuries has he had a wife. Until you."
Touched by her words, Christine looked at her thoughtfully. "Are you one of them also?"
Even after acknowledging that such beings did in fact exist, she could not bring herself to name them in the course of casual conversation. There was simply nothing casual about it.
"Oh, no, milady. Such power is not meant for our family. We are meant only to serve."
Strange words, but the girl seemed content. "Have you known the Count long?"
"All of my life, whenever he would come to Romania and the castle there. I do not know him well; I am but a servant and he a prince of his kind. But he has always been good to my family. There is no reason to fear him."
Doubtless, during her previous two morning visits, the young maid acknowledged Christine in bed alone and in her shift, having not been visited by her husband in the night, unlike the first two mornings she caught Christine au naturel.
Her face warmed and she hurried to change the subject.
"Thank you, Mihaela, I will take your words into consideration. As this is Boxing Day, from what I've been told it also entails outdoor recreation for the staff. You should take part in that."
"Re-cre…?" the girl repeated in slow uncertainty.
"Recreation. A type of leisure and amusement. The minister's housekeeper from the village told me that servants from different households often gather to watch men kick around a ball and cheer for one of two teams…though I can't see how they would do that in the snow. But I'm certain there are other activities planned for the day."
"I see." Mihaela sounded no less doubtful.
"Of course, you needn't go to the village if you prefer not to. You could take a picnic with your family - though it might be rather cold for that," she instantly corrected herself, then blew out a breath. "The point is, Mihaela, you may have the day off to do as you like."
"The day off?"
"A day to take time away from your chores at the castle, to relax and have fun."
Mihaela shook her head doubtfully. "I do not think my uncle will agree."
Which hardly came as a surprise, since Gregor contradicted Christine's wishes at every turn.
"I will ask the Count to talk with him. This day only comes once a year. You should enjoy it."
A short time later Erik did speak with Gregor at Christine's behest. The old man was reluctant, but finally agreed that he would use the opportunity for the outing to take the wagon into the village for repairs, also stating one of the horses needed re-shod.
Not exactly what Christine pictured for recreation, and she wondered if the blacksmith would also close up shop, but she supposed she could count it a triumph that Gregor at last surrendered and he and his family would adhere to the general idea of a special day shared. Why he seemed to detest the Yuletide, a time for family, cheer, and togetherness, posed yet another mystery. He treated it as a curse, not a blessing…
"With the staff absent for the day, have you also made plans?"
Broken from her absorbed thoughts, Christine whirled around in shock, unconsciously taking a swift step in retreat.
Sorrow filled Erik's yellow-gold eyes, his easy smile twisting into one of mockery.
"I'm sorry –"
"Do not," he ordered soft and abrupt, holding both his hands up to stop her. He gave the barest of nods and began to walk away.
"It's only that you took me by surprise," she hurriedly called after him. "I rarely hear you coming."
She winced, not intending her words to sound accusatory, like he was stalking prey. He turned again to look at her, his eyes pinpointing hers.
"A trait mastered long ago, to defend and protect…" He paused in his explanation that seemed to reflect what she'd been thinking. "And attack."
He offered her complete honesty, as she asked of him, but Christine could not prevent a shudder at the memory of all she witnessed in the forest on the night she learned her husband was one of the Dark Ones. His wretched words were the perfect segue to ask what more she needed to know, but she curbed her curiosity...
For now.
"Have you made plans?" She switched the question back to him.
"My day is without obligation." His eyes narrowed behind the mask. "What have you in mind?"
"I should like to visit Lucy, in the hope that she has improved. I left her in such a wretched state."
He gave a short nod. "I will instruct Archer to ready the carriage."
"Did he not go to the village with the others?"
"He cannot travel by day."
Five simple words, but they rocked Christine, and the puzzle of the boy's odd behavior since the moment she'd first met him finally made sense.
"He is like you."
She did not ask, having no need. Nor did he answer. How many more secrets was she so blithely to uncover?
Feeling a sudden desire for the cold bracing air, she made a decision. "Instead of taking the carriage, I should like to ride Mist."
He glanced out the window at the dull, overcast sky. "That can be arranged. Before leaving, you must retrieve your talisman off my desk in the library. The broken links have been repaired. I will speak with Archer."
He left before she could respond, but any disappointment felt for him to so quickly dismiss her evaporated when Christine stepped outside after she donned the pendant and all necessary outerwear and saw Erik mounted atop his black stallion. The reins to her smaller gray horse he held in one gloved hand.
He registered her surprise. "I do not want you to travel alone, even by day." His words were solicitous but grim. "Do you need a hand up?"
Once, he would not have asked only acted. While grateful for his consideration of her tumultuous feelings in keeping his distance, she missed the easy rapport they had found and shared in Paris.
"I can manage. I only hope that Mist doesn't bolt like last time."
"You will find your horse much more placid and not so easily spooked."
His words, as they so often did, painted a mystery. But she was resolved to initiate the conversation she had been avoiding, and once they walked their horses abreast of one another through the snowy lane that twisted through the forest, Christine at last brought up the topic that had made her toss and turn the past two nights.
"I have another question I should like to know."
She darted a glance his way, noting how his jaw had hardened beneath the mask.
"Go on," he said quietly through his teeth.
She took a deep stabilizing breath for courage. How silent the wintry forest was for midday! Sound was amplified, the swish and soft crunch of the horse's hooves plodding through the snow and occasional mild snort from the two beasts all that could be heard.
"What you said, that you are not responsible for the carnage of the villagers…"
She hesitated, struggling with how best to phrase such a difficult question to what would certainly result in a harsh response.
"To survive, I know you must…" Once more her words trailed off and Christine paused, searching to find a tactful way to finish her statement.
"To survive, I must feed on the blood of others," he finished for her in clipped reply. "Is that what you meant to say?"
She gave a brisk nod. "That – and, and how… I mean, well, who…"
"Christine, take caution. You seek for that which you may not wish to find."
She firmed her shoulders and her determination. "I need to know the truth of it, Erik. All of it."
"It will not endear me to you and will likely drive you further away. Is that what you truly wish?"
"You have told me a number of startling and gruesome things, and I'm here with you now," she argued in frustration. "I am not some delicate flower, ready to swoon at the first mention of blood and violence. I think I have more than proved that."
In truth, despite her recent knowledge of his secret identity and all that stemmed from it, nothing had truly changed in his character. His alluring mystique was still and had always been a part of him. His unconventional wisdom; his great affinity and spectacular talent for music and the arts - the crowning touch, his angelic voice; his love of Christine and desire to keep her safe – all of what first drew her to him remained intact. Moreover, from what Gregor let slip, Erik often battled his own kind to ensure no harm would come to her.
Even in the guise of a frightful being, he only ever acted toward her as a benevolent angel. And yet, for all that, there were those grisly matters revealed that were irrefutable and those matters only partially disclosed, the knowledge with which she was not yet satisfied.
In the resulting silence, Christine attempted to answer her own question, determined not to let the matter drop now that it had been introduced.
"You lured me from the crowd at the festival of Samhain, before knowing I was Lotte, thinking me only a stranger." She glanced his way, noting his gloved knuckles had tightened within the reins he held. "You seduced me, would have bitten me… taken that which by no rights under heaven is yours to have - my very lifeblood."
He pulled up hard on the reins, and surprised, she did the same. The horses gave little protesting whinnies, snorting puffs of white smoke into the frozen air.
Despite the freezing cold, the Count's eyes burned, twin flames behind the mask.
"Never, never would I have taken your life, Christine. I thought I made that clear."
A shiver of apprehension raced down her spine, but she did not let his quiet fury deter her resolve to know. "Is that how you gain what you need?" she insisted as though he'd not spoken, her words slowly gaining strength as a new emotion took hold. "By seducing unescorted women into solitude to do with them as you will? After recalling the passion and fire you displayed during each of those occasions with me – does it stop with a bite to the neck with them? Or do you seek to know them intimately as well?"
Bafflement blew away the embers of the Count's rising anger. It was inconceivable, and yet he heard the stiff resentment that colored her words, much like she'd spoken to him when she learned that he spent time in Lucy's company years after he left the Opera House.
Christine was jealous? That was what upset her? Not so much that he must feed on blood, but his preference of whom he had chosen to supply that need?
He shook his head a little in disbelief, recognizing the spirited fire that flashed in her dark eyes once she turned them on him when he remained silent. Her cheeks flamed brighter than the cold had made them. In light of all they currently faced and the physical distance she forged in her preference for 'time,' it was unimaginable that she cared enough what more he had done with his prey to allow such trivialities to disturb her.
Yet it gave him a measure of hope missing of late, and he mulled over his imminent response. Her curiosity was too often insatiable, requiring continual satisfaction. An innate trait of every true slayer, doubtless to aid them in the hunt. Yet what deplorable traits of his vampyric needs could he actually reveal to satisfy and put an end to this wretched line of questioning? Certainly he could not speak of the macabre details that composed his nature, not if he didn't want her fleeing back to Paris on the next train…
"I seem to have arrived at the truth," she said woodenly.
He shook his head in disgust, knowing if he did not address this now she would never let it go and likely build up all sorts of incredible and absurd notions in her mind.
"Once, decades before you were even born, that was my method of choice. You were the first woman I have approached in that manner since that era."
Christine felt only mildly reassured. "You told me that you aren't responsible for the deaths of the villagers. So if it wasn't them, who did you - or do you - hunt to fulfill your current needs?"
"Can we not table this discussion for another time?" he asked curtly.
Christine could see how grueling this was for him to talk about, it was atrocious to hear, but there was one more thing she must know –
"Do you kill your victims too?" she practically whispered.
"Damn it, Christine! Why is it so important to know the myriad horrors of what my life has become? Do you wish me to respond when to do so will only paint me into more of a monster than I have already become to you?!"
She struggled not to lose courage in the face of his burgeoning wrath.
"Yes or no, Erik…"
"I do all that is necessary to survive. Come! We have reached the clearing and I wish to return to the castle before nightfall."
Erik jabbed booted heels into his stallion's sides and took off at a swift gallop.
Despondent, Christine had no choice but to follow. She had expected such answers, they came as no true surprise, but that made them no less painful to hear, and his evasion to answer the most difficult questions spoke volumes.
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Minutes later they stood on the outside stoop, awaiting admittance into Montmarte. Erik had not said a word since the debacle of their discussion that had gone so terribly amiss, and Christine felt uncertain how to break this new silence.
Raoul opened the door to their summons of the bell pull. His expression registered surprise, followed by a quick appraisal of Erik, head to toe, Raoul's gaze then shooting upward to the day-lit sky. Had the situation not been so grim, Christine could almost laugh at her cousin's clear disappointment to believe his preternatural theory of the Count to be wrong – when in truth it was so wretchedly right!
"I will remain here while you go upstairs and visit with Lucy. I have business to discuss with the Vicomte."
Her mouth parted in astonishment, and Christine regarded him with wide eyes. Erik said the words with all the careless aplomb of a gentleman out for an afternoon visit, but Christine felt the result of such an encounter between unprofessed rivals to be anything but the standard conversation over brandy and cigars. If concern for Lucy did not order her steps, she would remain to hear what business the Count could possibly have with her cousin…
Did he also know that Raoul was a slayer, fanatical in his role, and what Erik had declared in the forest to be his mortal enemy?
"Perhaps you should come with me instead," Christine softly insisted. "Lucy will wish to see you."
"Why should our cousin wish to see a man she has never before met?" Raoul asked her, his suspicious gaze settling on Erik.
Loyalty. One of three conditions he demanded of her and she had promised him.
"Introductions are in order," Christine hastily agreed. "What better time than the present?"
Raoul directed a look riddled with incredulity her way. "I hardly think it proper to conduct such affairs inside Lucy's bedchamber. Certainly there is a 'better time' than that!"
Of course he was right. In her determination to keep Erik with her and away from her overzealous cousin, Christine spoke without thinking her words through. Raoul possessed no knowledge of Erik's former acquaintance with Lucy, nor did he realize that the Count had already spoken with the girl two nights ago in said bedchamber.
"It will be alright, my dear," her husband assured, voice calm and full of meaning, his words going deeper than the mere subject of his remaining below. "Go visit with your cousin."
Reluctant to leave the two enemies alone, the mortal and the immortal, but keen to see Lucy and how she was faring, Christine gave one last look toward Erik, fraught with a silent plea – both to take caution and abstain from violence. He gave a slow, mocking nod of his head in acknowledgement before she finally took the stairs.
"Shall we take our business out of the foyer and adjourn to the parlor," the Vicomte said with stiff courtesy in the pretense of polite host.
Erik nodded and followed. The Vicomte immediately went to a table that held crystal bottles of liquor.
"Would you care for a libation?" the boy asked picking up a decanter of golden-brown liquid.
To decline might stir his never-ending damnable suspicions, so Erik gave a curt nod, accepting the glass offered and taking a healthy swallow before getting down to the business at hand.
"I understand a physician was in to examine Lucy. I wish to know his findings."
"I hardly see that it is any of your concern."
Erik gave a twisted smirk. "I beg to differ, monsieur. Due to an agreement made with the earl before taking Christine as my bride, I alone am paying the physicians their due in all matters that pertain to the girl, and wish to keep abreast of the situation."
The boy frowned. "My uncle told me nothing of this."
"Nonetheless, it was arranged between us."
The Vicomte narrowed his eyes and tossed back the modicum of brandy in his glass.
"Speak to them then if you wish it, but you will have to wait. Two physicians are presently with Lucy."
They were upstairs? How strange that the fool boy had not informed Christine since she would surely be made to wait in the corridor until they finished their current examination. As if the boy trailed his thoughts as he did all else, he spoke –
"I didn't tell Christine because I sought this opportunity to speak to you."
Erik warily watched the Vicomte set down his empty glass and cover the distance to within a few feet of where he stood. His muscles tensed as he took note of the determination in the boy's eyes.
"I don't know what you have done to Christine, what spell you have put her under to so fully succumb to your wishes and agree to wedlock after having known you only a matter of weeks - but I do know what manner of man you are. Your intentions can hardly be considered honorable or in her best interest."
The Count worked to control his temper, putting a trace of soft incredulity into his biting reply. "A spell? You think me a warlock, monsieur? If so, and I am without honor as you have stated, what is to stop me from turning you into a toad?"
The boy's mouth thinned into a white line at Erik's sarcasm.
"A monster does not need to possess the form of one, though such traits can easily be camouflaged, even hidden…" He pointedly looked at his mask. "The soul cannot be seen, monsieur. Only through actions will its true nature be revealed. You may think you hold the ace – but make no mistake, I mean to uncover the evil that lurks within your black heart and open Christine's eyes to the truth if it's the last thing I do!"
So, the gloves were off. Gone was the pretense of civility and any deception of sociability, the challenge issued…
Exactly how the Count preferred it.
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