Kate and Edwin
Opposite Wing HQ in Amiens was a small cafe where Kate sat in wait for her prey. Fortuitously, there was a small cafe opposite every site of military significance in France. By now, Kate was on familiar terms with them all.
She sipped blood-laced anis, unable to tell from which animal the blood might have come, and kept an eye on comings and goings across the road. There was much activity; Wing was busier after dark than in the afternoon. The HQ was solidly built, a converted municipal building.
The trail had led her this far.
'Bone jaw, mamzel,' said an American. 'Je m'apple Eddie Bartlett. Private, First-Class.'
She looked at the doughboy over the tops of her blue glasses. The short, grinning, impossibly young warmfellow was confident of an eager reception. The gratitude of French girls was a major incentive to army recruitment in the United States.
'You've certainly learned to "parley-voo" mighty fine, Mr Yank.'
Private Bartlett was downcast. He must have been practising his line of chat ever since his troopship left New York. His comrades brayed with laughter. She smiled and her fangs peeped out. Bartlett apologised incoherently and returned to his friends' table. She hoped he found a willing mademoiselle before a bullet found him. He was a nice-looking fellow and she regretted being cool towards him. It was not often she was mistaken for an alluring French siren. She liked the taste of Americans. Mr Frank Harris, of course, had been an American, a former cowboy. Unburdened by history, there was a lightness to their blood.
She was sorely thirsty. Blood-in-<iMi5 did little more than prick her appetites. Sometimes, she got so concentrated on one of her crusades that she misremembered necessities. She flicked her tongue over sharpening teeth. Amiens was near enough the lines for everything to shudder constantly. The surface of her drink wobbled slightly as she felt each bombardment in her gums.
Edwin Winthrop strolled out of Wing HQ, pausing on the steps to return the salute of a dusty sergeant. Kate pretended not to notice, but was so placed that Edwin could not help but spot her. The approach struck her as subtler than making a futile attempt to stay out of his sight. Pleased by his own perspicacity, he might in a burst of male confidence let something slip. For a moment, she thought he might add her presence to his report to Charles and pass by about his business. She tried to send out waves of vampire fascination by mental telepathy. It was all nonsense, at least in her bloodline, but it could not hurt.
Edwin made a decision. He crossed the street, dodging a motorcycle despatch rider, and bore down on her. She froze her face, suppressing a smile that might betoken a certain smugness and expectation of victory.
'Miss Mouse, is it not?'
She made casual play of noticing and recognising him.
'Edwin, good evening. You have not your guard dog about you?'
He looked about. Dravot was nowhere in sight. Even Edwin was not always aware of the presence of his protector.
'I dare say the sergeant might be concealed in a haystack somewhere nearby. In disguise, of course.'
'I should not be at all surprised.'
'He tells me you and he are old friends.'
Kate remembered the Terror. Stories circulated about Daniel Dravot's role in affairs of great moment, stories she had never quite pinned down. The sergeant did his duty by the angels, but when an omelette was to be made he was the sort who willingly broke the eggs.
He also tells me you are not as silly as you seem.'
She laughed to cover annoyance. 'No one could be as silly as I seem, surely?'
Edwin laughed too, genuinely. He was still puzzled by her. That was good. If he was puzzled, he was interested. As he tried to find out about her, she could learn from him.
'Are you chasing some poor general? Intent on wrecking yet another martial reputation?'
'On the contrary, I am composing an encomium to the steadfast qualities of our gallant staff officers.'
He sat opposite her. There was comment from Private Bartlett's table.
'Watch out, pal,' Bartlett shouted. 'She bites.'
'You have acquired a claque?'
Kate twitched her nose.
'You are blushing. It brings out your freckles.'
For a moment, she thought the bombardment was oddly regular, then she realised she was listening to Edwin's heartbeat, lulled by his strong pulse. Her glass was empty.
'Might I buy you a drink, Kate?'
'No thank you. I'm not thirsty.'
'I should have thought you were always thirsty.'
Her heart ached sharply. She would like a drink but not the sort Edwin might buy for her.
'My associate Charles Beauregard speaks highly of you, too. Though he made sure to remind me you were old enough to be my mother.'
'I am barely out of the cradle. I haven't been dead for thirty years yet.'
He was going to ask her what it was like. All young men did, eventually. It was a two-fold question: what was it like being a vampire, and what was it like to be bitten by a vampire?
The patron came over. Edwin ordered brandy giving her the chance to reconsider his offer.
'I'll take vanilla,' she said, like a silly girl in a Paris street cafe Edwin hadn't heard the expression before. She moderated her request to another blood-in-<mi5.
When he had sipped his drink, he looked at her and began, 'Kate
' "What is it like?"'
He was astounded she had read his mind, convinced of her supernatural powers. She was amused and a little triumphant.
'It is hard to explain. It is one of those matters one has to experience for oneself. Like war and love.'
Edwin considered her answer and looked her square in the face. Her tinted spectacles were no shield against his gaze.
'You are after me, Kate Reed. I'm not sure to what end, but I'm certain you are after me.'
She shrugged. 'You have a sweetheart at home?'
He weighed the possibilities and nodded. 'Catriona Kaye. We're engaged. She's very modern.'
'Unlike myself, a cobwebbed relic of another age.'
'She is a century baby. I call her Cat.'
'And so might I.'
The tang of Edwin's brandy was in her nose. The anis taste on her tongue did not dull her sense of him.
'Does your fiancee want you to turn?'
'We haven't discussed the matter.'
'You'll have to.'
'I like being warm.'
'Not a foolish thought.'
'You are no propagandist for the undead state, then?'
Edwin's breath misted. There was a February evening chill. The warm wore scarves and gloves.
'I'll take vanilla.'
'Pardon?'
'I am the only one of my sisters-in-darkness to survive. It is a thorny thing, this condition, not predictable. After thirty years, the doctors don't fully understand it. To turn is to gamble on one's own strengths. Most new-borns die unpleasantly.'
She had no doubt Edwin would turn magnificently. Even as a warm man, he had a vampire sharpness about him.
'Catriona is my name in Scots. Katharine. Are we alike?'
He was surprised by the question.
You must have something in common. She wants to be a journalist.'
'Will you let her follow a profession?' 'My inclination would be to insist on it. Her father takes a different view. He's a clergyman. She's an agnostic. They're always rowing.'
Annoyingly, she felt sympathy for Edwin's inconvenient attachment. Catriona Kaye sounded like an exact copy of her younger, warm self. Only prettier. Kate would not be able to win him away from the other woman and make of him a docile informant. Her career as a Mata Hari was ended before it could begin.
'Why the interest in my personal arrangements? I thought you ran more to politics and matters of great moment?'
'Journalism needs the human touch. Tiny insights to illuminate dry facts.'
Edwin finished his drink. His blood would be warmed by the brandy, flavoured strongly. An envelope edge peeped out of his jacket. He demurely pushed it out of sight.
'Sealed orders?'
He grinned. 'I couldn't possibly say.'
'I would be prepared to make a wager with you,' she said. 'That I know where you are to be sent.'
'If you could do that, you would indeed be a sorceress. I've no idea what is in these orders.'
She knew from his heartbeat that he was lying but let it pass.
'What would you be prepared to wager?'
She shrugged.
'A kiss?' he suggested.
Her eyeteeth lengthened minutely. She felt little pains, not unpleasant, in the nerves of her fangs.
'Very well,' she said. 'You are recalled to London.'
He took out his envelope and opened it. He read his orders, keeping them close to his chest, chuckling.
'You have lost your wager.'
'Am I to take your word for it?'
'As an officer and something reasonably approaching a gentleman?'
'Officers and gentlemen make the best liars. Especially intelligence officers. Lying is their profession, just as the truth is mine.' l\ could name the odd journalist not unacquainted with mendacity.'
'Touche.'
'You accept you have lost?'
'I suppose I shall have to.'
They stood, awkwardly, and looked at each other. He was not a tall man, within a few inches of her five foot four. He kissed her on the lips. His warmth shocked her, jolting fire through her veins. There was no blood but she had the contact she knew from feeding. It was not a long kiss. Bartlett's table cheered and jeered. She could not draw anything much from Edwin's mind. Just a drop of blood and she would know things. Edwin drew away. His hands opened and his orders drifted down past the table.
'That'd curl your hair,' he said, eyes wide.
With the swiftness of the undead, she bent down and picked up the paper, presenting it to Edwin. He was in a brief reverie, befuddled by the press of her lips. The paper passed only briefly through her glance but she knew Edwin was ordered to return to the airfield at Maranique and arrange another reconnaissance flight to the Chateau du Malinbois.
'Now that wasn't what you expected?' Kate said.
'I'll say not. You're electric, aren't you. Like an eel?'
